Chapter 1596 (1/2)

In the small break before the last batch of enemy recruits arrived, DiOrtho Vant frowned across the sundered ground of the canyon toward their approaching foes. He tilted his head to the side. “You feel that arrogant reaction as they look at us?”

Next to him, Raymund Ballast nodded. They had spent so much time together running away from the fearful specter that was Vualla that they often understood each other implicitly. “...humiliation. Those warriors earnestly believe we have humiliated them by demonstrating our own fighting prowess. And more than us… they think that the Head Drill Sergeant has humiliated them and their masters purposefully. They feel compelled to make a statement by slaughtering us.”

“Taking it up the line, that fuck Commandant Wick has humiliated them,” DiOrtho spat to the side. “I don’t like this feeling in the air. It’s turning way too bloody.”

“The true worrisome fact is that they are much stronger than those that came before,” Raymund observed. DiOrtho nodded and toyed with the ring on his left hand. Without giving the Head Drill Sergeant’s group much time to recover their breath, their opponents came steadily forward.

Their break was over.

Charlotte released another pulse of her Primal Force image, but it was clear she was already exhausted by the long slog of fighting that had led them here. Besides, she only could mimic the rejuvenating force of Yggdrasil, not completely display its power. Although their Stamina kept being refilled, it was the mental exhaustion from the consistent use of images that was beginning to accumulate.

At the same time, this tiredness almost increased the cohesion of the elite group. For good or for ill, this was the sort of scenario they were most familiar with due to the Overseers training. When they could barely think was when the true difficulty always began during their sessions underneath Helen.

Where their thoughts might tire, their instincts would not..

The foxman narrowed his eyes as he looked out toward the surging forces of their enemy. DiOrtho remained crouching as their Squad slowly formed up around them. And beyond that, the other Squads slowly fell into a loose formation where they would be able to support each other.

Raymund clicked his tongue. “This charge may break us.”

DiOrtho didn’t bother to respond to that. The foxman had always been way too pessimistic. DiOrtho slowly stood, still spinning his ring on his left hand around his finger. These enemies moved quietly, professionally, as they approached. There was no shouting or yelling, no taunts or bravado.

They were trained killers, here to do their work. Of all their training, this was the closest the elites had ever been to an actual battlefield. Everyone tightened their grips on their weapons and lowered their stances.

The two sides smashed together, the formations of both churning like hungry machines seeking to devour one another. The elite group gave ground and flattened their lines while the attackers simply overwhelmed them with numbers. Both sides flared their images, resulting in a tenuous balance of power in the area. The attackers probably could have broken through the images defenses in the front and achieved dominance, but DiOrtho didn’t miss the watchful eyes that went to the back of the elite formation, where Raymund Ballast stood watching.

The Vulpine became a counterweight. He gave them just enough pause that they seemed to want to drag him out without playing all their cards. Which meant that this battle would become one of attrition.

Still, DiOrtho quickly landed on the conclusion that the elite group would be pushed to breaking first. Several lighting fast exchanges were happening every second and it did not go well for their side. True, they still held physical superiority due to their hellish three months of training, but the difference with this newer group was much less decisive. In addition, these opponents were all veterans of prior combat. Their muscle memory of life or death combat gave them a half step in bridging the distance between their physical gifts.

With the addition of their superior numbers, it was more than enough to begin to break down the elite group’s squad-based tactics. The Squad Leaders of each Squad had to handle more and more pressure, as they became the only individuals with enough power to inflict serious blows on their foes. Small wounds became medium wounds, which became large wounds.

The pace was quickly becoming unsustainable.

Vizzeret Clamman spurted blood from his body with every movement. His breaths were shuddering gasps. Kallum Xeruth’s skin was even more bloodless than usual, as his quick and misleading movements possessing a smaller and smaller space for him to move as he was hemmed in. Charlotte Wick was impaled by a lance in her left shoulder, earning a growl and spin that shattered the weapon and knocked three attackers backward. But her arm curled weakly against her side.

Their opponent’s pounced forward, smelling blood.

DiOrtho cracked his neck. “My turn, I suppose.”

Raymund’s tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth. “Be careful. An overwhelming offensive now might-”

But Raymund’s words were cut off as DiOrtho spat out a “Fuck” and accelerated forward. Out of the crowd of pressing bodies that were all lashing out at the elite group, a woman with short grey hair shot forward. Charlotte Wick was the target and jerked around at a speed that showed her previous stiffness hadn’t been entirely honest. But to this woman, the deceit mattered not at all.

She pulled a massive hammer off of her shoulder and swung the weapon in a swift arc toward Charlotte. The Primal Force raised its head and roared, but the woman with short grey hair conjured a grey specter of death that suppressed the exhausted Primal Force. With her image crumbling, Charlotte desperately raised her arms to block the blow.

DiOrtho saw the bear woman’s shoulder shatter and accelerated forward. Behind him, a clicking metal demon ripped through space and arrived at their plane of existence with a caustic pollution belching out of its mouth. Its chest was assembled from blood-covered brass gears and its limbs were rusted blades. Above its head floated a rotating black cube.

The Machine Horror screeched and shredded the specter of death in front of it, sending the woman stumbling as she dashed after the crumpled form of Charlotte. But before DiOrtho could take advantage of the weakness, around fifty of the enemies moved forward to suppress him. Their images moved in tandem and thick, bleached bones shot up to hem in DiOrtho’s movements.

His eyes burned as he glowered around at these foes. “You think this is enough? Fuck, treating me like common trash.”