Chapter 90: The Ghosts of the Ancestors (2)
Goo Wook... Goo Kook...
The orangutan corpses began to move.
Although they had only been dead for a short time, their skin was already turning to mush and decaying, revealing hollow bones here and there.
In fact, all living things come from nature and return to nature, meaning that their bodies belong to nature.
Coming from nature and returning to nature is a great providence, a kind of contract to be recognized as a member of the ecosystem.
However.
There are some beings who, after the end of their lives and the time period in which they were given a body, do not return it to nature.
The undead.
They don't return to nature, even though they came from it by nature.
They are like tenants in a house that is already on a contract.
The ghosts are forcibly occupying a body that, according to providence and the contract of life, should have been returned to nature.
Therefore, nature takes action to reclaim the body.
As the law of nature dictates, all things return to the earth.
In order to reclaim the body from the wraith, nature speeds up the decay of the flesh, so that the undead are always left with nothing but rotting flesh, stinking guts, and hollow bones.
This is why most undead are rotting or skeletal.
... but.
Occasionally, wraiths who possessed noble powers in life were able to resist the laws of nature with even greater strength.
They defy the laws of nature with bodies and strength that are not nearly as damaged as they were when they were alive.
Woodchuck! Woodchuck! Woodchuck! Woodchuck!
Such were the undead that were now crawling out of the valiant's grave.
"...This is unbelievable!"
Aiyen's mouth dropped open.
Crawling out of the stone and dirt tombs in the valley, they were skeletons, skinny and dry.
They wore shrouds made of black panther pelts, and their eyes glowed with the black emptiness of skeletons.
They were once, long ago, great warriors and leaders of the Balak.
Carrying bows, spears, swords, axes... and their buried loved ones, the undead have risen to the surface and are swarming this way in unison.
<Death Knight>
Danger Rating : A ~ S
Size : ?
Found in : ?
-Named 'Death Knight'.
A corrupted and transformed being who once touched the heights of the living, the dark mana they draw from their souls and bodies is held as collateral until every muscle and vein in their bodies bursts.
Most lose their sanity and spew empty hatred and blind rage.
However, sometimes there are death knights with intelligence, but it is said that there are only seven cases in human history where such objects have appeared.
Usually, Death Knights are fierce and aggressive, and to compensate for this, they are often equipped with thick, heavy armor.
But the resurrected ancestors of Balak were approaching with the speed of the wind, wearing nothing but a fluttering robe on the dark currents.
Answering the maddening hatred that Ahheman was spewing.
Then, Chief Aquila spoke.
"All, prepare for battle!"
As soon as the words left, Aiyen drew his bow and fired.
Aiming for Ahheman, who struggled on the ground.
But one of the Death Knights, running at breakneck speed, fired an arrow before he could.
Puff, puff, puff!
Arrows of tremendous power flew out and began to escort Ahheman.
"Heh-heh heh! die all! All gone!"
Hiding behind the Death Knights, Ahheman was rapidly aging.
He had stretched his life force beyond its limits, manipulating the Death Knights.
Soon, the skeletal, faceless Deathknights stood in the way of Balak's warriors with swords and spears.
The warriors of Balak face the past and the present at once.
The warriors of the Old Era and the warriors of the New Era face off against each other.
"The time has come to teach the heroes of the past a lesson. How scary the kids are these days!"
Aiyen fired the first arrow.
Ping-!
Her arrow was filled with a powerful silver aura.
However, to her surprise, the Death Knight in front of her grabbed the arrow with his hand.
...Crisp!
The arrow was blocked, but there was no way he could have gotten away with holding it with his bare hands.
The Death Knight shook his head as he watched the hand that held the arrow turn to dust and crumble.
Perhaps when he was alive, he would have had no trouble catching it.
But now, weakened as he was by decay, he would not have been able to adapt to his deteriorated body.
Then.
Boom!
The Death Knight behind him swung his sword.
A sharp blow flew out, slicing through everything in its path.
The speed was faster than expected, causing Aiyen to panic.
...Boom!
There was someone who deflected the Death Knight's blow. It was Vikir.
And now.
Vikir scattered his hands towards the two charging Death Knights.
A moment. A white powder flew from Vikir's hands and landed in the faces of the Death Knights.
Chiiiit!
Smoke billowed out, accompanied by the sound of burning leather.
The Death Knights grimaced in pain and stepped back.
"Be careful. Each one is a named demon."
Aiyen giggled at Vikir's advice.
She bent at the waist and stuck her ass out as far as it would go, patting Vikir's thigh.
"After all, you are the only man I can trust with my back."
"...."
"Oh, of course, I'm asking you to cover my rear in battle. I hope you don't misunderstand."
Aiyen is amused by Vikir's reaction, even in such a desperate moment.
But in all fairness, now was not the time for playful teasing.
The Death Knights were flying, their attacks growing stronger and sharper.
Aiyen's expression hardened.
"Vikir, how did you do that?"
He was asking how Vikir had chased away two Death Knights just a moment ago.
Vikir answered easily.
"Salt. The undead are weak to salt."
He was right. There's no better way to cleanse the unholy than with salt.
Vikir picked up a handful of salt, which lay like white sand on the banks of a cascading river outside the battlefield of the Iliad, and sprinkled it on the Death Knight.
Soon, the white salt burned black and made a loud crackling sound.
Deathknight jumped back as the salt touched his body, and that was just in time to counterattack.
...Puff!
Vikir grabbed the Death Knight's back as he flinched from the salt, and promptly punctured his temple with Beelzebub.
Then the Balak warriors, who had been struggling to hold the Death Knights at bay, found a way through.
"Salt! Salt!"
"Everyone, imitate Vikir!"
"It's true! It's working!"
Still, the Balak warriors were reluctant to wound their ancestors.
They sprinkled the river's salts with minimal contact, hoping to avoid hand-to-hand combat while still honoring their ancestors.
Moreover, as Ahheman's Turning Point reached its climax, the Death Knights began to be picked off one by one.
Chief Aquila sneered.
"Your ancestors were not meant to be manipulated by the Necrons."
His mockery was directed at the dying Ahheman.
The moment.
"Kuhhhhh... ... Yes, quality rather than quantity."
Ahheman laughed grimly.
He smeared his face with his own blood, drawing intricate lines of incantation. He began to draw upon his life force, drawing upon it beyond life itself.
Even his soul would struggle in agony for eons after death.
But nevertheless, Ahheman was forced to use this forbidden spell.
...thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud!
One by one, the Death Knights around him began to fall apart.
But despite this, Ahheman kept his eyes closed and kept muttering something.
"...I found it! I found it! I found it! He lay in the depths of the abyss, alone and without a grave! Oh, yes, He really was there!"
Dark mana swirled wildly around him.
The other warriors of Balak could barely keep their balance in the midst of it all.
"...It is time to end it all."
The night fox, the chieftain, Aquilaman, stood tall and glared at Ahheman.
Then her arrow struck him in the forehead.
Pow!
A single silver arrow shot through the dark storm.
It seemed self-evident that in a matter of seconds, it would blow a gaping hole in his skull.
But.
Kwagik-.
To his horror, Aquila's arrow stopped midway.
Aquila's arrow, the unstoppable force in the current depht, had been caught by someone else's hand.
"...!?"
All of Balak's warriors looked up in astonishment.
It was a lanky man who caught the arrow with his bare hands.
A man dressed in a raggedy shroud.
His face was skeletal and leathery, his lips missing, leaving his gums and teeth exposed.
The shroud fluttered in the breeze, woven in a style from a long, long time ago.
Thick strong bones, tall stature, and the power to catch Aquila's arrows with her bare hands.
No one had ever guessed the identity of this long-ago ancestor.
Only one. Except for Aquila.
"...!"
Aquila turned her trembling gaze to the undead orb before her.
She had heard the legends of all the great chieftains and heroes of Balak since she was a child.
She'd always thought she could do that.
Blessed potential, endless possibilities, a once-in-a-century talent.
Aquila was actually considered one of the most capable chieftains of all time, so he had no qualms about comparing himself to the legendary warriors of old.
...except for one person.
A hero who had single-handedly declared war on the Empire, who had won declarations of surrender, who had subjugated all the tribes of the Depht, who had led Balak to his greatest heights, and in the face of all these immense accomplishments, even the arrogant Aquila could only sincerely admire.
The eternal myth of the Balak, a spiritual being.
Adonai, the greatest archer since history began to be written.
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