"Mousillon's snake is my son?" Ryan murmured, his face a mixture of shock and confusion. "He's my son?"
Ryan's bewilderment made him let down his guard for a moment.
Matthew Bard, however, did not stop. With deep-seated hatred etched on his face, he continued his attack. The snake sword struck Ryan's helmet with a loud clang, sending the steel piece spinning away. The long blade plunged deep into his flesh, burning like a fiery tongue.
The immense force from Matthew Bard knocked Ryan off his horse. The cursed blade tormented his soul. His beloved horse neighed in fear, trying to retreat from the attack. Blood splattered across Ryan's face as he struggled to move his legs to stand up, but nausea and dizziness overwhelmed him.
In his daze, Ryan noticed the screams of knights and their futile attempts to rescue him. He tried to reach for his sword, only to see a foot firmly stepping on the hilt of the Sword of Couronne.
He looked up at Matthew Bard's face and, in a blur, it felt like he was back in his teenage years—a young and reckless errant knight, while she was the serf maid washing clothes by the stream.
"Young master, I'm a serf and you are a knight. We can't be together."
"Oh! Young master, please don't! Don't!"
"I have your child, young master!"
"No! You promised! You promised me!"
"Please, I beg you, don't take my son away. I beg you!"
"Give my son back to me!!!"
"I hate you, Ryan. I will always hate you!"
The Holy Grail Knight broke down in tears, crying out in pain, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Agathe, I owe you an apology!"
"Go to the other world and tell my mother, father!" Matthew Bard watched his father cry out in agony, a flicker of pain crossing his eyes, but he still raised his snake sword.
Ryan tried to force his limbs to obey, but numbness overwhelmed him. He heard the desperate cries of the knights, the sound of the blade piercing his body, and the pounding of hooves. In the end, he heard the cry of his mount, the griffon Bicis.
Then, a wave of dizziness hit, and he heard nothing more...
In the dark night, aside from the ongoing battle in the central camp, the imperial army's encampment was also under heavy attack from the undead. The imperial soldiers were still asleep when the dire wolves stormed their camp!
Unlike the Bretonnian army, the troops from Nuln were elite, well-trained soldiers. Although caught off guard at first, resulting in significant losses, they quickly formed a solid defense against the undead. The imperial soldiers swiftly formed tight pike and spear lines to block the gaps, the musketeers opened fire, and the cannons roared, repelling the undead's advance.
"Damn it! By Charlemagne, what's going on?!" Imperial General Dietrich shouted, watching the flames and chaos in the Bretonnian camp. He commanded his soldiers to counterattack. "How did the Bretonnians let the undead reach their camp? Are they all blind and deaf?"
"I have no idea!" Deputy Boris von Zhukov yelled back. "Hold the line! Hold the line! On my command, fire!"
"Boom! Boom boom boom!" The musketeers unleashed a volley, tearing hundreds of dire wolves and skeleton warriors to shreds. The undead ranks were in disarray, driven only by a lust for slaughter. The only advantage the human defenders had was discipline, standing as an orderly iron wall against primal savagery, as they had for millennia.
The imperial army lost over a thousand men in the initial surprise attack, but the remaining troops held their ground, roaring as they fought the undead. The pike and halberd units stood firm, receiving support from artillery and swordsmen. Nuln's musketeers poured out volleys of fire, unleashing their wrath upon the enemy.
Holy Grail Grandmaster Karad and his retainers formed an iron tide, destroying the undead's assault waves. Surrounded by golden light, Karad fought like a divine warrior, cursing and slaying as he went. His heroics greatly boosted the troops' morale. Under his invincible performance, the imperial army rallied from the surprise attack.
Taking advantage of this momentum, the Nuln troops reformed their lines. Three infantry regiments reassembled, flanked by more regular units. As was customary for Nuln, pike squares formed the backbone, supported by ranged weapons, archers, musketeers, and heavy artillery. The army's elite, over a hundred imperial knights, were positioned on the left, seeking an opportunity to break through.
As Karad returned from repelling a wave of undead, covered in blood and mud, he saw that the entire camp direction had been overrun by the undead. Ryan and his knights were nowhere to be seen—either fled or perished.
But now was not the time for hesitation. The wind of death raged over the land, resurrecting the fallen Bretonnian soldiers. The undead army would only grow stronger.
"The enemy is heavily deployed in the north!" Karad shouted, pulling on his horse's reins. "Conversely, there are fewer guards in the south. We'll break out to the south! We'll join forces with Ryan Malcador's army to the south of Mousillon!"
"Right! We break out to the south!" Boris von Zhukov immediately agreed. He mounted his horse and raised his lance. "Soldiers, my men, follow us! Break through to the south!"
"Break through to the south!"
The imperial army began their southern breakout, leveraging their superior firepower and trained resilience. The Iron Flame Mercenary Corps charged southward in the darkness. Matthew Bard had positioned most of his forces to the north to encircle Ryan, leaving fewer undead to the south. The imperial troops, with fierce fighting, broke through the undead lines, creating a gap.
Leading the charge was still Karad de Galamonte, his body glowing with golden light as he thundered into the storm's center like an ivory wedge. A black Holy Grail knight came to challenge Karad, but before he could strike, Karad's lance pierced his head, lifting and tossing the knight several meters away, crashing into the undead ranks.
General Dietrich swallowed hard, watching Karad effortlessly dispatch the black Holy Grail knight, his immense strength almost terrifying. It was as if he were an unstoppable beast.
Cursing all the while, Karad wielded the Lady's will to judge the undead. He led the charge, stabbing, piercing, and killing, unstoppable. The holy power in his lance felled over a dozen tomb guards. Boris von Zhukov fired his eight-shot revolving musket, mowing down approaching tomb guards. The imperial troops, inspired by Karad and their vanguard's bravery, followed with renewed vigor.
The undead lines began to collapse. Meanwhile, Matthew Bard clutched a wound on his head, a scar left by Ryan's mount, the griffon Bicis. By the time Matthew tried to finish Ryan off, both Ryan and his mount had disappeared. His subordinate, De Lyonese, seized the opportunity to break out with over a hundred knights, fleeing northward.
"Morwyn! Block them! Block Karad and the imperial troops!" Matthew Bard roared wildly. "Today, I will baptize this land with blood to honor my mother!!!"
Under Matthew Bard's orders, the mad duke Morwyn led a large group of black knights and blood knights to intercept the imperial troops breaking southward.
But the imperial troops were not alone. As Karad led the charge at the forefront, a group of over seven hundred knights joined him. Leading them was Duke Hagen Gisolaioks, a Holy Grail Knight sweeping away the undead with his stag lance, emitting a pure light. The spectral stag from his lance dispelled the undead's power, turning skeleton warriors and zombies into piles of bones upon contact.
With Duke Hagen's valor, the imperial and Gisolaioks troops joined forces. Amidst the chaos, Duke Hagen saw Karad and shouted, "Can anyone tell me what's going on? Why did Ryan's camp suddenly catch fire? And why didn't Aldereld and Fulkard come to support?"
Hagen was bewildered, but his military prowess and courage quickly made him realize something was wrong. He ordered his troops to gather and break out to join the imperial forces.
With most of Matthew Bard's undead forces deployed north, the Gisolaioks troops faced a smaller-scale assault. Hagen led his knights out and joined the imperial troops.
"No time to explain, let's break out and join Ryan!" Karad shouted.
"Understood!" Hagen responded loudly, knowing there was no time for hesitation.
With two Holy Grail Knights leading, Karad had no fear. Supported by Duke Hagen, he charged forward, felling groups of enemies. Now Karad seemed like a living war god, his eyes blazing with the Lady's wrath. His sword Durandal burned with white flames, and each strike brought devastation to Bretonnia's enemies. He felt the Holy Grail's power throbbing in his veins. Enemies fell like wheat before a scythe.
None could withstand him. Black knights turned to dust before Karad. They were either skewered by his lance or trampled by his horse.
The last black Holy Grail knight fell before Karad.
He had single-handedly slaughtered hundreds of undead.
Then he saw his half-brother, Belithes, now a vampire. Belithes raised his lance, silently challenging Karad.
"You've fallen too?" Karad raised his lance calmly. "Then from today, we are no longer brothers."
"We were never brothers! Never were!" Belithes's blood-red eyes burned with intense hatred. "I have become a lord of the Midnight Aristocracy! My power is beyond your imagination…"
Before he could finish, Karad's lance had already pierced through Belithes's shield and into his chest. The shock and surprise on Belithes's face were barely visible before Karad lifted him off his mount.
"Die, undead!" Duke Hagen didn't waste any time. His stag lance impaled Belithes on the ground, the vampire lord's agonizing screams echoing as he was bathed in the light of the spectral stag, disintegrating into grey ashes.
Karad had no time to mourn his fallen half-brother. He spotted the figure of the mad duke, Morwyn.
Never slowing his charge, Karad plunged into the black knights' ranks again, aiming directly for Morwyn.
Imperial knights had never felt such fiery zeal and high spirits. They followed Karad with loud battle cries, cutting through the darkness and rain like a shining beacon.
The black knights and blood knights tried to form a protective barrier around Morwyn, their eyes filled with both hatred and fear.
When Karad raised his sacred sword Durandal, the light it emitted caused the undead to scream in agony. The holy light from the sword illuminated the battlefield, bringing immense pain to the undead.
Blood knights attempted to halt Karad's advance. These blood knights, clad in ancient armor, were formidable warriors, champions of the Blood Dragon family.
Yet, none could withstand Karad's assault. His lance and sword tore through the blood knights' armor and flesh. Heads flew as Karad cut down five blood knights, drawing closer to Morwyn.
The remaining blood knights were overwhelmed by Duke Hagen's eight hundred knights and over a hundred imperial knights.
Seeing himself isolated, Morwyn sneered. The mad duke swung his sword, cleaving an approaching imperial knight and his horse in two. The knight didn't even have time to utter a last word before flying off into the distance.
Morwyn's second strike felled a Bretonnian errant knight, sending him flying off his galloping horse.
Morwyn raised his sword towards Karad, issuing a silent challenge.
Karad would not let Morwyn continue his killing spree. He roared and accepted the challenge, "The Lady guides my lance!"
The Holy Grail Knight's lance pierced the air. Karad dodged Morwyn's sword strike, the lance's tip piercing Morwyn's throat. The duel between these two mighty warriors began with terrifying intensity.
Morwyn screamed in pain as the white flames from Karad's lance scorched his throat. Smoke and blisters formed on his neck as the holy fire burned. In desperation, Morwyn parried Karad's blade with his undead sword, snapping the lance in half with his bare hands.
The clash of their swords sent sparks flying in the dark night, their muscles straining to their limits. For a moment, they were evenly matched, neither able to gain the upper hand.
Despite his speed, Morwyn underestimated Karad, who was no longer mortal. The Holy Grail Knight, once far stronger than an average knight even before his quest, now possessed strength far beyond the vampire's expectations. Karad blocked Morwyn's attack with the broken lance, then slashed with Durandal, severing Morwyn's right arm along with his sword.
Morwyn screamed in agony, grabbing another bone sword with his remaining hand, hurling himself at Karad.
"Clang!" Karad parried the attack, Durandal leaving a deep wound on Morwyn's chest. The black cursed armor shattered like cloth under Durandal's holy power. Morwyn's strength drained as he was pulled towards Karad.
Karad swiftly shifted, channeling all his strength into his arms and waist. With a blinding flash, Durandal became a blur of light.
Then, Durandal fell. Blood sprayed, and Morwyn's head soared into the air.
The duel of champions ended abruptly and brutally. The nearby undead army, losing their leader, instantly fell into disarray.
The imperial and Gisolaioks troops seized the chance to break through.
Karad's triumphant roar echoed across the battlefield.
"In the name of the Lady! The mad duke Morwyn is dead!!!"
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