Chapter 270: Chapter 268 – Matches (Part Two)
Although Gregory claimed to be old, he immediately straightened his back, not even glancing at the body of his fallen comrade beside him, his murky eyes fixed directly on the Mother of Beasts shrouded in smoke.
It was as if the cough just now was merely an illusion.
“Jemma,” George looked at Jemma and asked, “Can you bring Jenna here?”
“She isn’t on standby at the Dream Palace; she’s dealing with the plague for the Emperor,” Jemma shook her head, “But I can summon that kid Arcanis.”
George immediately shook his head, saying, “He seems unreliable.”
“You can drop the ‘seems.’ Aside from being loyal to the Emperor, he does as he pleases; he’s a free man.”
Gregory, standing in front of the dilapidated wooden wall, lectured, “George, unexpected situations always arise without preparation.”
“You’ve said that three times now,” George replied.
“I want you to be prepared,” Gregory said, “Be ready for the fact that I might die here.”
Today, the Blood God rejoiced. Many beings perished here, and in front of this shattered line of defense lay a layer of charred corpses: minotaurs, massive beasts, horned beasts, knights, infantry aides… and there were plenty of bodies within the line of defense as well. To avoid stepping on his comrades’ bodies, George had to pile them together.
No one could guarantee that they would come out alive.
Even so, George still found it hard to accept. He said:
“How could this be? None of us will die. We have faced many hardships before, but we’ve pulled through every time, winning victory, and this time will be the same.”
Gregory responded:
“George, you are a once-in-a-century genius. You accomplish every task the Sanctuary gives you, and you’ve never failed, but no matter how glorious the past, it cannot ensure the present. My child, I have a foreboding that I will die here today, but do not grieve for me. Look at the bodies of my comrades on the ground—they went into battle bare to atone for their sins, and I do not mourn for them after their death.”
“Because I know they have found redemption, and my redemption shall come today. Is there anything to fear about death?”
George raised his hand, pointing to the smoke-filled ground below, where the Mother of Beasts was soothing her herd, organizing them.
She noticed George, the voluptuous beauty with skin like a lamb, raising her head, smiling at him from afar.
“As long as I can kill her beforehand,” George said, “everything will be resolved.”
Gregory’s old face broke into a smile. “That is the second thing you need to prepare for.”
“Second thing?”
“Keep your girlfriends at a distance. I need to tell you something, so be prepared,” Gregory said. “Originally, I planned to tell you after she was dead, but I didn’t expect us to be forced to this extent. If I didn’t tell you in advance and you found out during battle, it might distract you.”
“I trust them.”
Gregory’s murky gaze met Jemma’s, and although his look was literally ‘fiery,’ Jemma showed no sign of backing down; she was also very curious.
The beastmen below seemed to be preparing, and the Mother of Beasts was extremely eager to organize an attack as soon as possible.
“I’ll be straightforward; time is short,” Gregory said. “I’ve told you before that when I was a shepherd boy, I saved a witch who was being hunted by witch hunters.”
Jemma squinted her eyes, could it be that witch was on the other side?
Such reasoning made sense. Humans could suddenly awaken terrifying magical talents; different countries had various names for them: some called them sorcerers, others psychic practitioners, some called them mages, hybrids, heretics, and so on.
Because once they were unable to control their own magic power, it often resulted in an explosion, creating a rift to the demon realm. Moreover, they would attract the attention of demons, standing out like a beacon in the night, making deals with devils and generating significant news—it was absolutely normal.
As for why this happened? Even Jemma didn’t know; perhaps it was the pollution of their souls by magic. Anyway, normal women would be polluted and give birth to beastmen or mutants, and anything strange happening from that would not be surprising.
“Yes, back then you wanted to persuade me to give up Jemma,” George said. “She accepted the devil’s terms, sacrificed your homeland, and afterward, you killed her to atone. You’ve been nagging me about this since I was young, and I could recite it word for word.”
“I wasn’t skilled enough back then to completely kill her,” Gregory said. “She’s now on the other side, creating more tragedies. She was already very talented and wouldn’t age, becoming stronger, while I grow old and did not have the chance to eliminate her. But after all, I once burned her soul, so she fears me, afraid of my flames purifying her.”
“We have discussed the battle plan,” George said. “I will cut through her flesh, you will burn her body.”
“Patience, child.”
“I am about to get married.”
Gregory said, “There’s something I’ve never told you.”
Jemma held her breath, and Eve Frostleaf’s pointed ears perked up; even her bowstring-hand stopped momentarily.
“I previously signed a contract with the Mother of Beasts, witnessed by the God of Dawn. Whoever breaks the contract will be punished.”
Then, Gregory fell silent.
George said, “Ever since the Mother of Beasts burst into flames before me, I guessed it. You could say we all guessed it. You are getting older, and your speech lacks focus.”
“I must honor that contract, especially now,” Gregory said. “I can only have you think of unexpected events, wishing your heart is sincere and steadfast, untouched by defeat and surprise.”
“Is there anything else to say?”
“Yes.”
The two listening women perked up with interest again.
Gregory looked at the curious Jemma and said, “Always be wary of succubi.”
This was no exaggeration. George’s ears were nearly calloused from hearing it, and even Jemma remained unperturbed. This old fox, who loved to burn things, never failed to mention Jemma whenever he met George.
It has practically become his character trait.
George couldn’t even be bothered to respond, and Gregory shook his head at George’s demeanor, remaining silent, perhaps wanting to say more.
Below, a series of beast roars echoed from the front.
“Prepare for battle!” George raised his golden sword high. “I am with you.”
The herd surged towards the crumbling line of defense. Ten minutes into the battle, the earthen wall was gone, turned to rubble.
But the extraordinary beings fighting on the ruins were even more resilient than the city walls, firmly anchoring themselves on the ruins, holding off the herd. Reinforcements continuously arrived from the rear, providing fresh meat for this blood mill.
The knights endowed with extraordinary power fought valiantly among the ruins against the progeny of the Mother of Beasts. Arrows and magic flew through the sky, while vicious curses continuously harmed the flesh of living beings.
Constantly, mortal armies arrived here, either pulverized into flesh, or fleeing due to the influence of “demonic extraordinary matter” and bloody combat, only to be driven back to the battlefield.
Jemma swept through the low air, using the power of pain, moving as fast as lightning. She plunged her axe spear into a minotaur’s armor and glided past; a fresh red tongue extended from the axe spear, burrowing into a small wound, yanking hard to draw out a large amount of blood.
The already wounded minotaur could no longer grasp its heavy weapon, wavering and then killed by the knight below.
At that moment, Jemma felt a powerful magic gathering.
What was going on?
Jemma flew into the air, observing her surroundings.
Due to both sides over-utilizing battlefield spells, conjuring a terrifying spell like a fire vortex had become increasingly difficult.
What kind of powerful force was integrating the chaotic magic?
Below, Jemma saw the Bartò army continuously passing through the camp to provide support.
Thanks to covering warships offshore, the beastmen couldn’t completely encircle this place. Bartò’s noble army had a stable rear and could continuously support the front lines.
No one was casting spells.
The fog had thinned significantly, and visibility had greatly improved.
Jemma’s gaze followed the reinforcements, leading her to see the expansive ocean at the rear of the army and several orange flames.
What a big fire.
After marveling for a second, Jemma reacted.
Hey, where did the warships that were originally stopped at sea go? Several of them, particularly large.
Upon closer inspection, wasn’t the burning fireball in the sea the Bartò warships?
Dozens of purple-black longboats, like water snakes, rapidly approached the coast through the blazing fireballs, with rowers exerting force on both sides.
Dark elf pirates, clad in purple-black scale armor and wearing sea dragon skin cloaks, stood at the bows of the ships, drawing their blades and pointing at the panicked Bartò people on the shore, ordering, “Hurry! Kill them all!”
The knights stationed at the rear hastily gave orders, driving the farmers and instructing the soldiers to form ranks.
The knights shouted, “Block them! Block them! Stop them on the beach! Otherwise, none of us will survive.”
The farmers stood behind the barricades, drawing their bows. Counterweighted trebuchets were ordered to pivot and aim at the sea. Although several warships burning with an astonishing speed severely impacted the morale of the soldiers, they managed to respond quickly.
As expected from knights who had followed the Lionheart in holy wars in the desert.
But when a massive object broke through the mist on the sea and appeared in the Bartò people’s sights, both the unworldly old farmers and even the most knowledgeable knights were stunned.
It was a small island floating on the sea, as large as a college town, with a port and constructions all over it, surrounded by towering walls; it was a pitch-black moving fortress that could float on the sea.
“The Black Ark, heaven.”
Jemma called out the name of the fortress. This was precisely the key for dark elves to contend with high elves over the ocean.
It was said that this black ark originally was a byproduct of the internal conflict during the elf family division, where someone attempted to create chaos through a great whirlpool, blasting a portion of the land. The fragments of land were used by dark elves with magic to create the black ark.
The Warlock stood atop this black ark, dressed in black armor and wearing a bronze mask that concealed his burned face; he was the highest ruler of the dark elves.
Below him, a new batch of sacrifices was ready. Thousands of slaves and captives awaited their execution, and barely clothed dark elf women prepared for the massacre.
The Warlock swung his blade without a shred of mercy.
The massacre began.
The dark elves quickly killed the slaves in various ways, creating carnage as sacrifices for Cain.
Their souls were gathered, turning into magic and terrifying spells, hurling toward the Bartò people on land.
On the black ark, those spikes aimed at the sky all lit up with purple light, and clusters of red flames fell from the sky, crashing into the Bartò encampments.
————
Today, Volume Two, Chapter Forty-Two has been delayed due to being unsatisfied with it; I have decided to rewrite it, hence the delay.
Additionally, thank you all for your good temper. Just so you know, today marks the sixth day of not being a man, and I still owe seven thousand words.
Um, I should be able to finish them in the next few days.
