The battlefield was a chaotic blend of expressions of suffering frozen on the corpses of comrades, a copious amount of fresh blood saturating the ground with a thick, metallic smell, and a muddied terrain dyed red. Flashes of colorful magic and ear-splitting explosions painted a grim picture. Shouts of anger, screams of pain, final death cries, and the metallic clash of weapons against armor filled the air. It was a spontaneous clash where pure brute force met pure brute force, devoid of any strategic formations or plans.
A knight, clad in full armor of glistening icy silver, let out an enraged roar as he brought down his holy steel bardiche upon the enemy before him.
“Whoooaaaaaah!”
The foe was an abomination, a skeleton clad in a slime coating that adhered to its black bones—a member of the undead army. This particular skeleton also had ten protruding slime tentacles. The knight’s strike, powerful enough to crush several normal skeletons at once, was intercepted by these tentacles and lost its momentum. While the tentacles were severed, the main target—the black bones—remained intact.
A dull sound, akin to hitting a rock with a club, echoed across the battlefield.
“Damn it,” the knight cursed under his breath, stepping back just in time to narrowly evade the falchion the skeleton was aiming at his head. It was a near miss, and the knight’s reddish-purple bangs were sliced off and carried away by the sword’s wind.
The knight immediately retaliated, swinging his bardiche with such speed that it became a blur. The weapon glowed with the red light typical of a combat art, infused with the knight’s magic.
“Hah!”
With a short exhale and eyes filled with the intent to kill, the knight executed his combat art. This time, the strike that had previously been thwarted by the slime’s tentacles effortlessly sliced through the black bones. The entire skeleton shattered into pieces as if struck by a hammer, then disintegrated completely.
Combat Art unleashed: Smashing Magic Hammer, Glast Jarl!
It was a combat art designed to crush monsters with hard shells or scales, and was poorly suited to slashing weapons like swords. By compressing his inner magic (also known as his “od”) and enveloping his weapon, the knight significantly enhanced the range and power of his attack, reducing the skeleton to fragments.
The shards of black bones scattered around, crashing loudly, smoking in the sunlight, the evaporating slime emitting purple fumes. Only then did the knight confirm his kill. Quickly wiping the sweat from his forehead, he muttered his frustrations.
“Damn, what a pain that taking down one component isn’t enough.”
The enemy was a combination of a Black Skeleton and a slime, and both parts had to be killed. Many fellow knights, having slain one half of the monster and then letting their guard down, had been subsequently counterattacked, suffering grievous injuries. Many had died.
A lone Black Skeleton was formidable, and the slime was equally troublesome. Its highly acidic bodily fluids dissolved skin and muscle on contact, exposing the white of bone; even metal armor and weapons were rendered useless as they melted away. Fighting such an enemy meant incurring damage whether attacking or defending. It was a foe one would rather not face.
The purple smoke emanating from the slain slime likely carried toxicity, too, but there was nothing the knight could do about it at the moment. He tried to minimize his inhalation, taking short, shallow breaths. He then inspected his bardiche, noting that while the blade was somewhat chipped, the damage wasn’t too severe.
“These bastards are damnable nuisances, aren’t they?” he muttered, shifting his focus to a new adversary approaching from the side.
This enemy wielded a corseque—a polearm with a triangular spearhead flanked by two smaller blades—slightly longer than the knight’s bardiche. The corseque’s thrusts came quickly, one after another, making it difficult to counterattack. Each near miss chipped away at the knight’s armor, accompanied by unpleasant metallic screeches and showers of sparks.
Despite this, the knight maintained his composure, biding his time until the skeleton’s bone arm fully extended with a thrust. Seizing the moment, the knight closed the distance, aiming a strike at the skeleton’s exposed left side. As his bardiche glowed with a red light, it erupted in roaring crimson flames.
Combat Art unleashed: Flaming Blade of Loyalty, Bush-Fres!
A Flame attribute combat art, fueled by the wielder’s od, was a rare technique that also gained Holy and Light attributes when wielded by knights sworn to absolute loyalty to their liege. However, its immense power came at a high cost, consuming large amounts of inner magic and imposing significant post-use fatigue.
The Black Skeleton, struck by the flaming bardiche, ignited along with the slime covering it. The added Holy and Light attributes were particularly effective against the undead, reducing the skeleton to mere ashes in seconds.
While the attack had been highly effective, the knight’s inner magic reserves were now severely depleted, causing him to feel dizzy, his vision wavering slightly. He hastily planted his bardiche in the ground for support, working to steady his erratic breathing and recover his spent magic. The recovery was slow, frustratingly so.
He struggled to suppress his rising anxiety, but the chaotic melee around him made it impossible to remain calm. Cold sweat trickled down his cheeks. Fortunately, distinguishing friend from foe was easy. The enemies were predominantly Black Skeletons, shrouded in slime, along with elves and various demi-humans, such as goblins and hobgoblins—unexpected participants in this battle. The Empire’s former slave units, now free from their collars, also had to be treated as enemies.
The sheer number of enemies far exceeded expectations. At a glance, they matched, if not outnumbered, the combined forces of the Kingdom and its allied Empire. The individual strength of the skeletons alone was on par with that of an average soldier of the allied army.
“This is bad… If only we could reestablish command, we might stand a chance,” the knight muttered, though in his heart, he doubted it was possible. The primary reason for his skepticism was that the Black Skeletons were systematically targeting the allied commanders. Before the battle had descended into this free-for-all, a few commanders, though struggling, had managed to maintain some semblance of order and attempted counterattacks.
One such commander was the knight’s superior, the flame-haired Knight Chief. The Knight Chief was a seasoned warrior, renowned for his battlefield prowess, sincerity, and loyalty. He was highly respected and had taught the knight and his comrades not only the common combat arts of this world but also non-combat art techniques. He was a mentor figure to many.
Moments ago, just as dawn was breaking, the Knight Chief had been killed.
It had happened when the Black Skeletons, not yet coated in slime, had begun to be weakened by the sunlight, emitting smoke from their bodies. Seizing this opportunity, the allied forces had attempted to turn the tide. That was when the Black Skeletons suddenly changed tactics.
Now encased in the slime that emerged from the ground, the Black Skeletons shifted from randomly attacking to focusing exclusively on the allied commanders. They used suicidal tactics characteristic of mindless skeletons, attacking with no regard for their own lives, thrusting their short spears even if it meant killing their own, or swinging their great axes knowing they might fall in the process. This merciless onslaught led to significant casualties among the commanders, including the Knight Chief himself.
As the knight recalled the scene, he tightened his grip on his bardiche, ready to continue the fight. The battlefield was an unforgiving place, and he knew he and his comrades had to adapt quickly or face total annihilation.
Despite slaying tens or hundreds, the Knight Chief was eventually overwhelmed by the endless tide of enemies—his weapon shattered, his body covered in wounds and soaked in blood, and his strength completely spent. Unable to stand, he was finally consumed by an enormous slime, which dissolved his body into a gruesome mess right before the knight’s eyes.
No matter how seasoned a warrior he was, the sheer volume of enemies was insurmountable. Similar scenes unfolded all over the battlefield, with commanders being killed in horrific ways, their bodies and even their belongings completely dissolved.
With each commander’s death, the enemies targeted those who tried to take over command, crushing them along with their soldiers. Their strategy was clear: obliterate the command structure first. This led to increasing isolation and disarray among the allied soldiers, though some managed to maintain minimal coordination with nearby comrades. The knight considered himself relatively fortunate to still be able to do so. Those who were isolated were being picked off one by one.
The situation was dire, and the knights didn’t know how to respond. They were barely managing to fend off the immediate threats before them.
“Damn these skeletons,” the knight cursed, swinging his bardiche to cleave through another skeleton’s torso. The forceful swing shattered the slime’s resistance, cracked the skeleton’s bones, and sent it flying, colliding with another skeleton and taking it down as well.