The abomination didn't pursue Ruth. Instead, it lumbered forward, a stitched-together human arm raising a kitchen knife high before slashing straight down at Charles' head.
Charles didn't dodge.
He raised his shield—and blocked.
CLANG—!
A crisp metallic clash rang out. Feeling the slight impact reverberate through the shield—something his current physique could easily withstand—Charles couldn't help but let the corners of his mouth curl into a faint smile.
This was no ordinary shield. It was a magic shield!
That day, after slaying Kendrz, he hadn't just claimed the Storm Warhammer. The magic shield strapped to the corpse's left arm had also found its way into his possession.
Now, at last, the shield proved its worth. Over the past few days, the attacks he'd faced were either too weak—like the goblins' one-handed scimitars, easily deflected by Armor of Agathys—or too strong, like the ogre's massive two-handed club, where even a Shield spell might not hold. In short, the shield had never had its moment.
But now—at this moment—facing an Abomination neither too weak nor too strong, the shield finally had its chance to shine!
Good. Now it's my turn to strike back!
Without hesitation, Charles reached out with his right hand, fighting back revulsion as he pressed it against the creature's rotting, pus-oozing stitched flesh. With a low growl, he uttered:
"Purified!"
Buzz—
A milky light flared, instantly enveloping the Abomination's hulking body!
"Aaargh—AAARGH—!"
A piercing howl tore from the dead Halfling's throat, sharp enough to make Charles' ears throb. The Abomination's massive frame shuddered as dark yellow pus oozed from its poorly stitched seams, dripping onto his hand—some even seeping under his fingernails.
Instantly, Charles' face twisted in disgust, his stomach churning so violently he nearly yanked his hand back.
Stay calm, Charles. You must stay calm!
This was an inevitable part of battle. In the future, he'd face even more undead and filthy fiends—this kind of repulsive scene would be commonplace. He couldn't afford to falter over something so trivial!
Screaming internally, he forced himself to stand firm, legs locked in place, continuing to channel the purified energy despite the overwhelming nausea.
The Abomination's other blades lashed out like a frenzy, hacking wildly at his body. Too sickened to block, Charles resorted to a spell:
"Shield!"
Buzz—
A sturdy magic shield shimmered into existence, encasing his body. The Abomination's weapons clattered harmlessly against him, leaving him unscathed.
Meanwhile, its own body, after its first frenzied assault, began to shrink rapidly. Wisps of black mist seeped from its form, vanishing into nothingness. Clearly, the purified power was taking effect—this guy was nearly finished!
The Abomination raised its weapons, as if attempting one last desperate strike. But its strength was gone. This time, Charles didn't even bother casting Shield, letting the feeble blows glance off his Mage Armor with nothing more than a faint sting—not even leaving a scratch.
And with that final, pitiful attack, the massive undead could no longer sustain its existence. Even its wails faded entirely. As the purified white light shrank, so too did its body, until at last, it crumbled into a pile of ash upon the ground.
Thus, the tormented souls defiled by the necromancer's blasphemy were finally freed.
Success.
Charles exhaled slightly, the worst of his disgust fading. He realized, at this moment, that the purified ability was considerate—even the filth beneath his nails had been completely purified.
Good. At least I won't lose combat strength from sheer revulsion…
Cough!
With that thought, without bothering to check how many Purification Points his system had just gained, he raised his head and locked eyes with the necromancer ahead, the corners of his mouth curling into a smirk.
"Now… it's your turn."
Across from him, the Dark Elf's elegant smile had frozen solid at this moment.
He couldn't believe his eyes. He had assumed this young, seemingly inexperienced human was weak—after all, the man had infiltrated the castle like a thief. The Abomination should have cleaved him apart in two swings, and then, sandwiched between them, Ruth would have been eliminated as well…
He had even fantasized about cracking open the human's skull, extracting his brain, and grafting it onto the Abomination, granting the undead spellcasting abilities. Never had he imagined the man would possess such a strange power—one capable of obliterating his masterpiece in an instant!
No. This can't be real!
He refused to accept this reality, his heart bleeding in despair. As Ruth's lethal blade once again flashed toward his throat, not a shred of battle will remained within him.
This man came prepared. He must have known about me!
Hell—he might even be an assassin sent by that damned rival of mine!
Run. I have to run!
The moment the thought struck, his body dissolved into mist—the second-level spell Misty Step—letting Ruth's blade slice through empty air as he reappeared beneath an operating table at the edge of the room. Frantic, he snatched up a square box and immediately began another incantation:
"Dimension Door!"
Buzz—
His body transformed into a streak of white light, vanishing from the spot in an instant.
Behind him, the moment Charles saw the Dark Elf take the square box, his pupils contracted sharply.
"Ruth! That square box! After him—now!"
He was certain. Inside that square box lay the very thing he sought—the Holy Sword Fragment!
The Holy Sword—forged during the Sundering, when the believers of the Gods of Order united like never before to protect their weakened deities and repel the fiends seeping into the Material World.
This blade wielded terrifying power. It was the bane of all fiends and undead, and some even claimed it could wound true deities themselves.
The truth behind its shattering remained shrouded in mystery. Some said the restored gods themselves shattered it. Others whispered of a Devil's conspiracy, terrified of its might. A few even argued the sword's materials had simply reached their limit, fracturing under their own strain. Theories abounded—yet the truth remained elusive.
But one thing was certain: the sword had broken. And even its fragments were too potent to handle carelessly. Only special containers could safely hold them without harming the bearer.
That was why Charles was absolutely sure—the square box contained the Holy Sword Fragment he sought!
He immediately ordered the pursuit, unafraid of Ruth failing to catch up. He recognized the spell the elf had cast: Dimension Door, a 4th-level spell allowing instantaneous teleportation up to five hundred meters—a perfect escape tool.
On the Night of the Witches, Regolas had used the same spell to flee. But unlike Teleport, this spell had limits—and with Ruth's speed, catching up was entirely possible!
Without hesitation, Ruth spun and charged out of the basement, leaping through the shattered window into the wilds beyond. His eyes gleamed with magic power, a faint violet glow flickering as he swiftly pinpointed the Dark Elf's escape path—then bolted after him!
Meanwhile, inside the temple.
Sephera and Nidalee burst through the door together, only to find the priests not resting, but instead maintaining a prayerful posture alongside two acolytes, all bowing before a crude idol of the goblin deity placed at the center of an offering-laden altar.
Clad in identical gray, shabby, and filthy robes—seemingly mimicking the garb of human church priests—the only distinction was the priest's robe, adorned with a few extra beast teeth.
Hearing the intrusion, the three guys scrambled to their feet, grabbing their weapons to retaliate.
The central priest raised his holy symbol high, chanting an incantation to guide his deity's power. White motes of light coalesced behind him, reforming into the phantom image of a hobgoblin angel wielding a long knife in one hand and a warhammer in the other.
This was the third-level divine magic—Spirit Guardians! A manifestation of divine power, taking the form of an angel serving their worshipped deity, granting protection to allies while delivering devastating spiritual strikes to foes!
Sephera halted, utterly unfazed. With a raised hand, she unleashed a Ray of Sickness, its emerald streak lancing toward one of the acolytes.
Nidalee, shifting to human form, knew the lethality of Spirit Guardians and wisely kept her distance. Drawing a throwing spear from her back, she hurled it with full force at the other acolyte—
Whoosh—!
"ARGH—!"
The spear struck true—the room was cramped, leaving no room to dodge. It pierced the acolyte's chest in an instant, dropping him lifelessly to the ground with a final scream.
Meanwhile, Sephera's Ray of Sickness found its mark. Though it didn't kill the hobgoblin, his face turned sickly purple, robbing him of all combat strength.
"Bastards!"
The priest snarled in Goblin, wasting no time. White light gathered in his palm, coalescing into a massive radiant projectile before hurtling toward the two women—
The girls rolled aside, but as she dodged, Nidalee's body shifted back into a leopard. Paws skimming the wall, she sprinted in a wide arc—not toward the priest, but straight for the wooden idol on the altar behind him—
CRASH—!
She pounced, sending plates, incense burners, and offerings clattering to the floor in a cacophony of shattering pottery. The wooden statue itself was sent flying by her tail, smashing against the stone floor and splintering into pieces!
"You—! Damn you!"
Witnessing such blasphemy against his deity's idol, the hobgoblin priest flew into a rage. But before he could retaliate, Sephera was already pelting him with another volley of "biubiubiu" Rays of Sickness, forcing him to dodge and counter with spells.
"Nidalee! What the hell are you doing?!"
Seeing the leopard abandon the fight, Sephera's brows twitched in fury. "Kill this priest first, and then find what you want!"
But Nidalee ignored her. After a frantic search confirmed the Holy Sword Fragment wasn't hidden here, her leopardine head snapped toward the doorway, eyes narrowing with human-like tension.
Of course. The Fragment wasn't here for these hobgoblins to worship—it was with the necromancer, undergoing pollution and blasphemy.
And if she didn't act fast, it would fall into their hands…
Gritting her teeth, Nidalee disregarded Sephera's shouts and lunged for the exit—
Just in time to see Ruth, who should've been with Charles, burst out of the room and leap through the window, giving chase outside!
Nidalee froze—then realized.
The necromancer had escaped with magic… and he was carrying something Ruth desperately wanted.
The Holy Sword Fragment.
"ROAR—!"
No time to waste. With a snarl, she sprang through the same window, her predator's senses locking onto the necromancer's trail as she gave chase!
"That damn druid! When I catch her, I'll force her into a sow's form and toss her into a pen of rutting boars!"
Back in the temple, Sephera seethed. At least the battle here was nearly won—she could handle the last priest alone. But if Nidalee's recklessness had left her in real danger, there'd be hell to pay.
Yet her optimism was short-lived.
Heavy footsteps echoed from the staircase leading to the second floor.
Hobgoblin Warlord Zenith, flanked by his two officers, was descending.
...
After Ruth charged out of the basement, Charles—trusting her capabilities—did not follow immediately. Instead, he remained in the room, meticulously searching through the remaining items.
Only after confirming the Holy Sword Fragment was truly gone, taken by that guy, did he clench his jaw and rush out of the basement, intent on reinforcing Sephera.
Yet the moment he reached the room where the prisoners were bound, a towering, broad-shouldered silhouette—standing nearly six and a half feet tall—blocked the doorway, cutting off his path.
It was an aged hobgoblin warrior, his crimson face lined with wrinkles, hair streaked with gray. A crude iron helm sat atop his head, his body clad in battered heavy plate armor. In his right hand, he gripped a longsword, while his left arm bore a shield—fully armed and locked in a fighting stance.
Whether out of habit or sense of crisis, this old guy hadn't bothered to remove his armor even for sleep.
Damn it, he's already here!
At the sight of him, Charles halted mid-step, cursing inwardly. Without delay, he extended his right hand, shadows twisting and coalescing into his trusted longsword.
Shield raised defensively, he backpedaled, lips moving in a rapid incantation. Extended Spell: Blur enveloped his form, rendering his outline hazy and erratic, near-impossible to target.
He recognized this foe.
This was the current master of the abandoned castle—a scourge of the Rubble District for over a decade, feared for both brute strength and razor-sharp cunning. A warlord who pillaged, burned, enslaved, and slaughtered without remorse.
Hobgoblin Warlord Zenith.
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