“Young Lord, is this wise?”
“Be silent and tend to my father.”
A man with blue hair gave the order to an armored guard. Around them, several people were being carried, not by human hands but by beings of pure water energy. These spirits moved in perfect unison, reshaping themselves into cradles and supports beneath those affected by the occult relics.
The great hall shimmered with an aquatic glow as the spirits carried everyone toward the wide doors at the far end. The massive gates stood partly open, and beyond them a towering man carried another draped over his shoulder. He showed no interest in the others being rescued and continued deeper inside, intent on protecting himself and the man he bore.
“You will answer for this, brother. All of this is your fault.”
An aquatic spirit halted before two figures. One was Ivan Valerian, who would surely be blamed for the disaster. His brother Tybalt gestured sharply, ordering the spirit to carry Ivan to safety, along with their spiteful mother. He felt no affection for either of them, yet he couldn’t allow them to die here without taking the blame.
“My Lord, an enemy!”
The guard’s warning rang out as a creature emerged in the distance. Tybalt knew the cultists had ignored them for some time, ignoring the ones inside the illusion. Yet he also knew that could not last. He had been guiding people to safety long enough that it was inevitable they would eventually be targeted.
He thrust out his hand, lips moving with incredible speed. Dozens of spheres of water appeared above his head, swirling together and compressing with violent force before bursting into streams of razor sharp projectiles. The monster’s flesh split under the barrage, forcing it to retreat, but more soon emerged to take its place.
“That will do. You should retreat as well.”
The voice echoed from above, and Tybalt’s brow furrowed in indignation.
“I will not forget this disgrace.”
“The people you saved today will remember your deeds, my lord, and repay you in time.”
The fourth brother made a sweeping gesture toward the great construct hovering in the air. He had planned only to save his mother and a few members of the court, but the flying golem had forced his hand. Now his efforts extended even to Ivan, whose folly had begun this strange calamity.
Nevertheless, the man to whom the golemic construct belonged could render the bracelets useless at any moment. For now, he knew he had no choice but to follow his orders. The man had promised him potential rewards from a prominent institute within the royalist faction’s lands, an offer that was difficult to refuse. Even so, he could not suppress the indignation he felt at the way he was treated. As a potential candidate for a dukedom, taking orders from those beneath him filled him with deep discomfort.
*****
“Suit integrity at risk.”
“Warning.”
“Critical damage to leg joints detected.”
Red alerts flashed across his HUD before vanishing as he dismissed them. His focus returned to the monsters charging toward him. Dozens of abominations filled the courtyard, some barely reaching his chest, others grotesquely fused into multi-limbed horrors, with several even reaching tier-three status.
The devices meant to prevent their fusion were overwhelmed by sheer numbers, and some of the remaining abyssal cultists were twisting the process further. They fused the creatures with their insect forms for a temporary surge of strength, hurling themselves at him in a frenzy.
Their shrieks mingled with the sound of golems shattering and flesh being torn apart. Time and again, he restored his creations, only for them to be destroyed once more. Stationed at the center of the courtyard, he was surrounded, and the temporary fortress he had raised with earth magic was crumbling.
Worse still, the horde seemed endless, growing larger with each passing moment.He cast a glance toward the watchtowers. Arthur’s progress had stalled, and despite defending for more than ten minutes, they had yet to push beyond the fourth tower.
‘At least Tybalt managed to get the other nobles in.’
At this moment, the massive doors leading into the inner palace were under siege by a horde of abyssal creatures. The attack showed no signs of slowing, and the courtyard was crawling with monstrosities. Even so, most of the horde and its leader, the strange witch, were focused on him.
The witch lingered at a distance, watching and waiting, as if certain that no outside aid could reach them. Roland kept wondering what those beyond the palace walls intended. If this was meant to be a trap, it had already failed.
The only explanation was that they did not understand how the relics functioned or how to disable them. He had once helped the church with that task, but the knowledge had clearly not spread. For now, he could only rely on himself. Yet his plan required outside support, because there was no way he could face this horde alone.
“Ugh…”
A grunt escaped his mouth as he looked down. A sharp appendage had pierced through his armor and sunk deep into his thigh. Instantly, he yanked out the writhing limb and cast a focused divine spell to prevent the wound from being poisoned or cursed.
Even though he had been using divine attacks, the monsters showed no signs of slowing. Divine mana was usually a direct counter to undead creatures, but these were different. The energy burned away the small worms that nested in people’s heads, yet these monsters carried some kind of built-in protection. Even if he cast several holy-aligned spells, the results would be disappointing, and to make matters worse, his main enemy was still watching.
“Why do you resist? Soon you will join us in the everlasting dream with our lord. Just let it happen.”
The witch no longer looked the same. She had fused with several of her minions. Her legs were rooted in the ground, and she no longer moved. She had become a grotesque hub, linking monsters and cultists together. Their movements grew more coordinated, and they stopped charging from only one direction. Slowly, the entire palace was being overtaken, and if he did not act soon, Arthur and the others would be overwhelmed. Their mission to destroy the relics would fail.
‘It is too early to go all out, but I have no choice. At least she had lost some reasoning and is still targeting me, can’t let this chance slip.’
The opponent he faced was clearly not acting with much strategy. If it had been him, he would have focused on the smaller group trying to reach the relics rather than on the obvious distraction he was creating. Fortunately, the witch was blinded by her rage and kept her attention fixed on him. Unfortunately, that also placed him in grave danger. If he could not hold out and fell, his allies would be the next to be targeted.
He knew this fight would become a battle of endurance, though he had no idea how long he could hold. His aura shifted, a reddish energy spreading around his body before blending with a bluish tint to form a deep violet hue. His power surged outward, and the nearby golems were invigorated.
The battle soon became a grueling slog. With maces in hand, he swung again and again, each strike launching multiple monsters into the air with sheer force. The pressure of his swings created bursts of wind, and his armored plates deflected most incoming attacks.
Some creatures warped into twisted fusions of flesh, spewing bones and corrosive projectiles at him. Layers of mana shields and protective mantles absorbed much of the damage, but not all. Bit by bit, his body took the punishment. The swarm closed in from every direction, and his weapons began to falter.
The golems he had been using to communicate with his allies, along with the ones relaying images from above, were called down to fight at his side. Even they were needed now, unleashing volleys of mana bolts and projectiles upon the enemy. The battle grew more grotesque by the moment, yet he pressed on. Whenever his mana ran low, he drew on potion casings hidden within his armor, but soon his strength began to waver.
The aura around his body dimmed, and the purple glow faded. He tried to raise the earth to shelter himself behind rocky walls, but the enemies had already entrenched themselves. Relentless, gory projectiles slowly whittled down his defenses and pushed him back.
His legs were pierced by multiple sharp bones and wrapped in robes of tentacle flesh. Half his face was exposed, revealing part of his mouth and one eye to the air. Three of the four robotic arms that held his shields together had been torn out; only one remained. As he barely held himself upright, the witch’s laughter rang across the battlefield.
“You fight so hard for a world that has already abandoned you.”
Roland flinched at the gloat. The abominations around him paused, their tentacles coiling tighter around his lower limbs and midsection. It sounded like a villainous monologue from someone certain of victory.
“Your allies will not succeed. Once I am done with you, all of them will dream the eternal dream.”
Roland’s head dipped for a moment. His body was battered, his armor splintered, the violet aura gone, and his mana reserves below ten percent. The monsters circled, waiting to finish him off but instead of a frown, a smile crossed his face.
“Did you know the difference between runic and ordinary spatial items?”
“Huh?”
The witch frowned in confusion. She had expected begging or a plea for mercy, not a lecture about something unrelated.
“Let me explain, runic spatial coordinates are simply markers that lead to a specific spatial space. You can imagine it as an area floating in space. If you know them, you can open that space again, even if you lost the original rune that pointed to it. ”
“What are you babbling about? Have you gone insane?”
The witch snapped and ordered for her minions to tighten the bindings and fire at him again, but Roland kept speaking.
“Under normal circumstances, changing a spatial rune on an item is considered impossible. A person must not only master rune magic but also runesmithing.”
He raised his only free hand. In it, a shattered longsword caught the moonlight. It was the weapon he had swapped for his maces, and even it had broken in the fight.
“It takes time, and shifting runes during combat is tedious, but not…”
He said, pausing as he looked at the broken blade. Then, before the witch could react, he drove the sword into his exposed stomach.”
“…Impossible.”
“Are you tired of living?”
The witch sneered, confused by the self-injury. Roland did not seem to care about her reaction. He glanced at his status screen. The stab had dropped his health below twenty-five percent, and a strange warmth began to gather in his chest.
‘I hate testing new skills like this…’
He focused inward as he felt the skill begin to activate. Overlord’s Indomitable Will was starting, and though he hated relying on untested abilities, he had no other choice. The warmth in his chest expanded. His body straightened as the shackles of flesh and bone pinning him down were torn apart by sheer force. The sword lodged in his stomach was pushed out as the wound closed within seconds.
| Overlord’s Indomitable Will Has Been Activated |
His vitality surged back. Muscles expanded slightly as every injury healed, and the mana he had poured out during the fight returned to him. His body was once again wrapped in a reddish glow as Overlord’s Might reset instantly. Mana Overflow remained unusable for now, yet he could feel his resilience growing. His body hardened against the damage still raining down on him.
“Nothing but a last desperate effort. You do not deserve to be part of the dream. Die!”
The monsters swarmed toward him. The witch, twisted into a malignant shape, shrieked as a mass of tentacles and projectiles erupted in his direction. But this transformation was not yet finished. There was a reason he had spoken in a monologue as well. Before the attacks could reach him, he shed his armor, helmet included, and leapt into the air. Only the chestplate remained, the sole piece that had endured the entire ordeal.
Runes flared to life, glowing and shifting as his restored mana completed the spatial structure. Once it stabilized, he summoned another suit of armor, one he had hidden in a separate spatial pocket. The transformation began as it had many times before. The chestplate of his discarded armor fell away, replaced by crimson scales that spread across his body.
The monsters surged forward, some sprouting wings in desperation to reach him. Before they could close the distance, a massive sphere of crimson fire erupted and engulfed the battlefield. The nearest creatures were reduced to ash in an instant, while those farther out were scorched, writhing and twisting in agony as they collapsed to the ground.
With his mana restored and a brand-new suit of armor, he stepped out from within the sphere. Fire surged across the battlefield, consuming everything that dared to come too close. Roland let out a sigh of relief as he confirmed that all his limbs were intact. His armor was fresh, and like the one before, it contained its own spatial storage filled with supplies.
Within moments, more floating golems appeared to replace the ones that had fallen. For a brief instant, it seemed as though the situation was under control.
“Sir Wayland, we have secured the fifth relic, but I am not certain we can reach the last one!”
Arthur’s voice rang in his helmet before he could decide on his next move. Five relics were already gone, and only one remained. To complicate matters, their allies' counterattack was fast approaching. If there was ever a time to strike at the barrier, it was now, and he would go through the tower to achieve that.
“Leave the final tower to me. Just support me if you are able.”
With that command, he turned toward the looming structure. His chest plate parted to reveal a glowing orb encircled by intricate runes. From within the hidden storage, elongated floating devices emerged. Painted crimson, they arranged themselves into a ring aimed directly at the tower.
“You! I will not allow this!”
The witch’s voice cut through the chaos as she commanded her remaining monsters and cultists to swarm Roland. Suspended above them, he unleashed a crimson blaze from the core in his chest. The fire stretched outward, guided by the strange floating devices shaped like hexagonal prisms with wide bases that narrowed at the top.
The torrent of crimson fire burst outward, starting small but quickly growing in power. The hovering prisms fed the blaze, turning what began as a concentrated burst into a wild spinning torrent of flames. For an instant, the entire courtyard was bathed in blinding red light, as though the sun itself was rising. The tower screamed in protest as the cultists’ barrier around it trembled. It took less than a second for cracks to form before the defensive magic collapsed.
“Stop him! Stop him now!”
The witch’s shriek split the air as monsters hurled themselves at him in a frenzy. She gathered her own magic and released a wave of corrosive energy, but it was all for nothing. His crimson flame shield held firm, infused with holy power that purified much of the abyssal assault.
The tower groaned louder, the sound like bones snapping under strain. Crimson fire coiled and writhed across its surface before bursting through the center and incinerating the cultists within. Yet the surge did not end there. The fire pressed forward and collided with the vast dome-shaped barrier that kept them trapped inside.
‘I cannot hold this for long.’
Roland poured the last of his mana and every ounce of strength into the blast. The fire spun like a drill as it tore at the defensive barrier. Seconds dragged by, but the defenses held. A strike from the outside rattled the dome and made it shudder, but even that was not enough to pierce it.
‘Damn it… was it still not enough?’
His mana reserves were dropping. Too much mana had been spent holding back the monsters, and the barrier around the watchtower had endured far longer than he had anticipated. He had miscalculated in the chaos of battle, and his reinforcements would not be breaking through. Just as despair began to take hold, another force slammed into the barrier from the left side. Flames again, but this time burning with a brilliant blue light.
178