NOVEL NEXT Chapter 110: Gathering 2
The scent of blood and steel overflowed from the surroundings, the synchronized beating hearts of myriads desperately clinging to whatever hope they could procure. They stomped the dirt with their feet, and the crimson flowers that bloomed across the ground, along with it the myriads danced to the tune of death at their final hour.
Battered bodies, bleeding wounds, and the sight of death in their eyes gripped every fiber of their being. Breathless gasps, fatigued and exhausted, moved through all their bodies. As if they were repeatedly being hammered down every single passing moment. The sweat and blood they toiled would just end in the hands of the abyss.
Excruciating pain, families flashing before their eyes as they stared into their final moments—with a final breath, they perished eternally, or how it was supposed to be. The world's virus reactivated their long-dead cells, modifying them to be capable of sustaining themselves. Yet their bodies remained dead.
A curse as old as history itself came. Their eyes opened, aware of what was happening; pain unimaginable they felt. Yet they were no longer in control. Soon, their old selves were replaced by another. A form so thirsty for blood and flesh, yet so intelligent and wise. The curse of death seemingly vanished overhead.
With it, they lost their memories of who they once were. Now, the new personality came, overtaking everything that was once somebody else. Now, one by one, they rose from those who fell on the battlefield with unimaginable rage and hunger.
Their mouths were left agape; unknown terror filled their hearts, realizing that they were more outnumbered than what they used to be. They wanted to run, but they could not. There was nowhere to run. In a bid for desperation, they looked over at their leader, the scholar who provoked the entire thing.
The scholar glanced at his fellow myriads. Sweat started to form on his forehead as he racked his brain for the things he could do. In times like this, he certainly hoped that the mysterious individual they had encountered earlier would have been here with them.
Then, suddenly the deep toll of a bell rang throughout the area. His eyes widened in shock as his pupils dilated toward the place where the sound came from. There was a single myriad who fought with dozens of enemies who were in the way.
With a single word and a single point, everything became clear. Just a few hundred meters before them was a gate. The gate was stark black, likely from an explosion. However, it seemed to be serviceable enough for them to get through.
The first gate was destroyed; however, a barrier seemed to have been hastily set up. While the second gate remained largely undamaged, hence serviceable, if they were able to get it up, then they just had to remove the barricade, which was much easier to do.
A sudden hope flashed through his mind, and the creeping dark atmosphere seemingly retreated, as if repelled by an unknown force. With increasingly firm determination, he took a step forward and started barking orders.
The myriad volunteers were rejuvenated by the renewed vigor of the scholar and the possibility that was opened up by the myriad at the bell. A spark came into their hearts, a fire rose beneath, and a firm hold on life they held.
The scholar ordered the shield men to the sides along with a batch of swordsmen that alternated between shields. It was then followed by the spearmen, who were placed at the very front, with alternating swordsmen. This was done in order to maximize flexibility and adaptability toward their enemies' aggression. While the side focused on the defense, the front focused on the offense.
With the scholar at the helm, the entire formation resembled that of a checkerboard pattern. Once the myriad troops were in place, with a sway of his hands and a barking order, he ordered the spearmen to advance first, followed closely in the gaps by the swordsmen, followed by the rest and the scholar himself.
They moved slowly and in consideration of the rank and file. Their hearts beat loudly to the sound of the battle overhead; the ghouls growled and smirked at the actions of the myriads. Yet no matter how they degraded the myriads, they could see that they were trying, which meant they still clung to hope.
Which to the ghouls was an absolute abomination, despite themselves being such. They then moved into a formation of their own. They organized themselves, and with a dash of their feet, they ran at terrifying speed.
Upon arriving and stopping at the tip of the spears once again, they once again got on their hands and were about to kick the spears upward again, a maneuver they did earlier. Unfortunately, the scholar had already predicted this. As the ghouls were about to do it again, the swordsmen were already at the forefront.
In unison with the swordsmen, the spearmen pulled their spears back so that they would not be destroyed in their formation. The swordsmen came to the front. With their blades pointed down, they used their core and leg muscles and drove them upward in a diagonal arc.
Numerous ghouls were slashed upwards; unfortunately it was too shallow. They then used the advantage where their swords were already pointed upward, so they then angled the blades at their backs and drove them downward back into the diagonal arc.
The ghouls who were at the very forefront were sliced in half, as crimson fountains numerously erupted at the same time over the battlefield. Their crimson essence stained the already filthy faces of the myriads from all the suffering and battle they had endured.
The ghouls in the very back let out bestial-like roars as they witnessed their fellow ghouls get one-sidedly massacred. Thus, without giving a second thought, they rushed forth, seemingly focused on ending the myriads' lives there and then.
However, with precise timing, the swordsmen had already pushed themselves back, as the spearmen pointed their spears once again forward, keeping their defense and advances.