Chapter 86: Storm of Slaughter

The clamor of footsteps shattered the silence of the underdark. The mercenaries in the outpost stared in wide-eyed astonishment as squad after squad of fully armed soldiers poured into the tunnels, weapons drawn and bristling with murderous intent. Their mere presence was enough to chill anyone to the bone.

“What’s going on with these guys? Has the Temple finally decided to launch an all-out attack on the underground factions?”

“No way! Those are noblemen’s personal guards… They’re here to cause trouble for that man!”

“This many soldiers?!”

At the words of an old mercenary, the others nearby stuck out their tongues in awe, watching the soldiers stream in, torches and longswords held high, crossbows at the ready, looking every bit as if they were marching to war. Seeing this, many of the mercenaries felt a surge of annoyance. The events involving Jan and Viscount Barve had long since become the talk of the place. Some thought Jan was too impulsive, but none believed he was in the wrong. As for Viscount Barve, his relentless pursuit of vengeance—sending men to cause trouble, tempting mercenaries with heavy gold to risk their lives, and now dispatching troops intent on eradicating his foe—was enough to provoke anyone’s ire.

But mercenaries they were, and dissatisfaction could only be muttered in private. Even the paladins stood off to the side with grim expressions, making no move to intervene. If the holy knights did nothing, what could mere mercenaries do?

“Pour the oil! Fire the flaming arrows! Burn that bastard alive!”

Glaring red-eyed at the shadowed cave ahead, Barve gave the order. At once, several soldiers stepped forward, drawing rounded clay pots from their belts and hurling them inside. With sharp cracks, the pots shattered, releasing a pungent stench of kerosene. Immediately after, the soldiers behind raised their crossbows and loosed their bolts into the darkness. Flaming quarrels streaked inward, and in a heartbeat, a roaring blaze lit the cavern in a crimson glare.

“Whoosh—!”

Yet almost as soon as the flames rose, a chill wind blew from within the cave, smothering the fire in an instant. In the blink of an eye, the blaze was extinguished, and two figures emerged from the smoky gloom.

“The times truly have fallen—people now set fires even in the underdark. It seems there’s no cure for stupidity,” Jan remarked, dressed impeccably as ever, hand resting on his sword hilt, his lips curled in a mocking smile as he gazed at the soldiers before him. Though surrounded by ranks upon ranks of elite, armored troops, he betrayed not a hint of concern.

“So you’re Jan?!”

Barve’s face was dark as he spoke. From the moment Jan appeared, Barve sensed something amiss. As one who had reached the legendary realm, Barve was acutely attuned to the world around him. He felt, as Jan emerged from the cavern, that the entire underdark itself seemed to tremble—as if, in a grand drama, the thunderous applause that greeted the lead actor’s entrance now echoed through the earth. In that moment, the underdark became his stage, while Barve and his men were reduced to mere clownish extras.

Impossible.

Barve forced himself to steady his mind, shaking off the illusion. It must be a trick of perception; even if the man before him had truly stepped into legend, he could not possibly wield such power.

“Who are you?” Jan inquired, casting Barve a dismissive glance.

Stung by Jan’s scorn, Barve’s face turned livid, his anger flaring hotter than ever. The doubts and hesitation that had lingered in his mind vanished in an instant.

“I am Barve Lester Drex, Viscount! You not only murdered my retainer, you attacked my soldiers! To dare commit such outrageous acts against a noble of renown—are you prepared to answer for your crimes?”

“Renown?” Jan gave a derisive snort. “A mere viscount, and you think yourself important? You’ve come looking for trouble time after time—I've spared you out of sheer ancestral mercy. And now you brazenly come seeking death?”

“Very well!” Barve’s expression grew darker still. He stepped back, narrowing his eyes at Jan, and with a careless flick of his hand, gave the order.

“Attack.”

Though Barve’s voice was soft, it carried an icy, murderous chill that sent a shudder through all who heard it. At his command, the soldiers surrounding Jan raised their crossbows, took aim, and fired. The air filled with the hiss of hundreds of bolts hurtling toward Jan like a deadly rain.

Yet Jan did not so much as flinch. Hand on his sword, he regarded the oncoming storm of arrows with a contemptuous smile. What happened next stunned everyone—just as the bolts were about to skewer him, they halted mid-flight as if striking an invisible barrier, then clattered harmlessly to the ground, their threat gone.

“Damn it!” Barve froze, then, catching sight of Elise behind Jan intoning a spell under her breath, realized what had happened. Though warding off missile weapons was only a third-tier spell, if cast at the right moment it could neutralize nearly any assault.

“Break her spell, now!” Barve barked, shooting a cold glare at the bearded noble mage at his side. Sensing his master’s fury, the old mage hurriedly drew magical reagents from his sleeve and began to chant in preparation for a counterspell.

But Elise had already noticed his movements. As the old mage began his incantation, she shifted her focus to him, her slender fingers tracing rapid patterns in the air, conjuring lines of dark red flame that twisted into a strange rune. Seizing the rune, she thrust her hand forward. At the very instant the old mage unleashed his spell to break her ward, a surge of necrotic energy burst from Elise’s fingers, sweeping toward him in an unseen wave.

The two streams of magic collided, then exploded with sudden force. In the empty air, dazzling light flickered out, forming a shimmering barrier. The magical clash grew ever fiercer until, with a blinding flash like a bursting soap bubble, it vanished.

Elise’s expression remained unchanged, but the old mage’s face drained of color, his hands trembling. The necrotic energy, overwhelming and omnipresent, broke through his defenses and invaded his aged, feeble body, clutching his faltering heart in a deathly grip. Gasping for breath, the old mage fumbled for a potion from his robes, desperate to save himself, but before he could even remove the stopper, he collapsed, twitching, to the ground—lifeless.

“Guards, forward!”

Barve glanced coldly at the dead mage but wasted no words. That old man had served his family for nearly twenty years, had watched Barve grow up. Now he lay dead, silent and unremarkable as any other. But Barve had no time for grief. Only one thought remained.

Kill them all!

The guards obeyed without hesitation. The foremost soldiers, shields and swords raised, advanced on Jan. But before any could reach him, a flicker of steel flashed, and in the next instant, their heads soared from their shoulders, blood spraying as the headless corpses tumbled backward. Jan flicked his blade, casting a crimson line across the ground.

It was as if he had drawn the edge of hell itself.

And with that, the slaughter began in earnest.

“Kill!”

With a thunderous roar, the guards surged forward, weapons raised, hurling themselves at the enemy. Jan, unfazed, adjusted his glasses with a casual hand, sneered, and unleashed a cascade of icy swordlight, cutting down the attackers in a blinding storm.

Screams filled the air. Not a single soldier made it to Jan—whether they came from the front or the flanks, any who entered the blazing arc of his blade fell in an instant, blood spraying, limbs and bodies scattered in grisly ruin. Heads tumbled across the stone like smashed watermelons, flesh and bone torn to shreds. The stench of blood billowed outward, saturating the tunnel.

“Kill—!”

Even faced with such carnage, the guards pressed on, undeterred. The reek of blood and the death of their comrades only stoked their fury, driving them to ever greater frenzy. The ground was already carpeted in corpses, yet they charged forward, heedless of death, wild-eyed and relentless. Now, they needed no order from Barve—their rage had consumed them utterly, and all that remained was the urge to tear a piece of flesh from the demon before them, even at the cost of their own lives. To them, Jan was the vilest, most ruthless devil, and even if it meant their own destruction, they would drag him down with them.