Chapter 115: War (Part 10)

Chapter 115: War (Part 10)

Unlike the players' aimless, tactless chase of the allied soldiers on the periphery.

The tiefling army had long formed a tight attack formation, seizing the breach created by the players like an impossibly sharp blade, piercing straight into the three thousand allied forces.

Medrolash charged at the forefront of the formation, his armor splattered with blood, and hardly anyone dared approach him.

He raised his blood-stained greatsword high.

[Channel Divine Power: Manifest Terror]

A dark radiance immediately enveloped the surroundings.

Medrolash channeled the darkest emotions, gathering and releasing them in a coercive magical aura, a unique ability of the Oathbreaker.

Allied soldiers were shrouded in darkness, dropping their armor and fleeing in instinctive terror.

"No, stay back!"

"Ah—"

"Run!"

"He's a devil, an incarnation of the devil!"

Blood splattered onto his face, and Medrolash's lips curled slightly: "The incarnation of the devil, huh."

It seemed to stir some memories within him.

He was silent for a moment, then spoke calmly, "Since you all wish me to be one, so be it."

Medrolash strode forward, swinging his blood-soaked greatsword, raining down crimson light unique to the Oathbreaker's Bloodied Holy Slash.

Amidst the shrill screams, the lives of the allied soldiers were ruthlessly reaped by death.

The soldiers fled in all directions as if avoiding a demon. Even his own tieflings found their leader terrifying, only managing to release a few arrows from behind him.

Damacus quickly approached, worriedly asking, "Captain, are you... alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Never better."

As he spoke, Medrolash raised his greatsword again.

[Channel Divine Power: Control Undead]

Corpses slowly began to rise, retrieving their dismembered limbs, a faint light flickering in their hollow eye sockets, as they lunged at their former comrades with low growls.

"No—"

"Oh gods—"

"He really is a devil!"

"That devil resurrected them! He can control the undead!"

Seeing their former comrades turned into undead, familiar faces now full of hunger for flesh, completely shattered the allied soldiers' morale. They fled in all directions, not wanting to end up the same.

Medrolash slowly lowered his blood-stained greatsword.

"The effect isn't bad."

In his pitch-black eyes without irises, a faint glow flickered. His ram-like horns were covered in blood, making him look like a true demon of the underworld.

Controlling undead was an ability he had never used before, but Medrolash now felt no hesitation.

Since he was dragon spawn, then even this…

It didn't matter anymore.

Medrolash glanced around, only to find that even his own comrades—their eyes harbored a hint of fear.

But he pretended not to see, simply ordering calmly, "Advance."

With the undead as their vanguard, the tieflings soon chased the crying, fleeing allied soldiers all the way to the Bosk family's command tent.

Compared to the commander, André Bosk seemed more like a frontline warrior, having charged into battle alone at the start, leaving all heavy command duties to his noble subordinates.

Those pampered nobles, watching the undead approach, were struck with overwhelming fear. One even fainted on the spot.

In their eyes, war was often a refined art, not brutal slaughter.

The orders from the Bosk family were also clear—there was no need for desperate fighting, only to preserve their forces.

But now, with the enemy slaughtering their way to their doorstep, things had far exceeded their expectations.

Baron Matthew's voice trembled: "W-what should we do?"

Viscount Luton whispered, "Perhaps... we should surrender?"

"But I doubt they'll respect the sacred noble agreements."

"They're dragon spawn, after all."

The undead advanced with low growls, while the tieflings held their weapons in steady readiness.

Medrolash calmly stepped forward a few paces, pointing his sword at the command tent from afar:

"Surrender, and you will not be killed."

His voice wasn't loud but rang out clearly.

The tent fell silent, followed by the sound of restless shuffling.

Baron Matthew, unable to withstand the immense pressure any longer, stumbled out from the back, leaping onto his horse.

"You damned devils!"

"Go to hell!"

He cursed as he spurred his horse, fleeing as fast as he could.

Medrolash said nothing more, merely watching the fleeing noble coldly as he raised his sword, glowing with arcane light.

[Crown of Madness]

A twisted, jagged crown appeared on Baron Matthew's head, and madness filled his eyes.

He lost control and fell from his horse, thrashing wildly on the ground.

Medrolash walked forward slowly, looking down at him.

"You truly have courage."

Baron Matthew rolled on the ground, screaming wildly, "One day, I'll kill you all!"

"Slash—"

With a swift cut, Baron Matthew's frenzied body was pinned to the ground, dead.

The remaining nobles in the tent watched the bloody scene, unable to suppress a cry of horror.

But it was not over.

Medrolash pulled his blood-stained sword from the ground.

The corpse on the ground began to wriggle, trembling as it rose, with a faint light in its hollow eyes—Baron Matthew had been transformed into an undead.

The nobles fell silent.

Medrolash drove the undead to the front of the command tent and repeated calmly, "Surrender, and you will not be killed."

He paused.

"At least—I won't turn you into something like this."

Sweat poured from Viscount Luton's brow as he finally succumbed to the pressure, collapsing to his knees, sobbing, "I surrender! I surrender! Please don't turn me into an undead!"

"I surrender too! Just spare my life!"

"The Teman family will pay a ransom!"

"The Fat family requests cooperation."

"On behalf of the Chris family, I extend greetings to the Lord of Embers."

With Viscount Luton as an example, the nobles in the tent all knelt, begging and weeping.

Medrolash gave a slight nod.

"Then, forgive me."

The tieflings bound the kneeling nobles.

Damacus approached carefully and reported, "Captain... no, my lord, the allied forces on the right flank have completely collapsed, and the players are pursuing the remnants. Should we assist Lord Langpu in attacking the enemy's central forces from the flank?"

Medrolash shook his head: "No, we're retreating immediately."

Damacus was stunned: "But my lord, we—"

A glint of amusement appeared in Medrolash's pitch-black eyes: "Retreat at once. We have a grand ceremony for these nobles to attend."

"Yes, my lord."

Though somewhat confused, Damacus followed the order, leading the terrified nobles back north of the pass.