Yuri climbed atop the fortress wall, drove his sword deep into it, and began to bring it down.
At first glance, it seemed like a simple task, but while Yuri worked, the other skilled fighters fought desperately against the black magic.
Even the air itself seemed hostile, a perfect death trap.
Countless branches of life and death spread out in every direction.
“Be careful.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
Eto and Oliver stood back-to-back on the wall, battling the writhing tentacles.
Oliver, panting heavily, suddenly sank to his knees.
Eto’s voice sharpened.
“For an imperial bastard, you’re holding up pretty well. Going down now?”
Eto wasn’t one to enjoy harsh words, but he forced himself to speak sharply to provoke Oliver. If he fell here, it was over.
Oliver snapped back, lifting his head defiantly.
“Don’t be ridiculous, you bumpkin from Riberd!”
“Trying to collapse in front of a bumpkin, huh?”
“No way!”
He sprang to his feet.
“I’m Oliver of the Elgast family. I’m not going down here!”
“Then show me, Oliver.”
“Yeah, I’ll show you. To those trash who’ve sullied the Empire’s name and sold their souls to these hideous abominations…”
Oliver summoned his mana with a desperate roar.
“They’ll pay the price!”
“That’s the spirit.”
Eto sliced through a tentacle and whistled.
“Oliver, your anger’s gotta be more than that, right?”
“Just watch!”
Every word was punctuated by his fierce struggle, making the provocation worthwhile. He seemed simple-minded, after all.
Eto threw out one more barb.
“Oliver, imperial bastard, I’ve already killed five of these monsters. What about you?”
“Wait, you bumpkin!”
Eto had actually killed only three but exaggerated on purpose. Unaware, Oliver charged madly into the fray.
“Die!”
Watching him, Eto smirked and refocused on the battle.
It wasn’t easy.
The monsters on the wall were on a different level from anything they’d faced before.
Eto glanced over.
Prince Briol had plunged his sword into the center of the wall, channeling mana.
Watching his cloak flutter, Eto nodded.
This was a technique impossible for most, but he could pull it off.
Because he was that kind of person.
So all Eto had to do was buy time.
“Watch above!”
Oliver shouted suddenly. Eto ducked reflexively.
Something brushed past where his head had been.
A flying monster.
“Ugh…”
The new enemy was a grotesque fusion of man and bird, resembling the legendary harpy, but its body was tangled with tentacles, making it even more horrifying.
Slime splattered from the membrane on its wings, and Eto’s shoulder armor began to burn and melt.
“Damn it…”
He tore off the armor and threw it aside.
This was truly a place no one wanted to linger.
If the wall was like this, how much worse must it be inside?
Eto snapped irritably at Oliver.
“Hey, imperial bastard, what the hell were you thinking doing this? Planning to wreck the whole world? What a damn nuisance.”
“…”
No answer came this time.
Worried he might be dead, Eto looked back to find Oliver biting his lip hard.
He had no words.
Eto softened and added,
“Still, thanks for the warning earlier. Almost got me killed.”
“Hmph. Shut up. If you’re grateful, then fight harder.”
“Yeah, let’s do that.”
While they bickered, the other three of the Ten Strong—excluding Yuri—were locked in even tougher battles.
Francesco, Jose, and Moyongchan floated in the air, fending off invisible barrages from afar.
Black magic rained down like a storm from the dark void.
“Damn it!”
Francesco cursed.
“Was it the right call to come alone?”
“Let’s hold them off!”
“Quit whining.”
Tentacles rose from below, and black magic bombardments continued from afar. Blocking with sword energy alone was reaching its limit.
A tentacle wrapped around Francesco’s ankle, making him stagger.
He barely cut it free and shouted over his shoulder.
“Hey! Yuri! Almost done?”
“Just a little longer, please!”
Jared answered for him.
“Ugh…”
As attacks kept coming, Francesco pushed his mana to the limit.
“There’s no more time to wait…”
His face flushed red, his whole body overheating from drawing mana beyond his limits.
If he pushed any further, his meridians might be damaged.
At that moment, invisible black magic struck him hard.
“Argh!”
His body shook as if hit by a mace.
He had surrounded himself with mana to absorb some of the impact, but the follow-up attacks were the real problem. Another volley was coming.
He glanced at Jose and Moyongchan for help, but both were stretched thin.
“Ah…”
The attack closed in.
Francesco’s life flashed before his eyes.
It began with his childhood, swinging with his mother…
Shing.
Suddenly, the sound of something slicing through the air cut off the black magic.
His life flash stopped.
All the incoming attacks were shattered.
“Huh?”
“Are you alright?”
“It’s you…”
Bernard, who had arrived with the Eastern warriors.
Francesco had heard the infamous name of the Sword Ghost long ago, but seeing him in person, it was clear he was no ordinary fighter. Even the Ten Strong might struggle to defeat him.
There were truly many masters in the world.
Francesco smiled gratefully.
“Thank you. You saved my life.”
“Just hold on a little longer. His Highness is doing his best.”
Bernard’s voice was flat, emotionless. Even in this dire moment, his calmness suited the nickname Sword Ghost perfectly.
Soon, an unfamiliar flow of power began to emanate from Yuri, clinging to the wall.
He was channeling mana directly into the wall, trying to explode it from within.
To attempt such a technique on a massive fortress wall—his thinking was on a whole different level.
“Crazy bastard.”
Francesco raised his sword again, summoning mana from the cracked meridians in his exhausted arm.
Everything that had brought them this far was thanks to Yuri.
So this time, he would trust him and hold on to the end.
Francesco muttered,
“I wonder if things are going well over there…”
While Yuri fought to bring down the wall from the West, the East employed the opposite tactic.
They pushed forward with overwhelming firepower.
Jang Younghak soared into the air, wildly slashing with sword energy, and the other warriors joined the bombardment.
If an Eastern martial artist had seen this, their eyes would have widened in amazement at the flurry of advanced techniques:
The Shaman’s Taeguk Wisdom Sword, the Huashan’s Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Style, Shaolin’s Hundred-Step Divine Fist,
Zhongnan’s Thirty-Six Sword Techniques, Kaibang’s Dog-Beating Staff Method, Nangong Clan’s Boundless Sky Sword Style, Sichuan Sect’s Rain of Flowers, Huangbo Clan’s Thunderclap Sword Style, Beihai Ice Palace’s Ice White Divine Palm…
The totality of Eastern martial arts was pouring down.
A storm of martial power so intense it felt almost supernatural swept across the wall.
Black magic and monster attacks couldn’t even approach the warriors’ firepower and withered away.
The wall was torn apart and shattered.
The monsters’ bodies disintegrated.
Broken, and broken again.
But the Empire wasn’t standing still.
Flying monsters appeared, attacking from behind.
The martial artists, who had been pounding the wall relentlessly, had to pause their bombardment to fend off the rear assault.
Meanwhile, the wall began to repair itself.
Countless thin, worm-like tentacles sprouted from every damaged spot, intertwining and reforming the flesh.
All the attacks they had just made became meaningless in an instant.
“My god…”
Jang Younghak muttered in disbelief.
It was truly a scene from hell.
What terrible things had the Westerners summoned? If even the wall was this grotesque, what kind of evil awaited beyond?
He couldn’t even imagine.
Had the Westerners been fighting these horrors all along?
His gaze shifted to the left wall.
Their strategy was simple.
Protect one point, and that point would bring down the wall.
From their desperate determination, he felt absolute trust.
“Yuri Bulhioora, was it?”
The Westerners’ names were hard to pronounce, but that was roughly it.
The moment he met him, he understood.
“He is perfect.”
It was impressive enough that he had reached the level of an absolute master at such a young age, but the aura of perfection he radiated was even more astonishing.
Perfection wasn’t just being fully prepared. It meant the convergence of one’s training, the surrounding environment, the fate bestowed by heaven, and the energy of all things.
The world was pushing Yuri forward.
When the Star of Catastrophe plunged the world into chaos, the world chose this young Westerner as its champion.
Perhaps their long journey all the way to the Western Regions was nothing more than a carefully arranged plan, prepared to aid someone named Yuri.
Jang Young-hak muttered to himself.
“So what if that’s the case? If it means destroying that wicked being, I will gladly become a nameless grain of seed.”
He understood his role.
And so, he decided to use the ultimate technique—one that could only be used once.
“Everyone, stand back!”
At his sharp command, the martial artists instinctively stepped back.
Jang Young-hak drew his sword.
His robes fluttered dramatically.
A massive wave of energy radiated from him.
It wasn’t the refined energy of Taiji he had wielded until now.
Instead, it was filled with intense murderous intent.
The forbidden killing technique of the Mudang Sect.
The Ten-Level Brocade.
Krrrrk-k-k-k-k-k.
With a piercing, ear-splitting screech, a blood-red sword aura shot forth, twisting and shattering everything in its path.
A reversal of fate.
The collapse of order.
A martial art born solely for destruction, one that only those who have witnessed the extremes of Taiji can manifest.
It surged toward the cursed construct—a twisted fusion of human life, distorted magic, and otherworldly energy.
A grotesque sound echoed.
At the same moment, a radiant light burst from Yuri’s sword, which was embedded in the fortress wall.
As if perfectly synchronized.
The fortress walls were engulfed in dazzling light from two directions simultaneously.
Behind them, the forces of the Anti-Empire Alliance watched tensely, their hands clenched tightly.
They never stood idle.
They were ready to charge the moment the walls fell.
No, even if the walls didn’t collapse, nothing would change.
There was no retreat; under any circumstance, they would charge toward Zbeta.
“Your Highness…”
Ainz murmured.
Even at a glance, the situation felt grim.
The enemy’s assault was fierce, and the walls refused to crumble.
They had hoped the Eastern forces were making progress, but seeing them recover so quickly, a sigh escaped.
“Hey. Give me that.”
“Yes!”
Ainz snatched the signal horn from the messenger and gripped it tightly.
If necessary, he planned to blow it himself.
Even if the walls didn’t fall, they had to move forward.
They had to protect His Highness.
Then, suddenly, something strange began happening on both sides of the walls they were targeting.
The left wall cracked and started collapsing from within, while the other’s surface was torn apart, beginning to crumble.
Light burst forth.
So brilliant that even those far away were temporarily blinded.
“What… what’s happening?”
Ainz’s eyes widened. Though tears streamed down from the glare, he didn’t look away.
No matter what, he couldn’t miss the signal.
And then he saw it.
The two fortress walls—
They hadn’t fallen.
But they were half destroyed.
Tattered and broken.
And the eighteen desperate fighters who had been defending the walls were also half down.
When Ainz saw tendrils slithering out from the shattered parts of the walls, intertwining with each other, he inhaled sharply.
Then, as if striking the air, he blew the horn.
Wooooooong.
The signal to charge echoed high into the sky.
“Go!”
They could no longer rely on anyone else.
Even if their troops were to perish ahead, they had to bring down the walls together.
Ainz charged forward at the very front.
“All units, attack!”
As the Anti-Empire Alliance surged forward, the earth trembled beneath their feet.