Chapter 29: [Duchy of Inferna] [20] Bloody Festival [5]
In the heart of the battlefield, a relentless dance of opposing forces—flame red and poison green—raged on.
Every swing of Aron’s artifact sword left behind a wave of heat that scorched the air.
Each move of the assassin leader was like the silent strike of a deadly serpent.
The leader was pushing the limits of the new power he had obtained at the cost of his own life. His body moved with a speed that defied the laws of physics, appearing one moment to Aron’s right, only to lunge from the left in the blink of an eye.
His curved daggers were no longer mere steel; each was coated in pure, venomous energy, capable of corroding anything they touched.
Every clash between the two warriors echoed across the courtyard like a small thunderclap.
With each meeting of their blades, sparks scattered, carving small craters into the marble floor. The pressure released as the two opposing energies sought to annihilate each other sent tremors through the surrounding stone pillars.
Aron, with his years of experience and the power of his artifact sword, stood firm against this superhuman velocity.
His feet seemed rooted to the ground as he wielded his massive blade with incredible speed and precision, weaving a wall of flame that shielded his body from the fatal blows.
The venomous and unnatural energy coursing through the assassin leader’s veins grew stronger with each passing second, infusing his muscles with a speed and lethality he had never known.
His body was at the peak of a potential that had surpassed human limits.
Yet, in stark contrast to this dizzying physical ascent, an icy, gnawing panic was growing in the deepest corners of his soul.
His power was increasing, yes, but the horror of realizing it was nothing before Aron’s absolute presence was overwhelming.
Each of his moves, every attempted deathblow, was as ineffective as a raindrop striking the face of an unshakeable mountain, crashing against an invisible wall of force and vaporizing.
"Why?"
The single word grew like an avalanche inside his mind, shaking the very foundations of his sanity.
"Why can’t I even scratch him?"
Was this cursed power, obtained by putting his own life and soul on the bargaining table, truly as helpless and meaningless as a child’s temper tantrum before the calm poise of a demigod?
Was the chasm between a mere mortal and a demigod truly so impassable?
This crushing realization planted the darkest seeds of despair in his heart, and with every failed attack, those seeds were nourished, sprouting in seconds to entangle his entire being like a vine.
But worse than anything, the thing that drove him to madness, was the indifferent expression on Aron’s face.
Though this was a battle of life and death, there wasn’t the slightest hint of tension, not a flicker of concern.
There was only... sheer boredom.
He was being studied with an almost contemptuous, weary gaze, as if Aron were dealing with a weak insect buzzing around him, refusing to be shooed away.
This look pierced deeper than the sharpest dagger.
It became the ultimate insult, a look that nullified his very existence, his purpose, and the sacrifice he had made of his life.
In that instant, the panic and despair within him gave way to a pure, uncontrollable rage that burned everything to ash.
His mind began to cloud over with a red mist of fury, impenetrable to logic or strategy.
He no longer had a single purpose: not to win, not to survive, but to erase that bored, that unbearably condescending expression from Aron’s face with blood and steel, no matter the cost.
This primal desire obliterated the last vestiges of his reason, turning him into a frenzied beast.
In the center of the festival grounds, music had given way to screams.
Laughter, to the raw cries of agony torn from throats.
The cheerful, colorful fair had, in an instant, transformed into an arena ruled by blood and steel.
From within the shadows, through the crowds, and over the rooftops, hundreds of black-cloaked assassins seeped into the populace like silent scythes of death.
But thanks to Aron’s trap, instead of finding the city guards as their primary targets, they were met by the avenging angels hidden among the people, each one an elite warrior.
The battle spread to every corner of the square; every stall, every fountain, became the stage for a bloody struggle.
At the very heart of this chaos, the ruler of the Duchy, Duke Veynar Inferna, fought with the roar of a lion. He wore not his formal robes, but a suit of practical armor beneath them. In his hand, he held a sword that bore his family’s crest and pulsed with a blue light.
He was not merely a ruler; he was a warrior, fighting on the front lines to protect his people.
"Hold the formation!" his voice thundered, overpowering even the din of battle. "Gather the civilians around the main fountain! Archers, take down those cowards on the rooftops!"
Each of his commands instilled new courage in the soldiers around him.
His sword danced with lethal grace. He parried the dagger thrusts of three assassins in a single fluid motion, then exploited a momentary opening to slice one’s throat and pierce another’s heart.
As the third tried to retreat in fear, he was felled by the Duke’s kick and finished by another guard.
He wasn’t just fighting; he was conducting the entire battlefield like a chessboard.
Right beside him, fighting in a completely different style, was a colossal figure: Marquis Volkov, one of the Duke’s most loyal allies.
His armor was as thick and unadorned as a bear’s hide. In his hands was not a sword, but a two-handed battle-axe nearly the size of his own head.
Marquis Volkov was not a strategist; he was a pure force of nature.
"KILL THOSE SHADOW RATS!" he bellowed, his voice like the roar of a bear.
As he swung his axe like a hurricane, three assassins in his path were torn apart and flung away as if struck by lightning. His style was not elegant; it was brutal and overwhelming.
When one assassin tried to corner a terrified family, Volkov closed the distance in giant strides and brought his axe down in a single blow, splitting the assassin and the wooden stall behind him in two.
But the assassins’ plan did not rely on human strength alone.
At the height of the battle, in several different locations across the festival grounds, ominous runes that had gone unnoticed, drawn upon the earth, began to glow with a blood-red light.
Black smoke erupted from the ground as if the gates of hell had opened, and from within this smoke, creatures born of the most terrifying nightmares began to emerge.
These were not simple beasts of the forest.
They were manifestations of pure evil, forged by dark magic.
Hounds that seemed made of shadow itself, their eyes glowing like embers, charged into the soldiers’ ranks with incredible speed. Their claws tore through armor like paper, and their bites spread a soul-draining coldness.
From another portal, monstrous Corpse Crawlers—stitched together from the parts of human bodies and letting out vile murmurs—advanced slowly but unstoppably. Sword strikes were ineffective against their rotting flesh; for every limb that was severed, new, decaying parts grew back from the earth.
The sky was no longer safe either.
Shrieker Furies, with leathery, bat-like wings, dove from the rooftops, pouncing on the soldiers. Their most dangerous weapon was not their talons, but their mind-numbing, ear-splitting shrieks. Soldiers exposed to this cry lost their balance for a moment, collapsing to the ground with nausea, becoming easy targets.
The soldiers were prepared to fight assassins.
But not this.
This was a nightmare far beyond their training and experience.
"Shield Wall! Form a Shield Wall!" an old captain shouted.
Pushing aside their fear, the soldiers fell into instinctual discipline, standing shoulder to shoulder to form an impenetrable wall of gleaming shields. They thrust their spears through the gaps, trying to meet the charge of the Shadow Hounds and Corpse Crawlers.
The battle had now become even more savage and desperate.
A soldier’s spear pierced the chest of a Shadow Hound, but before it died, the creature lunged one last time and tore out the soldier’s throat.
When a Corpse Crawler threw its full weight against the shield wall to break it, dozens of spears impaled its body, but it continued to press forward, crushing several soldiers before it.
The cries of the Shrieker Furies infested the soldiers’ minds like a poison, breaking the will of even the bravest warriors. The festival ground was no longer just a battlefield; it was a realm of nightmares.
Just outside all this chaos, the blood, and the screams, a few hundred meters beyond the barrier Aron had sealed with magic, a single silhouette stood on a hilltop.
The figure watched the hell below with the detached interest of an art connoisseur at the theater.
Though its face was lost in shadow, the moonlight illuminated the crazed, delighted smile playing on its lips.
This turmoil, this death, this despair... it was all just an entertaining show.
It tilted its head slightly. It had seen how effective Inferna’s trap had been. Its assassins had met with unexpected resistance. It was a minor setback in the plan, but not one that bothered it.
Then, its own "little surprise," the monsters brought forth from the demonic realm, had appeared. Now, it thought, the balance would shift back in its favor.
But then... something happened.
From the castle, an explosion of incredibly pure and powerful golden light erupted. It was a holy energy, the complete antithesis to the nature of its dark creatures. The energy even seeped down into the battlefield below, causing the monsters to falter for a moment, to whine in pain.
The crazed smile on the silhouette’s face froze for an instant.
It was replaced by a wild interest mixed with curiosity and astonishment.
It narrowed its eyes, as if trying to see the source of that energy with the eyes of its soul.
And it saw. It felt the being at the center of that power, the essence of that anomaly.
Its laughter cut through the silent night like a knife. It was not a laugh of joy, but the laugh of a genius who has encountered an unexpected and delightful puzzle.
"Aahh... so there’s a reincarnator here as well... ahahaha!" it thought, its amusement growing.
"To counter my little surprise with such an unexpected move? This is far more entertaining!"
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Author’s Note:
Friends, I’d really appreciate it if you could share your thoughts about this Chapter. If there are parts you think I’m lacking in, please point them out so I can improve.
To be honest, I don’t think I’m very good at writing battle scenes, so your feedback means a lot to me. 😶🌫️