Chương 93: Battle of the Salt Plains

The first wave hit the host of adventurers like a tide. Lothras had barely registered Orion, Kara and Athos disappearing over the eastern slope before the Abyssal creatures slammed into the front line. He raised the Shield of Failed Triumph and caught a lunging Thrall coming straight at him, the impact rattling his arm. The thing was lightweight, but its claws scraped against the shield's surface with a sound like nails on a chalkboard.

He bashed it back, drove his sword through its body, and watched it dissolve into dark smoke. The lower-level ones weren't much of a threat to the Paladin, but most of the adventurers were way below him in both level and skill. Another one was already taking its place. Captain Vern's knights held the center in a tight formation, interlocking their shields, spears thrusting over the top like they were trained to do. They weren't pushing forward: their orders were to hold the Count's position and nothing more.

The militias joining the host from the surrounding villages were also entering the fray, but they were mostly grouped around the knight formation, holding their ground. That left the killing to the adventurers. And the adventurers were more than happy to oblige.

"Second Wind, form on me!" Blue's voice cut through the chaos from the left flank. Her staff blazed as a Frost Lance pierced through three Thralls in a line, freezing them solid. Corral followed immediately, his Shield Rush shattering all three into fragments of ice. Behind them, Cyrus raised the Cinderbark Staff overhead and cast a single spell.

"Cinder Storm." Masses of fire erupted from the ground in front of Second Wind's formation, a storm of heat and light that carved a burning trench through the Abyssal ranks. Dozens of creatures evaporated. The ones behind them stumbled into the flames, staggered, and were cut down by the wave of players surging forward in the spell's wake. Rogues darted through the battlefield like a shadow, mowing down the mobs with incredible efficiency, not staying in one place for longer than a second.

Beside them, swordsmen fought shoulder to shoulder, with Adaptive in the center. The swordsman's blade carved clean arcs through the Thralls, not saying a word. The clerics were behind the melee players, their Mend Wounds ticking across the front line's health bars in steady pulses, keeping the fighters upright while rangers like Alysanna, with her Thornwood Recurve, shot from the third row, every arrow finding its mark.

"The second rift on the left is pouring out faster!" she called.

"More coming!" She was right. The rifts pulsed with dark energy, birthing another cluster of creatures. The Abyssal Thralls were the most common: humanoid monsters leveled 15-20. They were fast but their HP pool was nothing to write home about. There were larger monsters as well: spectral hounds that phased through shields, and even armored constructs at levels 24 and 25 that took real effort to bring down. On the right flank, Crimson Court had formed its own battle line.

Lothras recognized the coordination immediately. He might have had a couple thoughts about the guild that he kept for himself, but the reason he joined them was evident: they knew how to fight as a unit. Their tanks formed a wall, their damage dealers rotated in and out whenever they burned their cooldowns, and their healers kept the machine moving like cogs. Second Wind was mirroring their formation on the other flank. Kaelith was the most impressive rogue as far as Lothras could see.

His daggers were a blur, each strike placed quickly but carefully, finding weak spots left and right. It wasn't much of a fight for him; he was just strolling through, leaving death in his path. An Eviscerate here, a Backstab there, and the rogue was already ten meters ahead, sliding under the claws of a construct and opening its legs at the joints.

Seraphina was right beside him: the Swashbuckler's rapier was a silver thread stitching through the skirmish, her Blade Lunge carrying her from target to target faster than most players could track. A Flourish combo sent two Thralls spinning, and moments later, a Dazzling Strike stunned a construct long enough for Kaelith to disassemble it from behind. They didn't communicate verbally, but their teamwork was top-notch. Add Kara to the equation, and this trio becomes the scariest team there is.

One could see other familiar faces throughout the Salt Plains. A player called Djon anchored the center of a line consisting of future Stormfall members, his tower shield absorbing hits that would have flattened lighter players. The Guardian from Dryhollow fought like a man who'd been born holding a shield, refusing to budge. When a level 23 construct tried to barrel through the line, Djon met it head-on with Shield Strike and sent it stumbling back three meters, opening it up for the damage dealers behind him.

Lothras cut down another Thrall and took a moment to assess the field. The adventurers were holding. In fact, they were constantly pushing the monsters back. The creatures from the rifts were dangerous, but they were within the level range of most players here. For a thousand immortal warriors who didn't have to worry about permanent death, this wasn't much of a crisis. They were having the time of their lives. The problem wasn't the monsters but the rifts themselves.

Fourteen gates, pouring out creatures in an endless stream. Every Thrall that was killed was replaced by two more. The adventurers could fight all night and never clear the field if the portals stayed open. A monster lunged at Lothras's exposed side when he was checking on the clerics. Before he could react, a bolt of dark energy caught it mid-leap, wrapping around its limbs like chains. The creature froze in place, suspended, its health ticking down from a damage-over-time effect.

"Pardon the intrusion." The voice was calm, filled with a lazy undertone, as if the speaker didn't really mind being amidst terrifying creatures. Lothras turned to find an Acolyte he didn't recognize standing a few paces behind him. He had a lean build, wore dark robes, and wielded a staff topped with what appeared to be a blackened femur. His posture was relaxed, shoulders loose, weight on one hip, like he'd wandered into the wrong party and decided to stay. According to the nameplate, he was called Somnus.

"You looked busy," Somnus said, gesturing vaguely at the frozen Thrall.

"Figured I'd lend a hand. Or a curse. Same thing, really." The Thrall expired and dissolved. Somnus didn't even look at it. Before Lothras could respond, a spear punched through the chest of a Thrall that had been flanking him from the right. A Lancer appeared behind the dissolving corpse, yanking his weapon free with a practiced twist. He was wiry, with a mischievous grin, golden hair, and a laid-back attitude.

"Two on your six," he called to Somnus, already pivoting. The Acolyte didn't turn around. He raised one hand, fingers spread, and spoke calmly.

"Shadow Bolt Barrage." Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. Five bolts of dark energy erupted from his palm and streaked over his shoulder, each one finding a separate target. The two Thralls behind him staggered. A third one further back tripped over its own legs as a debuff icon appeared above its head: Enfeebled. A fourth simply collapsed, its movement speed reduced to zero. The Lancer was already among them. Spear Thrust took the first through the throat.

He pivoted into a Sweep that caught the second across its body, bisecting it. The enfeebled one tried to claw at him, but its movements were sluggish, and the player sidestepped it like a matador, driving the butt of his spear into its skull before finishing it with a downward strike. The whole exchange took four seconds. Lothras watched the duo carve through three more creatures in quick succession.

The Acolyte didn't deal as much direct damage, but everything he touched became slower, weaker, more vulnerable, while the Lancer capitalized on every single opening with the instincts of someone who'd been doing this for a long time.

"We'll reach level 19 in an hour if this continues," the Lancer stated.

"Midnight Sun'll be very happy with our performance."

"They already are, Redcap," Somnus answered.

"We've been promoted to Guild Elders, remember?"

"Ah, true," the Lancer called Redcap grinned.

"Still, this is good grinding."

"You're from Midnight Sun?" Lothras asked. Midnight Sun was considered a top five guild in the region, some even saying it rivalled the strength of Crimson Court.

"The one and only," Somnus replied, immobilizing a hound that had been phasing toward the healers.

"And you're from Crimson Court, the Paladin Lothras."

"I am."

"Charmed." Somnus raised his staff, and a pulse of dark energy radiated outward, applying a slow effect to every creature within fifteen meters. Redcap darted through the affected mobs like a fox in a henhouse.

"You're quite the topic on the forums, along with the rest of the party. People saw you constantly enter the Count's pavilion."

"You can flatter me later," Lothras said, bashing a construct with his shield.

"Those portals need to close."

"Well, I'm afraid that's above my pay grade," the Acolyte said, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather.

"But I'll keep your immediate vicinity remarkably free of nuisances in the meantime." Redcap appeared at Lothras's flank, his spear braced.

"Don't let the bedside manner fool you," he said, grinning.

"Somnus is the best debuffer in Midnight Sun. Possibly the region."

"Redcap, flattery is my department. You just stab things."

"Yes, sir." The grin widened, and the Lancer launched himself at the next wave. Lothras found himself fighting alongside them for the next several minutes, and what he saw impressed him more than he would readily admit. Somnus read the battlefield the way a chess player read a board: three moves ahead, always positioning himself where the pressure was about to become critical. Redcap was his executioner, fast and vicious, exploiting every debuff his partner applied with remarkable speed.

He's almost as good as ProDG. They were only level 18, as far as he heard, yet they controlled their section of the line more effectively than veteran players. Good, Lothras thought. We're going to need people like them for what comes nex t. The battle had been raging for nearly thirty minutes when the nature of the fight began to shift. The rifts closest to the ridge were thinning. Their output had slowed, the dark energy around their edges started flickering.

The mages on the walls were sustaining fourteen portals at once, and the strain was starting to show. The adventurers pressed the advantage. Stone was at the heart of it. The Guardian had planted himself at the base of the ridge like a boulder in a river, Aegis of the Brook basically making him immortal. Behind him, Sylph fired arrow after arrow with the kind of smooth, mechanical precision that only came from thousands of hours of practice.

A level 25 construct, the largest one yet, broke from the nearest rift and charged Stone directly. The impact drove the Guardian back half a step, but stopped dead in its tracks right after.

"That's all you've got?" Stone growled and slammed his shield forward with Chain Aggression, locking the creature's attention. Sylph's Piercing Shot took it through the eye socket a heartbeat later, and Rebecca materialized behind it, twin blades finding the gap in its armor. The construct fell. Nearby, Los Asesinos fought like a possessed unit. Verdugo was in the thick of it; the Battleaxe of Ur'Ka was a windmill of destruction.

He activated Bloodlust and turned every swing into a cleave that hit three targets at once. He was laughing.

"¡Dale, dale, dale!" he roared, splitting a hound in half.

"Rafael, on your left!" The Paladin caught the incoming Thrall on his shield and countered with Emerald Slash, the crescent wave of energy carving a line through four creatures. Behind them, Carmen's healing aura pulsed steadily, keeping the group alive, while Diego's claws shredded anything that tried to flank them. Mano Roja appeared and disappeared between targets like a phantom, his daggers finding targets with ease.

Further down the line, Disastrous was doing what Brawlers did best: getting close and making it personal. The tattooed Oakenlight fighter walked into clusters of monsters with his armored fists, each Shoulder Charge scattering groups, each Spinning Kick creating space for the players behind him. He fought without a shred of self-preservation, trusting his healers to keep him standing while he turned the monsters into experience points.

Ziestra stood behind the front, his dark bolts streaking over the heads of melee fighters. Shadow Bolt Barrage hit differently from Somnus's version: where the Midnight Sun Acolyte favored control, Ziestra favored destruction. His bolts hit one target at a time, each one detonating on impact, leaving scorched craters where the enemies stood moments ago. And in the middle of all of it, even the guild of Oathkeepers made their debut.

Lothras had seen the VODs and was familiar with the tournament's casters, but he had never seen them in action. Shieldbreaker was exactly what his name promised. The man carried an axe that was blazing with fire, and every swing bisected whatever it connected with. He fought at the center of a tight five-man formation, his voice booming orders between kills with the same energy he'd used to commentate the duels on the beaches of Oakenlight.

"Left side buckling! Thorax, rotate!" Thorax moved. His sword swept in wide arcs that cleared space around him, and when a construct broke through the line, he met it head-on with an overhead strike that split it from crown to hip. Virtune fought differently from the other two. The man moved like a wave, his rapier weaving through enemies. Not as fast as Seraphina, Lothras thought, but he has good control.

He parried more than he struck, turning enemy attacks into openings for his guildmates, and when he did attack, each thrust was placed accurately. Zenith Blade brought up the rear. The fourth commentator turned out to be a Conjurer, summoning spectral weapons that fought independently while he directed them with sharp gestures. Three phantom swords orbited him like satellites, each one intercepting attacks before they reached the Oathkeepers' backline. An hour in, the tide turned.

The rifts started wavering; the dark mages on the walls were losing control. Lothras allowed himself a moment of relief. The adventurers had absorbed everything the rifts could produce, and they'd done it without breaking. Hundreds of players, fighting shoulder to shoulder, guilds that had spent days starting rivalries against one another were now watching each other's flanks without a second thought. He looked toward the eastern slope, where Orion, Kara and Athos had disappeared an hour ago. No signal yet.

The party interface was quiet. Take your time, he thought. We'll hold. The plan didn't start as they'd hoped, but it ultimately made no difference. Now all they had to do was get to the gate around the same time the prisoners attacked Darius's rear. Captain Vern appeared at his side, his armor dented but his composure intact. The old knight surveyed the field with the sharp eyes of a career soldier.

"The portals are failing," Vern said.

"But the mages on the walls haven't moved. They're saving their strength for when we approach the gates."

"Let them," Lothras replied.

"We'll be ready." Vern studied him for a moment.

"You're young. All of you are. But you fight well."

"You're not doing so bad for your age, Captain." The knight almost smiled.

"Taking a city is not going to be the same as killing these monsters. There will be faces behind those walls that once saluted me. Men I trained."

"The Count gave the order," Lothras said quietly.

"Minimal bloodshed. We subdue where we can."

"Aye." Vern's jaw tightened.

"I intend to honor that." The first rift collapsed, and the remaining creatures were being mopped up across the field, adventurers working in coordinated groups to clear the stragglers. Ser Syrak approached at a jog, his face flushed.

"The Count requests all senior officers and party leaders at the pavilion. We're preparing the assault formation." Lothras sheathed his sword. He looked out across the Salt Plains, saw the fading rifts and the scattered remains of dark creatures dissolving in the evening light. The battle was still raging on, but they were advancing steadily. More and more portals started wavering. But he knew. The battle of the Salt Plains might have been coming to an end soon, but the battle for Tidemark was just about to begin.