Chapter 10: The Roar
What once seemed like an easily attainable victory, a battlefield that should have shone with the glory of triumph, has now turned into a bloody slaughterhouse.
From the crevices surged the flesh-hunting hounds, tearing at horse legs and pulling down wood elves. The rage demons flapped their wings, screeching as they chased after the giant eagle riders.
On the frontlines, the struggling wood elves and tree spirits awaited not the ambush from their cavalry, but the pounding of hooves and iron bulls. The bulls charged into the crowd, their heavy hooves crushing ribs with every stomp.
Above, the bloodletting wraith brandished its blade, reaping heads.
More blood god shrines joined the battlefield, trampling in from weak points in the line, crushing flesh and bone.
In this massacre, even the agile sword dancers found it hard to escape. Under the pressure of thick shields, their space for movement was constrained, and then a hand axe came down, severing their limbs and breaking their dancing legs.
The army of wood elves had retreated to their home beneath the Tree of Life—or so it seemed a rout.
Henry saw in the distance some flesh-hunting hounds charging this way and turned back, intending to shout for everyone to flee.
The red-haired sword dancer blocked him with her sword: “What are you going to do?”
“You can’t even protect your homeland,” Henry shot back. “Shall we all stay here to be buried together?”
The red-haired sword dancer’s face went pale, momentarily at a loss.
Henry almost snatched the dwarf engineer away, freeing him as the dwarf yelled about giving the long-ears a lesson. Henry shouted, “Run! The world-destroying army has taken this place.”
They rescued their stunned companions from the wood elves, who were left in shock, unsure of where to run.
But they all wanted to get as far away from the slaughterhouse behind them as possible.
Henry, bearing the great sword, led the way. Good luck returned to him; only a few flesh-hunting hounds caught up, all of which died beneath his blade.
But good fortune seemed to vanish again. This magical forest was strange and uncanny; Henry and his group once more encountered the burning slaughterhouse, the city the wood elves built in the trees was ablaze, and the leaves churned in the rising heat.
Amid the flames, Skard’s furious figure was reeling.
Henry felt a shiver down his spine, realizing that there seemed to be no one on this earth capable of withstanding such a powerful demon.
This time, he saw an old acquaintance.
The red-haired sword dancer, wounded and bleeding, was clashing with a fallen demon rider, the latter entirely encased in iron armor. Both were battered, with many of her comrades’ bodies lying on either side.
Henry rushed forward, wielding his magical great sword, and blocked the demon rider from behind alongside the red-haired sword dancer. Seizing the opportunity, he grasped the blade and thrust it through the demon rider’s armor, after which the red-haired sword dancer delivered a finishing blow.
As she gasped for breath, Henry suddenly swept his sword, and the red-haired sword dancer, exhausted, barely managed to block and fell to the ground.
With wide eyes, the red-haired sword dancer asked, “Why?”
Henry recalled the young provincial soldier who had perished, raising his sword, his eyes reddening, and asked, “Then why did you kill us?”
With that, the great sword swung down toward the red-haired sword dancer, who rolled away just in time to evade the strike.
Henry’s companions rushed over, surrounding the elven woman, while the dwarf engineer raised his firearm, aiming at the red-haired sword dancer.
“Stop! Stop!” she pleaded. “There’s no need for both sides to be harmed.”
Henry’s anger flared: “You didn’t think so just now, long-ear.”
“I can lead you out of the forest.”
Henry struggled to regain his composure and asked, “Is that true?”
“Don’t trust the long-ear’s words; my ancestors have long seen through their true nature,” the dwarf engineer said. “She will lead us into a trap, leaving only herself to escape. It is better for us to die together here.”
“I swear!”
Henry turned back to his dwindling group; the mother holding a child was no longer there.
He had promised to bring them back alive.
Taking a deep breath, he said, “I believe you.”
“Good, you’ve made a wise choice.”
“But—” Henry suddenly opened his eyes wide and struck the red-haired sword dancer in the face with the sword handle, knocking her down. “This is for my fallen comrades; lead the way, elf.”
“I should have cut your throat from the start.”
“Enough.” Henry pulled her up, regardless of her protests. “My name is Henry; what’s yours?”
Reluctantly, the red-haired sword dancer replied, “Kaelin.”
As they left, Kaelin covered her nose and couldn’t resist looking back one last time, her red ponytail flowing. She saw the Tree of Life engulfed in flames.
Skard brandished his dual axes, searching for one head after another amid the flames, futilely offering them to the blood god, hoping one day to earn His forgiveness.
Kaelin couldn’t hold it in; her eyes tinged with sadness, tears fell.
Henry tossed her a supply pack he had picked up from a corpse. “Take this; we are all refugees fleeing from our homeland now.”
Kaelin grasped the supply pack and left, following closely behind.
Behind them echoed Skard’s triumphant roar, reverberating throughout the entire forest.
…
…
Now, Skard’s roar resounded once more through the woods.
He looked up in fury, shouting, “Ahhhh!!! I’m going to cleave you filthy dogs in half! Chop you to pieces!”
The giant bald one was holding him back from behind, as Skard violently swung his axes, unable to protect his undefended belly.
George, wielding the holy sword, compared to the massive Skard, looked like a goblin giving a massage to a large green brute, yet each stab and holy slash left horrifying scars on Skard.
“Slash!”
A white light polluted arc swept by.
Skard’s lower abdomen revealed a smoking, bleeding wound; in pain and anger, he brought down an axe, slicing through the bald one’s titanium alloy armor, attempting to pull away.
“Thud thud thud thud thud!”
Jima, holding a straight branch transformed into an AR rifle, shot at his face.
The blows made his flesh ripple, infuriating him enough to throw his axe at Jima. The axe seemed to tear through space, distorting the surrounding light as it struck Jima, who transformed into a decoy, appearing behind him, weapon now a “branch axe gun,” and brought an axe down on his skull.
Skard, enraged, jumped up, yet he was unable to instantly swat away the annoying “fly,” as George and the bald one continued their assault!
George seized the opportunity to deliver a holy slash, brutally cutting into Skard’s knee. The wound was so deep that even Skard, who could ignore pain, had to kneel.
The ground trembled as the demon knights, clad in armor and riding iron warhorses, approached.
“Quick, retreat!”
Jima waved for the heavily dented bald one to revert to his original form. In front of Skard, he clutched a large pile of clothing stuffed into a bag, with a stocking still dangling beside the bag’s mouth.
George and Jima were not idle either; they gathered the loot they had stolen and a ginger cat, their figures disappearing into the charred skeletal woods.
“What beautiful jewelry,” Jima exclaimed while flying, pulling out a shiny silver headpiece from the bag. “This time we hit the jackpot; I finally have clothes to wear!”
At that moment, Skard’s defeated roar echoed behind them, resounding throughout the scorched forest.
