Azure Scepter

Page 29

The next instant, a high-ranking undead clad in black-painted armor silently emerged from the shadows, followed closely by a centaur composed of countless human heads connected by their spines. The sound of bones and flesh sliding across the ground was clearly audible.

“Listener, sir.” Castor quickly lowered his head and placed the index finger of his left hand against his chin.

The high-ranking undead withdrew its hand from its shoulder, rummaged through the centaur for a moment, and then took out a head.

Castor glanced at it furtively—it was the teacher's head.

"Pathetic dragons, pathetic living beings, they have formed a pathetic alliance." The head held in the hands of the dead opened its mouth mechanically, like a puppet on strings. "And why did our pathetic spies fail to report this?"

“They’re dead.” Castor blurted out the answer in his mind, then immediately felt a pang of regret—this cruel undead would certainly not be satisfied with this answer!

However, the high-ranking undead simply nodded nonchalantly, and the head of his teacher, which he was holding, also nodded, the flesh covered in lividity rolling like waves.

“I wish to offer you my apologies. Old Byron’s mind has vanished, and he can no longer contribute his brilliant talents to us.” The spirit paused for a moment. “I am speaking to you through the remains of your teacher, hoping that you may feel some warmth.”

A touch of familiarity? More like a touch of shock!

Castor almost blurted out what was on his mind, but at the last moment he swallowed it back.

“A wise man always has a wise apprentice. Now the pitiful survivors are approaching. Do you have a brilliant plan to destroy them?”

“We have so many undead, just charge in…” Caster said without thinking, but the next moment, he suddenly realized something was wrong.

—It seems the teacher had discussed contingency plans for similar situations with me, and he seemed to have emphasized that this should absolutely not be done!

“Pressing it directly won’t work!” Caster quickly changed the subject.

The high-ranking undead nodded approvingly, letting out a chilling, low laugh: "Your wisdom is quite pleasing to the ear—among the pitiful survivors are unknown and powerful enemies. To rashly pile up the dead is like throwing away one's trump card, only leading to a miserable defeat. But what should we do?"

Castor felt a chill run down his spine; he hadn't even considered such a question. He tried to recall the contingency plan his teacher had mentioned, but under intense pressure, his mind went completely blank.

A brain that has been unused for a long time starts to function slowly, like a rusty machine. Fragmented thoughts are like gears covered in moss that can't mesh together at all.

Half a day later, Caster realized that the enemy's attack route was quite ingenious.

The road was not very wide, and the collapsed building ruins on both sides of the road made the ground conditions extremely complicated. Under these circumstances, they had no way to fully deploy the undead and thus exert an overwhelming numerical advantage.

With the successive deaths of high-level spellcasters, controlling a thousand undead has become extremely difficult. They lack the finesse to control the undead; the swarm becomes incredibly cumbersome, making it virtually impossible to send a small group to flank them. And if they rely on the undead to instinctively spread out to the flanks, they are highly likely to escape the battlefield entirely.

Unless, most of the undead are left as reserves, but the drawback of this approach is that too few undead are likely to be overwhelmed by the survivors in one wave.

Caster looked up at the undead with trepidation, and the undead's crimson eyes gleamed even more brightly.

He knew the spirit was getting impatient and he had to answer it quickly.

So he could only bite the bullet and explain his thought process: "We need to separate them..."

Before he could finish speaking, the undead slapped him hard on the shoulder. The undead's strength was immense, like a heavy warhammer, and Castor even heard the crisp sound of his own bones protesting.

“A wise move!” the spirit praised. “The wise Byron has taught you well; he can now rest in his glorious kingdom. Now it is your turn to guide us here.”

"Where are you going?" Caster rubbed his shoulders, which felt like they were about to fall apart.

The undead, which had been quite enthusiastic just moments before, suddenly turned cold, giving itself a chilling glance: "Dragon Slayer."

The next moment, the undead pointed to the Silent Whisperers who had been trembling beside Caster, too afraid to speak: "Summon the Stitches, the Shadows, the Ghouls, and we will strike the real enemy from behind like daggers in the shadows."

The undead then pointed at Caster: "You're in charge of the bait. I only want to hear the triumphant song of victory."

Bait? Castor paused for a moment.

The next moment, he suddenly understood what the undead meant—the group of survivors who had split off and were advancing along the north side of the old square were bait!

The high-ranking undead turned and disappeared back into the shadows. But just as it was about to leave completely, Caster couldn't help but ask, "We only have a few Stitches, Shadows, and Ghouls. Is that enough for you to fight against the dragons and the main force of the survivors?"

He regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth—he worried that the strangely behaving spirit would become enraged.

However, the undead did not get angry.

It left the shadows and sat down on Custer's bed, which immediately groaned under its weight.

The undead sneered: "The pathetic survivors don't know that the pathetic dragon is just a facade. With a gentle, breeze-like intimidation, it will run away like a stray dog, utterly bewildered."

"Moreover, we have reinforcements. There is another listener lurking among those survivors. This is the Lord... the Guild Master's revelation to me. He will deliver the fatal blow to the dragon at the most critical moment." Suddenly, the undead's voice became somewhat strange. It took Caster a moment to realize that this was not the clumsy poetry that the undead usually used.

Another listener?

Caster immediately thought of the garrison captain, an old man who was always extremely afraid of death and whose behavior was very furtive.

Before the Silent Whisperers decided to release the poison, the garrison captain was acting strangely all the time, and soldiers from the garrison would often come to the church to confess and say they saw the captain performing strange and mysterious rituals.

Moreover, there have been rumors within the church that a high-ranking judge from Eraf is investigating him.

Castor guessed that the stranger named Trill was the legendary Inquisitor—although he disguised himself as a grain merchant, his mannerisms were completely out of place for a merchant; moreover, he did not die after being infected with the blood plague, but instead killed the experienced mage Loft. Someone with such combat power could not possibly be an ordinary grain merchant.

If we also consider that Sister Neu, who was accompanying him, was also very powerful, then Trier's status as an inquisitor can almost be confirmed.

But if Trier was the judge, then why was there a problem with the shipment of grain he transported? Castor pondered subconsciously.

"You absolutely cannot make a mistake, because it concerns my promotion—if my mission fails, you will die, and you will die a horrible death. I will turn you into a new collection." The vengeful spirit no longer spoke in poetic form; its threat became direct and chilling.

Castor nodded quickly.

The spirit continued, "If I lose the chance to regain my freedom because I missed the promotion, then you will also lose the freedom of your soul."

After making the threat, the undead, along with the terrifying centaur, walked into the shadows without looking back.

Castor sighed and walked slowly to the window—the warm, gentle sunlight dispelled the chilly atmosphere inside.

He gave himself a pep talk, then resumed his leadership posture and instructed the Silent Whisperers members, who were terrified by the undead, "Have the rest of you gather in the hall; we'll perform a joint spell there."

The man nodded hurriedly, then ran out of the room without looking back and slammed the door shut.

"boom!"

"boom!"

Another lone, wandering zombie was knocked to the ground, the warm sunlight illuminating its bloodied and mangled face.

The zombie sighed and stretched out its blood-stained hands. The next moment, four or five gleaming spear tips pierced its body, pinning it to the ground.

A very thin wisp of golden light suddenly emerged from the body, which was riddled with holes and nearly torn to pieces.

[XP+30]

With a blank expression, Trier withdrew the spear that had pierced the heart of the undead, and then continued forward, chanting "Heave-ho!"

They had been away from the hotel for almost an hour. During that time, Trier had drawn a ritual circle on the collapsed tower in the Old Square that could be manually detonated, and the militia had also had some initial practice in actual combat—now everything was ready, and all they had to do was wait for the Silent Whisperers to take the bait.

However, unlike the Trier plan, the Silent Whisperers' reaction was extremely slow. The Silent Whisperers, who should have gathered the dead within an hour to launch a counterattack, were completely silent at this moment.

Even as Trier led his militia, composed of cannon fodder, swaggering along the road north of the old square, nearing the Silent Whisperers' headquarters in Beavertown, the cultists made no significant moves.

"At our current speed, we'll be at the town hall in fifteen minutes—but we can't just rush in, can we?" Trier thought to himself, looking at the town hall in the distance.

At this moment, the militiamen were no longer as enthusiastic as they had been an hour ago. The real and bloody battle was like a bucket of cold water poured on the hearts of these people who had not undergone systematic training. Although there were no casualties yet, their morale was visibly dropping.

This isn't a bad thing, but a good thing. Having some mental preparation can effectively prevent the militia from collapsing at the first sign of a well-organized and overwhelming horde of the undead. Quantitative change can lead to qualitative change, and few can remain calm when faced with an overwhelming numerical advantage from the undead.

Knock knock, knock knock...

Suddenly, Trier sensed a subtle tremor, which he knew was the footsteps of the undead horde controlled by "Bound Undead".

The tremors grew more intense, and the militiamen seemed to realize something; even their "hey ya hey ya" singing became much quieter.

Trier calmly calculated the distance between the two sides based on the amplitude of the earthquake tremors, and then drew a conclusion.

"Attention, we're about to engage the enemy!" he shouted.

The next moment, the paladin saw the horde of undead at the end of the street.

Chapter 52 Fireball

Thump...thump...thump thump!

The earth trembled! Under the influence of the "binding of the dead," countless spirits stomped their feet in unison, the thunderous sound of their footsteps deafening! The militiamen's songs were gradually suppressed.

At the end of the street, a flash of cold metal appeared, followed by rows upon rows of spearheads coming into Trier's view. The chilling spearheads, like a forest of steel, pointed diagonally to the sky, and through the dense spearheads, one could vaguely see rows of skulls with bits of rotting flesh hanging from them.

—They were all skeletons, not a single zombie.

They surged out from the end of the street like a tidal wave, then filled the entire street like a tsunami that had breached a floodgate. The next moment, all the skeletons suddenly stopped moving, then turned around in perfect unison.

The rusty metal armor clashed against the withered skeletons, the subtle clanging sound amplified by their sheer number. Amidst the rising and falling sounds, the skeletons seemed to merge with the metal armor, their synchronized movements as if they had been forged into solid blocks of iron.

Trier glanced at the militiamen beside him out of the corner of his eye.

Whether young, middle-aged, or elderly, their faces all wore expressions of astonishment, as if they had suddenly witnessed the real world. That astonishment was mixed with tension and unease, and would eventually ferment into a deep-seated fear in the silent wait.

The paladin noticed that the baker to his right had become even paler, his breathing was rapid and disordered, and his movements with the gun were stiff and erratic due to fear.

He withdrew his gaze and began to carefully observe the enemy at the end of the street.

Aside from high-ranking undead possessing sentience, most undead are devoid of emotion. They never hesitate, nor are they capable of fear; under the power of necromancy, they never think. At this moment, the skeletons, having completed their turn, stood motionless like statues, the earth-shattering footsteps instantly dissipating, the stark contrast in sound even causing Trier to experience a slight ringing in his ears.

At this moment, a ghostly blue soul fire burned silently in the eye sockets of all the skeletons. The cold flames were devoid of emotion, and the chilling cold and the metallic smell seemed to travel through the skeletons' uniformly focused, mechanical gazes.

A chilling, bloody atmosphere spread with the breeze.

Unlike yesterday's stealthy passage through the undead horde, today we'll be going head-to-head with this behemoth!

"Halt!" Trier called out in a steady voice, "Level your spears!"

As he spoke, he placed the spear he was holding on the ground, and then took out the holy emblem from his backpack.

The paladin spoke clearly and loudly, but the sudden order to stop still threw the extremely untrained militiamen into brief chaos. Several militiamen in the ranks were so terrified that they were completely frozen in place, just breathing nervously, as if the scene before them had stolen their souls.

Seemingly sensing the chaos among the militia, the skeletons began to move again!

"Click, click!"

“It’s time to unleash the Aura of Courage,” Trier thought to himself.

He did not activate his inspiration when the militiamen's morale was at its peak—hope in dire straits is far more powerful than aid when things are going smoothly.

The holy emblem in Trier's hand emitted a warm, pure white light, and countless milky-white specks of light leaked out from the gaps in the iron gauntlet, then danced around the crowd.

A resolute warmth swept through the crowd like ripples on spring water, and a surge of strong courage rose in Trier's heart. He quickly scanned the crowd and saw that the chaos caused by wavering had vanished and the crumbling morale had been stabilized.

The paladin placed the holy emblem on his palm, then took out a 4-meter-long brown wooden spear from behind him. The shaft of the spear was rough and uneven to the touch, with bean-sized knots all over its sides—the shaft was a modified version of the wooden stick he had awakened the day before yesterday.

The long spear has a much longer attack range than the skeletons' short spears.

"Iron fists grip the gun handle tightly, heave-ho!" The faint singing was swallowed up by the earth-shaking footsteps of the skeletal frame.

At this moment, all sorts of long-handled weapons—long spears, halberds, long-handled cleavers, and more—combined together, forming almost a forest of thorns made of steel. The dense array of sharp weapons pointed directly at the approaching undead.

The spirits drew closer and closer, and the stench of rust and negative energy quickly intensified.

Trier lowered his shoulders, his brown wooden spear fixed firmly on the skeleton. Although the spear was extremely heavy, his hand holding it did not tremble in the slightest.

"Three, two..." He calmly calculated the attack range in his mind, "One!"

"Thrust!" the paladin shouted.

The skeleton collided with the first row of extra-long spears with a thunderous crash, without the slightest hesitation.

Trier felt a jolt in his hand. He looked down at the gun barrel and saw that the sharp tip of the gun had pierced the skeleton's most vulnerable spine with pinpoint accuracy. The bones, neglected by negative energy, snapped instantly, and the headless skeleton was violently thrown backward.

[XP+100]

Just then, a cry of surprise came from the right. Trier glanced over instinctively and saw that the baker's spear was bent upwards to an exaggerated degree—the other party seemed to have successfully pierced the skeleton's breastplate, but it did not stop the skeleton from advancing—if the skeleton took a few more steps, the baker's spear would break.

Trier took a slight step back and retracted his brown wooden spear. Then, he lowered his shoulder, twisted his waist, and thrust it fiercely at the skeleton opposite the baker. The heavy metal spearhead pierced through with a loud thud, and the skull instantly exploded with a horrifying crack. The next instant, the crack widened rapidly along the jawbone, and the decapitated skull fell backward, half of its skull, along with bone fragments, scattering in the air in a strange arc.

As if guided by fate, Trier thrust forward with all his might, the tip of his spear piercing through the skull of one of the skeletons, accurately shattering the entire ribcage of the skeleton behind it. The two skeletons, propelled by immense force, crashed backward, smashing through the tightly packed skeleton formation like bowling balls, sending them sprawling.

"You don't give skeletons any maintenance, huh?" Trier thought to himself.

At that moment, he suddenly understood the workings of feats like [Slash with the Momentum] – these feats would provide him with additional inspiration!

With that thought in mind, he swung his spear again, smashing it down on a fallen skeleton, its skull instantly shattering into countless fragments. A hidden inspiration flashed through his mind once more, and Trier, following it, thrust his spear forward, a skeleton that had just rolled over running right into the tip.

[XP+200!]

[You have obtained partial information about the "Final Slash" feat.]

Trier sheathed his rifle and looked around, realizing that, apart from himself, the militiamen's accuracy in the first round was far from ideal.

Most of the militiamen's attacks struck the skeleton's armor, while the few attacks that did hit unprotected areas failed to kill the skeleton due to misdirection. The militiamen's long spear attacks mostly served only to slow the skeleton down.

Apart from the five skeletons killed by the paladin, the cross thrusts of fifteen extra-long spears only managed to bring down four skeletons.

The good news is that although the militia's use of extra-long guns was inefficient, they successfully kept most of the undead at the limit of their attack range.

In the first volley of thrusts, only a few skeletons squeezed in along both sides of the road. As soon as they entered, they huddled together again. The skeletons were oblivious to the forest of spear shafts around them, mechanically continuing to advance with their short spears held at an angle through the gaps between the shafts.

"Prepare to engage the enemy!" Trier shouted.