Volume 7 Chapter 19: Despair and Hope, A Stark Reunion
Under a misty, rain-drenched sky, a fierce battle raged amidst the din of the pouring rain.
A burly angel wielding a Diamond Sword soared with beating wings, striking directly at Barlon's head!
With a hum of blade on blade, Barlon raised his sword horizontally above his head to block the attack. Though he deflected the blow, he couldn't fully dissipate its force. Beneath him, his Silver-armored Beetle let out a sound that was half agony, half fury.
The Silver-armored Beetle roared angrily, its massive jaws snapping open and shut as it clamped tightly around the angel's waist. A sharp crack echoed through the air as the angel's wings shattered. Releasing its grip, the Silver-armored Beetle let the angel fall.
But before the angel hit the ground, it spread its wings again, as if unscathed, and flew back up! The wounds on its wings had healed in an instant!
"...Damn it," Barlon muttered under his breath.
These angels were far tougher than expected. Beyond their sheer power and abnormal regenerative abilities, their impossibly hard crystalline armor had wreaked havoc on the cavalry unit, forcing them to focus on targeting the angels' wings.
Even when their wings were broken and they fell to the ground, they could still inflict massive damage on the ground troops. Who had equipped the Hero King's summons with such formidable gear?
Worse still, for some unknown reason, even angels who had lost their wings and fallen would eventually recover their injuries and take to the skies again!
The seven elders—summoned at the cost of nearly draining the council's yearly tax revenue—were locked in a stalemate against a silver dragon, leaving no time to address the havoc being wrought on the ground. The angels had turned the battlefield into a slaughterhouse, and the situation seemed utterly hopeless.
In the four centuries since the nation's founding—a relatively short time for the elves—the so-called "Founding Elders" had bled the country dry of its resources. The once-proud cavalry force now numbered only a single regiment.
The treasury, stretched thin, could no longer support a larger cavalry.
But lamenting this now was pointless.
On the battlefield, the angels' superior physical prowess was slowly consuming the army. Not only were they clad in crystalline armor, but they had also incorporated magic units into their forces.
"Silver Tiger!" Barlon roared as he swung his sword.
"Hisss!" Like a spinning cannonball, the Silver Tiger plowed through a mass of angels, scattering them. But in the next moment, it was stopped cold by a phalanx of angels bearing massive shields.
Barlon had always thought of himself as a careful strategist, advancing cautiously in pursuit of his dream of achieving kingship as a man. But faced with overwhelming power, all his calculations and schemes amounted to nothing.
How utterly laughable.
Clang!
The Silver Tiger clamped its jaws down, seizing a nearby angel in a deadly grip. But what followed was a violent convulsion.
From below, a crystalline sword pierced straight through the seam between the Silver Tiger's head and chest, splitting it apart.
The angel charged forward, its impact spraying blood everywhere. Barlon was struck midair and sent hurtling down.
"Silver Tiger…"
Barlon stared blankly, reaching out his hand as he watched his mount of seven years fall, its body severed. Gravity claimed its lifeless form.
An angel wielding a long sword dove down, aiming its blade at Barlon, who was helpless in midair.
Was this the end?
Was he really going to die here?
He had spent his life fighting for the dream of a man becoming a king, only to perish in a random, senseless event?
How could this be acceptable? How was this fair?
He didn't want it to end this way.
He wanted to call for help, but there was no one around who could save him.
In his relentless pursuit of ambition, he had sacrificed so much, only to find himself utterly alone in the end.
Somebody save me.
I don't want to die.
Is there no one who can save me?
Even if it's just to humor me, please, save me... I don't want to die alone, in solitude...
Only at this moment did Barlon realize just how precious the girl who had unconditionally trusted him and supported him from the shadows had truly been.
He shouldn't have sacrificed her for such a trivial reason. If he hadn't, perhaps he wouldn't be in such a pitiful state now.
The angel's sword tip was already inches from Barlon's face.
…
…
…
And then—a deafening explosion!!!
The angel wielding the sword had a massive hole blown through its chest. Its right hand still clutched the blade, but the left half of its body was completely obliterated. Its mangled form brushed past Barlon as it plummeted to the ground!
A shadow swept across the sky!
The angels who had just surrounded and killed the Silver Tiger immediately formed a defensive stance, exuding an aura of intense vigilance.
"Huh?" Barlon hesitated, bewildered.
His rapid descent abruptly slowed. Something yanked him upward by the scruff of his neck. Before he could turn to see what it was, he felt a sudden plunge, and then a heavy thud as he hit the ground.
Somehow, he was back on solid ground.
Barlon tried to stand, but his legs were too weak to support him. Looking up, he saw countless chunks of bloodied flesh raining down around him, accompanied by the thuds and clangs of shattered crystalline armor, broken swords, splintered staves, white feathered remnants, and severed heads.
Among the debris, there was even—no, only half of—an angel clutching its throat, writhing in agony.
A dark shadow descended from the sky, landing directly on top of the half-angel.
It was a figure with black wings.
"This is the first time I've seen Walson like this," the figure remarked.
Suddenly, pink petals swirled in the air. A tall woman clad in a black mage's robe appeared beside the figure with black wings.
"…So fierce, but… it looks like it's in so much pain," the dark mage's voice carried an odd tone. "...I'm a little worried."
"Then let's end this quickly," the black-winged figure replied. "Though he's safe where he is now, the longer this drags on, the greater the risk of something unexpected happening."
The dark mage nodded in agreement. More petals danced in the air, and she vanished into thin air.
Barlon suddenly realized the voice of the black-winged figure sounded oddly familiar.
Not just the voice—even her silhouette...
For years, the figure that haunted his dreams every night, tormenting him, the one he felt most guilty toward... the one who lingered in his soul...
"You... you are…" Barlon found himself speaking aloud.
The owner of the black wings turned slightly, her face partially visible through the misty rain. Even with only her profile in view, her features were strikingly clear.
"Sharuru... Aurevia…"
At his words, the woman paused for a moment but gave no response.
Then, with a sweep of her black wings, she vanished into the sky.
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