Chapter 89

Malthael’s skin and wings, slicing through the sky at hundreds of kilometers an hour, burned red with frictional heat.

As soon as Bel’s barrier over Valerand dissolved, this jet-black skinned monster spread its wings and flew toward the eastern sky with all its might, never looking back. It was only a matter of moments for the creature to escape the dark, murky expanse of Valerand.

The pitch-black earth of Valerand was no longer visible; now, it was soaring above an unknown, tranquil mountain range.

Even though it was hundreds of kilometers away from the battlefield, Malthael remained vigilant.

The opponent was that swordmaster.

It could no longer use its variants to attack the wounded and bind the swordmaster’s feet as it had done before. Grisha was by the side of the wounded, and if a cleric of that caliber decided to raise a defensive barrier, their own forces would not be able to break through it.

Perhaps Raguel hadn’t even lasted a full minute against the swordmaster.

The chase must already be underway, and either it or Mikael would die by the swordmaster’s hand.

‘It doesn’t matter which one of us survives.’

In Malthael’s estimation, Mikael was a remarkably competent overlord. He held hundreds of high-ranking mages hostage and forced them to study magic every day, meticulously uncovering the weaknesses of countless spells.

His military knowledge and ability to handle unexpected situations might be inferior to its own, but given forty or fifty years of experience, even those shortcomings would…

“Uwaaah!”

“aaah……”

Whoosh!

A gigantic, golden orb of unknown origin flashed through the corner of Mikael’s vision as it flew along, wings fully extended.

…and an unidentified scream to go with it.

“……?”

Maltiel, caught off guard, could only halt his wingbeats. He couldn’t grasp what was unfolding.

A Sword Saint? No, if a Sword Saint had chosen him, his head would already be separated from his torso before such a thought could even form.

Not a Sword Saint. Then, that golden orb from just now… what was it?

“One point. Lacking. Union and Compression.”

A faint spark erupted from below, piercing through the dense trees.

A chill, carried on the air, grazed the back of Maltiel’s neck. The Archlord’s distinct, razor-sharp survival instinct screamed at him to move, now.

He obeyed the primal command without hesitation, spreading his wings and accelerating head-on.

“Bolt.”

In the next instant, a blinding white flash surged from amidst the trees.

Billions of volts of electricity, riding the air, shot forth, precisely piercing the spot where Maltiel had been hovering.

The surrounding air began to ionize. The immense energy of the electrical discharge transferred an incredible amount of heat to the nearby atmosphere. Soon after, a rising current ascended, carrying the ionized air high into the sky.

Maltiel lowered his gaze toward the pillar of light. Trees were ablaze, and vaporized moisture formed a faint mist, enveloping the area.

Through the raging flames, a white-haired old man emerged. Dressed in a robe caked with mud, wielding a large staff in both hands – unmistakably a mage.

‘…Quite a skilled one, even among the 8th Circle. Magic power pulses, threatening to overflow, and his eyes are so cold and collected that the word dispassionate feels too warm . But…’

Maltiel offered a faint smile to the mage beneath him.

“So, the Sword Saint chose Michael after all.”

The next moment, Maltiel vanished without a trace from the air.

A belated gust of wind twisted the rising current high in the sky, and then, with a deafening crash, the ground beneath the white-haired mage trembled.

Trees uprooted all around, some of them slamming into the leaf-covered ground.

The fallen trees started tumbling downhill along the mountain path. Leaves that had been thrown skyward by the impact collided with the burning trees, turning to ash in an instant.

With each of Maltiel’s strides, the entire mountain shuddered.

‘…Quite the impetuous one.’

The white-haired mage, Alter Heindel, thought this as he turned toward the Archlord who had landed directly beside him.

Under normal circumstances, Maltiel wouldn’t have thrown himself so aggressively against a mage whose capabilities he hadn’t fully assessed. He would have first deciphered the opponent’s magic, analyzed their weaknesses, and then formulated a strategy to slowly constrict their breath.

But the situation was far from normal now.

With the Sword Saint who flew towards Mikael, it was impossible to know when he would deal with his compatriot and arrive here.

Even at the risk of danger, it was imperative to quickly eliminate any mages who would impede them and flee immediately.

‘There are no escorting soldiers around the mage. Have they not yet formed their ranks? If I’m going to make my move, it’s better to act as quickly as possible.’

Dark light gathered in Maltiel’s clenched fist. Like a gauntlet, the darkness wrapped around Maltiel’s hand, and that darkness began to devour the light that flames and the sun scattered in all directions.

Alter Heindel felt a chilling sensation, as if a blade were pressed against the back of his neck, for the first time in a long while.

The dark light amassed in Maltiel’s grip swallowed everything it touched and lunged toward Alter’s head.

Less than a second before the head of the lightning-elementalist giant was shattered.

BWooo!

An unexpected horn blast filled the forest.

* * *

Planning was impossible.

We didn’t have even the smallest window of opportunity to devise a strategy.

No matter how experienced and skilled the soldiers were, none of them could have had any prior experience with riding a large golden sphere and flying through the air at speeds exceeding 300 kilometers per hour.

Most soldiers were barely managing to hug their weapons and control them so that others wouldn’t be hurt, even as they spun dozens of times in the air.

No one was thinking about what to do upon encountering Maltiel.

Except for a single soul, that is.

“All hands, rise and shine!”

The golden orb carrying us had smashed into the mountainside. Beneath our feet lay splintered branches and crumbled leaves, and my robes were thick with dirt.

I felt like I was going to vomit. My stomach lurched, and I was breathless.

“We must restrain Maltiel’s advance.”

Alter Heindel used his staff, as large as himself, to steady himself as he descended the slope. Even seasoned soldiers were reeling from the chaos, an experience unlike any they’d known, yet the old man, past eighty years, was the first to rise to his feet.

Watching Alter navigate the mountain path, I felt a surge of awe. How could he be so spry at that age?

“Take command.”

Alter looked back at me as he continued down the trail.

His unwavering gaze met mine, and I found it impossible to believe the eyes belonged to a man in his eighties.

Intense, cold, and brimming with power, the look stirred a disquieting flutter in my chest.

“I will be the bait. Use me as you see fit.”

Those were the only words he offered.

“…What, you say?”

“A point. Lacking. Unity and compression.”

Alter settled himself atop a fallen tree and raised his staff.

Mana coalesced at the tip of the massive staff, swiftly transforming into a brilliant bolt of lightning.

“General, your orders.”

Rex yanked my arm, pulling me up from where I lay sprawled on the ground.

Seeing the lightning gathering in the immense staff, my stalled thoughts began to churn once more.

“Bolt.”

Burning leaves swirled around Alter, dancing in the air. Again, a burst of fire erupted from his staff, clawing at the sky.

The moment I grasped the situation, lightning cracked from the tip of Alter’s staff. Soldiers, belatedly, scrambled down the mountain path to shield the mage.

In that instant, Alter’s words echoed in my mind.

“I will be the bait. Use me as you see fit.”

“Halt!”

Alter’s intention was clear.

“All troops, behind the trees! Lure the Archon down!”

There was no time for deep thought. The staff was already spitting lightning; the Archon would soon be lunging for Alter’s throat.

“……!”

The soldiers, hastily descending to escort the mage, froze at my command and vanished into the shadows.

The stage was set.

Now, the best course was to dance to the old man’s tune.

“Rex, the artifact!”

I couldn’t comprehend how Alter could move with such audacity. A moment’s hesitation on my part, and a life would be forfeit. It felt beyond daring, almost reckless.

A youthful exuberance.

Yes, it felt almost disrespectful to say of an octogenarian, but Alter’s actions overflowed with it.

Alter’s fervent gaze, fearless of all, flickered before my eyes once more. An incandescent fire you wouldn’t expect from a twilight elder who had accomplished achievements none could deny.

‘From now on, it’s improvisation.’

Alter had taken the drums. Signaling the music’s start with the bright crash of cymbals, laying down the foundational ‘rhythm.’

Upon the rhythm he laid down, whatever sound I layered now, that was entirely my charge. No matter what anyone said, the commander of this battlefield was I, the general.

“All forces, swarm in unison with the horn’s call! The Grand Duke is the target, do not let the opportunity slip!”

What sort of music might be born, I couldn’t truly know.

It could become merely a collection of unpleasant noise, or perhaps, a magnificent jazz might arise.

One thing was certain, hesitation was forbidden.

To harbor unease or fear was to forfeit the chance. The light lingered in place for but a moment, and we had to seize it.

There was no room to question if I truly possessed the qualities of a general, the ability to lead these soldiers.

Now, anything other than moving my hands to the drum’s beat was a wrong choice.

*Thump!*

Instantly, an immense tremor began to shake the earth beneath our feet. Uprooted trees tumbled down from above, colliding with others along the way.

Burning leaves scattered in all directions, and the jet-black light flowing from Maltiel’s hand moved toward Alter’s skull.

“Nuisance.”

The jet-black fist, in the instant it threatened to erase the old giant’s head…

*Booo!*

The war horn unleashed its cry.