Chapter 49: Facing the Past
Magic is not a good thing. The energy of magic comes from the magical wind, and most demons must rely on this magical wind to maintain their form in the mortal realm, especially demons.
Therefore, when the magical wind blows fiercely in a certain place, the happiest beings, apart from the mages manipulating the magic wind, are probably the demons.
The intersection of the demon realm and the mortal world creates rifts, signaling a large-scale invasion unless the rifts can be closed in time.
The fissure hanging above the manor fortress is red, with piles of bluethings continuously falling from above, crashing down among the mob. The blue things are deformed and ugly, resembling human chests, haphazardly adorned with arms and legs from a drunken man.
Chaotic, but everything is different. They make a ruckus, attacking the mob and soldiers, shouting, “In the name of our lord George! In the name of our lord George!”
“Indeed, he has fallen!” a soldier shouted angrily, drawing his sword to kill the monsters, slicing a red creature in half with just one strike.
But the two halves of the corpse immediately healed at a visible speed, this healing contradicts the law of conservation of mass, as one half of the body grew into another half, meaning one monster turned into two, and their color changed to blue.
A face emerged from their bodies—faces in different positions, smiling, cursing, and crying.
Soon, the mob and soldiers realized that the enemy was quite difficult to deal with. Ordinary wounds healed instantly, and even if a lethal blow was struck, the opponent would simply split into two halves.
A knowledgeable priest immediately identified, “Low-ranked demons of the Lord of Metamorphosis!”
But it was far from over. A bald man in broken black armor fell from the rift, resembling the demon king Kima, surrounded by several monstrous creatures that looked like sharks, shrieking and flying in the sky.
Then came squads of Chosen Ones donned in heavy armor, wielding massive red axes, jumping down from the rift and breaking the roof with their heavy weight.
The Chosen Ones are terrifying heavy infantry, clad in demonic armor, wielding demonic weapons, blessed by evil gods, and their unclean aura emanating upon their arrival made the infuriated mob instantly fearful, turning to flee.
But it was too late, as the two Chosen Ones, having fallen from over twenty meters above, blocked the only escape route at the entrance. The mob surged out like crowds disembarking from a train station.
The two Chosen Ones swung their heavy axes as if cutting wheat, effortlessly cleaving several bodies beside them; their pace did not falter, and the slaughter did not slow them down.
In just two short minutes, they walked over the bodies of no less than a hundred mobs, firmly advancing toward the manor fortress, easily smashing through the wooden doors blocked by earth walls.
The earth wall erected by Eve Frostleaf had troubled the mob for quite some time, but before these two Chosen Ones, it crumbled like a wafer cookie.
“We are surrounded!”
George was engaged in combat with the Chosen One that had fallen through the hole in the roof. The twelfth strike claimed the life of his opponent, who must have been blessed by the filth. With one powerful blow, George smashed the opponent’s head, but the blood flowing from him was fiery red molten iron.
All around were enemies; the walls had no obstructive effect in battles of this level. The room’s walls were shattered as several Chosen Ones wielding huge axes charged in, while dozens of floating sharks swooped towards Jenna and Eve Frostleaf.
Under Jenna’s divine protection, Eve Frostleaf, wounded and bleeding, leaped from the second floor, intending to navigate the battlefield’s edge for guerrilla tactics.
“Die, all of you!”
A familiar voice echoed as the demon king Kima charged directly at Eve Frostleaf. George showed no surprise, transforming into a beam of light that leaped over several powerful Chosen Ones, delivering a Holy Slash toward the demon king Kima.
The clash of swords burst forth with dazzling brilliance.
“Interesting!” The demon king Kima sprouted blue wings from behind and flew into the air, as several floating sharks lunged at George. He had to deal with them: “Last time you ganged up on me, now it’s my turn to gang up on you; you’re dead!”
“You are not Demon King Kima,” George glanced at Kima behind Jenna and said, “You are fake.”
“So what?” Kima spread his wings, which emitted a rainbow of light, covering the entire manor fortress, “In the eyes of others, you are a fallen paladin, summoning us for collusion.”
The illusion distorted the exterior perception of the manor fortress.
To outsiders, it appeared that George could not withstand the pressure and revealed himself, using his fallen powers to summon a horde of filthy creatures like demons and hellish beings.
The slaughter of the righteous crowd and soldiers provided ample proof. And there was George on the second floor, joyfully embracing the demon king Kima, which was the clearest evidence.
Someone exclaimed, “The dragon-slaying boy has turned into an evil dragon.”
“Jenna!” George cleaved a floating shark in half and shouted, “Quick! Change the words above!”
Jenna was just about to act when a Chosen One blew a horn, unleashing a grotesque swarm formed of maggots, green sludge, vomit, and faces of flies towards Jenna.
Jenna braced her shield with one hand, blocking this blow and the assault from three Chosen Ones, forced to multitask. Her ears filled with countless bird calls that distracted her. Yet Jenna managed to hold on, the grand letters on the manor fortress changed to red:
“Help! Help! Help!”
George met a Chosen One with a Holy Slash, cleaving him dead in one strike. He shouted, “Breakthrough!”
But the relentless stream of enemies made it difficult for them to move an inch.
“You cannot escape; I have sealed the dream.” The demon king Kima revealed his true form, surprisingly appearing as an old man with murky, white eyes, sporting a pair of blue wings. He looked at Kima and asked, “The one who knows the orcs best in the Empire, do you remember me?”
Kima, holding a branch axe-spear, retorted, “Who are you?”
“It doesn’t matter, as long as you die, the Lord of Metamorphosis will reward me.” The blue-winged old man raised his staff and chanted, “Because soon, the Eternal Chosen will arrive.”
He mumbled incantations, and after just a few verses, several ghostly blue arrows pierced through his frail body.
It was Eve Frostleaf, this high elf, who, with her long legs, managed to accurately fire a death arrow from a hundred meters away while besieged by over thirty floating sharks.
Yet the blue-winged old man’s body shattered like glass. It fit the style of the Lord of Metamorphosis’s power—it was an illusion, and four identical blue-winged old men were generated. A crow perched on one shoulder and shouted:
“How pathetic! You will never guess where my true body is! You will always be fooled by me.”
At this point, George understood.
The root cause of all this was the old man with wings before him, and it had nothing to do with Kima.
However, George had no time to think further as a strong oppressive force descended from the sky. He had nearly a 360-degree field of view, and without needing to look up, he saw the rift above, which had broken half the roof, gradually expanding into a circle with the old man’s chant.
Once circular, a vague yet powerful figure appeared, riding a black dragon, the figure becoming clearer with the incantation.
He wore jagged black armor, and pale hair flowed from beneath a mask; the source of the oppressive force emanated from him.
This was George’s first encounter with the Eternal Chosen, yet it did not stop him from instantly recognizing the figure as Demon King Marus.
“Breakthrough!” George shouted again, “We will have reinforcements!”
The crow on the old man’s shoulder laughed, and he himself bore a smile, but he had to chant, preventing him from laughing out loud.
No one would trust George; even his defense—the words on the manor fortress—were twisted by the Lord of Metamorphosis’s power into “Come quickly, I want to kill you.”
The Lord of Metamorphosis truly cherished himself. He had originally harbored some doubts; his plan was to wait for George and his group to break through, then to take advantage of the situation rather than directly assault the fortress.
What if he couldn’t deceive them? The crowd outside, a large number of Kisliff’s army, were all enemies; once discovered, his plan would likely fail.
But now, there was no sound of hooves.
George had been abandoned; no one believed this honest paladin. He rescued others from slavery, yet they suspected he would betray his oath and harm them.
The Duke of Kisliff felt irked with George, as he accused him from a moral standpoint, and he found it difficult to rebut. Now, the fact that George had “fallen” allowed him to vent his anger.
So it turns out that this so-called savior of the world paladin is just a hypocrite.
“What are you still waiting for?” The Duchess rode up to her husband.
“My lady,” the Duke of Kisliff said coldly, “Waging war is not your forte; we must understand the situation before we can eliminate the fallen George.”
In his view, his wife was eager to eliminate the “informed.”
“Are you out of your mind?” the Duchess countered. “We should be saving George. Don’t you realize this is the evil god’s plot? He is struggling inside! Are you all going to cowardly watch a righteous warrior die?”
“A plot?” People are more willing to believe what they see; the Duke of Kisliff pointed at the bold red words on the manor fortress, “He declared war on us.”
The Duchess shouted, “That can be twisted and altered.”
“Who knows whether it’s true?” the Duke of Kisliff said, “I also saw the demon king Kima embrace him.”
“Impossible! He is trying to kill George!”
The Duchess grew furious, scolding:
“You are not a man; you cower here because George kept his oath not to tell you whether or not I was defiled by the demon king.”
She took a deep breath and shouted: “Yes, I am one of the women he rescued. Are you satisfied now? Finally, can you take your sword and declare war on the demons, my dear cowardly husband?”
The Duke of Kisliff’s face flushed with rage: “It’s not like that, you bitch, defaming me.”
“Are you still a man?” The Duchess slapped him: “I’ve admitted it in front of everyone; why are you still concerned about your pride?”
The Duke of Kisliff, both angry and ashamed, immediately gave the order: “Everyone! Charge! We must save George.”
