Chapter 43: The Witch King Arrives on the Battlefield: Submit, or Die

Sunset Fortress Line, Corrupted Swamp Exit.

Flames shot skyward, dyeing the entire night sky an ominous dark red.

Billowing thick smoke, swept up by the raging wind and rain, turned into a viscous chaos pressing down upon the land.

The Alchemical Explosives Depot, once the hope of all, was now reduced to a single charred crater, the pungent stench of sulfur spreading madly through the cold, damp air.

Beneath the city wall, Orc corpses had piled up into mountains.

Yet their comrades paid this no heed, trampling over the still-warm bodies of their kin, fearlessly climbing upwards.

“Hold the line! Archers, fire at will! Everyone, hold the line!”

General Sera’s only remaining right eye was bloodshot, her hoarse roar nearly drowned out by the thunderous clash of battle.

She swung her warhammer, deflecting a Minotaur’s mighty cleave.

Pain shot through her palm, forcing her to stagger back again and again.

“Damn it, why did the Armory have to explode at a time like this?!”

The Armory was right beside the city wall.

The sudden explosion had flattened a stretch of the defensive line.

All the soldiers nearby were gravely wounded, and it was through this gap that the Orcs surged in like a tide.

Without the Alchemic Explosives, facing an enemy several times their number, how much longer could this line hold?

Despair, like Contagion, spread through the heart of every defender.

But they were veterans of the North.

To die on the battlefield was their destined end.

Even in desperate straits, they still gripped their blades, using flesh and blood to maintain the crumbling line, awaiting death’s arrival.

Beneath the city wall, at the rear of the Orc Army.

The Fox Shaman Shala Wiseclaw leaned on her Skull Staff, her narrow eyes narrowing with a sickly delight as she greedily inhaled the scent of Despair in the air.

“Ah… what a beautiful symphony…”

“The wails of humans before death are the sweetest hymn to my lord!”

“Lady Shala is wise! But… that human prince is cunning and unpredictable. We must be careful.”

The Pighead warrior Piggelu rumbled a warning, glancing warily around.

“He’s nothing but a pretty little plaything who relies on tricks.”

Shala curled her lip in disdain, her crimson tongue licking her cracked lips.

“Once we break through, I’ll capture him alive myself, offer him as the finest Sacrifice to our great master. That pure soul will surely… hmm?”

Her words stopped abruptly.

Shala jerked her head up, staring at the storm-clouded night sky.

A jet-black streak tore through the rain, screaming from the distant horizon at unimaginable speed!

What was that?

Some kind of Alchemical Weapon?

Whoosh—!

A piercing shriek split the air, so sharp it reached them before anyone could react!

“Boom!”

With a thunderous crash, the Minotaur that had forced General Sera into dire straits was impaled through the heart by a massive war lance that fell from the sky, nailing it dead to the ground!

Blood, flesh, and shattered stone exploded in all directions.

As the dust settled, everyone—human and Orc alike—witnessed a scene they would never forget.

A figure stood steadily atop the still-humming giant war lance.

Her bewitching platinum hair danced in the storm like flowing light.

A set of strange armor, woven from dark purple chitin and shadow, clung tightly to her breathtakingly voluptuous curves.

Vast swathes of honey-colored skin were exposed, marked with demonic crimson runes blooming wildly like flowers of hell.

And in her arms, she gently cradled a “deeply sleeping” handsome young man.

“Sera.”

The Witch spoke, her voice not loud, yet clear enough to cut through all the chaos of the battlefield.

“Take all the soldiers and retreat to Sunset Fortress. Leave this place to me.”

“Y-Your… Highness?”

General Sera’s pupils shrank to pinpoints, barely able to believe her eyes and ears.

“But… the Orcs are pressing hard! You… you want us to retreat?”

That figure, that visage—she was unmistakably Princess Astreia!

But that evil, domineering, soul-chilling aura—what was it?!

Sensing Sera’s hesitation, Astreia’s eyes narrowed slightly.

She didn’t even move her hand—just a thought.

“Urgh… gah…”

In an instant, General Sera felt an invisible hand clamp around her throat, her feet lifted off the ground as she was forcibly raised into the air!

Astreia stepped down from the war lance as if descending her throne, approaching the female general step by step.

“Sera George.”

Those demonic eyes, burning with ghostly violet flames, were utterly indifferent.

“Are you teaching me how to do things?”

Sera could not speak, the suffocating pressure allowing her only to shake her head weakly in terror.

Astreia released the invisible grip.

“Thud!”

Sera collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, her gaze toward the Princess now filled only with silent awe and fear.

“Remember your place, Sera. A subordinate must behave as a subordinate.”

Astreia’s eyes were icy cold, her tone chilling to the bone.

“Never question your King again.”

At her words, Sera’s body trembled. She immediately dropped to one knee, bowing her head deeply.

Astreia waved her hand.

“Now, take everyone and go.”

With that, she held Wendy and, in a flash, appeared atop the tallest Arrow Tower nearby.

The surrounding soldiers, seeing this, were so terrified they scrambled away in panic, fleeing as fast as they could.

Astreia paid them no mind, only gently laying Wendy down.

Her right hand traced a motion in the air above his pale neck.

A black collar, forged of pure shadow energy, appeared out of thin air.

From the collar, a magic-formed Shadow Chain extended, which she casually tied to the beam of the Arrow Tower.

“Wendy Black.”

She leaned down, her hot breath caressing the prince’s ear.

“I know you’re awake.”

“I hope that by the time I’ve dealt with this rabble, you’ll have decided how to face…”

“Your King.”

With those words, she no longer glanced at Wendy, leaping down like a meteor to the front of the Orc Army.

The war lance slammed into the ground, and the First Witch stood tall and proud.

“I am the King of Valoran, Astreia.”

“Become my subjects and fight for me… or die!”

“Oh? Another one coming to die?”

Shala Wiseclaw was stunned at first, then let out a shrill, piercing laugh.

She could sense the same kind of corruption from this woman.

“So, my lord’s Divine Grace has already begun to spread! Little girl, since you too have heard the Divine Oracle, why not kneel before me now with your Sacrifice, and let us welcome the coming of the new world together!”

“Noisy.”

Astreia extended her empty left hand toward the dense Orc Army before her and gently clenched her fist.

The next instant.

There was no explosion, no shockwave.

Only pure darkness, centered on Astreia, devouring and twisting everything in its path!

Within a fifty-meter radius, every Orc engulfed by the darkness—whether strong Minotaur, bloated Pighead, or agile Werewolf—was crushed into dust by an invisible force!!

Bones, flesh, organs…

All matter was ground down, decomposed, and turned into the most primordial blood mist within that darkness.

When the darkness faded, only a vast fan-shaped void remained, and a torrential, crimson blood rain poured down in the wind.

Silence.

The entire battlefield fell into an absolute, deathly silence for several seconds.

Whether it was the humans who had yet to retreat, or the surviving Orcs nearby, all were so terrified by this godlike power that their souls froze and their courage shattered.

“Th-this… how is this possible!!!”