The Price of Resistance

Amidst the relentless advance of the Undead Legion, the villagers experienced for the first time the horrifying reality of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.Countless dark creatures, their forms silhouetted against the firelight, obscured everything visible, howling and surging forward as monsters continually breached the magical barrier erected by the mages.

“Do not shoot indiscriminately, and do not let the enemy intimidate you!” Tikka commanded, his longsword held firm as he repelled the encroaching foes. “Any attack not aimed directly at their heads is meaningless against these walking corpses! It is merely a waste of strength!”

“Every attack must be efficient!” Tikka declared, just as a walking corpse that had breached their defenses charged towards the male swordsman, only to have its skull pierced clean through by an arrow.

Tikka turned, his gaze drawn to the village’s bell tower, where Mula stood, her bow drawn, providing continuous suppressive fire across the battlefield.

“They truly are chilling… I don’t want these zombies and their ilk to get close,” Mula murmured, maintaining her vigilant watch from the bell tower before shouting through her communication crystal:

–Tikka! Another enemy contingent is about to breach the barrier over there; quickly find some people to hold them back!–

“Our manpower is spread too thin,” Tikka replied, glancing at the village guards around him. While some among them were professional soldiers, many more were young men who had never seen battle. Their overly dispersed defenses simply could not withstand such an assault effectively.

“Let the defensive line contract,” the Village Chief stated then. “The village also has its own tiered defensive lines. If the outer layers cannot hold, we will turn this area into a sea of fire. We will make our stand on the final high-ground area, where only a few bridges provide passage.”

“So be it.” Tikka agreed without a moment’s hesitation. The troops began to retreat amidst the blare of horns, yet even as they withdrew, they did not forget to continue setting fires, engulfing the surroundings in a sea of flames. From the high ground, Eric, who was maintaining the barrier, gazed at the encroaching inferno, his face etched with an unreadable expression.

“Tch… I truly am getting old… Can’t even sustain this… Can’t even sustain *this*?” As he spoke, a fierce, gritting determination shone through. He had once been a renowned mage, having distinguished himself in that great war. While he might not possess the power of a legendary Sage or the Brave King, he certainly wasn’t so weak as to be reduced to this state. His pride as a mage was immense.

“Hmph… keep holding on!” he growled, pulling a pure red magic stone from his pocket. This was an amplifying magic stone, specially refined to enhance one’s magical perception, typically used in the crafting of magic staffs. Yet, there was a way to wield it directly, albeit at a steep cost. To draw and release magic directly from the stone without a proper magical circuit meant using one’s own body as a conduit for magic that was not inherently theirs, a process immensely damaging to the body. Eric had originally intended this stone to uphold an ancient mage’s tradition, crafting a staff for Anto upon his coming of age. Although Anto wasn’t particularly fond of magic, years of tutelage had, in a sense, made him Eric’s disciple. Eric hadn’t expected him to be overjoyed upon receiving it; merely the act of giving it was enough. But now, the boy couldn’t return, and his identity was becoming increasingly difficult to conceal. This meant more people would vie for him—whether it be the fractured major sects, the Council which had just taken over continental order, even the remnants of the Demon Lord’s army, or the nobles from various kingdoms; all would covet him. Some factions desired to possess him, while others sought to destroy him.

He had always envisioned having ample time to pave the way for Anto, ensuring his future would be less troubled. He had even secured a spot for him at the Royal Potions Academy through a friend, planning to present it as a surprise in a few days. Now, however, all those plans felt impossibly distant.

Though this method would inflict severe damage upon him, he was still prepared to use it. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but he intended to make it so. He had once sworn an oath to the Witch Hillevi, before her illness, to keep Anto’s identity and secrets, just as she had. He had no intention of breaking that vow now. After this battle, he would reveal information about Anto to Tikka; this was their agreement. But…

But what if he couldn’t even last until then?

‘Tch… while it was a tempting end to die in Taelanmere, atop the Tower of Knowledge, becoming nourishment for the Ancient Tree of Knowledge while pursuing the arcane arts to their very limits, fighting to the last breath, exhausting oneself in defense of the village he had built, seemed like a rather fitting end as well.’

Eric chuckled, igniting the magic stone in his hand. He felt the abundant magic surge wildly through his body, channeling it simultaneously into the barrier he had constructed.

“This is burning in both a physical and spiritual sense… Even old men, after all, still need a bit of passion!” As the barrier flared with renewed energy, Mula looked up at the suddenly much more solid magical defense and murmured:

“Wow, I thought he was just an ordinary old geezer… I never expected him to have something like that up his sleeve. If this holds, perhaps we truly can withstand them.”

“…Something’s moving.” Tikka suddenly called from below. “I sense an unusually powerful aura… Mula, check your three o’clock! Is something approaching?”

“Three o’clock… Ngh, is that… a mountain?” Mula froze atop the bell tower. In her vision, a colossal, mountain-like shadow was drawing near—an entity formed from countless corpses. It was a terrifying aggregation of walking dead and battlefield casualties, continuously piling up, their accumulated resentment and demonic energy channeled from the demon realm coalescing into a dreadful being.

–Have the mages withdraw the barrier! That thing cannot be stopped!– Mula’s voice trembled slightly as she spoke. –A Corpse-Mutation Mountain (TL Note: A massive, grotesque entity formed from countless undead and battlefield corpses, animated by dark magic and resentment.)… a giant corpse-mutation aggregate is charging towards us! You all need to retreat to the high ground quickly; we can only defend from there!–

“Understood.” Tikka’s reply lacked the same panic. The most terrifying aspect of fighting the Demon Lord’s army was that corpses became enemies; yet, once war began, bodies were bound to accumulate. Usually, defenders would store their comrades’ bodies in facilities specifically designed to prevent corpse mutation. However, if an entire stronghold was overrun, those accumulated corpses would instantly and spontaneously twist into a powerful individual entity, becoming the most lethal presence on the battlefield.