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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Silverriver
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I sat up, my joints cracking in protest. My body was complaining about the recent abuse.
“Ugh…”
I grimaced, clutching my lower back. It ached, but it was nothing compared to what I had endured since arriving at Winter Castle. And thanks to the strange tea Arwen had given me, the demonic energy was dormant.
Once I became aware of it, it was easy to sense. Just like I could sense my own mana and the dragon’s mana, I could now sense the demonic energy. But it lived up to its name, thrashing and writhing within me.
The thought of such a volatile energy residing within my body was unsettling. I grabbed my chipped sword and headed out into the hallway. Agnes was already there.
She looked stunning, a stark contrast to her drunken state from the previous night. Her clear eyes and neatly arranged hair were a testament to her title, Empress of the Battlefield.
“Agnes.”
I called out to her, raising my hand in greeting. My image might have been slightly tarnished by last night’s incident, but I had grown fond of her during our time in Winter Castle.
“Y-Yes?”
Agnes quickly turned her head, as if trying to hide her face. I tilted my head, puzzled. Had I done something wrong?
She couldn’t have heard what I said last night, and I couldn’t think of anything else…
“What’s…”
“Excuse me!”
Before I could finish my question, she hurried down the hallway, disappearing from sight. Had she always been that fast? I scratched my head, bewildered.
“I just wanted to ask if she was alright…”
It was a bit unsettling.
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As I stepped outside, the familiar stench of blood assaulted my senses. The demonic energy near my heart stirred.
“Ugh!”
I covered my mouth, but a trickle of blood escaped my lips. It had been a while since I’d coughed up blood. I wiped the blood on the snow and continued walking, as if nothing had happened.
-Roar!
The orcs’ roars echoed in the distance. I climbed the battlements, and the scene below came into view.
The same as yesterday. A dark green tide crashing against the walls. Despite our efforts, the wave showed no signs of receding.
“Archers, stand by!”
Hundreds of soldiers on the walls notched arrows and drew their bows.
“Fire!”
They released their bowstrings in near unison.
-Thud. Thud. Thud.
The twang of the taut bowstrings echoed as hundreds of arrows filled the sky. The orcs at the front fell, their cries of pain echoing across the plains. But the wave continued its relentless advance.
“Those damned bastards…!”
One of the commanders cursed under his breath. The orcs had simply ignored their fallen comrades and kept running.
Those who fell were trampled by those behind them, crushed into a bloody pulp. Despite the countless orcs we had slain, the bodies continued to pile up at the base of the walls.
“Hmm…”
The Count grunted. The soldiers of Winter Castle were fighting valiantly. I doubted there was a more skilled army in the entire Empire. But their opponents were orcs.
Creatures with no tactics, no strategy. Just a brute force charge. But there were simply too many of them.
And overwhelming numbers were a tactic in themselves. For every soldier of Winter Castle who fell, at least ten orcs died.
But ten more orcs would immediately fill the gap. That was the problem. The sheer difference in numbers was taking its toll.
“Uhhhggh…”
I desperately suppressed the demonic energy. My stomach churned, my body trembled. I wanted to give up, to let it take over.
The demonic energy clawed at the walls of its prison. If it broke free, I would lose control.
I gathered my mana, reinforcing the barrier, clutching my chest.
The demonic energy retreated, dormant for now. I took a deep breath and turned to look at the Count.
“At this rate, our side is going to suffer serious losses.”
“More orcs than expected have breached our defenses!”
“It seems the Orc Lord is determined this time.”
The commanders gathered around the Count, delivering their reports. Their faces were grim, but none of them mentioned retreat.
I found it strange but didn’t comment.
“Reinforcements and supplies are arriving, but it’s not enough.”
The commanders finished their reports. The Count stared beyond the walls, at a red banner fluttering amidst the dark green tide.
The Orc Lord’s banner.
The Count’s gaze lingered on the banner, then he spoke.
“We break through.”
My eyes widened. Had I heard him correctly? I couldn’t believe those words had come from the Count’s mouth.
But he continued, confirming my suspicions,
“Prepare the knights. Leave a minimal force on the walls. We charge, and…”
The Count’s finger pointed towards the Orc Lord’s banner.
“…we take that banner.”
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It was madness. A suicide mission. I repeated that to myself, yet I joined the knights.
I couldn’t see any other way out of this situation. My mind screamed that this was insane, but I knew there was no other option.
The Count, clad in heavy armor, stood before the gate. The assembled knights drew their weapons.
The atmosphere was strangely calm. A slight tension hung in the air, but their breathing was steady.
They were eager to charge, their anticipation palpable. Agnes wasn’t among them. She couldn’t ride a horse. She stood on the battlements, a frustrated look on her face.
Just days ago, she had been terrified of battle, of death. Winter Castle had changed her. I looked around, feeling the weight of countless gazes, their hopes and expectations pressing down on me.
“Soldiers of Cardia,” the Count began, and my heart pounded. The demonic energy remained dormant. This was my excitement, not its.
“This winter has been long. And this year… it has been particularly harsh.”
I swallowed hard. The Count sat atop his horse, a massive spear in his hand. My heart raced.
“But we have not forgotten winter. We have not forgotten this harsh season. And we never will.”
I unconsciously tightened my grip on my sword. Mana flowed into the chipped blade, and my body burned.
The Count raised his spear before the gate.
An immense amount of mana, far greater than anything I’d seen before, enveloped the spear.
It was a level I had never witnessed.
“Aura Blade…”
I knew the moment I saw it. That Aura was the ultimate goal, the final destination. A level unattainable through mere talent or skill.
“Today, we break through winter and reclaim spring!”
At the Count’s cry, soldiers appeared, pushing a massive, bladed wheel. The pungent smell of oil wafted from the wheel, mingling with the stench of blood.
“Open the gates.”
At the Count’s command, the gates began to rise with a grinding creak. The snow-covered plains, teeming with the dark green tide, came into view. The soldiers pushed the wheel forward, its bladed edges tearing through the snow.
-Rumble…
The soldiers fired flaming arrows at the rolling wheel, setting it ablaze.
“Charge!!!”
At the Count’s roar, the knights spurred their horses forward, following the path cleared by the burning wheel. I was among them.
My heart pounded relentlessly. My mind screamed that this was a suicide mission. Yet, I wasn’t afraid. On the contrary, I felt… exhilarated. My body burned with excitement. The demonic energy remained dormant.
This was my emotion, not its influence. I drew my sword, its blade broken in half. I would need to use intermediate-level Aura just to cut through the orcs.
-Crackle!
Violet Aura erupted from me. The highest level of mana I could muster while suppressing the demonic energy. But it was still only intermediate level. I needed more.
My blood boiled, a smile spreading across my face.
At the vanguard, the Count cleaved through the dark green tide, the knights following close behind.
It was awe-inspiring, a mesmerizing display of power. I was captivated, yet also… terrified.
And then, I realized what I had been missing. The wall I hadn’t been able to overcome.
‘Desire.’
Not just any desire, but a deep, desperate yearning, a craving for something unattainable. I hadn’t felt desire. Not until the demonic energy took hold, filling me with a thirst for blood.
I gritted my teeth. Now that I knew what was holding me back, all I had to do was overcome it. I took a deep breath and channeled my mana, focusing on the path before me.
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The kettle continued to boil in the cabin. Arwen, pausing from kneading dough, looked out the window.
“….”
Nothing. Just… emptiness. A sudden, sharp pain pierced her heart. She frowned.
“So… this is the limit.”
Blood trickled from her lips. Arwen tried to remember the last time she had bled.
Cartrell Philasia. Deron’s father. Her husband. She had bled for him, to marry him, to bear his child.
A smile touched her lips. She wiped the blood away and muttered,
“I’m glad I could give my son, who’s embarking on such a difficult path, one last gift.”
The wound was deep, but she didn’t care. Her son was more precious than any injury.
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