Chapter 265: Sylveris’ Contributions

The smell of burnt flesh filled the air, mingling with the clash of steel against claws and the grinding snap of incisors. Vaelorin stared at the singed Ratchyr, his expression twisting in disgust as the pungent stench of rot and rancid fur invaded his nostrils.

"Fuck!" he cursed, scrunching his face. "Do none of you ever bathe?"

He punctuated the question by spitting onto the ground, as though the creatures’ collective lack of hygiene had personally offended him.

Unfortunately, the Ratchyrs appeared entirely unmoved by his criticism. One immediately lunged for his face, its claws outstretched in an attempt to rake across his cheeks...

Vaelorin thrust his Staff between its jaws, and just before the creature could clamp its claws around his shoulders, he unleashed a blinding torrent of flames into its mouth, activating Solar Lance once more. The Ratchyr recoiled from the searing light, a sticky, foul-smelling black liquid spilling between its teeth as it shrieked in agony.

The red-haired Pyromancer, however, had no intention of granting it a moment’s respite. He followed up with a sweeping strike of fire, sending the weakened Netheryte crashing into its advancing companions.

The resulting collision bought him a few precious seconds to breathe, although there was scarcely any fresh air to be found in the ruined temple...

By this stage, the chamber had become a slaughterhouse. Streaks of foul-smelling black blood formed puddles across the flagstones, while broken pieces of flesh and bone littered the ground.

Even the beheaded statue of the six-winged Knight, which continued to stand with silent dignity, had become an unwilling masterpiece of ichor and gore.

Its weathered stone armour were splattered with dark stains, and the sword lying near its feet had acquired an assortment of Ratchyr entrails that no sculptor would have considered an improvement.

For all their grotesque appearances, the Ratchyrs were among the most manageable creatures the exiles had encountered in the Nether Lands. A thrust from Regaleon’s halberd or a torrent from Vaelorin’s staff could kill one with startling ease, despite the creatures’ status as Rank One Netherytes.

Aelric had previously explained that Netherytes were generally stronger and more feral than Animas or Etheryeans of comparable rank. Yet, although the Ratchyrs certainly retained the latter quality, their individual strength seemed strangely unimpressive.

Initially, when they witnessed how easily Vaelorin had killed the first curious Ratchyr, the group had attributed his success to luck, reasoning that the creature had simply failed to anticipate his attack.

However, as the battle progressed, that assumption was gradually dismantled, even after the colony began activating its Impulses and Extremities.

The real problem was not the strength of individual Ratchyrs, but their numbers. Whenever one fell, two more scrambled over its corpse to take its place. The dead accumulated beneath the swarm, yet the living continued pouring forward with inexhaustible persistence.

It was this numerical advantage, and the relentless pressure it permitted, that had made Aelric so wary of provoking the colony. A single Ratchyr was little more than an irritating nuisance, but an entire colony could bury a stronger opponent beneath a tide of claws and teeth.

The Nether Lands, it seems, had a peculiar talent for turning even a manageable problem into a catastrophe through sheer persistence...

Not far from Vaelorin, Veyrath fought with the grim concentration of a man who had discovered that complaining was not a recognized defensive technique.

Unfortunately, his Soul Essence was poorly suited to direct combat, and none of his Essence Runes offered the devastating force Vaelorin could summon through Solar Lance, which was merely a basic Rune in the failed Pyromancer’s arsenal.

Consequently, while the others held the front, Veyrath remained behind Regaleon’s shifting reach, watching for openings instead of attempting to overpower the creatures outright.

At least this position allowed him to avoid being completely surrounded while inflicting damage of his own...

Suddenly, a Ratchyr scrambled over a fallen body and glided towards him, its wings beating hard enough to stir dust from the tiles. Veyrath spotted it at the last instant and twisted aside. Its claws missed his face but tore through the fabric at his shoulder, leaving a hot line of pain across his skin.

Ignoring the sting, he swung his Cauldron.

His Soul Essence crashed into the creature with the wrath of a war hammer, its rounded body striking the Ratchyr squarely in midair. The impact was so brutal that the beast burst apart in a spray of ichor and flesh, some of which splattered directly across Veyrath’s face.

"Ewww!" His features contorted with profound revulsion. "I swear, if I survive this, I’m bathing for a week!"

He had barely raised a hand to wipe himself when another Ratchyr charged, its wings flaring to obscure his view. Veyrath caught the movement in his peripheral vision and ducked, abandoning the gore on his cheek for the sake of keeping his head attached. The rush of air lifted several strands of his auburn hair as the creature swept overhead.

Before it could turn, he pivoted and delivered another calculated blow with his Cauldron. The Ratchyr followed its predecessor into a ruinous explosion of flesh and blood, but this time Veyrath stepped neatly aside, allowing the spray to splatter across the stones instead.

Clearly, he had learned his lesson.

There were few things more unpleasant than fighting monsters, but fighting monsters while being repeatedly decorated with their bodily fluids was rapidly becoming Veyrath’s personal definition of hell.

A heavy crash nearby made him glance towards the centre of the formation, where Valmyr had become a wall of muscle, steel, and stubborn determination.

The bulky Vanguard had planted his Great Shield before him, bracing its lower edge against the flagstones as Ratchyrs hurled themselves at him. Each impact jolted through his arms and shoulders, but he held his ground, allowing the shield to absorb their charge before answering with his Broadsword.

Valmyr stepped forward and brought the weapon down in a brutal diagonal cut. The blade cleaved through one creature’s body, dropping it in a twitching heap.

Another attempted to slip around his right side, only to meet the Shield’s iron rim as he pivoted and slammed it into the beast’s snout. The Ratchyr stumbled, giving him sufficient room to finish it with a thrust.

On this portion of the battlefield, Valmyr resembled a walking fortress that had developed a personal grudge against rodents. His enormous frame and disproportionate weapons made him appear less like a human fighting Ratchyrs and more like a giant exterminating a particularly troublesome infestation.

Unlike the others, who took pains to avoid the sludge and scattered remains, Valmyr scarcely cared. With a maniacal glint in his eyes and a feral grin spreading across his face, he continued annihilating anything that approached.

"Is that all you’ve got?" he roared, his voice booming like a war drum. "Come on! I’ve faced battles that demanded far more effort than this!"

Surprisingly, the failed Vanguard was not exaggerating.

While the others had begun relying on their Essence Runes to manage the relentless assault, Valmyr was still using his baseline strength. He had yet to activate Mountain Stand or employ any of his Runes, as though the swarm before him had not earned the privilege of witnessing his full capabilities.

Of course, this confidence did not mean he was careless. Beneath his apparent enthusiasm lay the practical understanding of a seasoned fighter: the Ratchyrs were individually manageable, but allowing them to overwhelm his position would endanger everyone behind him.

Another wave rushed towards him.

Valmyr lowered his stance and absorbed their combined impact with his Great Shield once more. The force drove his boots backwards, scraping sparks from a broken stone, but he managed to prevent the creatures from breaking through.

With a grunt, he shoved forward, scattering the attackers, then swept his broadsword in a broad arc that forced several others to retreat.

Sylveris remained close behind him, moving whenever his Shield shifted to open a gap. Her small frame made her difficult for the larger creatures to track amid the chaos, and she wielded her twin ivory fangs with surprising precision.

Whenever Valmyr struck a Ratchyr down without killing it outright, she darted in and finished the wounded beast before it could rise again.

One injured creature dragged itself across the floor, its wings scraping helplessly against the stone. Sylveris slipped around Valmyr’s leg and slashed at its exposed neck.

The Ratchyr snapped at her, but she withdrew just beyond its reach before striking again, her ivory fang cutting deep. Its body shuddered and went still.

"Stay behind me!" Valmyr barked, blocking another attacker with his shield.

Aureleah had entrusted Sylveris to his protection, and since he was the only member of the group whose defensive capabilities made him particularly suited to the task, he had agreed without complaint. Even while fighting, he kept track of the girl’s position, shifting his shield whenever a creature threatened to slip past him towards her.

"I am behind you," Sylveris replied, her eyes gleaming with determination as she ducked beneath his elbow to attack another Ratchyr.

Valmyr’s expression tightened. The girl was technically correct, which made arguing with her all the more irritating.

Just like the others, the fourteen-year-old was determined to contribute to the battle rather than remain a helpless spectator.

Fortunately, the Ratchyrs possessed a particular physical weakness that allowed her ivory fangs to penetrate their bodies with relative ease, provided she selected her targets carefully.

Sylveris had undergone considerable training, and although those gruelling hours had not yet made her a proficient combatant, they had taught her discipline, timing, and the importance of recognizing an opening before it disappeared.

She understood that she could not match the others in strength, so she compensated by being quick, attentive, and unwilling to waste an opportunity.

More importantly, she was no longer standing helplessly behind the group, waiting for someone to save her.

For the first time since her exile, she could contribute something meaningful to their survival. The realization filled her with an exhilaration that momentarily overshadowed her fear, and every successful strike strengthened the quiet determination taking root within her heart.

A Ratchyr hooked its claws over Valmyr’s shield and dragged it downwards.

He gritted his teeth, forcing the shield back into position as Sylveris darted past him. She dodged the creature’s snapping jaws and drove an ivory fang between its ribs. The Ratchyr shuddered, then collapsed at her feet...