Lord of Disease (JP-GL) 147

147: Snow Stained with Blood

Looking beyond the voices, I spotted Bridget in the midst of the Listrean army deployed on the snowy field below the rampart.

Crimson armor, trimmed with gold, a black cloak. Her beautiful silver hair was tied back in a high ponytail.

And leading the charge, her sword raised, she was a striking figure.

Behind her, in front of the black-armored Dark Knights, were twelve giant beasts. Matted gray fur, three horns. Pawing at the snow, awaiting the signal to charge, the four-legged horned beasts—Liverit sheep.

Though not part of the Dark Knights, the twelve Liverit Lancers had been placed under her command for this battle.

I had requested their participation, given the snowy conditions, and they had all readily agreed.

And beside them, in contrast to the uniformed Dark Knights, were the warriors of the Beastman Army, each in their own unique armor.

Leading them was Lathus, in armor, a rare sight, though it was light armor.

Bridget, the Blood Knight, and Lathus, the Broken Fang, both supreme commanders of the Demon King’s army.

Unlike my title, the Lord of Disease, theirs had been earned through skill.

Including myself and Lital-sama, circling high above, four of the six supreme commanders were present. And their followers were all the elite of Listrea.

They all raised their weapons.

Arrows rained down from the fortress archers. Though they numbered less than twenty, they were an elite group. A faint, glowing magic circle hovered before each of their eyes—Rebecca’s ‘contact lenses,’ no doubt.

The improved night-combat version hadn’t been ready in time, but for a defensive battle on the ramparts, the benefits outweighed the risks.

The strings of the great bows, which could only be drawn with enhanced strength, twanged, and the arrows were released.

The charging white knights were unfazed. They continued their advance, undeterred.

By channeling their mana into the defensive magic on their armor, they could deflect the arrows. Long-range archery was a threat, just like magic, and they were well-prepared.

But that was war. A series of such exchanges. By the time they reached our front lines, their mana was depleted—and more than a few had been struck down.

One by one, they were pierced in the gaps of their armor, falling to their knees, left behind on the trampled snow.

Normally, not a single one of these elite, hero-class warriors should have been lost.

Humans had strength in numbers, but their short lifespans meant their prime was brief. Demons lived longer, but their small numbers meant that each death was a heavier blow.

If only they had all been swallowed by the avalanche.

If only they had all died.

Then, there would have been no casualties on our side.

The white and black waves crashed together.

Their skill was probably equal. But we outnumbered them more than four to one.

But for them, this was a battle to the death.

They had no hope of returning alive, and yet, they were filled with a fierce determination to take as many demons with them as they could.

Even after losing their comrades.

Even after their faith had been betrayed.

And yet, they were Holy Knights.

The twelve Liverit Lancers, charging in a line, trampled the enemy with their spears and hooves, but before the wall of offensive magic and blades, they fell, one by one, like the teeth of a comb, a cloud of blood marking their demise.

Only two made it through the enemy lines. I saw a few riders thrown from their mounts, but I couldn’t tell if they were alive or dead.

The Dark Knights and the Beastman Army poured into the breach, and the battle became a chaotic melee.

Bridget and Lathus were in a league of their own. They were being swarmed, but they were holding their own.

The enemy was falling in greater numbers. Their exhaustion, the disparity in numbers, everything was against them. That was only natural.

So, they resorted to a method to overturn that logic.

The corpse of one of the knights Bridget had struck down began to glow with a pale green light.

The same grotesque light I’d seen before. The light of a human’s life force. A drug made from refined dragon’s blood, a drug to abandon one’s humanity.

And it wasn’t just one.

Not all of them. But several of the corpses, left for dead, began to glow.

They rose, their movements jerky and unnatural, and charged through the deep snow, their feet not sinking.

One of them, unnoticed, broke through the perimeter.

“Lord of Disease…!”

A voice, filled with a bottomless hatred. Even cracked with rage, I could tell it was a woman’s voice.

There was little difference in aptitude between male and female Holy Knights. While men had an advantage in physical strength, women had a slight advantage in mana capacity. And while the military was predominantly male, female soldiers were not uncommon, in either Listrea or the human nations.

She stood at the foot of the rampart and raised a short javelin.

The javelin and her hand were enveloped in a divine, golden light, as if the sun had descended to the earth.

“[Holy… Lance]!”

A blinding light. The spear of light shot straight towards me, as if drawn to me—

““[Shield]””

Rebecca and Samarkand chanted in unison, and a double-layered magic barrier appeared, colliding with the spear of light, and vanishing in a flash.

“Master, you didn’t flinch. You must have trusted us… or not?”

Rebecca tilted her head. I nodded.

“I trust you, but that was just because I couldn’t react in time. I think my heart is about to leap out of my chest.”

There was a reason we could have such a nonchalant conversation.

Liz’s form shimmered into existence behind the Holy Knight, who had been thrown off balance by the force of her throw.

She reached out, smoothly unfastened the clasps on her visor, flipped it up, and covered her mouth.

“[Create Ooze].”

With a single, whispered chant, the female knight was finished.

She thrashed, trying to expel the ooze that was clogging her throat, but Liz held her down, and she could not. Soon, she went limp, but her body continued to convulse, dying and regenerating over and over.

The potion, tentatively named ‘Dragon’s Blood,’ was undoubtedly a threat.

I’d heard that the knowledge and the potion itself had been leaked to the Holy Kingdom. It was surprising that they had enough of the raw material, dragon’s blood, to supply so many. But what was even more surprising was the other thing.

The investigation had revealed that the regeneration came at the cost of the user’s life force, ‘borrowing against their lifespan.’ I doubted that had been improved.

Once you started drinking it, you had to keep drinking it, or you would die. But the raw material was precious, and the refined potion was powerful. Even if they could continue to procure the ingredients, their internal organs probably wouldn’t be able to handle it.

In other words, if you drank it, you died.

And yet, for them, this was a battle to the death. Somewhere along the line, a select group of suicide soldiers had been chosen to drink this potion and wreak havoc, regardless of the cost. Whether they had volunteered or been forced, it was insane.

But it was a threat we had already established a countermeasure for.

The battle experience that I, Liz, and Samarkand had gained, literally at the cost of our lives, had been shared, and a countermeasure had been developed.

While it was a threat, it wasn’t enough to turn the tide of this battle.

Looking down, I saw that all the knights who were glowing green were surrounded by five or six of our soldiers, being cut to pieces.

Even if they focused their mana on their armor, it was less efficient than channeling it into their weapons. Defending the entire surface of their bodies required more mana than attacking.

And they were surrounded.

The soldiers gathered here were the elite of Listrea. Against an equal number, it would be a different story, but against a smaller number, there was no reason for them to lose.

Whether due to exhaustion or a lapse in concentration, their armor shattered, and flesh and blood flew. A single breach quickly spread, and their armor became a hindrance, twisted metal digging into their regenerating flesh, wasting their life force.

And all the while, weapons rained down, and they were practically dismembered.

It was a gruesome sight, but it was the most effective strategy.

Bridget was dealing with them by decapitating them and then ‘destroying’ the head before it could regenerate.

The potion granted an extraordinary regenerative ability, capable of regenerating lost limbs, at the cost of one’s life. But without a brain, they couldn’t attack or defend.

Lathus was using his left-hand dagger, the Tooth Breaker, to shatter their weapons, then having his subordinates surround the now defenseless opponents.

They were both rational.

Swords rose and fell, and with a spray of blood, they fell, one by one. Soon, the battle was over.

The snowy field was stained red with the blood of both sides.