Chapter 215: (4/23): The Giant Stirs

The young templar ran through the empty streets of the city. Since the undead laid siege on Moltrost, the brass ordered a curfew on the city and no one without a proper reason was allowed outside. With no one else, the whole city looked like a ghost town, yet if he looked up a little, he could see ghastly faces peering out from barely open windows, illuminated by the pale moonlight.

Those faces belong to the people that lived here in the city; people that relied on people like him for protection. Knowing that so much rested on his shoulders, the templar straightened his back and stood up taller as he ran toward the center where the great cathedral was.

Many more bursts of magic came from the cathedral. The mana that the young templar felt was full of malice and the intent to kill, a sure sign a battle was taking place in the heart of the city. The templar had no idea who the combatants might be though.

According to the plan, almost every battle-ready personnel should have already been deployed to various parts of the wall to watch for sneak attacks. Only the bishop, the head of the local branch should remain, as well as one archpriest and five acolytes for protection and to act as his assistants.

Boom. A pillar of light rushed into the sky, blowing through the roof of the cathedral.

“Wide area magic… who can use those spells?” The templar tried to conjure a few names, only to fail. “Arrgh, there’s too many archpriests. Whatever, I’ll know when I get there.”

His brisk pace took him from the edge of the city to the inner city in just a few minutes. As he crossed over the edge of the conscrecation barrier, he felt the presence of another mage nearing, and he looked up. 

Although he wasn’t good with names, he could still match faces to identities. The mage rapidly approaching with rudimentary magic enhancing his speed was one of the archpriests that was sent to other sections of the wall.

If he remembered correctly, the archpriest was also one of those that did not stand out, being able to use a variety of magics and being skilled at most of them, yet specializing in none. 

They nodded to each other and the templar slowed down to allow the archpriest to keep up. Apprehension clouded the archpriest’s features, warping the archpriest’s face into a mask of worry. 

“What are you doing here?” the templar asked. “Shouldn’t you be watching the walls?”

The archpriest shook his head. “How can I not be here? It’s been all day and the undead show no signs of attacking any place other than the front. Finding out the cause of this is the much more pressing issue.” He pointed at the cathedral.

After the pillar of light vanished after illuminating a section of the sky, the whole city looked darker, and the templar couldn’t help but agree with what the archpriest was saying.

If there really was an enemy that could fight with skill and power on par with an archpriest nominated to protect the bishop himself, then as many allies as they had with them, the better.

For better or worse, reality didn’t play along. In the end, the only two people that both cared enough about the ongoings of the cathedral to abandon their posts were the archpriest and the templar, although the templar was here on Barsig’s orders.

He didn’t count. He had permission.

From up close, the power that could be exerted by an archpriest in battle was awe-spiring, although the archpriest next to him did not impress at all. But when the templar compared the power he felt here to the strength of that black lightning that struck the city gates, he had to agree with the archpriest’s indifference.

The huge windows of the cathedral did nothing to hide the bright light that came with every spell cast. The templar and the archpriest marched up to the front door, finding the entrance open.

It should not be opened.

“Intruder.”

The archpriest nodded and motioned for the templar to go first, and the young templar complied. He let the speed-based reinforcements he had added to his body fade away and replaced it with magic that enhanced his strength. Most of the older templars could do both at the same time, but he was still far from experienced to do something so complicated.

Luckily, he was not fighting alone this time.

Power filled his body as the archpriest behind him layered his own enchantments on top of the spells that the templar already cast on himself, propelling him to heights he had never before reached. A sigh escaped from his lips.

“No wonder everyone likes to fight with someone supporting them. It’s just different,” he said.

“Hush and go, or we’ll be too late. They’re evenly matched now, but who knows what will happen later?” the archpriest snapped, nodding toward the cathedral interior as another explosion of magic sent tremors through the ground. “Two opposing holy manas. Someone turned!”

“Who?”

“Well, we’ll have to see. Are all templars as dense as you?”

The young templar bit his lips to stop himself from shooting something offensive back. He kept his mouth shut—there were more important things to do. Petty arguments can wait later. Taking a deep breath, he charged ahead with the archpriest following close enough.

The battle was not happening in the huge hall. It was somewhere in the back of the cathedral.

Relying on his sense for mana to guide him, the templar slipped into a door on the side and ran deeper into the cathedral. He recognized the directions his feet took him and the archpriest did too.

“As I thought, someone is attacking the bishop.”

“Yea—, wait, look!” the templar said, pointing on the ground in front of them. They had just rounded a corner and the entrance to the bishop’s quarters was just ahead.

Scattered on the ground in front of the door hanging from its hinge were four bodies, their throats slashed open and dropped unceremoniously on the ground, limbs pointing every which way. Every one of them except the first acolyte laying furthest from the door had their eyes open wide in shock, as if they could not believe what they had witnessed moments before their death.

Betrayal of some sort was inevitable, although they already knew that from the mana they felt.

“Who could it be? There was that apprentice that left…” the young templar said. 

“Justin? That wouldn’t be out of the question. Out of all the apprentices, he’d be the one closest to matching a full archpriest in power and skill. However, I don’t think that it’s him,” the archpriest growled.

“Why not?”

“You wouldn’t understand anyway. Let’s hurry.”

The duo crashed through the entrance, snapping the door from the one hinge it still hung on. They rounded one final corner that was saturated in the mana of the undead, confirming one last time that there was a traitor. The young templar raised his sword, ready to swing it at the first sign of an enemy. 

The first person to come into view was the bishop, cowering in a ball in a corner of the room.

Pieces of furniture were scattered all around him and he was staring at something just out of view of the templar. He saw the templar at the same time as the templar saw him and his eyes widened. 

“Y-you, what are you doing here?”

“We’re here to help!” the templar shouted. A few more steps and the rest of the room was bare to him. Entangled in combat was an old man in tight clothes fighting with bare hands against an archpriest wielding a scepter as a staff.

No, both of the combatants were archpriests, but only one of them had shed his robes, which were tossed aside carelessly. 

“You’re…”

“Demuur! You betrayed us!” the archpriest that came with the templar roared.

The old man in tight, dark clothes looked up at him, his lips pulling in a smile. “So, Will, come to join us, eh? I thought that you might be the one to come.”

Will gritted his teeth and pushed the templar forward. “Kill him, boy.”

The templar stumbled from the sudden force on his back, but he quickly regained his balance. He nodded and took a step forward, but a dark shadow dropped from above, coming from the hole in the ceiling. 

“Not so fast.”

The templar recoiled from the shadow’s sudden arrival. The shadow pulled off his good, revealing his visage, a scholarly man with a grim frown on his face. Lines at the corner of his mouth suggested that a frown was not uncommon to see on him at all.

Will choked. “You.. Abersom! You too?”

“None other. Since you’re here, you might as well join us,” Abersom said, extending his hand. However, no sooner had he spoken, did a golden light flash and his hand split from his arm at the wrist. 

Without a word, the young templar struck again, aiming to decapitate the new arrival. He had no time to waste on traitors.

But even without his right hand, Abersom ducked beneath the blade and closed in on the templar. He pressed his hand on the templar’s chestplate and backed off, leaving the templar in confusion.

But not for long.

With a chilling howl, purple light erupted from the templar’s chest in a forceful explosion, sending the templar reeling and crashing into the archpriest right behind him. Abersom knelt and picked up his hand from the ground, reattaching it to his wrist. “I see. That’s a shame.”

Will shoved the unconscious templar and his heavy armor off himself, glaring at Abersom. “How could you betray us? Why?”

“Why do you think?”

“Don’t tell me… it’s for your research?” Will asked, his voice cracking in disbelief. “No…”

A half-smile pulled Abersom’s frown into a neutral expression and he nodded. “Bingo. My research led me here. Light is an illusion—darkness encompasses all, and only darkness can grant eternal life. Now then…since we have reinforcements coming, it’s time to stop playing.”

“What?”

Abersom snapped the fingers of his newly connected right hand. “Goodbye.”

Will tried to get up, but the ground that he and the young templar laid on turned back as he realized that the undead mana he’d felt coming in was a formation. At the time, he had been too angered to think everything through, and his negligence would become his downfall.

“Is this the power you were granted for turning your back on your past?” Will shouted. “Is it worth it?”

“Without a doubt, William.”

Before Will could say another word, the black circle exploded. By the time the black smoke and purple flame-like light faded, there were two lifeless bodies that twitched and crawled to their feet.

Blank eyes stared at nothing and Abersom shook his head. “Well, would you look at that? You joined us after all.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Abersom. Come help me!” Demuur shouted. He had been fighting with the archpriest in front of him for several minutes already, and his stamina was starting to falter. Unlike Abersom, he had not yet been inducted and granted limitless power.

Not to mention, the archpriest he faced was one of the few that trained in arms instead of relying on spells alone. If he had been ten years younger, he would’ve been no problem, but…

Abersom turned. “You’ve gotten old.”

“Hurry! You said so yourself, didn’t you? It’s time!”

“Very well. Hold still.” The zombie lich walked behind Demuur so that the four people still in the room made a line: Abersom, Demuur, then the archpriest protecting the bishop, and finally, the bishop himself.

Black mana gathered at the tip of Abersom’s extended finger and the archpriest paled when he realized what he was going to do. But even if he realized what Abersom was planning, he could do nothing.

“So what will it be?” Abersom asked and fired the mana from his finger straight at the bishop. The archpriest stepped to the side and tried to block the shot with his scepter, but he was still locked in battle with Demuur. 

An instant of distraction meant death and as someone with decades of experience, an instant was all Demuur needed. He saw the opening that moving the scepter created and he struck in that instant with a punch of the fastest speed he could muster. 

The moment his fist connected with the solar plexus, the mana that had been concentrated in Demuur’s fist exploded forward in a blast that rippled through the archpriest’s body. Part of it clashed with the mana that the archpriest armored himself with, but most of it did its damage.

The force ravaged the man’s organs and blood and pieces of flesh came pouring out of his mouth as he coughed up his lunges. In seconds, the bishop’s last defense was on the ground unconscious with his life bleeding out of his mouth.

Abersom shook his head. “The living are so fragile. Now then…”

The bishop froze as Abersom turned his purple eyes toward him. “P-please… what do you want?”

“…a political appointment from the central church. Chosen without merit, and a mere figurehead,” Abersom said. He knelt down and grabbed the bishop’s collar with both hands.

“What do you want?! I’ll give it to you. Just spare me!”

The sound of tearing fabric ran out and Abersom revealed a necklace that the bishop had been wearing, hidden under his robes.

“No! Not that!” the bishop cried. He swatted at Abersom’s hand, but a man incapable of using mana was no match for a zombie lich. 

Abersom didn’t flinch or do anything to acknowledge the bishop’s presence. He simply tore the necklace from the bishop’s neck and peered into the golden crystal. “So this is the catalyst for the consecration zone. Such power.”

“Looks like it,” Demuur said. “If we break this…”

“Yeah. It’s over.”

Ignoring the bishop’s protests, Abersom put the crystal into the bishop’s mouth. Then he picked up a piece of rock from the broken ceiling and turned it pitch black with his magic. The rock went into the bishop’s mouth, which he sealed. “Let’s go.”

“Mmmmmh! Mmmhhnn!”

No matter how fast the bishop crawled after them, Demuur and Abersom easily outpaced him. Once the two traitors left the cathedral, a huge sphere of holy magic with power that dwarfed even the lord-class lich’s black lightning exploded behind them.

Its power source lost, the consecration zone that had protected and empowered the heart of Moltrost for so long disappeared without a trace. 

Far away, in the undead encampment in front of the Moltrost walls, a ghostly light appeared in the empty eye sockets of a huge skeleton sitting on the ground. Its size was incomparable to mere jack-class undead, and it stood head and shoulders higher than the mighty lich from whose fingers the black lightning had come from.

With speed that seemed completely at odds with its size, the skeleton rose to its feet and grabbed its huge axe. Without a word, it advanced on Moltrost, and the undead army followed without complaint. 

The army moved like a single creature made only to destroy.

Come morning, the army moved southwards. The size of the army had more than doubled, bolstered by the additions of formerly-unwilling recruits.