Legend of the Arch Magus: Havoc

by Michael Sisa

  General Alvaren started moving toward the place where the magic caster—Lark—was located. He believed in his glaive and he knew that no matter how powerful a magician Lark was, he would be reduced to nothing but an above average swordsman once within range of his magic-nullifying artifact.

  Without Lui Marcus blocking his path, General Alvaren started slaughtering the Kingdom’s soldiers one after another, their bodies cut cleanly like rye bread. The cheap iron swords the Kingdom’s soldiers were using couldn’t even block a single strike from his glaive.

  Several Blackstone Knights roared and shot toward General Alvaren. These guys seemed like immortal demons spawned from hell to the imperial soldiers, but to General Alvaren, they were nothing but mindless suits of armor.

  General Alvaren poured mana into his glaive, and with an earth-shattering swing, struck the nearest Blackstone Knight, splitting its body in half. He sidestepped and dodged a strike from the next living suit of armor, and using his free hand, grabbed the bastard’s helm and smashed it to the ground. He immediately followed through by stabbing the head with his glaive, severing the link connecting the armor to the monster’s essence, killing the Blackstone Knight in the process.

  Despite seeing their comrades succumbing to their deaths without much of a fight, the other Blackstone Knights still continued their charge. They knew that this old man was their master’s archnemesis. A target they needed to kill.

  General Alvaren readily accepted the challenge. He continued massacring the Blackstone Knights left and right, not leaving them room to counterattack.

  “It’s been a while.”

  After killing over a dozen Blackstone Knights, a familiar voice was heard by the General. He looked back and saw an old man, his ashen hair neatly tied into a pony. Unlike General Alvaren, who was muscular and could easily smash trees with his bare hands, the old man before him was thin, his arms almost twigs. He looked really fragile and had General Alvaren not known the old man’s true identity, he would have not spared him a second glance.

  “Alexander,” said General Alvaren, clearly annoyed.

  He would rather fight Lui Marcus and Lark together than have another battle with this old geezer. Unlike those two, the Sword Saint didn’t rely on magic to sharpen his sword. His every swing was done with pure skills alone, honed into perfection by swinging the blade tens of thousands of times each day for decades.

  The Sword Saint looked at the bisected Blackstone Knights, who had been reduced to piles of cleanly cut armors.

  “We need those living suits of armor to win this war,” said the Sword Saint. “We can’t have you killing all of them, right?”

  General Alvaren glared. Although he won the last time he fought the Sword Saint, he nearly lost his life several times during that duel. With his body weakened by the wounds inflicted to him by Lark Marcus, he wasn’t confident of winning a bout this time.

  “Alexander,” said General Alvaren. “Do you have no pride as a swordsman? Those living suits of armor! It should be impossible to grant life to inanimate things with necromancy alone! You’ve seen those abominations with your own eyes! It’s definitely demonic magic! There’s no other explanation otherwise! How could you, a Sword Saint, not condemn such an act!”

  Alexander pulled out his sword and walked toward General Alvaren. As they stood right before each other, the difference in their size became very apparent. The oblivious would immediately think that the Sword Saint would be immediately ripped into shreds by his muscular opponent.

  “Alvaren,” said Alexander. His calm voice was a stark contrast to his opponent’s. “I believe in my ability to judge people.”

  “Ability to judge people?” General Alvaren snorted. “I see you’ve gone senile, old man!”

  Without warning, General Alvaren swung his glaive. The Sword Saint didn’t block the attack but instead gently swept it to the side with his sword, sending it to the opposite direction. And using this split-second opportunity, the Sword Saint reversed his sword and swung it up, missing General Alvaren’s face by a hair’s breadth.

  The two continued exchanging blows. If General Alvaren was the epitome of strength, the Sword Saint was the embodiment of finesse and calm. Like an elusive eel, the Sword Saint would dodge General Alvaren’s strikes or redirect them at the last moment, before counterattacking at a blind spot. Over time, numerous wounds started appearing on General Alvaren’s body. After being wounded by Lark in the previous fight, he could no longer catch up with the speed of Alexander’s sword strikes.

  Unable to contest with the Sword Saint with the sword, General Alvaren decided to gamble everything. He purposely left his right chest open, at the area next to the shoulder. The Sword Saint didn’t miss this chance and using blinding speed, pierced the area with his sword.

  General Alvaren endured the pain. He grabbed the sword with his barehand and gripped it tight, not willing to let go. He gripped his glaive, channeled mana into it, and swung it toward the Sword Saint.

  Now that his opponent was weaponless, General Alvaren was sure that his attack would hit the Sword Saint.

  But it seemed that he severely underestimated his opponent.

  The Sword Saint let go of his sword. He didn’t attempt to dodge but instead used the back of his left hand and slapped the glaive to the side, redirecting the attack and making it miss him by a small margin. The Sword Saint leapt toward General Alvaren and using his right hand, pushed his sword deeper into the General’s chest.

  General Alvaren flinched and momentarily lost strength in his grip. The Sword Saint didn’t miss this chance to pull his sword out. He leapt back and created distance.

  “Reckless,” said the Sword Saint. He swung his sword in the air, removing the blood clinging to it.

  General Alvaren gnashed his teeth. That technique worked when he fought Lark Marcus, but it seemed that such petty tricks wouldn’t work against this old man.

  “Again,” said the Sword Saint.

  And the two broke into a melee.

  For several minutes, General Alvaren lost himself into a trance as he fought the Sword Saint in a duel. He knew that a single mistake would cost him his life. They continued exchanging blows, their speed incomparable to humans’.

  “General Rizel has been slain! Lark Marcus of the Third Army has slain the Ghost of the Empire!”

  A shout brought General Alvaren back to his senses. Thankfully, the Sword Saint was also stunned by this revelation, as he also momentarily froze.

  The two distanced themselves with each other as they looked in the direction of the voice.

  The air in the entire fortress became stale. No one could believe it. Right now, the head of General Rizel—placed on the tip of a spear—was being paraded inside the fortress.

  General Alvaren’s eyes widened and shook. His entire body felt numb as he stared at the head of his comrade. General Rizel was cunning and the two of them often fought each other. But for General Alvaren, there was no one in this war more reliable than General Rizel.

  “H-How?”

  General Alvaren trembled. How could this happen? How could the Ghost of the Empire, who’d survived countless battlefields in the chaos-stricken Empire, succumb to his death in this foreign land? Denial slowly turned into grief, into regret, before eventually turning into rage. General Alvaren quivered in utter fury. His eyes turned bloodshot.

  He roared, “Lark! Marcus! Where! Are! You? Come out!”

  The entire city seemed to tremble from General Alvaren’s shout. Consumed by rage, General Alvaren didn’t notice the sword coming his way. He looked down and saw Sword Saint Alexander’s sword piercing his left chest, right at the heart.

  “I’m sorry,” whispered the Sword Saint. He twisted his sword, then pulled it back, then stabbed the General again. This time, at the stomach.

  General Alvaren lost strength in his entire body. His vision blurred and he could no longer speak. Still, he looked at the direction where the head of General Rizel was supposedly loc
ated. He kept looking at his comrade’s head, until his last dying breath.

  ***

  After General Alvaren’s death, the Five Spears, who’d managed to survive their bout with Lui Marcus, rallied the troops and organized a retreat. Despite their losses, the Magic Knights served as the rear guard and allowed thousands of imperial soldiers to escape.

  Lark didn’t let this chance slip by. Despite the cruelty, he kept firing spells one after another, killing the retreating Imperial Army from afar. The Coalition Army, led by the Baron, also chased after the retreating enemy.

  The balloons were also deployed and mana bombs rained down on the retreating imperial soldiers the moment they left Yorkshaire Fortress.

  But with the help of the Five Spears, and by sacrificing the lives of over a hundred Magic Knights, the Imperial Army managed to escape and retreat through the mountains. They tried regrouping in the garrisons stationed there, but to their horror, they found themselves surrounded by Yorkshaire soldiers.

  Despite being fewer in number, the Yorkshaire soldiers moved through the steep mountain as though it was flatland. Losing their two generals left the imperial soldiers feeling powerless, and coupled with the unfamiliar and dangerous terrain of Yorkshaire Mountain, they couldn’t even put up a proper fight.

  The Five Spears did their best to lead the defeated army, but the Yorkshaire soldiers kept chasing them through the mountain as though possessed by demons. By the time they’d reached the border of the Empire, the sixty thousand-strong Imperial Army had been reduced to only ten thousand.

  A devastating defeat.

  That day, the shocking news of the Empire’s defeat, the deaths of the Magic Slayer and the Ghost of the Empire, spread throughout the Empire like wildfire.

  VOLUME 4: CHAPTER 24

  Arzen Boris watched with cold eyes as dwarven iron shells rained down on the enemy camp. The Imperial Army located on the hills was bombarded with iron shells one after another, not giving the enemies a chance to even retaliate. The luckier ones who managed to escape the camp found themselves surrounded by the Second Army, only to be killed on sight, no questions asked.

  “Great work as usual, Commander,” his adjutant said, handing him a water flask.

  “How many have we killed so far?” said Arzen, sipping some water.

  “This is the third one. If we add the previous two camps, we’ve killed around five thousand soldiers from the Empire so far.”

  Arzen smirked. “Five thousand. Not a bad number.”

  The enemy camps they’d encountered along their way to Yorkshaire were untouched. Although Arzen didn’t know how Lark did it, his army probably managed to avoid these smaller camps as they made their way to Yorkshaire.

  Arzen had to admit that circumventing these smaller camps was an ingenious move, but he didn’t like the feeling that he was cleaning up after Lark Marcus’ trail. It felt as though all the small fries were left to him, leaving only the main army in Yorkshaire as Lark’s target.

  “Tell the soldiers to clean up,” said Arzen. “It’s been two weeks already since we left the City of Yan. That Marcus brat is probably dead by now. Let’s just hope his army’s still intact.”

  “As you wish, Commander.”

  The Second Army led by the heir of House Boris continued their march. Eventually, they arrived at Akash City.

  “Commander, the walls…”

  “I know.”

  Arzen frowned.

  A portion of the walls, along with the gates had been blown off. Judging by the scorch marks, it was probably done through fire magic, or maybe by a weapon similar to the infamous mana bomb.

  Arzen immediately sent out scouts to check the city. After some time, the scouts returned and reported to him.

  “The entire city’s empty!” said the scouts. “But we’ve found a dungeon in the Lord’s Castle. Around five hundred imperial soldiers have been imprisoned there!”

  “Prisoners,” repeated Arzen.

  “Yes. And a dozen soldiers from the Third Army, left behind to feed the prisoners.” The scout looked at his rear, at the soldier they brought with them from the dungeon.

  “Commander Arzen.” The soldier tasked in guarding the dungeon saluted. “Commander Lark foresaw that such a thing might happen. And he asked us to assist you in any way we can.”

  The soldier started explaining to them what happened in this city during the past several weeks. How Lark captured this walled city in just a single day, how he fortified its defenses, and how he defeated the Alvaren Army that followed the Baron’s army all the way to this city.

  When the story came to the part where Lark blew up the walls to launch an all-out attack to Yorkshaire City, Arzen finally lost it.

  “That stupid brat!” he snarled. “What was he thinking? Destroying the walls of this city? For what? For those stupid towers that may not even end up working!”

  Arzen clenched his fists. He quickly made up his mind.

  He decided. “Change of plans. We’re heading straight to Yorkshaire City.”

  His adjutant was stunned upon hearing this. Although they’d been on a winning streak since coming here, their target this time was on an entirely different league. There were literally tens of thousands of imperial soldiers guarding that fortress, outnumbering them several times. Furthermore, unlike the small camps they encountered on their way here, that city was protected by walls, mages, and the two monstrous generals.

  “B-But Commander!”

  Arzen glared at his adjutant. “Listen, it’s been several days since that Marcus brat left to attack Yorkshaire. I don’t care if he’s dead, but we can’t let his men die if we want to win this war. With just my Second Army alone, it’ll be impossible for us to defeat the Empire.”

  Arzen roared, “Soldiers of the Second Army! We’re heading straight to Yorkshaire City! Move out!”

  “Yes, Commander!”

  With a hastened march, it took them just a single day to reach Yorkshaire City. Just like the rumors, just one look was enough to know that the fortress was impregnable. The high walls, the deep ravines. You would need to sacrifice thousands of lives to conquer this fortress.

  A picture—straight from a nightmare—greeted Arzen and his soldiers.

  “W-What the hell happened here?”

  Arzen’s eyes widened as he gazed at the scattered corpses around him. Imperial soldiers. Thousands of them.

  As someone who graduated with top scores at the military academy, Arzen immediately realized that the dead imperial soldiers were killed while fleeing from something. That the battle during that time was a one-sided massacre.

  “C-Commander! The flags! Look over there! At the walls!”

  Arzen looked at the direction where his adjutant was pointing at. He saw several flags fluttering on top of the walls, their crest belonging to the Kingdom.

  “Yorkshaire City’s been captured?” Arzen couldn’t believe it. “And in such a short amount of time?”

  The portcullis of the city opened, and a messenger from the Third Army came out and politely invited the Second Army to enter the city. At first, Arzen was worried that this might be a trap, but he’d seen the thousands of corpses with his own eyes. Even for the Empire, it’d be impossible to fabricate something of such massive scale.

  With Arzen at the lead, the Second Army entered Yorkshaire City.

  The inside of the city was a sight to behold. Thousands of soldiers moved about, repairing the broken houses, treating the injured, cleaning up the scattered corpses, and some had even started repairing the roads. Numerous soldiers were wounded, but it was apparent in their faces that the entire army’s morale was high.

  “Commander Arzen,” an annoyingly familiar voice was heard.

  Arzen looked to his left and saw Lark, smiling at him. The damn brat must have been feeling proud after defeating the Empire and taking this fortress back. But how did he do it? Arzen wanted to ask, but his pride made him decide to keep his mouth shut.

  “I hear
d from my men,” said Lark, both his hands behind his back. “You’ve slain the Man-Eater and liberated Yan City from the Empire. Well done.”

  Well done, my ass.

  All of the praises Lark spouted felt superficial, especially after Arzen learned that they’d successfully captured Yorkshaire. Killing the Man-Eater was a great feat, but compared to what Lark had achieved in this war, it felt insignificant.

  Arzen clenched his fists. It was frustrating. What was the point of rushing here then? Had he known, he would have gone to Rock Castle instead and liberated the first son of Duke Kelvin.

  “It seems you’ve brought quite a number of supplies too, enough for us to last another half a month.” Lark looked at the barrels upon barrels of rations piled on top of the carts that Arzen brought with him.

  “Of course,” said Arzen. He tried his best to remain stoic and undaunted. “We passed by several villages on the way here. All of them burned down to the ground, definitely the work of the Empire.”

  Lark nodded. “They’d been planning on starving us out. We had no choice but to launch an all-out attack.”

  Arzen was sure that wasn’t the only reason they decided to attack this fortress.

  This shrewd fox was probably confident of winning the battle. Attacking a fortress defended by sixty thousand soldiers wouldn’t make sense otherwise. But what made this brat so confident of winning the siege? Arzen decided to send several scouts later and pry information out of the soldiers who witnessed the battle.

  Arzen noticed the large glaive resting on Lark’s shoulder. It was taller than Lark himself and for some strange reason, Lark seemed quite fond of this weapon.

  “I didn’t know you use a glaive as a weapon.”

  Lark glanced at his glaive, then at Arzen. “Ah, this one?” Lark shook his head, “No, I use a sword. But this one’s my spoil of war. Honestly, I’d love to keep this thing to myself, but I’m pretty sure that once they start discussing the post-war treaty, the Empire will demand we return this weapon to them.”