Chương 35: Chapter 18 Part 2

For ten brutal minutes, the Warrior Guild mercenaries and the Marquess's archers held a flawless, impenetrable line. The courtyard was littered with the bodies of crimson-robed initiates, their fanaticism broken against the sheer, disciplined might of Elyndria's finest. But zealots did not retreat. They escalated. Down in the courtyard, the tide of low-tier initiates suddenly halted, parting like a red sea.

The archers on the balconies paused, their bows drawn taut, waiting for a clear target through the lingering smoke. From the darkness beyond the shattered gates, six figures stepped forward. They wore elaborate robes of deep burgundy, adorned with the horrific, bone-white symbols of the Blood God. These were the mid-tier Blood Priests. They didn't draw weapons.

Instead, they raised their pale hands and began to chant in a guttural, soul-rending language that made the hair on Evanthe's arms stand up even through the floorboards. They weren't using their own energy. They were drawing upon the massive, fresh reservoir of death their own vanguard had just provided. The blood pooling on the cobblestones from the dozens of fallen initiates began to defy gravity. It lifted into the air, swirling and coalescing into a massive, pulsating crimson cloud directly above the courtyard.

Axel yelled a warning in elvish, his sharp eyes widening as he recognized the spell. The crimson cloud detonated, raining a torrent of highly concentrated, corrosive blood-acid down upon the defenders.

"SHIELDS UP!" Durgan roared, slamming the butt of his massive battleaxe into the stone. He pushed his newly-enhanced Earth core to the absolute limit. A massive, translucent dome of solid, golden-brown Qi erupted from his body, expanding outward to cover his shield-bearers. The blood-acid hit the dome with a horrifying, hissing sizzle. The magic was impossibly corrosive, explicitly designed to eat through spiritual defenses. Durgan grunted, his thick boots grinding into the cobblestones.

The sheer weight and acidic burn of the spell was immense, but thanks to the A-rank monster cores he had absorbed over the past week, the Vice Guild Master held firm. The golden dome flickered, but it did not break. Outside the dome, however, the acid rained down on the remaining dwarven barricades, melting the thick steel into bubbling slag in seconds. Axel didn't take cover under the dome. Relying on his blinding speed and enhanced wind Qi, the dark elf triggered his [Wind-Step] technique.

He became a literal gust of air, darting through the narrow gaps between the falling acid raindrops. He blurred toward the backlines, aiming to assassinate the Blood Priests and sever the spell at its root. He moved flawlessly, his sword flashing out to pierce the throat of the center priest. But the Cult was prepared for standard dungeon tactics. As the priest died, a dark rune on his chest violently activated. The priest's body detonated into a concussive blast of boiling blood.

Axel managed to cross his arms and summon a wind-barrier just in time, but the force of the blood-bomb sent him flying backward. He crashed hard onto the cobblestones, his leather armor smoking and his ash-grey skin severely burned along his left arm. He rolled to his feet, gritting his teeth, but his momentum was broken. The acid rain continued to pour. Durgan's nose began to bleed, the half-orc straining under the sustained magical assault. Up in the bedroom, Evanthe watched the line begin to buckle.

The guilt was no longer just a knot in her stomach; it was a physical agony.

"They can't hold out against a sustained ritual," Silas Vane muttered, furiously packing his most volatile alchemical vials into a leather bandolier.

"The Earth shield will give out, and then we are dead." But the shield didn't give out. It was broken. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. The temperature in the courtyard suddenly plummeted, not with the absolute-zero Yin frost of Evanthe's seal, but with the cold, unnatural chill of the grave. A single man walked through the shattered gates. He wore a tailored, high-collared coat of crimson and black.

He possessed a calm, calculating demeanor, and he radiated an aura of pure, condensed dark magic that made the Blood Priests look like children playing with sparks. This was Elder Derry. A higher-up of the blood cult and a terrifying villain known by the world for his evil deed. Evanthe's breath caught in her throat. She recognized the aura. It felt exactly like the man who had slaughtered her family, Sir Thorne. But this man was older, deeper, and far more powerful.

Elder Derry stopped at the edge of the courtyard, looking at the golden dome protecting the shield-bearers. He looked at the smoking form of Axel recovering his footing. He didn't look angry; he looked mildly annoyed by the delay.

"A commendable defense," Derry's voice echoed across the courtyard, magically amplified.

"But we do not have time to play with mercenaries. The vessel must be secured." Derry raised his right hand. He didn't cast a spell at Durgan. He cast a spell at his own men. The remaining dozen low-tier initiates standing near the gate suddenly screamed. Their bodies convulsed violently as Elder Derry forcibly ripped the life force and blood directly from their veins. He sacrificed them without a second thought, turning his own loyal followers into dry husks to fuel a high-tier forbidden art.

The sheer volume of harvested blood coalesced above Derry's hand, instantly compressing into a massive, ten-foot-long javelin of solidified, crimson energy. [Blood-Spear Execution]. Derry hurled the javelin. It moved faster than the eye could track. It struck the exact dead-center of Durgan's golden dome. The sound of the impact was deafening. The enhanced Earth-shield, which had bravely withstood the acid rain, shattered into a million pieces of fading golden light. The javelin didn't stop.

It pierced straight through the heavy dwarven-steel shield of the vanguard formation and slammed into Durgan's chest.

"DURGAN!" Axel screamed. The half-orc roared in agony as the blood-spear pierced his thick hide, driving him backward and violently pinning him to the cobblestones of the courtyard. The dark magic radiating from the spear immediately began to paralyze his muscles, preventing him from pulling it out. With the Vice Guild Master incapacitated, the vanguard formation shattered. The shield-bearers scattered as the remaining Blood Priests pushed forward. Axel abandoned all caution.

The dark elf pushed his wind Qi to its absolute breaking point, blurring across the courtyard directly toward Elder Derry, his sword aimed straight for the Elder's heart. Derry simply smiled. He raised a single finger. A concentrated wall of hardened blood materialized instantly, catching the tip of Axel's sword. The dark magic caught the blade and traveled down the steel. Derry flicked his wrist, and a point-blank shockwave of blood magic slammed into Axel's chest.

The sound of shattering ribs echoed through the courtyard. Axel was thrown through the air like a ragdoll, crashing violently through the stone wall of the estate's outer wing, disappearing into the rubble. Up on the balconies, General Marcen desperately ordered the archers to fire on the Elder. A volley of steel-tipped arrows rained down, but Derry didn't even look up. An invisible dome of swirling blood deflected the arrows effortlessly, snapping the wooden shafts in half. The Vanguard was completely broken.

Derry dusted off the sleeve of his crimson coat and began walking toward the main doors of the guest wing, his surviving priests falling in behind him. Up in the bedroom, Evanthe stepped back from the window, her entire body trembling. She looked at Silas Vane. The eccentric Apothecary was pale, his hands shaking as he held two volatile vials of explosive liquid. He was preparing to die defending a patient he barely knew. Evanthe looked down at her hands.

She thought of the heavy, bleeding form of Durgan pinned to the stones. She thought of Axel lying broken in the rubble. She thought of her family's guards, who had died screaming in the mud to protect her. No more, Evanthe thought, a cold, terrifying resolve settling over her heart. No one else dies for me today. She gripped the matte-black jade charm hanging around her neck.

"Apothecary," Evanthe said, her voice eerily calm despite the chaotic symphony of destruction echoing through the estate. Silas looked back at her, his eyes wide with panic.

"Stay behind me, girl. If they breach the door, I'll blow the staircase to hell."

"No," Evanthe said softly.

"You won't." She walked toward the heavy oak door.

"What are you doing?!" Silas shouted, dropping a vial and rushing to grab her shoulder.

"If you surrender, they will extract your core! You will be a husk!" Evanthe looked back at the terrified healer. She gave him a sad, fragile smile.

"My master paid you to find a cure, Silas Vane," Evanthe whispered.

"She did not pay you to die. Survive. When she returns... tell her where I went." Before the Apothecary could stop her, Evanthe placed her hand flat against the matte-black jade charm on her chest. She pushed her thumb into the center rune and pressed down hard. CRACK. The jade shattered into a dozen pieces.

An invisible, silent pulse of spiritual energy erupted from the fragments, tearing through the roof of the Vael estate, piercing the sky, and locking onto a set of golden eyes currently burning in the deepest, darkest depths of the world. The beacon was lit. The timer had started. Evanthe took a deep breath, opened the heavy oak door, and walked out into the corridor to surrender to the monsters who had slaughtered her family.