Chapter 46 – Elysia and the Mission to Save Elysium

Fu Xi stands before the adventurers, his expression grave yet composed. Behind him, the marble walls of the Kingdom of Mana’s palace gleam under torchlight, their glow unable to hide the tension in the air.

He points toward the old map spread across the table. “This tunnel was once an emergency passage—a secret escape route when the Kingdom of Mana faced destruction.”

Oswald crosses his arms, raising a brow. “Escape route, huh? Now it’s a highway for refugees.”

Fu Xi nods. “Exactly. Use it. It leads straight to the outskirts of Elysium.”

Elysia tightens the straps on her armor, her sapphire eyes shining with resolve. “Then we’re not wasting any more time. Let’s move!”

Moments later – Inside the Hidden Pathway

The group advances through the narrow tunnel, the flicker of their torches dancing across ancient stone.

Marian sighs. “You know, for a secret route, this thing feels longer than my patience.”

Oswald grins. “Could be worse. You could be stuck listening to my stories.”

“Ceh… you are the bringer of bad luck, Oswald,” Marlisa mutters under her breath.

The others laugh—just for a moment, the heavy air lifts.

Elysia, walking ahead, suddenly halts. Her instincts flare like lightning. “…Something’s off.”

From the darkness ahead, a calm voice echoes.

“Looks like you people finally made it.”

It’s Mina, standing by the tunnel’s exit, moonlight gleaming against her silver armor.

They emerge from the tunnel into the plains beyond—the air crisp and filled with the scent of burnt grass.

Mina gestures ahead. “This is the place.”

Oswald scans the open field. “I’m shocked this wasn’t discovered by now…”

“Maybe luck’s finally on our side,” Elysia mutters.

Marlisa folds her arms. “Don’t jinx it.”

“Yeah,” Marian adds. “The last time you said that, we got ambushed by—”

“Goblins and Wargs!!”

Before the words even leave her mouth, shadows leap from the tall grass.

Oswald groans. “See!? You had to say it!!”

The Battle Erupts

The ground shakes as a dozen goblins charge, riding snarling wargs.

Elysia’s bow glows with mana—she releases an arrow. Thwip!
A rider drops instantly.

Mina moves like water, slicing through two enemies with a single elegant motion.

“Think fast!” Oswald leaps onto a warg, wrestles for control—
The beast snarls, bucking wildly until he punches it right in the jaw.

It collapses in a heap.

He dusts himself off, panting. “Oi! Told ya I could handle it!”

Elysia glares, cheeks puffed. “Shut up!”

“Shut up!” Marian echoes.

“ZIP IT!!” Marlisa adds, bonking him with her staff.

The last of the monsters scatter—none escape.

“Miraculously,” Oswald says with a grin, “no casualties. That’s a record.”

“Keep talking, and I’ll make you the first,” Elysia mutters.

Moments Later

Kevin steps forward, closing his eyes and chanting softly. “Aeaf Tir yr Ellyll…”

The ground rumbles. Green vines burst from the soil, wrapping around the rocks and sprouting thick foliage. Within seconds, the barren plains transform into a small oasis.

Oswald’s jaw drops. “Yo, KEVIN! Since when could you do terraforming!?”

Kevin smirks proudly. “Heh. Learned a few tricks while you were goofing off.”

“Show-off…”

Elysia regains focus, giving orders. “Kyle, Roslan—you two stay here. Keep this passage clear for the refugees.”

“Got it, boss!”

“Jake, Marian—you’re on recon. Mark every escape route, and make sure the path stays open!”

“Already on it,” Marian says, cracking her knuckles. Jake gives a thumbs-up.

“Padel, Lilika—you’re vanguard. Neutralize anything hostile. Lionel, Paul—you handle the heavy groups.”

“Roger that!!”

Elysia glances to the horizon. “The rest of us are the main rescue team. We move now!”

On the Plains of Elysium

Mina, Elysia, Oswald, Marlisa, and the others sprint through the grasslands. The faint sound of screaming grows louder.

“Hey, Ely!” Marian’s voice crackles through the comm rune. “We found the refugees—tons of ’em! It’s like cockroaches running for their lives!”

Jake adds, voice sharp, “And something’s chasing them!”

“Got it. We’re on the move!” Elysia replies.

Oswald clenches his fists. “I’ll handle guiding the people—get them to safety!”

“Understood! I’ll hold off their advance!” Elysia yells.

“I’ll join you,” Mina says, unsheathing her twin blades. Her expression hardens. “Let’s show them what it means to cross the Kingdom of Mana.”

They charge forward—
Wind roars past their ears, dust rising beneath their boots.

The cries of the innocent blend with the unholy snarls of monsters.
Flames lick the horizon, painting the world in red and gold.

Elysia narrows her eyes, her silver hair whipping in the heated wind. She draws her bow, the runes along its limbs glowing bright blue.
“We have to save them!! Not a single one dies while we still stand!!”

Her words ignite the hearts of every adventurer around her.

The party splits cleanly—each formation balanced and precise.
Tanks in front, attackers behind, supporters in the rear.
Elysia leads one strike team, while Oswald commands the other from the right flank.

Oswald raises his sword, his voice booming through the chaos.
“Follow me!! Get the civilians behind the barrier, move it!!”

His command cuts through the panic like thunder.
Dozens of frightened refugees turn and sprint toward the safety zone his team clears.

Then—

A battle cry rips through the air.
“Archaia ddu atham!!”

Carol, the knight adventurer, slams her greatsword into the ground.
A radiant crimson aura bursts around her—
Her armor ignites with divine flame, her eyes burning like molten gold.

“Come at me, you freaks!!” she roars.

The monsters—orc knights, shadow wolves, and demon troopers—
—all turn toward her as if drawn by an invisible command.

Hundreds of glowing red eyes fixate on Carol.

Elysia’s gaze sharpens. “Perfect. Carol’s pulling the aggro.”
She nocks three arrows at once, her mana flaring violently.
“Astra Arrowstorm!!”

The sky explodes in light.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of arrows made of pure mana rain down, piercing through demons and beasts alike.

The battlefield erupts in a thunderous cascade of explosions and light.

From afar, Oswald whistles. “Yikes… that’s so Carol.”

Marlisa, flying overhead on her staff, sighs. “She never knows when to not overdo it.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Marian calls out from below, cleaving a goblin in half. “That woman’s doing the work of fifty men!”

Back on the front, Carol lets out a battle laugh. “Ha!! Come on!! You’ll need more than that to scratch me!!”
A massive ogre slams its club down—she blocks it with her shield, the shockwave cracking the earth beneath her.

Elysia uses that moment.
“Now! Focus fire on the left flank!”

Mina channels water mana through her blades, slashing in a graceful arc. “Azure Gale!”
A storm of blue energy tears through a line of armored demons, freezing them mid-scream.

Oswald’s voice comes over the comm rune.
“Ely! The first group of refugees is safe! You got another wave coming your way!”

Elysia grits her teeth, firing again and again. “Then we’ll hold the line until you clear the rest!”

She leaps onto a crumbled wall, spinning mid-air and loosing another volley.
Arrows of light pierce the darkness—one after another—until the entire front glows like a miniature sunrise.

Behind her, Kevin raises his staff. “Verdantia’s Bloom!”
A surge of green magic spreads through the ground—roots, vines, and flowers erupting, entangling enemy legs.

The creatures scream, trapped in the sudden burst of life.

“Now, Marian!” Elysia shouts.

Marian charges in, dual blades flashing. “With pleasure!!”
Her strikes cut through the immobilized enemies like lightning, each movement sharp, elegant, lethal.

Oswald catches a glimpse of it all from afar—his grin widening despite the chaos.
“Heh… damn, they’re really going all out.”

Behind him, a little girl clutches his cloak, eyes wide.
“W-We’re safe now…?”

Oswald kneels, resting a hand on her shoulder.
“Yeah, kid. You’re safe. Now stay behind me, alright?”

Another explosion echoes in the distance.
Elysia and Mina’s team push forward through smoke and flame, their weapons glinting in the inferno’s light.

Every swing, every shot, every spell—
—turns the tide of despair into defiance.

This is no longer a rescue mission.
It’s a stand against extinction.

The horizon burns crimson, smoke twisting into the heavens.
Elysia’s bow glows under the flickering light as she calls out,
“Everyone—keep moving! We’re not leaving anyone behind!!”

Her voice cuts through the chaos, steady and commanding.
The refugees—hundreds of them—begin to move in an organized line toward the hidden tunnel that Marian and Jake scouted earlier.
The path winds through shattered plains, lit only by the fires of battle.

“Keep formation! Don’t panic!” Marian shouts, waving them through.
Kyle and Roslan stand firm at the rear, blades drawn, cutting down any straggling demons that slip through the cracks.

“None shall pass us,” Kyle mutters, his sword gleaming with holy light.
Roslan smirks. “You sound like a priest again.”
“Then pray I don’t turn into one,” Kyle retorts, slicing down a demon lunging at him.

But then—

From the haze ahead, heavy footsteps echo.
The ground trembles with every stride.
A figure steps out—massive, armored in obsidian steel, his eyes glowing with crimson mana.

“I am Degaros, Commander of the Northern Host!” His voice bellows like thunder. “You’ve done well for such a pitiful band of mortals. But now—”

Before he can even finish, Elysia appears in front of him, her cloak fluttering like the wings of a falcon.

“—save the speech!”

CRACK!

Her boot connects clean with his face, sending the towering demon sprawling backward.
“I’m not waiting for introductions—sorry about that!!”

Oswald, from a distance, whistles. “Yup. That’s Elysia for you—straight to the point.”
“Remind me never to make her mad,” Marlisa mutters as she continues shielding a group of children behind her barrier.

Degaros rises slowly, blood dripping from his lip. His grin widens. “Oh… you’ve got spirit, girl.”
Elysia’s eyes narrow. “You’ll need more than talk to stop us.”

Mina’s voice crackles through the comm crystal.
“Elysia, we’ve got word from Lord Fu Xi—he’s sending reinforcement, but… he didn’t specify what. Something big’s coming your way.”

“Define big,” Elysia snaps.

Before Mina can answer—
The sky erupts.

“BOOM!!!”

A massive explosion tears through the hillside behind the enemy line.
The shockwave flings dust and fire across the battlefield.

“What the hell was that!?” Elysia shouts, shielding her eyes.

Through the smoke, two glowing figures streak across the sky—like shooting stars on roaring engines.
Two air bikes, cutting through the air, followed by ten sky golems descending like meteors.

Elysia blinks. “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

Kline’s voice bursts through the roar of his engine.
“Need help?!”

Kline lands hard, gravel exploding beneath his boots. The shockwave ripples through the scorched earth, sending dust spiraling into the air.

Nyx vaults off her bike beside him, her long coat fluttering like a shadow cut from the night sky. Her eyes—cold and piercing—glow with faint violet light.

“Looks like you were having fun without us,” Kline smirks, spinning his gauntlet until it clicks into combat mode.

Elysia exhales, half-laughing between relief and exhaustion. “Finally. Took you long enough, Alchemist boy.”

“Hey, hey,” Kline cracks his neck, flashing a grin. “I had to make an entrance. You only get one first impression per war.”

Above them, ten sky golems hum to life, wings of mana spreading wide as Nyx raises a hand.
“Formation Delta!” her voice cuts through the chaos like glass.

The golems shift formation—diamond pattern—mana threads linking them in crackling arcs of energy. The sky trembles with the hum of their engines, painting the battlefield in blue light.

Down below, the demon horde falters, movements sluggish and uncertain, their formation breaking like a wave against unseen resistance.

Elysia tightens her grip on her bow, golden eyes narrowing. “Looks like they’re slowing down…”

Nyx crosses her arms, analyzing the field with calm precision.
“They’re moving like ants… following a single command pattern.”
Her tone turns sharp. “That means—cut the head, the swarm dies.”

Kline’s grin turns feral, excitement flickering in his eyes like fire.
“Well then…” He drives his staff into the ground, a surge of blue flames erupting outward in a circle.
“Let’s go find that bastard.”

Elysia draws another arrow, the runes along her bow pulsing with light.
“Then we end this fast.”

The air hums with energy.
The wind howls like a living beast.
And as Kline’s engines roar to life again, the counterattack begins—a symphony of magic, steel, and fire cutting through the dark.

Elysia leaps toward the front line, her cloak streaming behind her like wings of fire. Arrows rain down in golden arcs, bursting into explosions that tear through the advancing ranks.

Oswald shouts over the battlefield noise, his sword flashing in the flames.
“Kline! We need something to slow them down—make sure they never find this pathway again!”

Kline glances back with a crooked smile. “Heh, sounds like you’re asking for a miracle.”

“Sounds like you need a barrier,” Nyx cuts in, stepping forward, her voice calm amidst the chaos.

Oswald wipes the blood off his blade, smirking. “Yeah… crazy as it sounds, that’s exactly it. If they discover this tunnel, it’s over. Kline’s barrier on the front is holding them distracted—but we need something permanent.”

Nyx’s lips curl into a knowing smile. “You’ve already got a Plan B, don’t you?”

Oswald laughs dryly. “I’ve been planning for the worst since breakfast.”

Kline looks between them, adjusting his goggles. “Now that’s my kind of man. Paranoid and practical.”

Nyx flicks her wrist, conjuring a glowing seal in the air. The runes twist and rotate, forming a massive circle of shimmering blue mana that hums with power.
“Well then,” she says softly, the wind picking up around her, “guess it’s my turn. Been a while since I’ve done this…”

“Uh-huh…” Kline smirks, stepping aside. “Try not to blow up the valley this time, yeah?”

Elysia’s laughter breaks through the static of war.

“Oi! Less talk, more fighting!” Elysia yells back, firing three more arrows that pierce through the dark like comets.

Above them, the sky golems unleash their barrage—lances of light tearing through the demon lines.
Kline raises his staff high, shouting, “Curadh Beatha—Atgyfnerthu!”

The earth glows beneath them as Nyx channels her mana into the spell. Her eyes blaze like two moons as she whispers—
“Ekurru ša Mašûti”

A brilliant wave erupts outward, covering the entire field. The air turns still. Time seems to pause.

The Northern Demon soldiers freeze mid-stride, their bodies flickering with blue fire before vanishing—sent back beyond the reach of the battlefield.

Elysia lowers her bow, blinking. “...You really don’t do things halfway, do you?”

Nyx brushes her hair aside, panting lightly. “Halfway’s for amateurs.”

Kline laughs, stretching his back. “Sounds like you holding back eh?”

“Uh-huh.” Nyx

Elysia rolls her eyes, smiling faintly as she looks toward the horizon, where the fires begin to fade.
“For now… we’ve bought them time.”

Kline nods, expression darkening. “Yeah. But this is just one battle. The real war’s about to begin.”

The wind blows through the valley, carrying the scent of ozone and smoke.
Above, the sky golems circle once more—silent sentinels over the scarred land.

And beneath that fading storm, the heroes stand—bruised, burned, but unbroken.

On the opposite side of the battlefield

Morwenna and Thorgrim stand atop a fractured ridge, silhouettes carved against a sky choked with smoke and drifting embers. The wind howls around them, tugging at cloaks stained by ash and blood. Below, the battlefield sprawls like a wounded beast—fires burning, steel clashing, lives ending by the second.

Morwenna rests her massive scythe against her shoulder, its curved blade humming faintly, as if eager.

“Seems like your plan is working,” she says calmly, though her eyes gleam with anticipation.

Thorgrim doesn’t look away from the field. He studies it like a chessboard already tipped toward checkmate.

“Indeed,” he replies. “They’ll abandon their formations to rescue the civilians. Heroes always do.” A faint smile touches his lips. “And while they hesitate…”

“Yasuke can focus entirely on the offensive,” Morwenna finishes, her grin widening.

Thorgrim nods. “Lord Azrael assured us reinforcements would arrive at the precise moment chaos peaks.”

Morwenna lifts her gaze toward the horizon. Through the haze, something stirs. The earth itself seems to recoil.

“Very well,” she murmurs, fingers tightening around her weapon. “Let us see what Lord Azrael has prepared.”

Thorgrim folds his map and turns it slightly—revealing markings along Mana’s primary defensive line.

“Then,” he says quietly, “we proceed with the next phase.”

Unseen, unheard, the trap begins to close.

250 kilometers from Carnac

The land trembles.

Not from thunder.
Not from magic.

But from marching feet.

Achilles—the summoned hero of the Northern Demon Kingdom of Synthoria—advances at the head of an army ten thousand strong. His presence alone bends the air, his golden armor reflecting a distorted image of the burning sky.

He raises his spear, its blade etched with ancient runes.

“Rage in your battle cry, my new Myrmidons!” his voice roars across the plains.
“Let your spears shatter the enemy’s resolve!”

Dark elves march in perfect alignment, eyes cold and unblinking. Hobgoblins snarl beneath iron helms. High Orcs beat weapons against shields in brutal rhythm. Mercenaries—once hired, now utterly loyal—march with zeal born not of coin, but of influence.

“For honor! For Phthia!” Achilles bellows.
“We march into the jaws of doom—and we emerge victorious! Let even the gods tremble before the fury of the Myrmidons!”

The army moves as one.

The ground cracks. Stones leap. Birds flee in panic.

And far away—

Carnac feels it.

At the Carnac defensive line

Valga stares toward the horizon, her massive frame suddenly very still.

“…By the gods,” she breathes. “Another army.”

The dust cloud grows larger. Darker.

An adventurer beside her swallows hard.
“This… this isn’t something we can handle! We’re only two hundred strong!”

Fear spreads faster than fire. Weapons tremble in hands that have already fought too long.

Two hundred.

Against ten thousand.

Valga clenches her fists. “Then we buy time.”

She turns sharply. “Make sure every villager is evacuated—now!”

Before anyone can respond—

BOOM.

The sky explodes.

A thunderous blast rips through the advancing army. Fire and debris rain down as an entire section of the battlefield is swallowed by smoke and flame. The shockwave knocks soldiers off their feet.

For a brief, fragile second—

Hope flickers.

Achilles lowers his spear, eyes blazing as he stares into the smoke.

“Cowards?!” he roars. “You dare rely on conjured magic?!”

He slams the butt of his spear into the ground.

“Form a phalanx, you wretched excuses for warriors!”
“Hold the line against the thunder of cannons!”

Dark elves snap into formation. Shields lock. Orcs brace themselves like living walls.

“Let bronze clash and shields shudder—but do not yield!” Achilles bellows.
“I will be the one to shatter the gates of hell—not flee from them!”

He points forward.

“FORWARD, MYRMIDONS! WE DO NOT RETREAT!”

The flames—born from Kline’s turrets—burn fiercely, tearing gaps into their advance. Bodies fall. Screams echo.

But the army does not break.

Slowed—but unbroken—they march on.

And the shadow looming over Carnac only grows larger.

Marcus tilts his battered mug back, draining the last of his grog. It sloshes down his beard, his eyes unfocused—yet strangely sharp beneath the haze.

“Hick… this… this formation…” he mutters, squinting toward the horizon. “Valga… hick…”

Valga whirls on him.
“What?!”

Marcus plants his mug down with a hollow clack.
“This thing they’re using,” he slurs, waving vaguely toward the approaching army, “it’s an invincible formation.”

Silence.

Helvos snorts. “You’re drunk out of your mind.”

Valga folds her arms. “You’ve finally lost it. That drink of yours is rotting whatever brain you had left.”

Marcus staggers forward, jabbing a finger at the battlefield.
“But—!” hic “—since we’ve got those turrets! Firepower! We don’t break them head-on! We split them!”

“You’re spouting nonsense!” Valga snaps.

“I know exactly what I’m talking about!” Marcus barks back, suddenly fierce despite the wobble in his stance. “That formation—I've seen it before!”

Valga exhales sharply. “…Fine.” She steps aside. “Then show us.”

Marcus grabs a stick and begins scratching crude diagrams into the dirt, his drunken hands surprisingly precise.

“Look,” he says, tapping the lines. “The formation works because each race covers the others’ weaknesses.”

He points again.

“Orcs,” he continues. “They’re drawn to power. Strength. If they sense a weak flank—or something that looks like it—they’ll rush it without thinking.”

He scratches another mark.

“Hobgoblins,” he sneers. “Pathetic creatures. Lust-driven. If temptation dangles in front of them… discipline evaporates.”

A few adventurers shift uncomfortably.

“And Dark Elves,” Marcus finishes, his tone sobering. “Tricky. Too clever. But even they rely on mana perception. Flood the field with mana fog, distort their senses—and they’ll hesitate.”

He looks up.

“They don’t need to be beaten,” he says quietly. “Just… pulled apart.”

Valga, Helvos, and the surrounding adventurers stare at him.

“…You’re spouting nonsense again,” one mutters.

Valga’s eyes narrow. Then she grins—a dangerous, feral grin.

“Fine,” she says. “We gamble.”

She steps closer, looming over Marcus.
“If this fails—you lose that bloody grog forever.”

Marcus laughs, raising his mug in salute.
“Trust me.”

Orders ripple out fast.

Horses are readied. Giant bird-runners screech as they’re mounted. The defenders move—not to attack, but to bait.

Marcus shouts after them, voice suddenly clear.
“Remember! The goal isn’t to kill—harass them! Pull them apart!”

The split formations

Team One:
Marcus himself—leading the warriors who look weakest. Broken armor. Limping steps. Shaking shields. A feast of vulnerability.

Team Two:
Valga commands this group personally. Female adventurers clad in deliberately revealing gear—battle skirts cut high, armor loosened, movements exaggerated. The discomfort on their faces is obvious.

“…I hate this,” one whispers.

Valga doesn’t look back. “Survive first. Complain later.”

Team Three:
Helvos leads men dressed like terrified villagers—tattered clothes, hunched shoulders, fake panic. A lie woven so well it almost feels real.

Team Four:
The remaining adventurers—archers and mages—hold the village perimeter. Traps set. Wards primed. Every street prepared for blood.

The enemy formation advances.

Then—

It hesitates.

An orc captain snarls as he spots Marcus’s group.
“Weak,” he growls. “Break them!”

Hobgoblins begin murmuring, eyes locked on Valga’s unit. Discipline frays. Drool glistens on cracked lips.

Dark elves pause as mana fog rolls in unnaturally thick, their sharp senses screaming contradictions.

The perfect formation—fractures.

Valga draws her weapon, eyes blazing.
“…It’s working.”

Helvos tightens his grip.
“Gods help us.”

From behind them, Marcus sways, grinning like a mad prophet.

“Hick… told ya.”

And Carnac’s last stand begins—not with brute force—

—but with deception, instinct, and desperation.