Chapter 392: Comparing Painting to Reality

Argrave had been hearing reports from Anneliese about how the reignited battle looked. She called it many things—chaos, indiscriminate destruction. Looking upon it with his own two eyes, he could think of few adjectives beyond that. Aspects of dragons, great chasms in the earth, titans formed of wind… it was a grand display of death. Spells of the highest order battered at the elven gods, cast without end.

From their spot in the distant canopies, the emissaries of Erlebnis almost looked… normal. They seemed nothing more than a lone regiment, perhaps a little more than one hundred in number. But from his perspective as one endowed with the sight of an A-rank mage, these emissaries were alight with unprecedented power, catching his eyes like falling stars in a pitch-black night. They used their lord Erlebnis’ blessing, and Argrave saw its true potential on clear display.

The gods and the elves had been split into two separate forces, each retreating from the open plains Kirel Qircassia made back into the forest. Dimocles had been lying when he said this battle was already decided, just as Argrave had thought. Nine or so emissaries dealt with the elven army, doing nothing more than engaging with the spellcasters on the elves’ side—they sent wards and the occasional probing attack. Though the spells were enough to rock the earth, both forces possessed spellcasters capable of S-rank spells.

The rest of the emissaries, however, dealt solely with the elven gods. With nine on the army and one hundred on the gods, it seemed an uneven split… but the gods needed to be their sole focus, as they were the true threat on this battlefield. They kept them contained with constant spells, assailing from all sides. Even still, they could not fully stop their retreat. They advanced steadily backwards, abandoning Kirel Qircassia’s breach.

Leading the emissaries was the traitor, Chiteng. His ivory blade caught some spells the emissaries cast, using them to add power as he fought against his own family. Merata met his blade time and time again with his crook, showing crude strength and expertise in equal measure. Each time the ivory met wood, a loud crack echoed out, like a bat struck a wall.

“Ghan is badly injured. A great cut renders him incapable, starting from his throat and leading down to his groin. He bleeds spirits in abundance, despite attempts to staunch this,” Anneliese told Argrave. “Merata is leading them. From something I overheard, they attempt to retreat back to their heart of power. I think… for now, they can manage a retreat. But as Erlebnis’ power grows, and as more emissaries come to bear… they will be overrun.”

Argrave watched closely. As Anneliese said, Merata, the eldest son, took the defense in their retreat. Gunlik, the third eldest after Chiteng, supported his father while the matriarch Ujin attempted to clear a retreat path with the rest of the gods. But the emissaries were a cold and unfeeling regiment possessing mechanical discipline and a near-foolproof strategy.

“They divide themselves into three units,” Anneliese observed beside Argrave. “One actively engages. One is reserve. The other is resupplying.”

And it was just as Anneliese said. The frontliners attacked, their Blessing of Supersession fully engaged. Mana ripples filled the air as they used spells far beyond Argrave’s ken—dragons born of flame burned through Merata’s power of woodworking while great stretches of earth gave beneath them, turning into inhuman jaws that ate at their legs. Swords of wind as tall as trees stabbed at their heads, swung towards their throats… it was a constant devilish assault. On the inverse, any attempt at attack from the gods was met with a complete defense from multiple S-rank wards, each so large and strong that all of the emissaries were protected simultaneously. Erlebnis’ emissaries were small—but small size was an advantage, not a disadvantage, in this case.

When the vanguard emissaries lost their power of the blessing granted to them by Erlebnis, they fell back, joining the resupplying unit while the reserve unit became the frontliners. With the reserve up front, the assault began once more. In the resupply unit, the now-diminished emissaries used another of their abilities—rapid absorption of ambient magic, to repay any debt incurred. The emissaries had very little natural magic: all they had was an intense ability to replenish that supply. It was all designed to repay the debt the Blessing of Supersession incurred.

When the frontliners ran out of their five minutes, they became the new backliners. The reserves became the frontliners, and the backliners became the reserve. It was a revolving door of efficient destruction. The spells, though grand, were measured and precise, spending enough magic to slowly kill their foes while retaining the ability to recover before joining the front.

This display of magic defied human standards. And it was why they weren’t human.

“The gods can get away if they play this right.” Argrave looked to where the breach was. Merata’s fortress of wood constructed around it still stood strong, but he wasn’t sure how long that would last. “But I’m not sure how long they last after this. A few days? A week, two, at best? And without pressure on Kirel Qircassia and his breach, in a while the emissaries aren’t going to be the only ones hunting them.”

“Did you truly say Kirel Qircassia was stronger than Erlebnis?” Anneliese questioned, watching all ahead.

Orion narrowed his brows as he watched. “Kirel can’t be stronger. We won against him. Against this… can there be victory?”

“I said when fully manifested, Kirel is likely stronger than Erlebnis” Argrave justified himself. “But the emissaries circumvent the slow period of manifestation. They tap into Erlebnis’ power directly through the Blessing of Supersession, and then use mortal methods—namely, magic—to make full use of that power. His servants are the weakest imaginable, physically speaking, and not especially numerous. But this trick enables Erlebnis to show incredible power very early in the cycle of judgement, long before his full form is manifested. By then, he’s earned himself a huge advantage.”

As Argrave finished explaining, he saw some movement in his peripheries and turned his head. There, an emissary emerged, walking on the high branches delicately. They had been speaking behind a ward, but now Argrave dispelled it to speak with them.

Argrave rose to his feet, feeling the branch beneath him sway as he moved his weight. Just after the emissary came Onychinusa. She looked at them distrustfully.

This emissary had two hands larger than its shrunken torso, and it entwined them as it spoke. “The new acting Supreme Myriarch Altan has been informed of this new development. She is ready and willing to cooperate with you.”

“How did you inform her?” Argrave pressed. “Just so I know there’s no misunderstanding. An unclear message could ruin things.”

“We have faithful adherents in their armies,” the emissary explained calmly. “The elves were a largely faithless lot, yet many soldiers need spiritual fulfillment in the wake of death. Many seeking spiritual satisfaction or more… material advancement, shall we say, found His innumerable shrines dotted throughout Berendar. It is why they were built. Altan was no recent acquisition.”

He’s saying they have cultists all throughout the forest, Argrave realized. And maybe even far beyond that. Good lord… even if I get through this alive, I have to rouse the Spanish Inquisition back home. To think that I was once paranoid about revealing my Blessing, and now I might be forced to hunt down people precisely like me.

“Good enough for me,” Argrave concluded, then looked at the tan, white-haired elf at the emissary’s side. “She’ll be coming with us?”

“The Lord’s mortal champion has been instructed to do whatever you need her to,” the emissary put its big hand on her shoulder, and it nearly hid her head with the sheer size of it.

Argrave studied Onychinusa. As ever, she couldn’t meet his gaze, and seemed generally frustrated with this situation. He decided to brief her, saying authoritatively, “You seem to dislike talking, so I’ll say only this—if asked, you’re Anneliese’s sister. Don’t kill anyone unless instructed, endeavor to protect every member of my party, and don’t go off on your own.”

“Okay,” she answered flatly.

Argrave took a deep breath and looked away back to the battlefield. Though Onychinusa was a puppet cut to size by those who’d raised her, he couldn’t afford to pity her. He’d keep interactions to a minimum, do what needed to be done, and then part ways. It’d make the final juncture of this plan simpler… both for her and him.

“Then, come on,” Argrave waved his hand onward as he readied to jump off the branch. “It’s time to get them out of there.”

#####

Watching fireworks from afar was wholly different from having them explode near you.

As Argrave led the front of his small force of Veidimen and Magisters, this was a principle soundly on display. Ghan’s assault with the storm at his back had been fierce and devastating and loud… but the assault of the emissaries ate away sound, almost entirely drowning out the constant horn the elves sounded in desperate call for retreat. The earth shook, the air was equal parts humid and dry, and scatterings of wind buffeted them with dust in greater intensity the further they advanced.

“Need to put on quite the show, don’t we?!” Argrave shouted to the two with him at the front—specifically, Onychinusa and Anneliese. “Grimalt, Bastel, Rasten—go!”

The Veidimen officers heeded his words, moving with the Magisters to join the elven army and provide aid. With the Magisters spent from the battle the day prior, only Argrave, Anneliese, and Onychinusa remained at relatively peak condition. And so they would be the designated bait.

The emissaries pushed the elven army away to the coast, their small number more than sufficient to suppress and herd the whole army. Seeing the battle with the gods and comparing it to the battle here, it was almost clear Erlebnis’ servants held back a great deal. Regardless, Argrave didn’t care if they were being benevolent, holding up their side of this twisted deal. In truth, he didn’t intend to put on a show at all. He wanted to try and kill these things. It would be a good test for what was to come.

Argrave held his hands out, miming a bow. His blood echoes spilled out from his body, and a distant onlooker might think he split into many. Each of them readied the spell [Bloodfeud Bow] in tandem, spending their essence to prepare for a powerful attack few things had survived.

The emissaries took note of this immediately. Their relentless assault on the elven forces abated somewhat, and their disciplined force broke away to face Argrave squarely. The closest cast a spell of wind, and a ripping tornado erupted forth, tearing the ground up as it came. Still, Argrave advanced, confident in those near him.

When it came close enough, Anneliese’s ward finished, shielding them. It took the spell gracefully, persisting. But after the tornado came other spells—a winding serpent dragon of flame came next, but it was soon overtaken by a loud explosion of too-quick lightning magic, and the silver defense shattered. Anneliese prepared another ward, but Onychinusa bridged the gap between them, defending Argrave’s advance once more with a ward of her own so he was left to the elements for no longer than half a second.

As they endured spell after spell, the elven army seized this opportunity to disengage. Just as they moved away, Argrave shouted, “I’m firing!”

The wards before him fell, and all of the blood magic he’d been preparing sped above the ground to meet the coming assault. Some of the maroon arrows split through approaching attacks entirely, heading directly for the emissaries. For a brief moment he was ecstatic, feeling he might get a kill after all. But in tandem, each emissary cast an S-rank ward. The arrows broke through the first, certainly… even the second and third, impressively enough.

But three wards was far from all. Their combined defense could withstand a gods’ attack. What hope did Argrave have to break it?

The blood magic did leave its mark on the battlefield, though. All casting stopped for a brief moment, replaced by the sound of the retreating army and their horns spurring them onwards. And in that eerie stillness, Argrave ordered, “Hold the line!”

And in moments, Argrave and his company were personally subjected to precisely what the elven gods endured. That unending wave of power was turned against them, reduced by a multiple of ten and with the opposition deliberately lessening the intensity of their attacks. It was almost too much to handle, yet Anneliese did not waver, casting ward after ward to receive all assaults. Her magic supply was diminished and filled rapidly enough it was almost alarming, her [Life Cycle] working overdrive to keep them whole.

When the distant and constant noise of the elven horns fell out of his hearing, Argrave turned his head. He saw they’d managed to make it back to the trees. With the redwoods at their disposal, the elves could retreat twice as fast. Realizing this, Argrave ordered, “Time to fall back.”

Anneliese backpedaled without a second thought, leaving countless wards in her retreat. It was a mind-numbingly tense stretch, and seemingly without end… Argrave felt tempted to use his Blessing of Supersession time and time again, but ultimately never called upon it. And at some point… the attacks ended. Beyond, the emissaries watched them for a moment. Then they turned their bodies and walked calmly to where the elven gods still fought.

Anneliese stood there, drenched in sweat and breathing heavy. She stumbled slightly and Argrave grabbed her arm, holding her tight. Onychinusa gave them bitter side-eyes, watching as the emissaries left.

“…let’s go,” Argrave said after a time.

#####

Argrave and his small force eventually joined with the elven army. They fell back to the spot that had been designated as a retreat, where they were received by scouts. The scouts that found them had been given orders. They were escorted to the higher leadership immediately, where all the myriarchs gathered.

“We should retreat further!” Argrave heard Batbayar insist as soon as he was led to them.

“Those abominations left us, went to join the others. All of us saw it,” Otgon argued.

Argrave stepped into view, and all turned to look at him. Altan brightened and stepped up to Argrave, holding out her hand.

“Thank you, King Argrave, for arriving when you did. Our spellcasters were badly depleted, and I’m uncertain we could hold out much longer. Great work,” she said, staring at him with her red eyes common in all the wood elves. Maybe it was his imagination… but knowing what she’d done put an eerie undercurrent to all she said.

“I should have come sooner,” Argrave said truthfully. He didn’t want to, but he shook her hand.

Altan shook her head, and then pulled him to the table where the other myriarchs waited. “Let’s talk about what happened… and where we go from here.” She looked back. “But for now, Batbayar is right. We should head to where we are furthest from the invader’s breach.”

“Can someone tell me what in the world happened? Those… things, ambushed me, diverted me from my goal, and when we finally managed to come here…” Argrave interrupted, not playing along. “I need to know every last detail about what happened.”

Altan looked at him in discomfort, but eventually gave a nod of concession. “We can explain as we advance to safety.”

I’m going to work out fact from fiction, Argrave thought. And once that’s done… I can work out how this puzzling thing all fits together.