Chapter 380: The Final Battle (Part 3)

  The tens of thousands of soldiers led by Erathia were almost completely wiped out. These warriors, chosen from thousands, had all been turned into a blur of flesh and blood fragments on the ground during this charge of over twenty li. But at this moment, the coalition's advance did not slow down; on the contrary, it suddenly accelerated.

  Because at this moment, those charging were no longer human warriors, but the orcs of Oufu.

  Even after running these twenty-plus li on foot alongside the warhorses, not a single orc showed the slightest sign of fatigue. On the contrary, their will to fight, already stirred to the point of explosion by the surrounding battle and bloodshed, now fully erupted. The orcs no longer held swords, spears, shields, or the like. Instead, they wielded heavy assault weapons like flails, meteor hammers, maces, and wheel axes, all one size larger than those used by humans, almost like equipment for besieging a city. There were no Lizardmen or the slightly frailer Half-Orcs among them, only the strongest werewolves, Ogres, and some Minotaurs who had recently submitted from Nighon.

  The priests in the ranks and the orc shamans simultaneously cast their support spells. Amidst the white light of holy magic, there was also the unique reddish haze of the orcish Bloodthirsty Aura. These beasts roared, swinging the giant weapons in their hands like madmen, charging forward.

  No matter how sturdy or massive, a skeleton was still a skeleton. Even those skeletal monsters nearly ten meters tall were hacked down and felled under the orcish charge, torn into fragments on the ground without a struggle. Other zombies and skeletons were as fragile as thoroughly dried charcoal cinders, shattering and scattering at the slightest touch.

  Only a few Wights still had the ability to fight back. Magic continuously flew from all directions, striking the orcs and exploding into showers of elemental sparks: flames, lightning, and scattered ice shards like rain. The orcs never dodged or evaded. Relying on the support spells from the priests and their massive bodies, they shattered and crushed these spells along with all the skeletal corpses before them. Under the wild roars, howls, hacking, and collisions of the orcs, the army's speed picked up again. The waves of undead remains kicked up ahead became larger, fiercer, and more brilliant.

  After advancing several more li at this momentum, the darkness in the air grew even thicker. Deep within this sea of the dead, the undead were no longer as dazed and puppet-like as those on the periphery. They were not only more agile and sturdier but also seemed to possess a certain degree of thought. Countless Wights began to gather from all directions, and the waves of magic flying toward them suddenly increased. Fireballs and lightning rained down upon the orcs at the front.

  Dozens of air elements finally rose from the coalition army, carrying dozens of Archmages. As they ascended, a dazzling wave of magical force was pushed from their hands.

  Unlike the magic of the Wights, there were only a few dozen Archmages, and the number of spells they could cast was also only a few dozen. But these few dozen were not low-level spells like the lightning, ice shards, or fireballs cast by the Wights; they were dozens of Blazing Might Shots.

  Dozens of dazzling spheres of light, like small suns, shot out in all directions in a circular pattern. At this moment, even the boundless darkness was torn apart. Not even the aura of The Black Star could conceal the heat of these dozens of top-tier fire magic spells. This area of The Wyvern Wastes instantly went from polar-like cold to a heat hot enough to cook an egg. And the next moment, it became a scorching hell. Not only were the undead near the Blazing Might Shots instantly turned to ash, but everything nearby also cracked and deformed under the high temperature. The destructive power created by the combination of these dozens of top-tier fire spells was almost no different from a Forbidden Spell.

  It wasn't until about a li away that the Blazing Might Shots gradually dissipated, consumed by the black aura in the air. But within a radius of about a li around the army, there was nothing left. The ground beneath was no longer desert, but glass-like crystals. The coalition was completely unharmed. At the same moment the fire mages cast their spells, a massive curtain of water appeared around the coalition's perimeter.

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  Adelaide, beside Lancelot, was pale. Her grandmaster-level Water Veil was a top-tier defensive spell. But even for just a brief moment, and though its intensity wasn't overwhelmingly high, the area was simply too large, almost surpassing the limits of human capability.

  She did not hesitate, directly mounting an air element. The air element rose into the air, and she flew forward alone.

  "Now is the time. Hold back no more forces. Full army, advance!" With the commands from Lancelot and Roland, the Paladin Order, which had been conserving its strength at the rear, also charged forward as one, merging with the already exhausted orcish legion. The empty space scorched by the Blazing Might Shots, a li wide, was filled again in the space of a few breaths by the undead swarming from all directions.

  A burst of dazzling electric light suddenly exploded in the sky ahead, followed by a torrential downpour of thunderballs and lightning. At this moment, Adelaide used two great magic scrolls she had received from Master Aiden. The scrolls contained the essence of all the magic of that air magic grandmaster. At this moment, the sky, concealed by The Black Star, seemed to come alive, to go mad.

  Huge rumbling sounds were incessant—that of hundreds of lightning bolts and thunderballs. The ground before the coalition suddenly flew into the sky. Countless zombies and skeletons were all turned to fragments, scattering in the air along with the sand and dust. Seizing this opportunity, the coalition continued to charge forward into the sky-falling dust and undead ash.

  After a few more li, the coalition's ranks finally had to begin to slow down again.

  The hacking and killing in their hands never stopped; in fact, it became more frequent, faster, more intense, more ferocious, and more tragic. It was just that they could no longer move their feet.

  The black aura in the space had become as thick as a physical substance. All the warhorses had already fallen, trembling and whinnying in terror. The white magic of the priests could no longer resist this heavy, black deathly aura. With every breath, it felt as if a ball of foul, dirty, venom-congealed spikes was being stuffed into the lungs. This black aura, from the inside out and the outside in, echoed and resonated, madly devouring and corroding all life.

  The tide-like undead were no longer so calm. The sea of the dead had begun to boil. All the skeletons and zombies were now running, leaping, charging toward here with skills no less than those of advanced warriors. The combat power of the undead was no longer as frail as before. These were all undead converted from high-level swordsmen and knights, as well as high-level undead who had slumbered in Diya Valley for a thousand years. The orcish charge could no longer crush them with irresistible force.

  Kill, kill, hack, kill, charge, collide, kill again. The orcs howled madly, swinging their giant weapons with all their might. As their own flesh and blood were cut, bitten, and torn by the undead, they also smashed the undead into fragments and powder along with their own flesh and blood. They had almost all been driven mad by this battle, all reason drowned by killing intent, anger, and fighting spirit. There was only the roar to keep killing, to keep hacking, to keep charging in a direction they could no longer break through.

  The ground trembled slowly. A row of undead monsters, like small hills, was charging toward them. Unlike the occasional ones that had appeared before the coalition, the skeletons of these behemoths were actually arranged in neat formations. Among them were the skeletons of Behemoths, dragons, and humanoid zombies over ten meters tall, which should be the legendary Titan giants. These were ancient creatures long since lost to the torrent of history, their corpses having long turned to stone and dust, buried deep in the ground. The souls slumbering within The Black Star were released, pulling the remains of these corpses from the very depths of the earth to coalesce.

  The specters in the air were no longer sparse, nor did they fear the holy white light surrounding the army. They came madly, covering the sky. Above the coalition, it was as if a blizzard had started, only this dense mass was not white snowflakes, but all hazy, gray ghostly faces.

  The Archmages in the formation used vast swaths of elemental magic to forcibly blast a barrier. Countless ghosts were turned to ash in the sea of elemental fire, but even more drifted over.

  The mages could not hold on for much longer. Their bodies were not much stronger than ordinary people's. If not for the blessing of the priests' white magic, the surrounding aura alone would have turned them into members of the Wight army in an instant. As the white magic gradually withered under the aura of The Black Star, their complexions looked no better than the Wights'.

  There were still a few more li. The densest, blackest blackness was still a few li away from them. But these few li seemed farther than forever.

  A clear whistle that pierced the sky sounded, and a figure slowly rose from the coalition army, as dazzling as the rising sun. But this dazzling thing was not light, but sword energy.

  Within the coalition, all the swordsmen of the Paladin Order pointed their swords to the sky. In the sky was their Regiment Commander, Roland. Over a hundred disparate streams of sword energy and sword intent shot skyward, converging on Roland in the center into a vast, immense sword light. Then, his entire being, along with this sword light, fell like the Milky Way from the nine heavens, charging toward the tsunami of undead ahead.

  He landed. He struck.

  An incomparably crisp, deafening crack sounded, as if the entire sea of the dead had been split in two. There was no overly fierce momentum, but all the undead on a straight line before him silently split in two from the middle. This straight line extended all the way into the deepest darkness.

  At the same time, a giant white sword of light flew up from the formation, stabbing forward along this briefly opened great path. Behind the sword's light were several more figures. The last and strongest few in the coalition finally broke through, charging toward that blackness that could be no blacker.