Chapter 61: Amidst the Demon Turmoil

“Charge forward, tear them apart, and feast,” bellowed the leading half-demon, wielding a bone he had picked up from who knows where, launching himself into a mindless assault.

More than a hundred half-demons shrieked, surging forward in a dark mass toward the camp.

At this very moment, within the camp, all troops were assembling rapidly.

Whether it was Flora’s squad or the conscripted noble forces, everyone raced at once toward the combat zone.

In the first row behind the palisade, hundreds of soldiers gripped wooden shields clad in iron, eyes fixed on the half-demons emerging from the darkness, swallowing nervously, bodies taut with tension.

“Distribute the fletched arrows.”

“Archers, ready your bows.”

“Clerics, cast Light of the Holy to illuminate the front.”

“Frontline warriors, brace for the first wave of half-demons.”

“Knights and their squires, move—circle around to the enemy’s rear.”

Standing at the center of the formation, Flora took command, issuing orders with calm authority.

The arrows, their shafts soaked in holy water, were handed out by laborers, filling every quiver.

“Loose!”

Bathed in the radiance of the holy spell, the forms of the half-demons became starkly visible.

At the command, over a hundred archers drew and released their arrows.

The leading half-demons, their dark flesh bristling with fletched shafts, howled in pain as the holy water scorched their corrupted souls, driving them to greater frenzy.

With a savage roar, as more than a dozen half-demons fell purified, the wooden barricade collapsed; the first rank of shield-bearing soldiers braced themselves for contact.

“Vermin!”

“Embrace the glory of evolution!”

The half-demon chieftain, towering three meters high, swung his bone club, sending seven or eight soldiers flying, easily tearing a breach in the shield wall to clear a path for those behind.

“A peak Silver—damn it, how did he break free?” Flora gritted her teeth, eyes locked on the monstrous brute before her.

“Sir Flora, what do we do? We can’t hold him with just our strength,” a nobleman said gravely, gaze fixed on the half-demon.

Here, their mightiest was Flora herself, high Silver rank. The two knights serving as her lieutenants were only at lower Silver.

“I’ll hold this one—leave the rest to you.”

“Finish this quickly. I can’t last long.”

“Yes, Captain.”

With that, Flora passed command to a viscount, then left the command post to intercept the half-demon chieftain.

At that moment, the half-demon chieftain seized a hapless soldier, biting off his upper body in one savage motion, gulping down flesh, splinters, and iron alike.

“Humans—mere ants.”

With a crash, the knight’s longsword struck the chieftain’s black hide, driving him back seven or eight steps before he regained his footing.

Flora looked at the shallow wound her full strength had managed to carve, her heart sinking further.

“Roar! Become one with me!”

The half-demon chieftain hurled aside the mutilated corpse, swinging his bone club directly at Flora.

Relying on her practiced skill, Flora dodged his attacks, luring him step by step away from the camp.

The chieftain, his mind clouded by hunger and bloodlust, had forgotten his true objective, fixated only on the nimble human evading him, following her further from the main battle.

“Send in the cavalry—end this quickly. Lady Flora can’t hold out much longer,” the viscount ordered, taking charge and directing the troops to encircle the half-demons and their cultist allies.

After several failed strikes, infuriated by this elusive foe, the chieftain let out a furious howl. Suddenly, his half-severed left arm disappeared, his speed exploding severalfold.

Seeing the bone club hurtling ever closer, Flora ignited her battle aura, channeling it into her knight’s sword to conjure a shield of flame.

With a deafening crash, the barrage of brute force shattered the flaming shield in just three seconds, sending Flora hurtling over a hundred meters, her body slamming into the ground.

“Human, embrace the glory of evolution. To become one with me is your highest fate.”

Spitting blood, Flora muttered, “Looks like I’m dying in this damned place tonight.”

Pain racked her body as she tore off her blood-soaked visor, staring at the oncoming chieftain with bitter humor.

“At least the manner of death isn’t pretty. I wonder if those little brats will ever find my bones.”

“Evolve. Evolve.”

Drawn by the scent of her Silver-ranked blood, the chieftain’s mind raced. Instinct told him that devouring this woman would shatter his shackles, elevate him to a Gold demon, and grant him the dubious honor of being cannon fodder among true Abyssal kin, freeing him from the shame of being a half-breed.

As the chieftain advanced, the gray cross nestled at Flora’s breast began to shine.

With a thunderous burst, a beam of light materialized, enveloping them both, piercing the night sky.

A crack resounded.

“I… will not die… I…”

In less than two seconds, under the glow of dawn, the howling chieftain was utterly annihilated.

At the same time, Flora, hovering at death’s door, felt as if she had returned to her mother’s embrace. Her shattered organs, broken bones, and myriad wounds were healed by the power of the dawn.

“I… I survived.”

She gazed at the stars, the scene replaying over and over in her mind.

…

On the night of April 1st, 9721 of the Radiant Calendar, four hundred kilometers from Lake Starfall, within a distant barony, Verin had dismissed the other members of the caravan, sitting alone by the lakeside, waiting for the guidance of fate.

As he waited, Verin’s thoughts drifted back to a year ago, when he had still been at Windsor Castle.

“A year—it’s been nearly a year since I left.”

Staring at the tranquil lake, Verin found himself lost in reflection.

The deepest hours of the night are always the most prone to wandering thoughts.

At eight o’clock, a familiar, melodious voice sounded in his ear once more.

[In five months, the Cult of Famine will commence the Famine Rite. The western region of the Kingdom of Ilia will be struck by extreme weather.]

“Cult of Famine. Extreme weather.”

Hearing this, Verin’s face grew grim.

He knew something about the Cult of Famine from his family’s library—a cult devoted to a dark god. According to records of heretical incidents across the continent of Siphnas, disasters triggered by the cult were usually floods, locust plagues, or droughts.

This meant that the western region of Ilia—over five million square kilometers—would soon be plagued by one or more natural calamities.

“I must prepare in advance.”

In the face of such heretical events, the Kingdom of Ilia, as a land devoted solely to the Goddess of Life, could rely only on its own strength to endure.

Of course, if it were a theocratic territory of the Goddess of Life, cults such as these would never dare to stir.

From what Verin knew, only two of the neighboring countries around Ilia were true theocratic states.