Chapter 259: Aelric’s Blade

The Ratchyrs charged towards the group in a cacophony of shrieks and squeaks that filled the ruined temple like a thousand rusted hinges screaming beneath the weight of a collapsing world.

The sight was unappealing to say the least, the kind that would instill fear in the heart of any who dared to look at it without the slightest willpower to fortify their mind.

Their claws scraped against ancient stone as the swarm poured over broken pillars and collapsed archways, leathery wings beating in frantic bursts. The crimson light filtering through the canopy caught their incisors in brief, dreadful flashes, turning the advancing horde into a tide of fur, teeth, and malice.

Surprisingly, despite their blindness, the colony still moved with the agility of a monkey navigating a familiar forest and that just made the ordeal a lot more mystifying.

Unfortunately, the group had little time to appreciate the spectacle. They moved into battle formation, their earlier apprehension giving way to the practised alertness born of too many encounters with death.

Thankfully, their Soul Essences had already been manifested, a precaution Regaleon had insisted upon before they entered the ruined temple.

The silver-haired Knight had possessed no certainty about what awaited them inside, and their previous expedition through the crypt had taught him that preparation was not paranoia; it was the difference between surviving a surprise and becoming part of one.

If their last encounter with the ruined temple had taught him anything, it was that preparation and vigilance were indispensable to survival and he intended to ensure that his companions possessed both, even if doing so meant enduring their occasional complaints about his caution.

Vaelorin had retreated towards the others, his staff gripped firmly in both hands as he watched the rushing tide of fur, claws, and incisors.

The memory of the Ratchyr’s teeth hovering over his throat had not faded, and the failed Pyromancer’s expression suggested he had no desire to repeat the experience.

His fiery eyes burned with determination, although the tightness around his mouth betrayed a lingering embarrassment. He had killed one beast, certainly, but he had also provided the entire colony with an excellent reason to notice them, even if they had once being noticed before.

Regaleon stood at the centre of the formation, his silver hair stirring in the disturbed air as he assessed the swarm.

His golden eyes moved rapidly across the chamber, measuring the creatures’ speed, the gaps between their ranks, and the broken terrain they used to approach.

He had already recalled his Halberd, the Soul Essence tracing a silvery arc in the air as though drawn magnetically to its wielder’s arm.

Around him, the others had also assumed defensive positions, their weapons and manifested Soul Essences poised for the impact.

Valmyr planted his feet and squared his broad shoulders, prepared to meet the first Ratchyr that came within striking distance with his Great Shield.

Caelestra’s composure had hardened into concentration, while Kaeloris adjusted his stance with the wary precision of someone who preferred problems that could be solved with books rather than claws.

Aureleah watched the swarm without blinking, her attention searching for a weakness beneath its chaotic movement while her fingers locked around the twin Daggers in her hands.

Even Sylveris, the youngest and should therefore be the most fearful or weakest of them, had both ivory fangs firmly in hands, her youthful curiosity eclipsed by a rare, solemn resolve.

Since they found these weapons for her, the young girl had yet to use them in a real battle despite the several spar she had undergone and honestly, that was something that disappointed her greatly.

Thankfully, it seems that the heavens decided to bless her because now she was in a situation where she might be able to employ these weapons she had been so itching to try. Therefore despite the utter seriousness shown on her face, there was also a slight delight within her heart.

At the forefront of the cohort stood Aelric, but unlike the others who looked like soldiers anticipating the collision of a mighty army, he looked as though he had just been woken up from a good dream against his wish.

A long groan escaped his throat, carrying the profound frustration of someone forced to attend an event he had repeatedly declined.

While his companions adopted serious stances and fixed their eyes upon the approaching colony, Aelric looked less like a warrior preparing to fight dozens of savage Rank One Netherytes and more like a man who had just discovered that his peaceful afternoon had been confiscated without compensation.

The difference was almost insulting. ℯℯ𝑙.

He did not appear especially alarmed by the charging beasts. Instead, his face conveyed the weary displeasure of someone whose comfortable plans had been ruined by an exceptionally persistent inconvenience.

His shoulders slumped slightly, and his emerald eyes regarded the oncoming swarm with the resignation of a man contemplating a mountain of paperwork.

The rubble around the pillars trembled as the thunderous stampede drew closer, threatening to overwhelm the group like a flood breaking through a weakened dam.

Aelric’s position was the most precarious of all; standing at the very front, he would be the first to meet the colony’s fury.

Yet he maintained that agonisingly weary expression and the perpetual air of laziness that made it seem as though he had arrived here through coercion, misfortune, and a regrettable lack of alternative entertainment.

The others barely had time to wonder whether his apparent indifference was genuine when the raging tide fell upon him with the force of a thousand battering rams, a writhing mass of claws and teeth surging across the stones.

Ratchyrs launched themselves from broken pillars, scrambled over fallen masonry, and sprang through the air with their leathery wings spread wide.

The foremost creatures stretched their jaws towards Aelric, their incisors gleaming as they prepared to tear into the youth standing in their path.

Yet Aelric did not retreat.

He merely shook his head, regretfully, as though the swarm had disappointed him on a deeply personal level. "I don’t know why I can’t enjoy one quiet afternoon to myself."

He muttered, gis voice carrying the weary resignation of a man tired of bloodshed but perfectly capable of inflicting it whenever circumstances left him no alternative.

There was no tremor in his words, nor any urgency to betray the danger bearing down upon him. If anything, he sounded mildly inconvenienced by the prospect of having to clean his sword afterwards.

Then suddenly, Aelric’s right hand settled upon the sheath at his waist. His fingers closed around the hilt of his longsword, and something in his posture changed so subtly that the others almost missed it.

The languid slouch remained, but beneath it emerged a quiet precision that did not belong to an ordinary, indolent youth.

Since meeting Aelric, none of them had seen him draw that blade. He had carried it everywhere, yet had never once unsheathed it in their presence—not even to sharpen it.

The weapon had become such a constant companion that some of them had privately wondered whether it was merely an ornamental accessory, or perhaps a particularly elaborate walking stick for someone too lazy to find a proper one.

Now, however, Aelric was about to draw it.

Despite the horde hurtling towards them, the group’s attention shifted towards the green-eyed youth. For a fleeting moment, the Ratchyrs became little more than a backdrop to the figure at the forefront.

Without intending to, Aelric had become the true focus of the scene, and the question of what he could do suddenly seemed more consequential than the swarm itself.

A claw swept towards his chest and at the final instant, Aelric drew his sword...

The blade slipped from its sheath with a sharp, resonant SHING, and time seemed to hesitate around the sound.

Silver flashed beneath the scarlet illumination, its polished surface catching the light with a feral gleam. The crimson glow seemed to lend the weapon an almost otherworldly splendour, as though a streak of moonlight had been dipped in the blood-red radiance of the temple.

For a heartbeat, even the clicking seemed to recede, swallowed by the ringing note of steel, while Regaleon watched with attention, suddenly aware that the youth’s laziness had concealed something formidable than indifference.

Aelric’s arm moved in a smooth, economical arc. His longsword traced a parabolic curve through the air, so swift and controlled that the movement appeared effortless. Then a thin crescent of blue light burst from the blade, slicing forward with a piercing hiss.

The ray tore through the air, forcing a path through the Ratchyrs...