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Chapter 53: A Brush with Death
"Lord Ceberus, take a look at that," the mercenary captain said, lowering his brass spyglass after peering at the spire. He quickly handed it to the nobleman beside him.
Lord Ceberus sat calmly astride his horse—a fine Eruin Anlek breed, once favored by Eruin’s light cavalry before they switched to wyverns. Nobles still preferred horses as a display of status. Taking the spyglass, Ceberus glanced through it without changing expression and passed it to his companion, the portly industrialist Burnley.
Ceberus wasn’t particularly anxious. Even if Earl Duane were to die on their territory, it would only tarnish their reputation—a minor concern for regional nobles more focused on tangible benefits. If the king demanded accountability, Luc Besson, that old fox, would bear the brunt of the blame, not them.
Truthfully, Ceberus wouldn’t mind if something happened to Earl Duane. He had deliberately delayed mobilizing his private army until now, ensuring they attacked the castle only after he’d gathered enough forces. But one thing was certain—he needed the man alive. Capturing him would give Ceberus leverage. If the White Mane Legion seized him instead, combined with accusations of tampering with military documents, the charges could fall squarely on Ceberus’s shoulders.
Burnley smiled as he looked through the spyglass. "There are people on the spire."
"Marcaru, fetch me archers. At least upper-tier white rank; no amateurs. Our opponents include an iron-rank swordsman," Ceberus ordered, pointing upward to the mercenary captain.
"No problem, my lord. Whether he’s an iron-rank swordsman or Highland Knight, I’ll turn he into pincushions," Marcaru replied confidently before riding off.
The private soldiers parted into two rows, holding torches aloft as their commander jogged past. Nearby, knights galloped chaotically along the riverbank, torchlight flickering wildly.
Ceberus frowned. "Such crude men."
"They’re up there—does that mean Earl Duane is already—" Burnley made a slicing motion across his throat, grinning.
"Hmph. Just another spoiled heir from the Lyles Bulman family. He charmed the king with flattery but thinks himself indispensable. Such favorites rise arrogantly and fall ignobly. Dying in the streets? Quite fitting," Ceberus sneered.
"This ‘charmer’ is also a renowned naturalist and connoisseur in court, which is why His Majesty values him," Burnley pointed out casually.
"A jester, nothing more."
As they spoke, a rider approached hastily. The knight reined in his exhausted warhorse and reported, "My lord, the White Mane Legion has arrived."
"Oh? How many?"
"Over twenty—they appear to be the vanguard."
"Block them outside." Ceberus gestured with his riding crop.
"Yes, my lord."
Before the messenger left, another rider arrived, reporting, "My lord, the archers are in position."
Ceberus nodded. "Good. Tell Glanson to intensify the assault. I’ve suspected they have flight capabilities, and now it seems certain. But this time, they won’t escape."
"What about the Highland Knight?" Burnley asked.
"It was troublesome before, but since he openly killed that fool, whether he’s a descendant of the Highland Knights or even an active White Knight member, no one can protect them now."
Ceberus looked up just as a shadow landed on the spire, carrying two figures toward them. He immediately turned his horse around and saw his archers drawing their bows. On a sharp whistle, a hail of arrows flew skyward—
……….
"Wah! My lord! They have archers!" Chael screamed, clinging precariously to the Gargoyle’s claws.
"Obviously! No need to state the obvious!" Brandon snapped, deflecting an arrow with his sword. The impact numbed his hand—he grimaced. Their foes included at least iron-rank archers. Arrows rained against the Gargoyle’s wings, though it remained unscathed for now. But flying closer would overwhelm Brandon.
"Descend," he commanded firmly.
"Descend? Are you mad, my lord? We’ll be turned into pincushions!" Chael exclaimed.
"We can’t fly past, and turning back isn’t an option. Surrounded on all sides, our best chance lies in taking a desperate gamble. Perhaps we’ll find a way out," Brandon said, eyeing the mass of enemies below.
"My lord, you truly have a gambler’s spirit."
"Trusting your abilities is courage; relying solely on luck is recklessness. The line between the two is thin, and mastery lies in knowing where to tread. That’s one of my mottos from gaming. Remember it well," Brandon told his squire.
"Gaming?"
"Didn’t I tell you? Life is like a game, and games mirror life." Brandon laughed heartily, feeling unusually clear-headed.
The Gargoyle descended lower, wind roaring in their ears. They could almost see the archers below. As bowstrings twanged, another wave of arrows soared upward. Brandon deflected them, but one grazed his side, drawing blood.
The Gargoyle twisted mid-air, attracting most of the archers' attacks. Known for its formidable defense among Level 20+ monsters, even Brandon’s Ring of the Wind Sovereign couldn’t immobilize it. Ordinary arrows posed little threat.
Unfortunately, its aerial mobility was limited. Otherwise, Brandon could’ve used special flight maneuvers to evade. Thinking quickly, he pulled out a ruby—the one he’d taken from the noble’s corpse. "Has your mana recovered?"
"Of course."
"Give me a bow."
"A bow?" Chael blinked, accepting the ruby. "My lord, personally, I’d recommend a shield over a bow right now."
"The best defense is offense, Chael."
"Very well." The young mage nodded, raising the gem. "Projection ability, force conversion, bow construction—" Radiant threads emerged from the ruby, weaving into a glowing web. It curved, forming a spectral longbow.
The ethereal bow lacked substance, composed entirely of shimmering lines adorned with intricate runes and ancient symbols. Constructed magic, a branch of Rule Magic powered by gemstone energy, manifested this weapon. It required no arrows to shoot.
Seeing Brandon take the bow, Chael warned, "My willpower allows only four shots."
"Let’s test it."
A third volley of arrows arrived—
………
"What is that creature?" Ceberus asked, pointing at the massive gray figure behind Brandon. Burnley’s eyes flickered but remained silent.
"That’s a Gargoyle, my lord—a war construct created by Craftsman Wizards from Buga," a mercenary answered respectfully.
"A Gargoyle?" Ceberus’s face darkened. He sucked in a breath. Rumors claimed Karasu’s Highland Mages descended from Buga’s wizard lineage. Now, those rumors seemed credible. He began calculating the risks. Offending Highland Knights was manageable, but angering Buga’s wizards? Fatal.
"Lord Ceberus, we have no choice," Burnley interjected slyly.
Ceberus turned sharply, startling the fat industrialist, who realized he might’ve overplayed his hand. Laughing nervously, Burnley added, "Though offending Buga’s wizards is indeed risky—"
Ceberus looked up again, unease growing within him.
……
Brandon deflected stray arrows, then tossed aside the guard’s sword he’d been using. Drawing the ethereal bow, he searched for the enemy commander. Soon, a figure caught his eye.
Mercenary leader Marcaru stood amidst the archers. Initially disbelieving the audacity of the descending monster, experience quickly identified it as a Gargoyle. Danger prickled his instincts.
"To my side! Another volley when they’re close enough!" Marcaru shouted to his men.
The private soldiers understood. After the synchronized volley came free firing. Cavalry prepared to seal the area.
Arrows flew—
Brandon steadied himself, the bow trembling slightly in his hands. Though the magic bow required no skill, maintaining balance on the Gargoyle’s shifting claws proved challenging. He aimed briefly, releasing the string. A bolt of white light shot forth, striking five meters behind Marcaru, scattering debris.
Chael sighed beside him.
Unfazed, Brandon drew again. This shot pierced two men and struck an archer behind Marcaru, blasting him backward.
Drawing once more, Brandon targeted Marcaru, who was retreating in panic, mistaking him for a wizard. Wizards inspired instinctive dread in ordinary folk.
This arrow felled Marcaru’s vice-captain. Brandon’s aim improved.
"One last shot, my lord! They’re preparing to retaliate!"
Brandon spotted Marcaru diving into the crowd. Hesitating briefly, he loosed an arrow into the archers. It exploded, sending three or four men flying. The surrounding archers scattered.
The central retreat disrupted the formation, buying Brandon time. Realizing his judgment was correct, he ordered the Gargoyle to ascend. Just when he believed that the escape was imminent, disaster struck—a lasso shot from the crowd snagged the Gargoyle’s wing.
Horrified, Brandon turned to see Marcaru holding the rope. The Gargoyle, now dangerously low, was yanked violently from the sky, dragging Brandon and Chael along with it.
The Gargoyle traced a half-arc in the air before crashing onto the nearby riverbank. Marcaru, ignoring his bloodied hands, shouted to the private soldiers, "Go! Capture them!"
The tide of battle seemed to shift instantly.
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