Chapter 141: The Autumn of Adolf (Twenty-Seven)
Meanwhile, the high elf troops barely regained control of the center of the lost island but were facing a dire catastrophe. The remaining high elf mages descended in pairs to the ground, but even before they could land, flying demons in the sky tore the high elf archmage to pieces, turning them into ashes.
On the battlefield, the high elves were retreating in disarray; for every precious dragon that landed, a designated mage would blow a horn, fearing that the lamenting horn of the battlefield had not yet sounded. There were constantly deaths, and no one had the time to blow the horn.
The high elf commander roared loudly, commanding the injured elves fresh from the bloodbath to use their bloody bodies to block the opening rifts. “Back rift! Back rift?”
“I don’t even have an army left! Abandon the eastern rift, I know they’ve held for five hours, and only a single company remains, but…”
“Tiger! Don’t you have any spells to seal the rift in front of us?”
The frail high elf archmage gasped, “I can only conjure a few fireballs now.”
“Ah!”
Next to him, yet another archer’s corpse fell from the sky, nearly hitting a Blood Suan guard. This elf was not dead yet, having been heavily injured, and cried out in agony on the ground, which the demons exploited to demoralize the troops. The Au Suan guard quickly and cleanly pierced the heart of the archer with his red blade, granting one last mercy. Without even a glance, he had already numbly performed such mercies on countless others.
“Not good!” The head of Tiger suddenly looked up; a larger rift was appearing.
“Au Suan guard shouted: “I know! Brother.”
“Brother, you’re very irritable today.”
“Just the thought of dying with you on the same ground makes my heart ache.”
Despite saying this, the standing high elf Au Suan guard still gazed towards the direction where the rift was appearing, holding on to a last glimmer of hope, attempting to grasp at the concept of victory.
Indeed, it was towards the northwest. There lay an extensive area suitable for gathering, with obstacles being merely makeshift elven turtles and a giant dragon. The demons, under the name of the Four Gods, refrained from attacking each other and instead aligned with the demon clan, forming five distinct factions advancing in unison.
Originally, the eagle-claw ballista was aimed at this large gathering area, firing scattershot bolts, resulting in nearly twenty lethal bolts targeting the enemy. However, the firing position was besieged by a group of fierce demons, among them snarling demonized scorpion-tailed lions, causing the eagle-claw ballista to ignite completely.
The defensive high elf force in this direction was so sparse that it could only form a thin spear wall, and this thin spear wall was established at the cost of sacrificing the northeastern direction, which held firm to the end.
In the northeast, on the last ancient dragon star under the high elves’ command, the final dying high elf spearman clung desperately to the flagpole, shouting before dying: “Tell the Au Suan guard! The entire Third Company died because of him!”
Five streams of different colors surged towards the northwest’s thin spear wall, breaking through iron defenses at several points. The Au Suan guard, now without reserve troops, had prepared his sword, ready to fight alongside.
And the rift appeared behind the spear wall, immense and towering at fifty meters high, compared to the other rifts, it seemed like drifting snow and snowflakes.
“Boom!” The Au Suan guard’s throat was dry, “Why? How can this rift emerge within our ranks?”
“It’s too powerful, breaking through…”
The high elves prided themselves as the first race to explore magic in the world; their magical language was the pinnacle of the world. They could tear apart barriers, creating rifts behind their formations…
Before the enemy emerged, we had already lost.
Tiger sneered: “Yes, brother, you’re going to die alongside your brother.”
The ground trembled, and the source of the quake came from the great rift, as rows of new guards armed with shields and black stone battle-axes surged from the great rift. Their mouths smeared with the blood of sacrifices, standing nearly two and a half meters tall, the high elf warriors stood before them like bean sprouts.
Next emerged an ancient triceratops, enormous beyond comparison, especially with a boulder-like creature resembling a squatting toad on its back, as bulky as a small hill; the two looked like a moving fortress. It was the reigning priest of the Slaughter Society, and this one was the oldest in existence.
The hot-blooded tribe really needed to clean up; this priest of Slaughter, perturbed, shouted at the high elves: “How can you lowly servants with your rudimentary magic not even manage this nursemaid plan?”
“Kill? Cut?” The giant beast, standing about four meters tall, approached him. This white giant lizard was adorned with various golden ornaments, now flaunting the noble medals of the Slaughter Society.
The priest of Slaughter commanded, “Crush.”
Behind his ancient triceratops mount, a flood of beast-kings, the colossal triceratops were now appearing, spirits pulling on their backs. The roaring tyrannosaurus and the glowing unknown entities of ancient triceratops loomed large.
The size of these beasts was staggering, and the thunder of their approach was terrifying; even the thunderstones seemed to jump high for them.
Compared to the last high elves, the spear wall they formed was laughable, like an attempt to use a fence against a frenzied storm.
The priest of Slaughter disdainfully remarked: “For the grand plan, behold the strength of the ancient holy sons, you foolish hot-blooded servants.”
Having said that, the proud priest of Slaughter opened a path, respectfully stating, “Master, you have arrived.”
There sat the long-dead priest of Slaughter, bound in cloth strips, in a floating stone chair; he was the master. He had been dead for tens of thousands of years, yet he did not acknowledge his death, thus he had not died, and his soul raised its right hand.
The high elf organized frontline in the northwest already spoke of the sun, rapidly expanding, bursting forth with a light that overwhelmed all vision.
The light was blinding, leaving only a scorched earth. The tide of demons and devils, like corpses, became a collective softness, leaving only a group of high elves with tear-filled eyes, looking blankly at the enemy as they fell, while they remained unscathed.
The Au Suan guard could hardly believe it.
“Yes, brother,” Tiger, knowledgeable, stated: “That’s a high elf.”
Just as he spoke.
The pack of beasts asked questions, aiming their horns at the tide of demons. The scorpion-men warriors riding white-boned cold lizards exuberantly swung their black obsidian blades, with demon heads hanging behind. They surged from the great rift, eager to charge.
Group after group of wyverns flew out from the rift, with spirit lizard riders shouting, wielding fire chains in their hands, some lifting obsidian spears to争夺 territoty with the demons.
The Au Suan guard felt goosebumps rise; the ugly yet proud priest of Slaughter now looked exceedingly adorable.
And in Adolf.
The war clouds seemed to disperse due to the brave acts of the Bartos knights.
Before the knights lay hope. It was this city, on the verge of breathing its last, that cherished the most valuable thing.
Countless demons astonishingly fell in batches, their corpses framing the boundary of a three-person battlefield; these three were gladiators fighting to the death in an arena.
Eve Luye and Jenna, stationed on the rooftops, stood as spectators.
They were already at the end of their strength, desperately holding on through the demonic frenzy.
Currently, the situation was such that the order’s side was born to try. Although Jima had slipped several times, teetering on the edge of losing control, her curse of using strength to oppress the weak negated the disadvantages of the Eternal Chosen, turning momentum into advantage.
And this advantage could be chewed away little by little through sacrifice and blood. Now, this situation allowed the exchange of sacrifice for advantage, which in their hearts was almost like a blessing from the divine.
George’s father regained morale; at this moment, he centered himself, his breathing frantic, now completely jumbled, yet mounted on a silver Pegasus, his legs felt weak, though he was still fierce, having killed quite a few strong adversaries; even the empire’s emperor fell beneath his sword.
Facing such enemies, George’s father repeatedly shouted at the top of his voice: “Goddess protect us!”
His hand tightly gripped his knight’s sword, preventing further trembling.
The Bartos knights, fearless of death, rushed to join the fray; under the fierce attack of the warrior’s Chosen, the tense situation barely caught a breath, but at the cost of the exploded knights, shattered helmet and crest pieces flying, alongside noble silver Pegasus feathers.
“Charge! Charge!”
The imperial soldiers surging around fought their way out of the demon’s encirclement, resolutely diving into this battlefield, trying to exchange their lives for victory.
“Protect the demon king?”
“Which demon king?”
The demon clan and demons wavered; the conflict between demon and demon dividing victory and defeat was a sacred tradition, after all, the powerful god clan was there too; although it couldn’t be calculated in the short term, the order soldiers, that was also part of the power; the demon clan didn’t hold much regard for collusion.
However, there were still some elites of the exterminating army, eager for the first Chosen, enduring Jima’s half-dead curse, charging forward, using their lives as weights to place on the tray of the Eternal Chosen’s side.
However, the weights exchanged with lives on the order’s side were even heavier.
At some point, the sky had been shrouded in orange dawn, heralding the impending eruption from below the horizon; the night before dawn had passed.
Amidst the dim populace, the Eternal Chosen once again struck down Jima above the trap group with a single sword, standing atop the nearly exploded remains of flesh, he looked down upon the many approaching him, shouting:
“Do you think you can kill me?”
With this, he swung his sword, exploding a silver Pegasus knight, who whinnied, its wings and feathers flying apart.
George, focused—he should be focused to prevent others from sacrificing for naught. But he felt the silver Pegasus looked familiar; wasn’t that the one he gifted to Jima? His gaze then fixed on the knight whose body had been blown away.
He had crashed to the ground, leaning against a corpse, the polished steel beast corpse glimmered. His face bore a resemblance to George’s.
Is it grandpa?
In an instant, a myriad of complicated emotions surged in George’s heart.
George’s father was severely injured; a sword had slashed across his chest, one forearm blown off, broken ribs visible through his chest. A knight of his caliber on such a battlefield could only serve as cannon fodder, exchanging himself in a struggle of equal strength. His barrel helmet was dented, bouncing along the ground.
He was dying, but maybe there was still a chance for saving.
But George could not stop his steps because of this; he did not stop, charging towards the Eternal Chosen over piles of corpses.
George’s father barely lifted his head to look at George’s back.
His eyes sparkled like light, yet appeared void. Was it pride for me? Or was he blessing me to complete the final honorable path? Or had he corrected his previous prejudices against me? Perhaps wanting to apologize.
Thinking of grandpa, but George did not turn to ask, the battle was urgent, not allowing him to inquire.
He did not know he had a 360-degree view; he did not know I was watching him, nor did he know that before he died, I might give him one last glance for farewell.
Just as George was about to turn.
Jima, already grown back partial upper body, shouted in unison with branches: “Come on! Come on!”
Pouncing towards the Eternal Chosen.
George then realized he was distracted; in this battle, no luxury of distraction could be afforded—if only for a moment, he could not give his father a final glance for farewell.
George still did not know what his father was thinking before he died, nor did he know what his father’s last words were, which he could never know.
His sword gained an extra measure of hatred.
