Chapter 133: The Autumn of Adolf (Twenty)
How many people really want your life?
Jima muttered under her breath, casually pulling a crimson potion vial from her belt, flapping her wings, the remaining base of her wings sending sharp pains through her. Though the wings were merely decorative, they were still a part of her body, but Jima was used to pain by now.
She flew straight up, several arcane missiles coming at her from the chaotic battlefield, striking her light blue magic shield. Jima gulped down the crimson potion, which immediately exploded in her mouth.
The air beneath her burst violently, propelling Jima rapidly into the sky, avoiding bone spears, searing javelins, and four scorching rays along the way, gaining a good vantage point, eyeing the golden-masked Gelt.
In that moment, a thought jumped into Jima’s mind: why is this king so unlucky, having to take on the role of a scout? Bad news always seemed to come to her alone.
Not only was Gelt there with his golden mask, but also a dense mass of imperial troops—dead imperial soldiers, who had died in loyalty, yet found no rest afterward. Their souls and bodies were profaned by necromancy, manipulated by the golden-masked Gelt.
Leading the charge was a group of giant swordsmen, their heads clearly severed yet somehow back on their necks, wielding chipped magical greatswords, cloaked in heavy armor. Beside them, a headless military musician was beating out a march, the bloodied and trampled flags raised once more, that of the Karon Fortress.
They fought to the last man for the Empire, not a single one escaping the battlefield, yet now they must fight to the last man for the empire’s traitors. Besides them, more undead imperial troops, marching in perfect unison, were surging toward the Sigma Cathedral.
Moreover, there seemed to be no common undead nearby—the undead giant swordsmen of Karon Fortress opened their mouths and let out silent roars. From Jima’s experience, these were unwilling souls completing their self-destructive wishes through their dead bodies.
Jima’s heart pounded, her head felt hot, signs of overload surfacing.
Escape, she must escape. What a mess, how did he manage to rally more than half of the imperial guard? Isn’t he an alchemist? If a necromancer who just started out is this strong, what have the other necromancers been doing for hundreds of years?
The more someone understands military matters, the more they realize the terror of this undead army.
Their marching route was directly opposite that of the Doomsday Army, coming from the very route of the imperial reinforcements, launching an attack from the rear, revealing one crucial piece of information: inside Adolf, there was barely a trace of imperial reinforcements left. They either died or fled.
Jima clutched her head and shouted, “Oh my God!”
She shredded the plan in her mind to trick George into retreating into pieces and tossed it into the trash. Was there any need for trickery? Honesty would suffice.
Jima dove down, struggling to dodge several long-range attacks, while the imperial emperor looked on eagerly, George moving beside him to provide protection.
Jima flew around for a while, slowed down, and whispered, “We must retreat.”
George asked, “What?”
“Shh, listen to me.”
Jima stated, “There are estimated to be over ten thousand undead imperial troops surrounding us from the rear, including a large number of elite imperial troops and half Griffin Knights. Based on my military expertise, I can say for certain that there is no hope.”
The imperial emperor closed his eyes sadly, never expecting that the one to deal the final blow would be his own friend. The once legendary trio of the Empire was now meeting their end in this manner.
George’s expression remained calm as he asked, “How desperate is the situation?”
“Only if I advance to the rank of the Four Divine Chosen, then defeat the Eternal Chosen, become the new Eternal Chosen, don the Demon King’s crown, and command the Doomsday Army.” Jima explained.
All of this had to be completed before the army of the undead arrived, which was less than five minutes, and it had to be assumed that during these five minutes, Gelt would just stand by and watch.
He’s always been cunning.” The imperial emperor raised his hand and gritted his teeth, “Look! The traitor is coming! With the warriors he has desecrated!”
Both turned to see Gelt riding a decaying white swift silver, surrounded by several undead royal Griffin Knights, protecting this necromancer.
As Jima spoke, she ascended, “You’ve got some guts; did everyone take a courage pill today?”
One was the Eternal Chosen, leaving the main force, taking risks all alone just so the loyal demon dragon Marvo could die quickly and escape Jima’s torment. The other was Gelt, the master of death, capable of commanding over ten thousand quality undead troops, leading the charge himself. If only the leader of the undead army fell, it would be akin to half the undead forces collapsing.
Gelt waved his magic staff, golden powder raining down from the tip, “Alchemy! The ultimate alchemy!” The imperial emperor blurted out, instantly recognizing the terrifying spell his friend was best at. “He intends to extinguish our last glimmer of hope!”
As Jima soared, she glanced down at the chaotic battlefield. The flying Barito knights had lost their momentum, bogged down among soldiers; their flying mounts required a run-up to take off, but the demonkin wouldn’t allow it.
This was the best possible moment to annihilate the last and only advantage of the order.
The imperial emperor raised the Sigma Hammer high, the hammer glowing once more, boosting morale: “Soldiers! Protect the holy relics, prepare to break through!”
George’s command was concise: “Concentrate fire!”
As he spoke, he raised his hand, firing a red laser like a spotlight, illuminating the golden mask of Sigma in the night sky.
Jima lifted her “branch rifle,” which began to chatter again, crying out, “Quick! Give it to me! No, I don’t want to shoot anymore!”
“Shut up!”
“Bang bang bang!”
Bullets were fired toward Gelt, with the slaughtering technology from Earth proving only moderately effective against the powerful Gelt.
Gelt merely waved his hand, the bullets rushing toward him transforming into lead and copper streams, scattering in the air. The arrows shot by Yveth Frostleaf were proven ineffective, stopping short against an inexplicably appearing oval metal shield.
“Shoot him down! Shoot him down!”
“Quick, help me pull my dwarf rifle from this damned demon’s mouth!” the butcher dwarf engineer cried, banging an axe against a floating plate while tugging at his rifle from its mouth.
Swordsman Henry rushed over to help while the arrows shot by the wood spirit Kaelen landed directly on the guards surrounding Gelt.
His spell was about to complete, the distance closing, and Jima could already sense the horror of this spell. Suddenly, she remembered a notebook on alchemy she had acquired in Marin City—the author appeared to be named Gelt.
Why are there so many geniuses these days?
As Jima fired her weapon, she backed away with one wing, retreating from the spell’s range; as the master of transformation, she could perceive that the spell’s area was centered on the battlefield below, aimed at destroying the Barito knights.
Red letters appeared over Jima’s head: “George, retreat!”
Too far; communicating verbally wouldn’t suffice.
As expected, George used his dwindling magical energy to force himself into a mythical state, his wings of light unfurling as he flew straight toward Gelt, trying to create a miracle.
But the miracle didn’t happen.
Gelt ceased waving his magic staff, gripping it as though it were the sword of power, pointing it directly at the Barito knights amidst the melee, determining their fate.
The ultimate alchemy was activated.
In the battlefield, the bloodthirsty demon swung his dual axes, preparing to cleave the holy grail knight beneath him, his body elongating and pausing, visibly transforming into gold at an observable speed, ultimately becoming a golden statue. Not just him, all the demonkin witnessed themselves gradually turning into gold…
