Chapter 63

  What is the price of change?

  "If you could change anything, what would you change?"

  Gazef could still remember that day, many years ago. The beating sun was almost intense as it was currently. At the time, the warrior had responded by discharging all his frustration with a single word.

  "Everything…"

  Hoping for something better, in his youth, was no more than a feeble dream. So, showing such greed was no more different than shouting in vain at the vast sky.

  "Then follow me," had told him that man and, in doing it, the only thing Gazef had always wished for was granted: a purpose.

  'Feels only like yesterday.'

  That day, he didn't know that was enough to change the course of his life. Watching the dismembered corpse in front of him, a voice couldn't stop whispering in his head if that had been the right choice. The past, in memories, had the bad habit of always looking better.

  "Captain, it is not good for you to watch…"

  Iovino stayed away, one hand on the nose attempting to block the stench, another on the scabbard, always ready in case of danger. The road, what once had been a well-paved road, didn't host anyone else besides their group.

  The neighing of horses in the distance rang out like an echo.

  "No, I have to," Moving his head, Gazef tried to reconstruct what until a short time before had been a very different image from the current one appearing now before him. Not without some difficulty. "Only a child…"

  It had not been the first one he had encountered during the war. In a matter of fact, Gazef had seen children even younger than that one, reduced in even worse state. There was no novelty in that display having reached that point and, for how absurd it could sound, there was nothing that one couldn't get used to.

  So what made him stop to look at that corpse that time? It wasn't respect, nor grief.

  In fact, compared to some of his soldiers who murmured soft words in sign of condolence, Gazef did nothing but remain mute.

  Listless to the surrounding comments of the troop, the warrior grasped, gently, as if she was still alive, the hand of the young girl. The absent pulse, that stilled silence, was more defying than every conceivable drums. The only heart that was beating now belonged to Gazef.

  The other hand was clutching the mother's skirt, reduced to an even worse state than her daughter. The father... What they had done to him was not fit to be described.

  "We have to burn her, captain. Her and her parents…"

  Devoid of whatsoever warmth, his second voice rang obnoxiously to Gazef's ears. Emitting a soft sigh, the warrior-captain closed the still-open left eye of the girl. What had she seen in her last moments? It was hard to say, and yet so easy to envisage.

  "Isn't it against the church's teachings to burn human corpses? Isn't it against common decency to refuse a proper burial to even our enemies, not to mention our kind?"

  Looking around, he could see some soldiers uttering some kind of prayer. Even if Gazef couldn't recognize with precision the verses, part of him dared to hope that clasping the amulet of the Goddess of Fire close to his chest was enough as last offering.

  Or one could delude oneself that it was.

  "It is," rebuked Iovino, too ashamed to look him in the eyes. "But the undead have been breathing down our necks for days. Just this week we lost a scout, two archers and one vanguard. Add that we have also the demihumans rampaging for all the regions… We are tired, scared and out of options… Some adventures are starting to drop the cause. And," he took a deep breath and raised his head, so that the harshness of what he was about to say would at least be delivered face to face. "Affording the risk to have other undead added to the horde is out of the question. The priests will purify the area from the negative energy… I am sure that doing so will bring solace to these poor people's souls."

  Iovino's argument was convincing, but that didn't make it more easy to digest. Logic didn't rhyme with acceptance, for all things considered.

  Gazef ran a hand through his hair, dirty and caked with blood and sweat. A little less than five hours had passed since the last skirmish -some tabixi in reconnaissance near the city of Azma- and the signs of battle had not yet dried.

  Wasting precious mana to clean himself up was out of the question.

  "What you are saying is correct… Still, it isn't right…"

  "When is it, captain? We can just do what we have to… And pray."

  Praying without actions offered no solution. But, compared to doing nothing, even that could give the illusion of making a difference.

  "They were trying to flee the area. A young couple and their even younger daughter… Leaving a hell to be greeted by an even worse one."

  At least, now they were at peace. Gazef could not question it.

  "That's why we are fighting, captain. To make this hell a paradise, one day."

  Was that the truth? Reminiscing his days in the Theocracy, Gazef compared the gray faces of the people in the Draconic Kingdom to the brighter ones of the Slaine's population. What was the difference, for why the former had made anguish their commonplace while the latter basked in peace?

  The quality of the soldiers who protected the borders? The abnegation to the Gods that granted salvation? Mere geographic matters or simple luck?

  Was there a difference in the first place? Clutching the Fire Goddess's amulet did not grant any answer to his doubts. In the same way, the flames that burned did not guarantee a true conclusion for those who remained. But if not for the living, nor for the dead, for who were these services?

  The priests held a quick service, reciting a few half-hearted sermons of condolence. One of them had a small container, where some magic objects were placed, which were promptly moved, collecting what was left of the remains.

  'I should do something...'

  Gazef would have liked to plant a seed, to make something grow in that place. Perhaps a jasmine plant, or a delicate flower, why not? A daisy, maybe, or a violet.

  He imagined the little girl watching the plant grow, marvelling when the time had finally come for it to sprout. Then he imagined the same little girl being devoured by a hungry demihuman, the sharp fangs butchering the soft flesh. Not out of cruelty, simply because it was in his nature.

  Gazef wondered if it was in his nature to kill the families of beastmen the way they did to humans. Shortly before, they had found tabixi scouting the territory. Many of them were no older than the little girl. Defense and preemptive action, so dictated Slaine's doctrine.

  They killed to feed themselves, and in turn the humans killed to avoid becoming their prey. Would it ever end? Perhaps, if someone had taken the first step towards reconciliation. But who?

  'Could daisies grow in this soil? Or violet? Not that it matters. I have nothing. Only my sword…' And, it was well known, nothing grew from swords.

  Someone approached him, just a few steps away. It was Brain. The swordsman had not joined in the prayer, neither with gestures nor with words, but the penetrating intensity of his gaze revealed something that perturbed him.

  "Do you…?" Gazef couldn't conclude.

  Meanwhile, in fact, someone had murmured something.

  "It's a punishment…"

  Punishment. That soft whisper reverberated between all the presents, loud as a thunder.

  "Who dared?"

  Iovino approached the soldier who had spoken, fuming with rage. Middle-aged, the distinctive white beard and the Wind God's crest proudly exposed on the culprit's breastplate quelled every question. Gazef recognized him as Frederik, one of the veterans of his unit, excellent cleric and more excellent guide in the demihumans habits.

  A lifelong service to the Gods, equally respected by novices and seniors.

  "I dared, vice-commander," he spat, without holding back contempt. Now his strong voice made him stand out from the crowd even more. "Why continue lying to ourselves? I was there, at Gelone. I was there… And saw what we did."

  "You saw nothing… Nothing that is worthy to tell…"

  "Nothing, you say? Nothing, you claim? Even if silence were enough to wash away our guilt, cutting out our tongues for what we have done would be no adequate punishment. Pretending our sins never happened will not make them disappear. Undead… The utmost taboo, just for a meaningless victory. The greatest blasphemy… For what? Surshana's wrath is upon us now. This is only the first act…"

  The smoke rising from the pyre and the clear sky above began to gray, almost as if hearing that last name had cast everything into darkness.

  "This is insubordination. In time of war, according to the military code, the captain could execute you right here, with just a summary process."

  Iovino made the threat, but it would be Gazef's turn to carry it out. The warrior-captain, in observing the downcast faces of his fellow soldiers, realized that Frederik's was not an uncommon opinion.

  Only one of them remained indifferent to everything. Brain remained at a distance, finding interest only in anything that wasn't that discussion. For a brief moment, Gazef envied him.

  "Then kill me. Cut my head, if you wish," the cleric pointed to his neck, the middle finger tracing a thin line on the skin. "The Scriptures… Do you know the scriptures, vice-commander? I am not talking about the men, no. I am talking about the texts. They make you read them in academia nowadays? Probably not. Or you would know. You would know about the last page of the Death Gospel. The very last line 'He will return'."

  The atmosphere grew intense. To mention the God of Death was to fill the air with uneasiness. Everyone was aware of that line, and the ominous omen it spelled. Even a newborn in the faith like Gazef could recognize the scope of that prophecy.

  "If Surshana really had returned, we would not be here withstanding. At Gelone we did what had to be done. Everything for humanity, you remember? That was the mantra in academia. Everything for humanity, even if it would make us monsters. The enemy is not our God. The same God, I have to remind you, loved us. Loved us so much to sacrifice himself for us from the Eight." Iovino emphasized that word passionately. Love. Perhaps he intended to point out to everyone present that, at the basis of everything, it was that simple concept, so powerful, that moved even the Gods? "Our enemies are liches. Strong, fearful liches. But still liches. You remember, cleric? Liches… How many of them did you send beyond the pale in your career?"

  Frederick lowered the head, and his pitch in kind. "We cannot fathom his design, his intent. His judgment is beyond the grasp of mere mortals. If we have called down his ire. . . Nothing will save us."

  "It will not save you for sure," reproached Iovino, disgust evident.

  Gazef reached the bantering pair, putting a hand on his second's shoulder, to give him the sign to stop. Then, from his bag, he took out a piece of bread, ignoring the faint purple light emitting from there.

  He broke it and cut it in half to give it to the two of them.

  "You are hungry. It has been a long and hard day. Let this be your reconciliation."

  The piece of bread was accepted by both, but neither actually ate it.

  "I know that what I am saying is well deserving of reprimand, captain," Frederik stood proud, without wavering in his convictions, firm as only a man who accepted death could be. "If you want to inflict capital punishment, I will gladly accept it. I should have died that day, anyway. I borrowed time from a merciless creditor."

  "No one will be punished for speaking his mind, Frederick. No one!" Gazef shouted, so that everyone could hear him and be aware that honesty would always be accepted in his unit. "If you have grievances, share them with me. I want to know the problems afflicting my soldiers."

  The cleric hesitated, unsure if he could open his heart to him. Then, after a long breath, he shared what was troubling him.

  "The ways of the Theocracy are changing. First the undead. Then the elves... We have made peace with our eternal foes, and placed a half-breed blasphemer on their throne, so that we can call the ones who killed our family brothers and sisters. The Cardinals make peace deals with the demihumans in the south, only because they are convinced that they will be useful to them. We are surrounded by more enemies every day, and instead of inflicting havoc on their shameful existence, we have conducted business with them as the most covetous merchants. But coins can't buy souls, and wealth does not bring salvation."

  His were the words of someone who had the world he had learnt to accept shifted from day to night. Change was a factor hard to accept. When you were already that much old, almost impossible.

  "I understand…" Gazef thought deeply, before speaking. For he wanted to be sure to not be stained by eagerness. No matter how unreasonable the arguments were, denying them was akin to deny the one from whom they originated. "What you lament, I can't truly grasp, truth be told. I am not a true citizen of the Theocracy like you, nor I want to pretend the hardships you encountered for an entire life are something that can be dismissed with a simple discourse."

  "Captain, you are as much of a Slaine soldier as everyone here…"

  Gazef halted his second, inviting him to quiet with a simple gesture of the arm.

  "What you call old ways, for me, are distant things. The hundred year old grudge with elves, only an hearsay, a myth, not something I truly experienced nor witnessed. As a mercenary, I fought non-humans and monsters, but also my same kind. Does that make me a sinner? For me, nothing truly made a difference. In the end, it comes to that, doesn't it? A difference. There has to be a difference. Why have I to die here, now? And not there, in another time? Why do I have to kill this individual, and not the other one? We give ourselves answers, but these answers are subject to the fickle despot that is changing."

  When the warrior bowed, everyone hurried to make him stop.

  "Captain, you don't need to humiliate yourself…"

  But Gazef was firm as a stone. There was nothing humiliating about what he was doing.

  "So, if you don't have reasons to continue, let me be your reason. You, and everyone else, find in me and this place the thing you want to hold on. Find in yourselves the strength you need to endure… And if you can't, I will do everything in my power to let you return to your homes, to your families. But, please, I beg you… Don't say you are on borrowed time. Live, live until you don't emit your last breath. Cursing your nation, cursing your friends, cursing what they taught you… But live."

  The only thing Frederick could utter was a feeble "I am sorry." A shadow of regret crossed his features. All the other members of the unit fret to say the same.

  Standing up, Gazef held the old cleric in a tight hug. "Never say you are sorry… Not for this. We are weak, we are fallible, and we make mistakes. It's not a fault."

  "That was a good speech. Did you prepare it? Or was it an inspiration of the moment?"

  Gazef was pulled away from his meditation; slowly opening the eyelids he could grasp the blue-hair swordsman that towered over him. The corners of Brain's mouth, slightly bolded in what couldn't be quite described as a smile, arched with mockery.

  "I would like to say it was the latter, but I knew the state of mind of my men… It was only a question of time before someone would give up… It just happened later than I expected."

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "That Frederick seems to have calmed down. You did a great job…"

  A great job that wouldn't have lasted. Not for long. Not in these conditions.

  "Aren't you gonna prepare for the incoming battle?" Gazef had placed various ointments in front of him, each with different properties. "This is for endurance, this other one helps with breathing. I have even got a rare one, perfect to relax the muscles. Take whatever you prefer!"

  Cerabrate and the other adventures had sent a message. An horde of undead and monsters was coming towards them, and would attack their right flank in a short time span. The Holy Lord was too busy engaging some beastmen in the road that connected Zama with the fortress to provide aid in a reasonable time.

  He would have preferred to fight in an area with more natural defenses, rather than having to improvise, which was never ideal.

  Soon, they wouldn't be able to continue fighting in open camp anymore, Gazef considered. For every one of them lost, ten appeared on the other side.

  "I have mine, don't worry." Brain took a small bottle from his bag, from which he started to drink the azure liquid floating inside.

  "Don't you apply it to your body?"

  "I prefer it this way."

  "I see…" Unusual, but was not up to him to judge. Gazef disposed of some arrows in front of him, testing the sharpness.

  "They will be useless against the undead."

  "I know, but we can't be sure if some beastmen will not mix with them…" Being unprepared was a luxury few could afford. "About that… Your sword is extraordinarily sharp, but will not be a good match-up against our enemies. I have some sparring swords more suitable for blunt damage. Of course, you could also get some maces or cubs from one of the clerics."

  With some martial arts it was possible to overcome the drawbacks of a bad match-up. Brain's『Field』, in particular, was perfect to pinpoint the perfect striking point from which maxime the slashing, and severe even the most resistant adversaries with one powerful hit. The toils inflicted to the body, though, weren't suited for a long-prolonged battle.

  "No need to worry. Against low-rank undead even a slashing damage will be enough, if it comes from me. Will be a perfect training to be prepared to fight in dire situations."

  "Is that so? Well, it's not up to me to look after you." Gazef had the impression that the solitary swordsman had long surpassed him, and so giving advice would have been no more than showing his ignorance.

  "Aren't you gonna fight on a horse?"

  "The horses we have are trained for swift movement and dealing with demihumans, but not for engaging the undead... There is a risk that they will be too frightened and end up being more of a hindrance than anything else..."

  He had left a small rearguard to look after the animals, and perhaps intervene to create an escape route. One last gamble, just in case.

  Brain didn't seem very concerned. He quickly changed the subject.

  "I heard your story early. Were you a mercenary?"

  From everyone else, Gazef could have expected it, but not from Brain. It was hard to believe that this man could be interested in anything other than fighting.

  "It was a long time ago…" Recalling was bittersweet, and his tongue took some seconds before relaxing. "I never met my parents. My first memory is about taking a sword and trying to lift it up… At the time, the south was divided in many different cities, each at odds with each other. There were a lot of small sellswords companies, the majority formed by no more than dozens of people. Many of them had no military training and tried to survive by selling the only thing they could do: their life."

  Funny. Last time he had talked about his past in detail, Gazef couldn't remember. Not for some sense of embarrassment or discretion. Simply put, there had never been the need to.

  "I spent a lot of time in the south. This sword originally was sold in the ancient capital. They call it katana." Brain showered that sword -the katana- to him.

  "The flying city? I never went there… Is it as marvelous as they tell?"

  "That and more. Splendor, luxury, and power are the lifeblood of this metropolis, built on blood and earth. Every brick is gilded, every street filled with exotic and intoxicating scents, and every inhabitant is covered in wealth. Indeed, wealth itself is not only found in their possessions, but in their history. It's a portal to a past long forgotten, that still lives."

  Yet, listening to him speak, one could get the impression that there was more to it than that. Brain was refraining from telling him everything; for what reason only he could know.

  "Should have been good… I don't remember much of the south… I used to move from city to city, without ever getting the chance to put down roots. You came from Re-Estize, don't you?"

  "Yes…" Brain didn't elaborate further. Not because he wanted to hide anything, but simply because it was of no importance to him. "I had a family, I guess. I don't remember much. I don't even know if they are alive or not." There was no melancholy, nor that extraordinary nostalgia that Gazef had observed in more than one soldier when they returned with memories to their birthplace.

  If someone had arrived at that moment bearing news of the death of one of his parents, Brain would have responded only with a shrug.

  "I see…"

  Silence fell down on them and with it embarrassment.

  "And why are you here?" Brain asked.

  "Uh?"

  "How come from the south you came in service of the Theocracy?"

  "It's not an interesting story," Gazef explained, taken by surprise. "I don't want to bother you."

  "You don't."

  At that point, the hesitation disappeared.

  "It had been a skirmish like many others, and I was checking how many of ours were still breathing…" His fingers trembled from guilt. "No… I was plundering the corpses. Surviving was… difficult."

  The hunger, the freezing nights, not knowing if one of your companions could attack you in your sleep. Gazef had almost forgotten all of that. The Theocracy had provided him with warm meals, blankets, and trusted friends. All in exchange for his sacrifice for humanity. Yet, compared to starvation and cold, even the fangs and claws of the demihumans were not so frightening.

  Death in war could be cruel, but it was quick.

  Death from stomach cramps, disease, or lack of money because you couldn't afford food or pay for a healer's services was, instead, a slow agony. You never knew when it would come, leaving you there, alone, waiting. And waiting. It could be minutes, days, or even months. And when it finally deigned to visit, you were just grateful for the unfortunate encounter.

  "There is nothing strange in ravaging the remnants of defeated foes. I did and still do it all the time." That was no tentative to console him. Brain was just surprised that something ordinary could provoke such a strong reaction. "Would you prefer valuable items to be lost only for some self-righteous sense of decency? All our rights are lost when we emit our last breath."

  "No… I guess no…" It was logical, and made sense. Gazef waited for Brain to add something, before continuing with his tale. How much until the horde would be on them? A couple of minutes, perhaps? "Well, anyway, it was a common occurrence for me. A day so similar to many before, if not for a small thing. I met a man. An elf."

  "An elf?" For the first time since they had met each other, Brain was genuinely surprised.

  "Yes. A wandering priest, or so he presented himself. I actually think he was something more. Not that it matters. We talked. For a couple of minutes, before he had to leave. In that occurrence, I didn't believe it was anything more than one of these random encounters you make in the battlefield. The aftermath of battles always attire some… eccentric personalities, to say the least. But then, I met him again the next day. And then the day after. Soon, our conversations became longer. I don't know why he took an interest in me."

  "Maybe he had seen something in you. Something special."

  "Maybe," Gazef wasn't convinced. He had accumulated experience as a mercenary, and the fact he was still alive was testament of his skills. However, like him there were many others. "The fact is that one day he asked me if I wanted to change something in my life. I said yes. I said I wanted to change everything. And he directed me toward the Theocracy. Joining their service wasn't easy, but I had nothing to lose."

  "It's strange, don't you think? Elves were at war with the Theocracy at the time…"

  "Yes. Later, I tried to make sense of it, but the only thing I could come up with were just suspects…"

  "There was a story in Erentyuu…" Brain whispered, scouting the surroundings to make sure no one was listening to them. The rest of the unit was too busy with preparations to give them attention. "The races of the Eight are shrouded in mystery, you must know that. According to many mythos they were giant dragonkind, imposing as mountains and so huge that even the dragons of old looked like insects at their confrontation."

  But mythos and tales were just that… Hearsays without historical accuracy. In the absence of anything else, they could be useful for providing a vague idea of the past. Nothing more.

  "I heard tales like that too, in my stay in the south. There were many variations, though. In some, they were dragons, in others demons, in few they weren't even living beings, only disastrous calamities. The Theocracy, however, refers to them just as 'sinners'."

  Brain grinned, satisfied with that response. "Yes. But what if… What if they were nothing like that? No demons from hell, or dragons that clouded the sky. What if they were dwarves, humans… and elves!"

  "Aren't you suggesting…?"

  Gazef glimpsed at the horde of undead approaching them. He had never seen that many in a single place. Grabbing the sword, he reproached himself for the tingle of excitement running through his body.

  "The old elf king humiliated the Theocracy's army, the strongest in the region. His daughter, Slaine's deepest secret, humiliated him in turn. How much are the Cardinals hiding things from you and from us?" Brain's katana sliced two zombies slowly walking to them. The powerful cut was so perfect that, if the occasion had allowed it, would have been admired in its perfection. "I want to see her, the half-blood. I want to see how high we can push humanity…"

  Now that the battle had started, Gazef aimed his focus to the midst of the action, with Brain's remark ringing in his head. The move that marked the beginning of the battle was when the hilt of his sword struck the skull of a skeleton, causing it to crumble instantly. There was a shock, and the sound of broken bones. All around, many small scenes were unfolding, each divided into even smaller micro-actions.

  At first, it was simple. It always was. Despite their numbers, the undead didn't stand out for their abilities. A zombie collapsed with a simple lunge, and skeletons lost the energy that held their bones together with a light touch.

  Resistance was pointless. They could easily make their way through rows of enemies, continuing to reap victims. But the more they killed, the more arrived. The black cloud that foreshadowed their advance was not dispelled by the fury of the Theocracy's soldiers or the dazzling brilliance of their spells.

  Gazef brought down another zombie. And then another. At his side, Brain did the same.

  Then there was a skeleton armed with a spear running towards them, trying to pierce their sides, but it was deflected with a simple dance of blades.

  And then there were skeletons trying to bury them with arrows, not caring if they hit their own, for there was no comradeship between the unliving. Iovino led a handful of clerics to strike them down before they could bury them, dispelling their rounded formations.

  And then there were ghouls biting arms and legs, colliding with the metal of the armor, sinking their teeth into every gap, every cavity that would allow them to spread their disease.

  And then there were undead enchanters who shot arrows of ice and flame, while the priests of the Theocracy invoked their faith to exorcise them and drive out evil.

  And then there was the deafening noise, the crossfire rising above their heads, the smoke clouding their vision, and the smell of decay that made breathing laborious.

  For a minute, the world was only them. In that minute, the relentless carnage and bloodshed mingled in a putrid miasma of anguish.

  Then the minute passed. From the hell they were coming… more come along. An endless legion.

  The strain of the body was not left alone, for with it the mind too began to feel fatigue. Not only because the thrill was fading and the adrenaline was wearing off.

  Air corrupted by poisonous mist and soil contaminated by corrupted remains. Ghosts and wraiths wandered by the place, inflicting fear and diseases between the ranks. Healer and divine casters contrasted the infection casting spells that strengthen them mentally and physically, quickly draining their mana, summoning low-tier angels to aid their efforts.

  The relentless exchange of magic and status, in which every move had a countermeasure already prepared to be unleashed, had led to a stalemate whose balance was on the verge of collapse.

  A horror that unfolded with banality before them, stripped of all the trappings that enliven the most terrifying nightmares. A horror made up of those who were once supposed to protect them, and who now swelled the ranks of that tide of wretched souls.

  'We can't continue like this. Not too until…'

  One of their soldiers fell, calling on foreboding doom with his death.

  A priest, his energy long since depleted, could no longer withstand the relentless assault of the horde. The angel he had summoned vanished suddenly with the departure of its creator, as if it had never descended upon those places.

  That was the convergence that turned the tide of battle. Until then, it was possible to convince yourself that you could hold out, that you could escape death. But when you saw the comrade with whom you had shared pain and pleasure being slowly devoured, it didn't matter how much courage you had, or how much experience you had accumulated in numerous campaigns, you began to falter.

  And when you faltered, it was over.

  A chain of events that would lead to their downfall had been triggered.

  Gazef exchanged a knowing glance with Brain, and the two began to run in unison, mowing down skeleton swordsmen and spearmen, covering each other's blind spots and coordinating every move, depleting the throng of execrable beings with few, accurate swings.

  When Gazef parried a blow aimed at Brain's back, Brain cut off the head of a zombie or ghoul trying to take Gazef by surprise. When Brain deflected a flaming arrow aimed at Gazef, Gazef tore a reckless skeleton to shreds.

  While up on them all was sullen, and on the sides enemies and friends mingled in strident noises, the two of them blitzed in the ordeal, claiming a new friendship forged in hardships.

  "They are too much… Soon, we will get surrounded by all sides…"

  "I know! What can we do?"

  The undead weren't just humans, but beastmen too. Some might have found it ironic that the two species had begun to work together in such a state. Some, like them, found that fighting the living corpse of a nevayuu that knew no fatigue was a bad taste joke.

  There was no time to laugh, though.

  Not when a giant amalgamation of bones and flesh was heading their way.

  "What the hell is that?"

  The head, what remained of it, was feline in appearance. A turtle shell protected its chest, where numerous parasites squirmed in a thin layer of keratin, glistening like a star in the night. It had no legs, but a jumble of skeletal parts that crawled with impressive speed.

  Finally, its extremely long arms held together a motley collection of weapons of various kinds.

  "Disgusting…"

  A young cleric threw himself into the attack, striking the creature's rib cage with a war hammer; the vibration spread so much that Gazef was forced to cover his ears.

  The creature, dazed, or at least that was the impression it gave, shook its head as if in the throes of a searing migraine, and then began to disgorge. The cleric was hit by a corrosive acid that melted him on the spot, consuming his flesh and leaving only scattered ashes on the soil.

  Disgust and fear were feelings that could only be considered a luxury at that juncture. The giant undead began to crawl, twisting its arms and spewing acid across the battlefield, heedless of whether it was maiming friends or melting enemies.

  "We have to do something!"

  Gazef and Brain moved toward him, taking care not to get caught in the range of that deadly liquid. The warrior felt flooded with invigorating energy and realized that one of the spellcasters had cast an enhancement spell to make him more resistant to all types of corrosive attacks, aware that it wouldn't make much difference.

  The giant undead stopped when he saw the two in front of him, almost as if he were observing them. He reached out his right hand toward Brain, who,『Field』 promptly activated, repelled it with a precise stroke of his katana, tearing off a few pieces of metal embedded in the bones.

  The blow, however, proved ineffective, as the other hand was about to swoop down towards him. Once again, the attempt was thwarted, and the same action was repeated an extraordinary number of times in the space of a few seconds.

  Gazef took advantage of that distraction and, aiming at the carapace, gathered all his strength and pushed his body to its limits.

  "『Light Thrust』!"

  The martial art covered the sword with a holy glow, and the tip turned a blinding gold, piercing the giant's chest, digging deep and sawing through the layer of keratin. Gazef screamed, and screamed even louder, continuing to press down to cut the monster, but he only succeeded in part.

  The giant spat acid again, and the warrior was forced to activate a second martial art to escape, but not before being grazed on the shoulder. The burning pain, combined with the stress, clouded his vision and forced him to take a deep breath before resuming.

  "Are you okay?"

  "I'll survive..."

  All around, the situation was becoming increasingly critical, and the space available to them was beginning to diminish. However, in that situation where the stakes were too high, Gazef couldn't help but hear Brain's last words echoing in his mind.

  The limits of men... He had never thought about how far they could go, nor had he ever believed that there could be secrets that concealed the ineffectiveness of his own potential.

  So, where could he push himself? The grip on the hilt of the sword tightened so much that every vein of the hands bursted with pain, as copious blood dropped from the palms. A violet mist engulfed him, enkindling his souls with vigor.

  "『Ability Boost』!『Greater Ability Boost』!"

  Flowing in the air, the impetus breeze scorching the skin, Gazef aimed once again at the undead, whose serrated protuberances dislocated in a whirlwind of blades. The warrior dances between them, unable to dodge everything, rather choosing to get injured when the damage was less severe.

  Nonetheless, it was only a few meters, and his body was already covered with wounds. Heedless of whatever the risk, a stance was assumed, with the sword grazing the carapace once again, piercing that steel-like protection, in search of a miracle.

  "『…』"

  The martial art failed and Gazef's focus lost in an upheaval of sensations.

  His ears were ringing, unable to distinguish between the various screams that rang out in the distance. His nose was bleeding, his mouth was clogged with mucus, and his fingers were struggling to remain steady. Through it all, Gazef did not waver, but brought every muscle, every complaint his body produced, to a point of indifference, where only he and the sword remained, untoward of any safety.

  A malevolent pulse on his side throbbed at an uncanny rhythm.

  Forthwith, he continued to lash out, hurtling with every conceivable thread of his being, woes be damned, and the sword broke.

  The sword, which had been everything, broke, and with it, the carapace shattered. One last roar, acid spat from everywhere, and Gazef collapsed along with the skeletal giant. A river of rot spewed from the crack, flooding the surrounding area like a drunkard blessing the alley with what he had consumed so greedily.

  Gazef gasped, begging for air that didn't come. Buried, he sank into a dark crowd. He forced himself to get up, but the undead had piled on top of him and were pushing him down to suffocate him. He could feel those dirty, unnatural bodies touching him, biting him, and trampling him. He searched the ground for his sword, but found only pieces of metal broken in two.

  That was enough.

  He grabbed one and cut as much as he could, unable to distinguish exactly what he was cutting, pressing with his weight to lift the mass. A few seconds passed, which felt like centuries to him, until he managed to emerge.

  Breathing had never been so beautiful.

  "Gazef..." Brain offered him his arm, and with it an help in freeing himself.

  "Coff… coff…" Gazef analyzed the current predicament. "We are losing terrain…" Discomfort was a luxury that couldn't be afforded. "Almost half of ours are lost…" And the others were on the verge of retreating.

  "What are you gonna do?"

  Brain pointed at the horizon. Other undead were swaying towards them. At least making a decision wouldn't have been hard.

  "We have to go back to the fortress… This area is indefensible…"

  After managing to open a path, the survivors gathered around Gazef in a disordered arrangement, continuing to fight as they retreated. Just as the captain had predicted, the cavalry he had left in reserve provided valuable assistance, although many were devoured by that nefarious stream.

  The undead kept following them for half a day, until they were just a few miles away from the fortress. It was evening by the time they were finally able to rest.

  "Captain…"

  "Not now, Iovino… Just give me some hours…" While his second was getting away, Gazef felt a tinginess of disappointment in himself. "Wait!" He called him, before he could be too far. "Give me your report now."

  Those were tough minutes, during which every loss was carefully described, with no details spared. Each name was like a heavy weight thrown onto his shoulders.

  "Do you think you can tell me by tomorrow which positions will need to be filled?"

  "I'll have a detailed report ready as soon as possible. But I can already tell you that our rear guard is in terrible shape... We'll need at least half a dozen priests and as many clerics if we have to face another horde like that... But we know that the next time we encounter them, their numbers will have grown."

  "Any chance of reinforcements from the Theocracy?"

  "Few..."

  "Then we'll have to ask the Queen..."

  Iovino simply bowed his head and took his leave silently. Left alone, Gazef was able to allow himself something resembling rest. Brain was tending his wounds half a dozen meters away from him. They would have a lot to talk about soon.

  First, however, Gazef opened the bag from which he took the orb given to him by General Aderbaal and the necromancers of the Theocracy, in that last occasion of respite.

  It glowed with a purple light, much more intense than the last time he had seen it, unrecognizable shadows dancing in its glow. His grip wilted, and was almost on the verge of dropping the magic item, if not for a distant feeling that compelled him to return it to its place.