Book 2, Chapter 147

The Broodmother Enters Battle(3)

Tens of wind wolves were still hanging onto the manticore, scorched by the acid alongside it. The liquid was strong enough to corrode even steel, and as the wolves’ fur and skin melted away they dropped off the manticore in quick succession. They rolled on the ground a few times before they stopped moving, turning into a black mess in a flash.

The manticore only grew more crazy after the acid spray, rapidly killing the few wolves still sticking to it as it tried to escape once more. However, before it could turn around the broodmother had used another mind flay to attack it, paralysing it until scores of wind wolves leapt on once more and held it down with their body weight. A few seconds later, the dense acid doused the manticore once more.

The broodmother quieted down, not moving any more. It had used up all of its acid, and the two mental attacks had taken all of its energy. The manticore’s skin was completely corroded, its entire exterior melted away. The creature was left lying lifelessly on the ground, the remaining half of its sting twitching involuntarily.

The battle at the castle hadn’t yet ended, but it was coming close. Ten-odd fierce bearguard knights were still stubbornly fighting atop the walls, while the elites led the remaining wind wolves to fight below.

Seeing the fight drawing to a close, Richard’s determination was like the string of an instrument that had reached its limit. He was close to breaking, his vision blurring even as his lungs felt like they were on fire.

The entire battlefield reeked of blood, while the acidic mist and poisonous fog from the creatures continued to float around. Some of it had even made it to the castle walls, turning the ash-white stone black. The human warriors on top were left gasping weakly for a long time, while someone grasped their own throat and fell to the ground screaming.

Richard bit his tongue hard, forcing himself to stay awake as he issued order after order. His brave warriors already obeyed all his orders on instinct, and once his commands rang out his own soldiers started a silent retreat as Fontaine’s elite subordinates continued charging towards the bearguard knights with reckless abandon.

The Schumpeter knights knew by this point that their mission would end in death. This knowledge only made them fiercer, taking down their opponents with abandon. Every time the baron’s men fell down, even more surged in to fill the vacant space. This tactic pushed their demonic enemies towards their death.

This war of attrition was not unlike a meat grinder. With the battle having reached a conclusion, this was their most desperate moment. Richard sighed in his heart but he had no choice to force himself to regain his icy calm. His strategy at this point was quite simple; all he wanted was for his own soldiers to fall back from the war zone.

Many of the baron’s warriors had a dazzling glow on their bodies, the mark of a magic blessing. However, Flowsand’s spell had been changed slightly; the magnification to their abilities was no different, but she had added a motivating force in. Anyone blessed by her suddenly had the courage to face whatever enemy was put before them. Even faced with ten thousand soldiers, they would still have the courage to charge forward!

This was definitely a result of the cleric’s research into the God of Valour’s powers. However, its current purpose was slightly different; the warriors blessed by her only had the bearguard knights in their sight, having no qualms with heading to their deaths on the frontlines. They used their very lives to leave injuries on these demonic opponents.

Once the last bearguard knight fell with a loud thud, the bitter war finally came to a close. Richard slowly swept his eyes across the battlefield, seeing blood, corpses, and severed limbs everywhere. Not many people could still manage to stand upright. As for the number of deaths, even without a headcount he feared it was almost a thousand. And that was even excluding the baron’s knights and warriors! Even though Richard had tried to save some of his army towards the end of the battle, there were only about a hundred people left.

His mind finally relaxed, but that only caused him to grow dizzy. He could barely remain standing, but thankfully a vitality spell kept him from fainting.

“How is Waterflower?” Richard asked eagerly as he saw Flowsand walking towards him.

“Her injuries are stable, she’s fine.” Flowsand seemed like she would black out at any time. She had her mouth covered with a handkerchief, making her voice seem lower than usual. Richard could sense her weakness; her injuries were definitely not mild. She’d used some unknown method to draw out her mana at the beginning of the battle, growing her power by about three levels. This was the only reason the Lens of Time had been successful against Sinclair, causing this dangerous enemy to suffer heavy injuries, completely turning the battle around.

“What about you?” Richard continued.

Still covering her mouth, Flowsand spoke up, “I used too much of my mana, I’ll be fine after a few days of rest.”

“A few days of rest?” Richard’s shining gaze landed on Flowsand. A forced leap in level, and it was three levels at that, would definitely have heavy consequences. Even though he wasn’t extremely familiar with the clergy, that much was general knowledge.

Flowsand helplessly smiled a weak smile, “Alright, I did indeed pay a heavy price. But don’t worry, I can I can fully accept this. I can even do it a few more times.”

Richard nodded his head, choosing to believe her. At that moment, Olar came to Richard’s side and whispered, “Master, Sinclair is still alive. How do you want to take care of this?”

A cold glimmer flashed in Richard’s eyes as he brought the few of his party who could still walk down the castle, reaching the empty space outside. They walked all the way to Sinclair’s side before finally stopping.

Gangdor frowned, taking half a step forward to use his body as a shield. A skilled assassin like Sinclair would most likely try one last attack in her dying moments. However, Richard shook his head and reached out to pull the brute back, “It’s alright, she can’t strike back anymore.”

The closer he got to Sinclair, the more vigorous the elven blood grew. Even his Archeron bloodline was starting to stir. This was a two-way street, but it ensured that the assassin couldn’t hide the condition of her body from his eyes.

Sinclair was no longer the pretty young lady, her entire body filled with injuries. The black blood seeping out was like hot lava, leaving deep burns on her skin. Richard could sense the remaining effects of the green moonforce coupling with the black blood; it carried a sense of impending death, being the reason for the surge in her body temperature.

Richard kneeled by Sinclair’s side, gazing at this most worthy enemy. Even though her skin had been burnt, even with one of her eyes blinded, one could still see traces of her original beauty on her face. She was like a human doll that had been destroyed.

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