Chapter Fifty-One: Fierce Battle

Several days later, Artis arrived at the gates of a city, leading several hundred men. This was Cecil, the sole city of its city-state. Perhaps because this world possessed extraordinary powers such as battle aura, the city walls were built to impressive heights, looking quite formidable.

Yet, all else was lacking. The fields beyond the city lay desolate; though it was already sowing season, scarcely a soul could be seen tending the land.

Beholding this, Artis let out a quiet sigh, his feelings somewhat conflicted.

In the distance, as the party of several hundred approached, a handful of armored knights rode forth to meet them.

“Are you Sir Artis Narba?” called one of the knights at the front.

Artis looked ahead and saw only a few knights and their retainers, all clad in armor. He nodded in response, and two men at his side stepped forward to speak with the newcomers. After a short exchange, Artis followed them to a nearby encampment. Here, more than a dozen companies were arrayed in neat lines, amounting to nearly ten thousand men—a striking display of force.

Artis steadied himself and gazed upward. He saw, in the air above, a dozen or so currents of destiny rising and gradually coalescing, with one particularly thick strand at the fore. Yet, among these, most showed signs of fracturing, some even faintly repelling one another.

At this, Artis understood: the lords present were hardly of one mind with the king; indeed, there was subtle dissent among them.

But such was to be expected in this world. Each lord was akin to a petty warlord, holding their own interests above all—how could they truly serve the king with undivided loyalty? Only now, with the king’s power at its height and the backing of the Ancestral God, did they answer his summons so readily.

“Artis!” Suddenly, a voice called from ahead, and a man’s figure gradually appeared.

It was Bager, Artis’s father in this life.

After a while, Artis followed Bager to a secluded spot where several other figures materialized.

“Grandfather!” Artis addressed an elderly man before him.

This was a man with a cold expression and a gaunt form, exuding an air of indifference. He was Artis’s grandfather, named Ariel.

Ariel turned and caught sight of Artis. His previously cold demeanor faltered for a moment, then softened slightly. “Artis, you have come as well.”

Artis nodded in reply. “Grandfather, do you know the reason for this summons?”

“I hear that an abyss has erupted again, unleashing a vast horde of magical beasts. Thus, the call to arms,” Bager replied from the side.

Ariel sighed, his face troubled. “Alas! I fear it is not so simple.”

Before long, a messenger arrived, summoning them to an audience with the king.

In contrast to Artis’s previous life, kings in this world were of little consequence. So long as the royal court recognized them, any city-state lord with a single city could claim the title of king, greatly diminishing its prestige.

Artis bowed his head, quietly sensing the king’s fortune. In his vision, he saw an immense aura, mostly crimson tinged with gold, swirling and coalescing. At its core, a speck of azure glimmered.

The crimson and gold were easily understood. As far as Artis knew, Cecil’s population scarcely numbered a million, nearly half of whom owed fealty to various lords. Such fortune was befitting. The azure speck, however, was the power of the Ancestral God—the true foundation of the king’s rule.

Across from him, the king appeared ancient and frail. He cast a puzzled glance at those assembled, but perceived nothing amiss.

To Artis’s eyes, a faint shadow of death clung to the king—a sign that his life’s end drew near.

Artis could not help but sneer inwardly, blending into the crowd as the lords paid their respects, unnoticed among them.

A few more days passed. Once the remaining lords had arrived, the king gave the order to march.

In a distant gorge, beasts were being driven mad by corruption. One after another, monstrous creatures surged forth, their eyes burning with bloodlust. The ground was strewn with skeletal remains, scattered chaotically—a scene of horror.

Crash! On a broad plain, Artis struck down a wolf-like beast with a single blow. Drops of black blood spilled across the earth, staining it with darkness.

“Incredible! As expected of the famed Narba heir—so young and already a knight!” a neighboring lord in armor exclaimed, watching Artis.

“They say Sir Artis Narba has slain at least several hundred of these beasts along the way. It defies imagination,” another murmured in awe.

“That’s not all,” said a scarred knight, his expression grave as he observed Artis. “Look at his men. Though none possess battle aura, each is a seasoned veteran, drilled in both combat and tactics. Their fighting skills are formidable.”

Indeed, compared to the other lords’ forces—who faltered before the savage beasts—Artis's soldiers stood out: fearless, disciplined, and unyielding.

But this was no surprise. In this world, commoners were neglected; lords rarely bothered to train them. They were conscripted as needed, then dismissed when not, often required to provide their own weapons and armor. Artis’s troops, on the other hand, were different—not only did they receive ample provisions and constant drills, but their equipment alone eclipsed that of other levies.

“They’re just a bunch of pampered weaklings relying on their gear,” someone scoffed, though inwardly he paid Artis greater heed.

Artis, meanwhile, cared little for their opinions. His attention was fixed on the front, toward where his grandfather Ariel stood.

There, a horde of magical beasts poured madly from the gorge, throwing the lines into chaos.

Focusing his senses, Artis saw, among the rising wisps of white, the faint emergence of red—a sign of lurking first-tier beasts.

A sudden scream echoed from afar as one such beast burst forth, dragging soldiers into death’s abyss. Panic erupted, the lines on the verge of collapse.

At that moment, some commanders rallied their men, pushing forward to stem the tide. But with a piercing roar, a golden flash streaked through the knights’ ranks, thick with dark energy. One knight fell from his horse with a tortured cry.

Artis’s eyes sharpened. A trace of divine power flickered within, and his vision grew clear.

It was a unicorned beast, its body sheathed in black and gold, blood staining its jaws. Its gaze was locked on Ariel.

Artis’s expression hardened. He gripped his sword tightly, unleashing a dazzling arc of swordplay infused with battle aura that scattered the beasts blocking his path.

Then, seeing the golden beast poised to charge, he activated a divine sigil. Suddenly, a vine shot from the ground and tripped the creature, sending it off course.

A golden flash followed; another knight groaned as his chest was torn open, his life slipping away.

The golden beast let out a low, savage growl and fixed its blood-mad gaze on Ariel.

Ariel stepped back, cold sweat trickling down his face.

But by then, Artis had arrived. He steadied himself, battle aura vibrating within, and brought his sword down in a mighty blow.

A burst of golden light struck the earth, carving a deep crater in the ground. At the same time, sensing Artis’s threat, several first-tier beasts began to gather around him.

“Artis!” Ariel cried out in terror, seeing his grandson surrounded.

In an instant, five magical beasts encircled Artis, each exuding the might of a Grand Knight.

Such a scene left all onlookers frozen with fear, none daring to intervene.

“It’s over! So many Grand Knight-level beasts—unless an Earth Knight intervenes, he’s doomed!” someone whispered in dread.

In the next moment, the beasts surged forward. But around Artis, an even fiercer surge of battle aura erupted. A barrier of energy enveloped him as he raised his sword.

A furious, brilliant dance of battle aura burst forth. With each sweep, beasts were sent flying, their flesh torn and mangled as though flayed alive.

It was a terrifying sight. These monsters, tainted by the demon god’s essence, were weak of mind but possessed bodies of terrifying strength—nearly impossible to kill.

“His battle aura manifests outside his body—he’s an Earth Knight!” gasped one of the lords, staring in disbelief at Artis’s handsome face.

Artis stood at the center, his body bloodied, his striking features aglow with a trace of divine light and majesty. Battle aura coiled about him, lending him an imposing presence.

“It won’t be long now,” he thought, glancing back at the king’s unmoving troops and ahead at the profound darkness looming before them.