Chapter 952: The Coward

"By the holiest of lights, let there be serenity and calm."

Father Pedri’s voice carried through the forest as Holy power burst outward from him. The wave swept between the trees, passing through bushes, roots, and branches before spreading across the soil. Wherever the pale radiance reached, the dark haze hanging over the forest recoiled.

Every priest in Vlad’s group turned toward him. One stopped casting entirely, while another stumbled over the prayer he had been reciting. A man they had never heard of, a priest from a small church that no longer existed, had just released enough Holy energy to cover half the battlefield. Father Pedri lowered his hands and looked toward them.

"Do not stop your own prayers. The corruption is still here."

The warning brought them back to themselves. Beyond the thinning haze, dozens of shapes moved between the trees, pushing through the undergrowth toward the soldiers. Most of them had once been human, though it was becoming difficult to tell what remained of the people they had been.

One staggered forward with horns growing from its shoulders, elbows, and jaw. Another had black thorns spreading across its back, as though someone had forced a dead bramble through its spine. Beside them came a creature whose body had lost almost all symmetry. One arm hung too long, the other remained withered against its chest, and its legs bent incorrectly beneath it. None of that prevented it from keeping pace with the others.

They were Demonlings, humans corrupted deeply enough to lose what they had been without successfully becoming true half-demons. Lesser demons created them as servants and disposable bodies, either because they lacked the strength to command anything better or because they enjoyed what the process did to their victims. Higher demons rarely bothered with such creatures. They found them distasteful.

Vlad saw another group emerging behind the first and raised his sword. There were more than the thinning miasma had initially revealed, and several had already begun moving around the soldiers’ flanks.

"Corruption has spread through the entire area! Warriors of Lotostra, tighten the ranks!"

Shields moved together as the infantry closed the gaps between them. The priests gathered behind the formation, their prayers growing louder while the archers searched for clear shots through the trees.

"Priests, suppress the miasma! Archers, keep them away from the line!"

The first volley struck before the creatures reached open ground. Several Demonlings dropped, but others barely reacted to the arrows entering their bodies. One continued running with a shaft buried through its cheek. Another looked down at the two arrows protruding from its chest, snapped them off, and kept coming.

"Again!"

The second volley slowed them without stopping the advance. Vlad charged before they reached the shields, with Harven close beside him. His first cut struck a Demonling across the chest and barely opened its skin. Before he could withdraw the blade, the creature swung at him.

Vlad caught the blow on his shield and was pushed backward half a step. The impact traveled through his arm, heavier than anything that wasted body should have produced. He adjusted his footing as its claws dragged across the metal.

"Hardened flesh!"

Beside him, Harven drove his sword into another creature’s stomach. It caught the blade with both hands and held it there despite his attempt to twist it free. Its jaw opened too wide as it leaned toward him, forcing Harven to kick it away and wrench his weapon loose.

"Normal steel isn’t enough!"

Vlad had already reached the same conclusion. Aura spread along his blade, brightening the edge before he struck again. This time, the sword passed through the Demonling’s shoulder and continued across its chest, leaving the creature falling apart before it reached the ground.

"Use Aura if you have it!"

The order helped, but the difference came at a cost. Those soldiers capable of using Aura began spending their reserves with every exchange, cutting through flesh their weapons could barely scratch without it. Vlad fought harder than most, bringing down two more Demonlings before driving his sword through a third creature’s throat.

Harven remained beside him, his blade glowing faintly as he cut through malformed limbs. Behind them, the priests kept the miasma away from the formation while the archers fired whenever they found an opening. Mercenaries moved between the shields, reinforcing any section of the line that began to bend.

Still more creatures came. They pushed through the trees, climbed over exposed roots, and crawled beneath bushes to reach the soldiers. Some screamed as they attacked. Others laughed, and several made no sound at all, even when steel opened their bodies.

Father Pedri raised both hands again. His attention settled on three Demonlings approaching a weakened section of the line, and pale light gathered around his fingers.

"Light, answer."

A pulse of Holy power struck all three at once. Their skin blistered, and black smoke poured from the corrupted growths covering their bodies. One collapsed immediately. The other two staggered through the light and continued toward the soldiers.

Vask watched from behind the formation with his old sword still hanging at his side. He had not drawn it, and Harven noticed. Every time the knight was forced back, every time Vlad spent more Aura, and every time another soldier was wounded, the supposed divinely touched boy remained where he was.

The first wave finally broke when the surviving Demonlings withdrew into the trees. Some crawled away, dragging damaged limbs behind them, while others disappeared into the undergrowth before the archers could finish them. Nobody tried to give chase. Half the front line was already breathing too hard, and Vlad did not need to tell them to hold their ground.

Three soldiers had been carried behind the formation. One had lost two fingers, while another had a deep wound across his thigh where a thorn had pierced his armor. Nearby, a mercenary coughed black mucus into the dirt until a priest pressed a hand against his chest and forced Holy energy into his lungs.

"Pull back!"

The group retreated toward a clearer patch of ground, keeping their shields turned toward the forest. Father Pedri moved among the wounded immediately and knelt beside the soldier with the injured thigh. A soft light covered his hands as he examined the gash.

"Hold him still."

Two soldiers pinned the man in place while Pedri pressed his palm over the wound. Torn flesh began drawing together beneath the light, slowly and carefully, accompanied by a quiet prayer. It looked exactly like the work of a competent provincial priest.

Vask knew how ridiculous the performance was. Father Pedri was Clementine, the former Pope and former leader of one of the most powerful religious institutions in the Empire. If he wanted to, he could probably heal half these people before anyone finished blinking. Instead, he sat in the dirt and closed their wounds one at a time.

The performance was convincing, though the cleansing wave earlier had been excessive. Several priests still glanced toward him between their own prayers, clearly reconsidering what they had assumed about the old man. Clementine had probably expected that reaction. He needed them impressed enough to remember him.

A useless priest escorting a divinely blessed boy to Solania might be thanked at the gate and sent elsewhere. A powerful priest who had protected Imperial soldiers from demonic corruption would give the Holy Order a reason to keep him close. Vask understood the calculation, even if watching Clementine struggle over a simple wound remained amusing.

Vlad wiped black blood from his sword and looked toward the trees. The Demonlings had disappeared, but the miasma remained beyond the reach of the priests’ light. Their retreat had earned them room to breathe, and little else.

"We’re too deep. We need to decide whether we keep moving or pull back."

"Pull back. We know the corruption is here, and we know the Demonlings are here. That is enough."

Harven answered without hesitation. His sword remained in his hand, its edge darkened by whatever passed for blood inside the creatures they had killed. Vlad glanced toward the road ahead before replying.

"If we retreat now, we lose time. We can regroup farther north."

"We lose more than time if another wave hits us. Look at them, Captain."

Vlad did. Most of the soldiers remained standing, but several leaned heavily against their shields. Others watched the forest while struggling to steady their breathing. They had handled the first attack, and it had already cost them more than anyone liked.

"The creatures we fought were thralls. If their master is nearby, then we’re walking toward something worse with half the group already tired."

Father Pedri finished treating another soldier and drew his hands away. The pale light faded from his fingers as he looked between the two knights.

"That is a fair concern."

"What do you suggest?"

Pedri did not answer immediately. Before he could, Vask spoke from a short distance behind him, his voice carrying clearly through the exhausted group.

"Continue."

Harven turned toward him, irritation tightening his face. He looked down at the sword still hanging at Vask’s side, then back at the boy who had offered his opinion so easily.

"Of course you would say that."

"Why?"

"Because you haven’t done anything. Coward"