From a distance, the sound of Welleskay's explosive fire arrow exploding could be heard, along with the griffin riders chasing after him in the air, but Ederick did not feel that his side held any real advantage. Around him were five orcs and a dwarf.
The one speaking to him was a orc. Although Ederick had already known that these beasts had become quite human-like under the teachings of Theodorus, speaking face-to-face with such a creature still felt strange to him. The spear just thrown was nearly as powerful as his own thrust, but the sheer strength of it seemed to outweigh the more diffuse Fighting spirit, making it clearly the work of one of the orcs. Yet, Ederick couldn't bring himself to believe that such a wild beast could wield fighting spirit.
Fighting spirit—it was the ultimate goal for countless warriors. To wield this power was not just a sign of combat prowess, but a reflection of experience, willpower, and spirit. Yet now, this concept seemed embodied by a orc, which felt as unbelievable as a wild dog winning a noble title that countless men sought.
However, this "unwillingness" was only a fleeting emotional response. The Temple Knight was always cold and precise in his judgments, like the tools of a dwarf craftsman, and that was the strongest weapon a top-tier warrior could possess. Ederick could see the calmness of the orcs around him, still as a maiden yet poised like a taut bowstring, ready to unleash at any moment—a presence only true warriors possessed. Despite this, Ederick almost unconsciously pushed aside the fact that these were orcs.
What was even more dangerous than their martial spirit was their equipment. The massive weapons indicated equally massive destructive power, particularly the giant war hammer in the hands of the ogre. Ederick knew that even his glory armor couldn't possibly withstand such a weapon, resembling a siege hammer.
After landing in the forest, Ederick did not wait for the griffin riders trailing behind him, but rushed towards the area where the spear had been thrown. What he saw, however, was a carefully orchestrated trap.
"Grutt didn't come?" Ederick asked in a low voice. He was speaking to the dwarf behind the ogre. Although this dwarf appeared similar in height to those who lived underground, he was slightly thinner and seemed an odd, smaller human. Standing behind the towering orcs, especially the ogre, the dwarf appeared insignificant, almost like discarded clutter. But his expression and the spark in his eyes set him apart from the other orcs. Ederick could tell that this dwarf was the leader of the group.
The dwarf shrugged and said, "Unfortunately, Sir Ederick, General Grutt didn't come. You see, Temple Knights aren't just the two of you. The battle strategy of combining ranged and close-quarters combat, combined with well-thought-out traps, might be more effective than General Grutt's direct and forceful approach."
"Traps... did you set all of these up?" Ederick continued. He could hear distant screams and griffin cries behind him, the sounds of griffin riders fighting, as well as the sounds of orcs and lizardmen leaping through the trees and battle mages casting their magic.
The dwarf nodded, saying, "Yes, I worked with Theodorus on this. For us, the threat of the allied forces isn't as significant as the threat of you Temple Knights. As long as you're not around, things are much easier for us. So, from the beginning, we focused on how to eliminate you. Looks like my luck's been good—sacrificing two wyverns, but ultimately bringing both of you here was worth it."
Though Ederick could clearly hear all the commotion behind him, he didn't dare to turn around. The gazes and presence of the orcs, all their attention focused solely on him, left him no room to look away. He didn't even have time to glance up at Welleskay. He never expected that he and his companion had unknowingly walked straight into a trap designed specifically for them.
The distance to the allied forces was only about thirty to forty miles, but the distance to Orford was nearly a thousand miles. No one would have expected that, under these circumstances, there would be a trap specifically aimed at them. Setting up such a trap required not only audacity and boldness—drawing a small group across such a long distance and placing them under the enemy's nose—but also a perfect understanding of timing, location, and the enemy's likely reactions. Only a brilliant strategist and tactician could have set this up, and while Theodorus might have planned it from a thousand miles away, it was clear that the dwarf in front of Ederick was the one who had executed it flawlessly.
Just then, Welleskay's shout rang out from the sky, and a faint, almost imperceptible smell reached the air. The dwarf looked up at the sky, now obscured by branches, and nodded with satisfaction. He took out a scroll from his pocket and said, "Everything has gone according to plan. I won't delay you any further. I'll head back and wait for the good news from you all."
"Teleportation scroll," Ederick muttered as his eyes narrowed at the blue light flashing from the dwarf's hands as he unfurled the scroll. In the same instant, Ederick's body surged forward, his giant war spear roaring as it shot toward the dwarf. This sudden strike was Ederick's full force, and he didn't care about the openings left in his defenses. It was a fatal strike. He had to kill the dwarf here.
Although the dwarf seemed weak and insignificant, any of the orcs here could have crushed him like a rat, Ederick knew that, for the allied forces, no one was more dangerous than this dwarf. He had to die.
But, of course, the orcs and the dwarf knew this as well. As soon as Ederick moved, all the orcs reacted. Four weapons suddenly came from all directions, surrounding him like a massive trap. The ogre moved to shield the dwarf, and the giant war hammer clashed directly with Ederick's spear.
The clash of metal rang out in a deafening roar, and the blue light behind the ogre flared and then dissipated. Ederick was knocked back, staggering and falling to the ground.
"You were too careless, Sir Ederick. How could we let you attack Lord Borugan? Your reckless assault only gave us the opportunity. Now, you're the one at a disadvantage," said the orc, who seemed to be in command after the dwarf left. He spoke fluent human language, probably because he enjoyed it.
Ederick said nothing. If he opened his mouth now, the blood in his throat would spurt out. The horrible wound on his cheek was so deep that he could almost see his teeth, and at least three of his ribs had been broken. Just as the orc had said, his attack had been reckless. Had it not been for the glory armor and his battle-hardened experience, allowing him to recognize the attack's futility and adjust in time, dodging some of the orcs' weapons, he would not still be standing.
The five-meter-long steel spear was slightly deformed. Despite colliding head-on with the hundreds-of-pounds heavy weapon wielded by the ogre, the spear remained intact—testament to the superior skill of the temple knight. The ogre panted heavily. That previous strike was Ederick's full strength, and with no room to retreat, he had still come out at a disadvantage in the clash.
"Regrettable. Under other circumstances, I'd truly enjoy having a fair duel with you," said the orc, a faint aura of fighting spirit radiating from him again. In his hand was a yellow serrated blade. Among the beastmen, he was the only one who had managed to wound the temple knight earlier. "But unfortunately, this is a battlefield, and we must use any means necessary to kill you."
Above and behind him, the cries of dying griffins and the anguished screams of griffin riders echoed, blending into a chorus of despair. Ederick understood that the situation was dire, yet the anger and urgency of falling into this trap only sharpened his resolve. Letting out a thunderous roar, he unleashed a dazzling radiance of white fighting spirit, amplified by the magic of his glory armor. His sacred shield appeared on his left arm, a glowing white barrier. With his right hand holding the spear and the shield in his left, he stood like a war deity bathed in blinding light.
"Come, beasts. Let your weapons see if they can take me down!" Ederick's shout reverberated through the forest, causing the very ground to tremble. Yet the five beastmen encircling him remained unmoved—steady, composed, and as cold as the weapons in their hands. They surrounded him with no gaps in their formation, leaving no openings.
In the air, chaos engulfed the griffin riders. The battle mages were casting purification spells to their utmost ability. Though their magical skills were not particularly advanced, their ability to utilize spells from various schools was evident. The black rain falling from above dissolved like snowflakes under sunlight when touched by the white light of purification. However, the number of battle mages was far too small. Only one in four griffin riders was a battle mage, and the mages could only cleanse the black rain around themselves, leaving their comrades defenseless.
At the beginning of Welleskay's sudden command, the griffin riders hesitated briefly. But the mere mention of "necromantic magic" was enough to instill terror and spur them into action. When one rider, splashed with the black liquid, wiped his skin only to peel off a layer of flesh, the rest of the non-mage riders scrambled into the forest below in panic.
However, the forest below was far from a safe haven. The griffin riders who had followed Ederick or pursued the two young individuals had already found themselves locked in a strange and brutal battle against dozens of orcs and lizardmen.
Within the dense trees, the massive griffins were less agile than even a wild boar. Their large bodies made swift movement or retreat impossible, while the orcs and lizardmen darted through the branches with incredible speed. The griffin riders' attacks, whether direct strikes, crossbow bolts, or spells, were consistently evaded. Their opponents refused to engage head-on, instead casting nets that entangled both griffins and their riders together.
The orcs and lizardmen were clearly trained for this scenario, skillfully deploying their nets. Once ensnared, the griffins and their riders often let out a final scream before falling silent. Attempts to rescue them only revealed the grim outcome: bodies riddled with tiny wounds oozing blackened blood. The nets were laced with countless razor-sharp, poison-coated blades that even the powerful griffins could not withstand for long, let alone their riders.
In a direct fight, a griffin rider's strength would far exceed that of an orc or lizardman, and they even held the advantage in numbers. But the falling black rain forced them into the forest, stripping them of their aerial dominance. Burdened by their riders, the griffins' mobility could not match that of their adversaries. This disadvantage, combined with their enemies' unconventional tactics, led to heavy losses. It wasn't until twenty or thirty riders had died to the deadly nets that some experienced riders realized the danger and shouted for their companions to dismount and form defensive lines.
The griffin riders switched to a defensive strategy, and the orcs and lizardmen ceased their attacks, as their mission was not to engage in full combat but to delay. Their goal was to ensure the temple knight's demise.
The black rain continued to fall, though it had slowed to a drizzle. Since its source was high above, it dispersed finely and lasted longer.
Now, only Welleskay remained in the air. Under his orders, the battle mages had joined the others in the forest. A ring of white light enveloped him and his griffin, evaporating the black rain as it touched the barrier. His sharp eyes locked onto a figure falling from above.
Earlier, a single arrow from Welleskay had shattered the high-altitude black dot, revealing it to be the remains of a zombie eagle. Along with the decayed remains, a figure plummeted straight down. Welleskay did not immediately fire another arrow at the seemingly lifeless figure, knowing exactly who it was and that they wouldn't die so easily. He waited, watching for the decisive moment.
As the falling figure rapidly approached the ground, Welleskay discerned their appearance clearly, even meeting their gaze—a gaze that mirrored his own in its tension and anticipation.
At a distance of just over a hundred meters, Welleskay held his ground, knowing that the strange and unpredictable powers of necromancy made closer proximity unwise. This range, however, was perfect for him; he could shoot the eye of a flying sparrow with ease. Holding five arrows between his fingers, he nocked four of them simultaneously and drew his bowstring fully.
When the falling figure reached the same altitude as him, Welleskay loosed the four arrows. Each arrow flew in a distinct trajectory: one directly forward, and the others curving from the left, right, and below, creating eerie arcs that sliced through the air with sharp whistling sounds.
This technique transcended mere precision, as it relied on infusing arrows with fighting spirit and manipulating their trajectories through specialized finger techniques. Few, if any, on the continent could replicate such a feat.
Yet Welleskay was not content to leave it at that. He nocked a fifth arrow, his entire body glowing with fighting spirit. This was his true trump card, as evidenced when he had earlier slain two wyverns with a single arrow. The previous four arrows had been a mere prelude, a probing attack.
Facing the four arrows from different angles, the falling figure finally slowed mid-air, undoubtedly using Feather Fall. Welleskay had expected this; no one could counter such a complex attack without halting their uncontrolled descent. This was precisely what Welleskay had aimed for: to force his opponent to act as he predicted, granting him the advantage.
The figure caught two arrows in mid-air, striking them against each other to deflect the remaining two. The force of each arrow was divided, making them easier to handle. But Welleskay's true attack was already unleashed.
The fifth arrow was no longer an arrow but a sphere of pure white light, streaking through the air with a trail of afterimages. Its thunderous roar echoed like a storm, a thousand bolts of lightning condensed into a single, earth-shattering strike.
If the opponent's strength was ten, this arrow's force was a hundred.
Welleskay's entire body tensed from the strain of the shot. His deformed arm, veins bulging, threatened to tear through his skin. Exhausted of fighting spirit, he watched the blazing arrow with a rare moment of relief. Killing this foe would be a significant victory for the allied forces.
But his relief was short-lived. To his shock, the figure dodged the seemingly inescapable attack.
The opponent didn't use flight magic. Instead, he placed a hand behind him and detonated a fiery explosion, propelling his body upward in the air. With this sudden boost, he narrowly evaded the arrow by two or three meters.