novelraw Chapter 23 : [The King of Beasts, the Grand Duke of the Dead, and the Twin Moons]
Chapter 23 : [The King of Beasts, the Grand Duke of the Dead, and the Twin Moons]
Chapter 23: [The King of Beasts, the Grand Duke of the Dead, and the Twin Moons]
Under the moonlight, the rolling hills shone pale, like dunes of piled silver sand. A faint shade of bronze-blue glimmered across them, adding a trace of chill to the night.
The desolate road wound like a massive serpent through the hills, twisting and crawling across the plains.
It was a remnant of the ancient empire’s border line—centuries ago, imperial soldiers once stood guard here, or rather, pushed the frontier forward step by step.
Until the overflow of magic gradually spread.
The wasteland, like a living beast, devoured what had once been a habitable zone.
The blight storm destroyed the forests, dust buried the fields, and corruption crept onward until it reached this place.
The creak of cart wheels echoed softly along the deserted road.
Two covered wagons laden with grain were pulled forward by fine steeds, surrounded by a mercenary escort.
Old Jock sat on the front of the lead wagon, reins in hand, glancing sideways at the silent guards flanking both sides of the convoy.
They were a group of fierce, disciplined light-armored soldiers.
Their steps were steady, their formation barely neat enough to be called orderly.
Yet their weapons were not uniform army blades, spears, or shields—instead, they carried a haphazard mix of mismatched gear: swords of varying shape and length, spears of different sizes and designs.
“Something wrong, Captain Jock?” asked the young captain of the guard.
“Oh, no, no.” Jock quickly averted his gaze. “Just thinking—indeed, your reputation as the famed mercenary company along the border, the [Wolf Banner Legion], is well-deserved.”
“You’ve always thought we weren’t fit for escort duty, haven’t you?” The young commander of the mercenaries didn’t bother with pleasantries—he simply stated it plainly.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” Jock sighed several times. “Captain Ralf, you really don’t mince words. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that this grain transport is quite important. Logically speaking, it should be escorted by someone more… professional.”
“We outnumber a regular adventurer squad, and after years of training, we’re far more skilled in formation defense and coordinated combat. Perhaps a high-level adventurer excels more in solo survival and battle, but for long-distance marches and convoy protection, I’d wager we perform better,” replied the young mercenary commander. “Where would you find someone more professional than us?”
Old Jock hesitated.
“Imperial professional soldiers,” he finally said. “By rights, this shipment’s importance warrants the Alliance borrowing a detachment of Imperial guards from a border outpost.”
“Professional soldiers would indeed do better—but as you know, they refused.” The mercenary commander shook his head. “So the task fell to us.”
“How strange…” Jock scratched the shiny bald spot beneath his merchant hat. “The Alliance and the kingdoms are all allies, and our ties with the Empire are especially close. A few years back, borrowing an Imperial guard unit to transport Alliance goods was quite common. For a border outpost commander to refuse this time…”
He pondered for a moment, then came back to himself.
“Of course, I didn’t mean to question your competence. The Wolf Banner Legion is well-known along the border for being excellent.”
“Rest assured, you’ll soon see what we’re capable of,” Ralf replied calmly.
The next second, he suddenly raised the hand crossbow gripped in his left hand and fired into the darkness ahead!
The bolt whistled through the air—only to strike a rusted iron shield and fall with a clatter.
The horses neighed in panic, spooked by something hidden in the dark. Old Jock hastily hugged one’s neck to calm it.
“Protect the wagons!” Ralf shouted.
The mercenaries swiftly shifted formation, weapons out, while a few crossbowmen raised their bucklers and hand crossbows, encircling the two grain wagons.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
A distant metallic rhythm rang out—shrill and cold, like ancient war drums.
After centuries of silence, a commander once again beat the rhythm that drove soldiers of old.
Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap—the synchronized march of countless boots echoed through the night.
Dozens of iron shields and spears advanced together, forming a deadly wall that moved slowly forward out of the darkness.
The torchlight burning on the wagon’s beast-repelling stand illuminated the foes ahead—rusted swords and shields, shattered armor and spears, and crude, broken bones.
All of it fused together by cold, cruel malice into a puppet legion—an army of death and void.
Tap-tap, tap-tap.
Their iron-shod steps fell in unison, advancing in an arc to encircle the convoy like a nightmare come to life.
“Undead?!” Ralf froze.
Why would the undead move in perfect formation? Shouldn’t they attack mindlessly, like headless flies?
The mercenaries reflexively unleashed a volley of crossbow bolts—but they struck harmlessly against the interlocked shields.
That was strange—undead weren’t supposed to defend each other or understand tactics!
There was no time to wonder. Ralf drew the heavy greatsword from his back, activated his battle art, and charged forward like a streak of steel-gray shadow—
【Charged Impact】!
With a thunderous crash, the greatsword smashed into the shield wall, cleaving an iron shield—and the skeletal warrior behind it—in half!
The sheer force shattered the undead formation, scattering the iron wall into fragments of bone.
“Mara! Rosa! Kevin! With me—take down those undead before they regroup!” Ralf roared. “Everyone else, hold your ground and guard the wagons—watch for ambushes!”
The three called-out fighters broke formation—one with a longsword, another wielding twin curved blades, and the third hefting a heavy flail—as they rushed into the scattered undead ranks.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The eerie metallic rhythm echoed again.
With each toll, the broken skeleton shield-bearers and spearmen stepped back, while several dozen skeletal swordsmen advanced, raising their corroded standard blades in unison.
They twisted their right arms elegantly, forming a precise sword-flower and slanted their blades before them, enclosing the four in the center of a formation.
Their posture was perfect—yet they did not attack.
“Wh—【Blade-Deflection Stance】! Don’t move!” Ralf shouted a warning.
But one of the twin-blade fighters was too quick, thrusting forward—
Clink! A deft parry turned aside the attack, and in the same motion, the skeleton countered with a backhand slash!
“Ah!”
The twin-blade fighter stumbled back, clutching his bleeding arm as his short blade clattered to the ground.
“That’s an advanced sword technique! Why would low-level skeletons know such a skill?!” the flail-wielding warrior cried out.
“Mara, Kevin—don’t move! Rosa, charge up a shock-type skill with me! Use sheer impact to break their Blade-Deflection Stance!” Ralf commanded.
Clang! Clang!
The metal tolls rang again, death’s summons resounding over the battlefield.
Ralf’s heart sank.
The skeletal shieldmen and spearmen, taking advantage of their distraction, reformed their encirclement—closing in toward the wagons!
“You don’t have impact-type skills! Form a guard line and protect the wagons!” he shouted. “We’ll break out now!”
The mercenaries raised their small shields and crossbows. Two swordsmen activated the low-level skill 【Sharpened Edge】, channeling spirit energy into their blades before hacking rapidly, slicing off the rusted spearheads of the undead.
Hoo-gah-gah-gah! Hoo-hoo-gah-gah! Shrill cries echoed through the night—half growl, half laugh, like some mad mix of birds and wolves.
From the shadows came the snarls of beasts.
Dozens of lean shapes darted like shadows through the undead’s legs, rushing into the encirclement.
The undead didn’t attack them—instead, they lifted their shields, allowing the beasts to pass beneath!
In an instant, the circle of iron shields turned into a hunting ground.
“Beak-Hounds!” one mercenary shouted. “A whole pack of Beak-Hounds—wait, those are—”
“Yah-oh! Oh-oh-oh-oh-ya-ya-ya!”
On the backs of some Beak-Hounds were crude saddles made of leaves—and clinging to them were round, tuber-like Rootrot Spheres!
They used their root tendrils to lash themselves to the beasts, holding bundles of Blood Thorn branches, shrieking gleefully as they hurled short spears made from Blood Thorns!
“Ahhh! Aahh!”
Several mercenaries cried out as the barbed thorns pierced their armor.
The venom’s searing pain spread instantly through their bodies—not deadly, but enough to send them writhing helplessly on the ground!
“Gah-gah-gah-gah!”
The Beak-Hounds leapt like ravens crossed with wolves, their razor-sharp beaks slashing at the mercenaries while their claws tore flesh.
In moments, the soldiers were forced away from the wagons.
A few of the beasts circled the horses, biting and clawing, leaving trails of blood as they tried to drive them away from the protective formation.
The horses neighed and reared, desperate to flee—but Old Jock held the reins tight.
“Don’t run, girl! We’re safer inside the guard circle!” he shouted, one hand gripping the reins, the other swinging his whip to fend off the Beak-Hounds. “Go! Go!”
Ignoring the burn, he grabbed a handful of smoldering beast-repelling coal from the torch stand and hurled it into the Beak-Hound pack!
The searing coals and acrid potion smoke struck true—some beasts howled as their noses burned and retreated, but soon, as if whipped by an unseen master, they snarled and charged again!
“Go! Go!”
Jock yelled hoarsely, hurling another handful of coals, his burned hands trembling as he held the reins.
Thoom! With a resounding crash, Captain Ralf burst from the undead formation, panting, having shattered the swordsmen’s stance with a charged strike.
He and his three companions escaped the encirclement—
Only to find the skeletal swordsmen reforming before the wagons, blades slanted, maintaining their Blade-Deflection Stance.
“Rosa! 【Holy Light】! Now!” Ralf roared.
“I can only use it once a day! After that, I’ll be completely drained!” the flail-wielding warrior hesitated.
“Now! Clear the undead blocking the path!” Ralf bellowed.
“Everyone, close your eyes!”
The flail warrior dropped her weapon, clasped her hands, and raised them high toward the sky.
【Holy Light – Purge】.
In the next instant, brilliant white radiance burst from between her palms, turning the battlefield bright as day.
Bathed in the holy light, the undead ranks collapsed—their discipline gone, their movements reverting to mindless swings.
The dozen skeleton swordsmen nearest the light stiffened and fell backward, shattering with a resounding crash.
Beak-Hounds and Rootrot Spheres were stunned by the blinding light, their eyes scorched and stinging as they howled and retreated.
The will of their master seemed scattered—its control broken for the moment, leaving them without the will to fight.
“Quick! Counterattack! Break through them!” Ralf steadied the paralyzed flail-wielder.
Under the united shouts of the mercenaries, the undead warriors and beasts—deprived of command—were swiftly driven back.
——
“Ah… bad connection.”
On a distant hilltop beneath the moonlight, two figures stood side by side.
The one in copper armor muttered quietly, looking at the helmet UI display flashing: 【Psionic Insulation Detected】 and 【Nether-Copper Signal Blocked】.
“Damn Holy Light…” grumbled the one in black armor, holding his head. “We have to whittle down their guards and drive the wagons away from the convoy! Otherwise, the Demonic Raven handling the fungus will get shot the moment it gets close!”
“It’s fine. Looks like they can only use it once. And the psionic implants are still running normally—let’s take back control.”
The copper-armored figure shook his head, slid his sword back into its sheath, raised his shield, clenched his right fist, and slammed it hard against the shield’s face!
Thoom! Thoom! Thoom!
A deeper, more resonant toll of the Nether-Copper death knell echoed once again—stronger, louder than before—reverberating under the coppery moonlight!
Tap-tap!
The scattered undead immediately stood at attention.
The shattered skeletal shield-bearers reformed their wall!
The skeletal swordsmen raised their rusted, broken blades before their helms, and with the precision of a master swordsman, reentered the 【Blade-Deflection Stance】!
The Beak-Hounds regrouped again! And—no one knew when it began—but the battlefield was now surrounded by rolling tumbleweeds!
The Rootrot Spheres dropped the tumbleweeds, cackling in their odd, shrill voices.
“Oooh-oh-oh-ya!”
One Rootrot Sphere, wearing a Nether-Copper bell-shaped helm, popped out from the tumbleweeds, raised its stubby short spear, and shouted, “Oh-ya!”
“Oh-ya!” the other Rootrot Spheres echoed in unison, hurling Blood Thorn short spears into the encirclement!
For a time, screams filled the air.
Why again?! Ralf gasped, shoving the paralyzed flail-wielder into the hands of two other mercenaries, then activated the battle skill 【Focused Step】, flashing past the skeletal swordsmen toward the convoy!
Clang!—A rusted sword suddenly blocked his path.
Ralf didn’t stop—he sidestepped swiftly under 【Focused Step】, trying to bypass the obstruction. But the rusted blade moved at shocking speed, blocking him again!
He lifted his gaze—and met the hollow stare of a skeletal swordsman wearing a rusted, bell-shaped bronze helm.
This undead knew the same skill—【Focused Step】.
Ralf gritted his teeth and swung his greatsword with frustration, but the enemy evaded with equal agility.
A flash of steel—
Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang-clang!
A rapid flurry of impacts rang like crackling fire! Ralf barely managed to brace his heavy sword horizontally, blocking a storm of frenzied armor-piercing thrusts. The hilt trembled violently in his grasp—almost slipping from his hands!
【Precision Combo】!
This undead could use advanced swordsmanship skills!
His stamina nearly spent, Ralf tried to dodge around—but the silent, bell-helmed skeleton intercepted perfectly each time, weaving left and right with its own 【Focused Step】, always staying between him and the wagons, refusing to attack—merely holding its cursed 【Blade-Deflection Stance】.
From nearby came the desperate whinnies of horses! Despite Old Jock’s tight reins, the Beak-Hounds’ biting couldn’t panic them—until one Rootrot Sphere, wearing a tarnished bronze helm, crept beneath the wagon unnoticed and jabbed the horses’ rumps twice with a Blood Thorn spear!
The horses shrieked in agony, pain from the venom driving them mad!
Old Jock was seized by a skeletal spearman—its cold hands gripping his shoulders—and yanked off the driver’s seat.
Thoom-thoom!
The sound of a metal fist striking a shield echoed across the battlefield.
The skeletal spearman didn’t harm Old Jock—only locked its bony arms around him, trapping him in an unbreakable hold.
The two panicked horses, harried by Beak-Hounds, tore forward, dragging the grain-loaded wagons out of the encirclement!
The undead shifted seamlessly, opening a narrow path for the maddened horses and wagons—then immediately closed ranks again, blocking the mercenaries and wagoners attempting rescue.
Whoosh!
A powerful gust split the air as something massive swooped down—the moonlight flickered beneath vast wings!
A Dragon-Gryphon descended from the sky, its mighty wings spread wide as it shrieked and intercepted the horses.
Its claws ripped the wagon canopy apart, slashing at the grain sacks—but oddly, it couldn’t lift them, only tore seven or eight deep gashes across the surface.
“Crossbows! Fire! Drive the Dragon-Gryphon back!” Ralf roared, still struggling to shake off the bell-helmed skeleton blocking him.
A few scattered bolts flew—but were easily deflected by a sweep of the Dragon-Gryphon’s wing!
“The bolts are spent!” cried the crossbowmen, barely fending off the Beak-Hounds and Rootrot Spheres with their small bucklers.
From the soft chest feathers of the Dragon-Gryphon, a small Demonic Raven poked its head out.
Using the shadow of the great wings, it fluttered down onto a torn grain sack, pecking at a lump of fungal matter in its talons—breaking it apart and stuffing bits into every bag of grain.
Tilting its head as if satisfied, it fluttered back into the gryphon’s chest plumage and vanished.
Thoom-thoom! Thoom-thoom!
Suddenly, the undead legion’s formation dissolved.
The Beak-Hounds and Dragon-Gryphon lost their will to fight and fled into the darkness.
The battle’s tide turned in an instant. Without coordination, the shield-bearers were quickly shattered into piles of bones.
The skeletal swordsmen retreated chaotically—their techniques now clumsy, their stances broken.
Their misused 【Blade-Deflection Stance】 left them exposed, and the mercenaries cut them down one by one from behind.
The skeletal spearman holding Old Jock released him, only to have its skull smashed off by a mercenary’s blade.
The Beak-Hounds screeched their odd hoo-gah-gah cries and scattered, one of them carrying off the Rootrot Sphere wearing the bronze helm as they vanished into the dark.
The skeletal swordsman with the rusted bell-shaped helm twirled its sword in a final, elegant flourish, then silently sheathed it and faded back into the darkness, leaving only wreckage behind.
“Stop the horses… quickly, check the cargo!” Ralf, exhausted, leaned heavily on his greatsword, barely staying upright.
“The Dragon-Gryphon couldn’t carry off the sacks—just tore them open,” reported one of the wagoners, rushing to soothe the horses and pour antidote into their mouths before inspecting the wagon.
With the Beak-Hounds gone, the mercenaries finally caught their breath, pulling out healing potions and antidotes to tend to each other.
Ralf dropped his greatsword and stumbled toward Old Jock, helping him to his feet.
“Are you hurt?” he asked with a sigh. “Sorry… perhaps we really aren’t as good as the Imperial soldiers.”
“No, no… it’s all right, young Captain Ralf.” Old Jock swayed unsteadily but managed to stand. He hurried to the wagon, his hands—burned by coal—fumbling through the sacks, checking them one by one. “Just a few tears… it’s fine. The goods are intact.”
He exhaled deeply.
“You’ve driven off both the undead and the beasts. The supplies are safe.” Old Jock leaned against the wagon’s railing, half-collapsing with relief. “Thank you. The Wolf Banner Mercenaries live up to their name.”
“Uh…”
Ralf hesitated for a moment. He’d wanted to point out a few things—that the undead were wrong somehow.
That they used advanced sword skills, could form battle formations, and then inexplicably lost them again.
And that terrifying bronze-helmed elite swordsman… one who could wield three different sword techniques.
Not to mention… the metallic drumbeats that had echoed through the battlefield—like a commander’s war drum—each beat changing the legion’s tactics.
“Yes.” He didn’t mention any of it in the end, only nodded.
The Wolf Banner Legion needed reputation.
Strange encounters, failed tactics, or rumors of incompetence—such things could ruin a mercenary company’s livelihood.
And besides—the goods had been saved, thanks to their desperate fight.
The wagoners, still shaken, tied and stitched the torn sacks with rope and cloth scraps.
Soon, the convoy set off once more on its journey.
The markings on the grain sacks, though slashed by the Dragon-Gryphon’s claws, were still legible:
【Transport grain to Kanna Plains, Demon King Varak’s Dungeon】.
——
Beastbone Hills, ruins of an Ancient Imperial Watchtower, bandit camp.
The others were already asleep. Randall sat alone by the fire, standing watch, a charcoal pencil between his teeth as he jotted lessons from the mission in his notebook.
He suddenly lifted his head and instinctively reached for his hunting bow.
When he saw the two armored figures at the camp entrance, he relaxed and lowered it.
“Good evening, brothers… went well?” Randall asked absently.
“What?!” Thaleia flinched, her clawed gauntlet twitching instinctively—but Samael hurriedly grabbed her hand.
“Uh… I mean, the patrol,” Randall corrected quickly, glancing at Samael still holding Thaleia’s hand.
“Went well enough… the moon’s nice tonight,” Samael replied, waving both hands frantically behind Thaleia’s back—signaling his idiot captain to shut up.
Say one more word that could be misunderstood, and the Demon King’s claws would be gutting him alive.
“Oh! That’s good, then. Carry on, you two.” Randall caught the gesture, coughed awkwardly, and dropped his gossiping curiosity.
Thaleia snorted, walking off toward the stables behind the ruins.
At the corner, she turned and beckoned to Samael.
“Well? What are you standing there for?” she asked. “Secluded spot. Post-battle prayer.”
“Oh—oh! Coming!”
Samael clattered after her, completely missing the sly grin on Randall’s face—the look of a man watching a pair of lovebirds.
Two warhorses stood in the stable, dozing on their feet.
Back in high school, Samael had once envied that ability—to sleep standing up, perfect for getting through detentions.
Thaleia leaned against the railing, her elbows resting atop it, standing silently beneath the moonlight.
The light traced the slender curve of her armored waist—graceful and firm, glowing faintly silver, beautiful like the brow of a distant mountain.
“Noticed anything strange again?” Samael asked softly. “Do we need to go over the plan? Adjust anything?”
Thaleia shook her head lightly.
“What excuse did you give that dung collector?” she asked quietly.
“Uh—‘patrol,’” Samael answered hesitantly. “Oh—and Randall wanted to tag along, but I… I said the moon looked pretty tonight and we wanted to… look at it for a bit. So he stayed behind…”
Thaleia chuckled softly.
She straightened, grabbed Samael’s shoulders, and pulled him close.
Their helmets touched—metal humming as her low voice vibrated through it.
“All right,” she said. “I don’t mind.”
“Huh?”
Samael blinked.
In his last life, he’d spent the first half with video games, and if not for this absurd transmigration, he’d have spent the other half the same way.
“The moon,” Thaleia said, stepping lightly away like a playful colt. “The moon is beautiful.”
The twin silver-white moons hung quietly in the sky, their edges touching, half-blended into one.
Elven astronomers called them “Rieldaevan-Aeva”—a complex, elegant Elvish phrase meaning ‘The Lovers’ Eyes’.