Academic gathering with a lich-Chapter 797 - 738: Self-Rescue

Charles blocked the attack, the rocky spikes growing along the edge of his shield sank fiercely into the monster’s skull with a squelch, and a deep purple fluid arced through the air.

[Vitality Blessing]

The cleric’s protection shimmered on the blood-coated armor, while the Defender raised his right arm high, hurling a rock spear piercing through three bugs that tried to harass the Priestess.

There was a problem, a big problem. Charles’s eyebrows nearly knitted together as the one-handed sword he brandished did not pause for a moment with the motion of muscles. There were too many—waves of monsters swarming the squad kept coming, with their numbers still expanding. In the past, such a scenario would have made Charles laugh in his dreams, but facing these creatures rotting away, with forms melting into wax-like sludge, the palpitations stemming from the depths of the soul could settle even the most fickle of minds. These damned things were like the vomit of a mad designer, drunk and delirious, with their health bars atop their heads squirming, twisting, and blurring out of sight. It wasn’t just these creatures that had turned into undefinable sludge-like curry jelly; everything in Charles’s vision, except for his fellow players, was decaying and degenerating.

The rocks softened and bent, the ground dissolved into swamps, and stately woody plants shed their decomposing husks to reveal cores still alive, with branches engraved with the magic web circuitry now turned into tentacles whipping at everything. Worse still were the screams—an unintelligible whining causing mental confusion and dizziness echoed in every pocket of air.

This feeling was all too familiar to the Dream Elf, many of their kin had died under such torment in that war; it was [God’s Whisper], the madness inevitably felt when getting close to the physical form of Evil God’s Kin. The only relief was the gradual disintegration of sanity which gave time to react; the commander who recognized the dire situation immediately stopped his brother-in-arms who are now berserk with rage, preparing to gather the team to retreat from the chaos’s infiltration.

That whisper was so clear, clear enough that everyone instinctively kept distance from it.

Charles begged Essena to cast the Clarity Spell on the three of them again, damn it, the whispers were everywhere, as if they were not facing chaos but were inside the intestines of chaos.

The vision began to blur, the calls of companions almost disappearing along with their blurry outlines. In this moment of crisis, the growing Tower of Black Thorns became the only beacon among the colorful chaos, while the Governor’s stern commands sounded like divine music.

"My brothers, the time has come." The War Druid responded to the call, the Defender knights paving a rocky path through the chaos.

Elves are a Long-Lived Race, and all Long-Lived Races hold grudges, but Elves hold grudges the longest of them all.

The surging madness wrapped around the reddened bare flesh, as Doludo pulled his thigh out of the mud, his suppressed rage driving the madness away. The Priestess of the Moon concentrated the Holy Light in her hands, a brilliance of justice dazzling and captivating. The wrath settled in their bodies was ignited, the Dragon Kin faced his sworn enemy once more, the hatred forged in blood and tears refined by time, and none of the proud, aloof green dragon offspring would allow their heads to be lowered again.

The Governor suppressed the nightmare’s whisper; the veteran elves had already entered the war state. However, not all elves could quickly adapt to the chaos; the legacy continues, and the nascent next generation still appeared naïve at this moment.

"What is this?! Run!"

"I’m sinking! Help me!!"

"Protect the others, you idiot Laurie!"

It was a mess, a sheer disaster. The apprentices, still with a gaming mindset, were utterly overwhelmed by the deteriorating environment; they screamed and fled in chaos or were chased by wild beasts all over the place. The slightly more mature newly adult elves imitated their mentors to organize the team, barely maintaining formation under the monsters’ onslaught. Wounds started appearing on limbs and torsos, a critically low health bar signaled desperation, with the field of vision turning a bright red; they were victims of a nightmare onslaught.

Swift arrows pierced the joints of the monsters’ legs, the charging beasts that were roaring ferociously instantly lost their balance and toppled over, becoming inconvenient obstacles causing a series of fleshy collisions. Tiffany hadn’t even relaxed her bowstring when she had to roll forward to evade the attack of a wild beast, and behind her were a horde of out-of-control creatures. Being reduced to zero health wouldn’t result in death, with no weak points such as head and heart to target, shattering joints to restrict mobility became the best course of action. Queen Tiffany was facing such a predicament—the monsters had corroded into part of Dreamland, and many players trapped in crisis had not defied the Governor’s orders; they simply lacked the power to execute them.

"They promised there was no danger!" The queen muttered irritably while rescuing her subjects; the thought of her trusting citizens still caught in the chaos tore at her heart, guilt and powerlessness made Tiffany’s bowstring lose its tension. To relax was taboo, and Tiffany sweated as she realized she had spaced out for a few seconds, with the space she could have dodged in now invaded by twisted monsters.

Beautiful blond hair was stained with the corrosive blood of the enemy, the nauseating scent made Tiffany’s complexion even more frosty. She must break through; her subjects needed her. Bending her body, Tiffany picked up a short sword, a claw mark marring her cheek beauty not an inch from her right eye, eyes of emerald green filled with fierce killing intent.

Faster than her was the death shadow that appeared in her line of sight, with the blade of slaughter dancing, blood splattering, and monsters’ screams oddly syncing with the rhythm of the cutting. Corrupted monsters indeed don’t die, but being neatly chopped into a mushy state was no different from death itself.

Powerful, eerie, with an intertwined beauty of violence and death.

Tiffany held her breath and understood why those players had developed psychological shadows. The Blade of Death humbled itself in front of the Queen it serves, its sharp edge retracted.

"Kylo Servblade."

"My Queen." The Assassin Captain, whose level completely overwhelmed the lower-level area, arrived just in time for the rescue, making the killings look as easy as chopping vegetables.

"You arrived very quickly." The joy in her voice was caught by the assassin, with an indifferent expression under the hood, corners of the mouth subtly lifted.

"Queen’s Guard, it is my duty."

It was impossible not to be moved; even Queen Tiffany had her girlish whims. Being rescued by a powerful man in a moment of danger was something her heart fluttered for but couldn’t express. Although Kylo Servblade was sometimes overbearing and nagging like an annoying old woman, and always kept a stern face, when he emerged from the bloodbath, his cool demeanor was rather appealing to her. He might be overly loyal at times, but there were merits in that as well.

Adolescent thoughts began to stir, and then, Tiffany’s IQ did not drop but instead, she discovered a new clue.

"Kylo."

"My Queen."

Tiffany’s expression was calm, her gaze upon him as if looking at a dead man.

"Although the Moon Crown Council has prohibited any random attacks on players tonight, the official document is not to be issued until tomorrow."

"..."

"Your original plan wasn’t to exploit this loophole, to engage in a last unlawful night of player massacre, was it?"

"..."

"Kylo Servblade, my most loyal subject, could you repeat once more, the reason why you came to my side so quickly." The woman manipulated by her feelings spoke like a demon, even if it was what they deemed themselves to be.

The assassin held his sword with an indifferent grip, donning that frequently complained about cold expression.

"Enjoy the game, my Queen."