CHAPTER 48: THE FIRST WAVE’S END

In the foremost vanguard of the north, the last remnants of the monsters were cut down by the united forces of the adventurers. Phoenix used his flaming slash to cleave through a wave of kobolds, expending the final drops of his mana as he breathed out.

"Is that all of ’em?" The hairy adventurer huffed, raising his bloodied axe.

The woman with armor leaving her toned abdomen exposed huffed as her messy, blonde hair swayed, raising her mace from the back of a fallen orc.

Plucking his sword from a body, the adventurer in dented armor spoke up, "All except one, I believe–though it’s best we don’t intervene."

Phoenix watched amongst the others, witnessing the battle that the legendary Paladin was deeply engrossed in. It was a fantastical display, a work of art to witness for those that spent their lives growing stronger, fighting and surviving–

Like a ray of light shining through a magnifying glass, the Paladin moved across the battlefield without any regard for distance. Each strike performed by Charlemagne came after he crossed hundreds of meters, moving in all directions to give the undead swordsman no tell of where he’d come from.

Nonetheless, the man who was denied death countered each time as if he had eyes on the back of his head. Crossing from the two ends of the barrier within an instant, Charlemagne arrived behind the undead blade-wielder, going for a strike–

CLANG.

–With precision unmatched by the most skillful archers, the strike fueled by fleeting light was deflected by an unnatural, spinning counter.

Charlemagne could only smile as he was rejected once again, stepping back as the sparks flew as he stood across from the swordsman, "Deadman’s Reversal. It’s a skill that’s earned its name through its reputation–that is, its difficulty to pull off has led to its users dying as a result."

"--" The undead remained silent.

"It requires perfect timing and accuracy. When successful, it can deflect any attack, no matter how powerful, however, if it fails, the user is struck with twice the force," Charlemagne recalled before pointing his treasured blade at the risen man. "There’s only been one man who perfected Deadman’s Reversal. That man has been dead for two decades–Ren

, the Paladin of The Pearl Moon."

The undead man spoke as his voice rasped through the burnt helmet, "...That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time. I had forgotten it."

"Nobody else has," Charlemagne assured with utmost respect. "For what you did at Hero’s Ridge, you’ve been remembered as one of the greatest of us."

"I see. Then, as a request from one man of the sword to another, this fate after life I’ve been dragged into...Can you never speak of it to anybody else?" Ren requested.

"--" Charlemagne listened.

"If I truly am remembered as a hero, then what I am now will only tarnish that. The hope it’s brought, the belief people have in Paladins...It will only diminish," Ren admitted, removing his helmet, revealing a decrepit face that had half-rotted away, though the appearance of the paladin still somewhat shone through.

The snow-white hair belonging to the undead swordsman was brushed lightly by the wind, his singularly surviving eye stared with its sable iris, as if begging for Charlemagne’s secrecy.

"Of course, I won’t speak of this," the man in golden armor promised.

"Thank you...My body, it’s been used by a necromancer for years now...used to kill, to inflict agony...All I want is to be released," Ren yearned, looking up at the eclipse. "Use it, Sir Charlemagne. It is the way I want to go."

Only a silent nod came from the revered paladin, who held his sword in front of his body, "Requesting to open the Fifth Seal."

The unusual invocation came with a golden wind that swirled around the paladin, manifesting radiant rings around the swordsman’s position.

"Ah, there it is...From this angle, it’s so very bright..." Ren reminisced, looking upon the pillar of divine light with fondness.

["...For the first time in years, looking upon this light, I feel like I have control again. I am...myself. I am Ren Nakamura, a paladin...a hero. The divine grace, it was by my side for so many years, lost in these dreadful years as a puppet.

Now, we can reunite. In the warmth of your merciful shine, I can rest."]

With open arms, the arisen hero looked towards the glow before–it came to him, freeing him of his ties to the world of the living.

Charlemagne stood right behind the hero, allowing the divine light to disperse from his blade, looking upon the final moments of the one beside him. The nefarious mana clinging to the arisen paladin’s body was burned away by the light, washing over his body, cleansing the curses etched into his hollow bones.

"Rest, Paladin of The Pearl Moon. That’s the least you deserve."

With those parting words by the fellow swordsman, Ren’s form crumbled as he willingly accepted the graceful conclusion with a smile.

["Thank you, Charlemagne. You know, back then, you were just a boy who dragged around a wooden sword too heavy for your small arms to wield. Yet, I knew it even then–one day, you’d be the greatest of us all."]

All that remained was golden ash, drifting in the air like fireflies gathered amidst the summer night. A bittersweet aftermath left the paladin standing there for a minute, holding his hand out as he let the lavish flakes land on his glove.

"Sorry I didn’t find you sooner," Charlemagne quietly apologized to the ash on his palm.

As the first assault came to a close, everybody reconvened in the courtyard of the mansion.

The camps were settled closer to the gates, though it was initially seen as better to spread out to have plentiful fighters readily near any refugees, keeping those outside closer was decided as better.

Leon stroked the fur of the chimera that lay near the fountain, looking around, finding the number of adventurers fewer. There was a grim look on some of their faces, if not from the losses of comrades then the wounds they suffered, even those that bandages could not make whole.

"We survived the first strike, but the fight isn’t over yet. The strength of the current barrier will likely hold for a day, which will leave us with a day and a half to survive after it falls," Leon addressed the crowd of fighters.

Thorgul stepped forward to speak as well, "It isn’t only outside what we must be wary of."

"What is it?" Leon asked.

"Within the mansion, we discovered the presence of ghouls, having marked multiple refugees," the senior butler relayed.

A glance from the elder figure to the side brought the adventurer labeled as a "coward" by his peers forward. There was already some chatter amongst the others just at the presence of the infamous lancer.

"He’s still alive? Figures," a dwarf grunted.

"As tenacious as a cockroach...He probably hid while we put our asses on the line," a shark-toothed swordsman scoffed.

Jon didn’t combat any of the snide comments, scratching his head with a small smile before speaking up, "What the old guy said is right. I found a ghoul in there–it was stronger than they usually are, even considering the circumstances. It was unusual, no doubt about it..."