Chapter 9

Chapter 8: The Bloodstained Forest

"Josen!"

"How could you—"

The young militiamen glared angrily at their comrade. The young man, controlled by the lich, was pale and trembling, his head hanging low in shame and fear.

But he didn't want to die, did he?

Freyja felt her heart nearly stop. She instinctively drew her sword, but the lich immediately dissuaded her. The green light in its eye sockets suddenly intensified, and the young man's arm burst like a balloon, blood splattering everywhere. He screamed and curled up on the ground.

"Ah, Big Sister, please save me—!"

Josen, covered in blood, rolled on the ground, wailing.

This terrifying scene made several people turn and vomit immediately. The girl with the ponytail turned pale and almost fainted.

"Little human girl, you'd better not make any rash moves," the lich warned her, its gaze sweeping over everyone present.

However, it soon realized that they were just militiamen, insignificant pests.

The green light in the lich's eye sockets dimmed, somewhat disappointed. It had been ordered to hunt down the human scout who had escaped earlier, not to tangle with these pests.

Freyja's mind was blank, but she still tried to think of a way out despite the waves of dizziness. She remembered that she was the leader of this group and couldn't show any weakness.

As for the girl beside Roman, she had fainted at the first moment, but the merchant girl caught her.

Sophie felt Roman's hand tightly gripping her sleeve, a sign of reliance and trust. He had also supported the ponytailed girl, the militia captain, to prevent her from collapsing, but her strength surprised him.

But no matter what, he knew that the other party needed some comfort at this moment, or they might break down psychologically first.

A girl from a peaceful era found it hard to accept such a cruel scene, but fortunately, Eruin was a land that had seen many wars, and most of the young people here had such awareness.

"Freyja," Sophie said weakly and softly.

The girl was startled and immediately came to her senses. She took a deep breath and gradually calmed down with Sophie's help. Sophie saw her fingers on the sword hilt relax and couldn't help but nod in approval.

Such a performance was already excellent; few people could remain calm at the brink of life and death. Although he didn't know why he himself seemed not at all nervous—perhaps after experiencing the transition and the tests of life and death, his mindset had become as calm as water.

But regardless, at least this was a good thing.

He continued in a barely audible voice, "Do you remember what I said before, about preparing for the worst?"

Freyja hesitated for a moment and nodded slightly.

"Do you still have the strength to fight?"

"Um—"

A barely perceptible response.

Sophie felt relieved and rubbed the cold Windlord's Ring with his thumb—the sensation told him that the charge was only half complete.

Three hours, compared to the ten-minute recharge in the game, was too slow. But at least half the energy was enough; it couldn't create a complete wind bolt, but a strong wind was sufficient.

After all, he had already prepared for the worst, and there was no worse possibility.

At the same time, the lich finally confirmed that there were no other ambushes. It didn't even look at the pitiful creature wailing at its feet and raised its bony arm:

"Soldiers, kill them all—"

As the sharp, dry voice rang out, four skeletal soldiers armed with sharp swords and clad in dark chainmail emerged from the mist, their bodies making creaking sounds as they approached Freyja's group.

Perhaps earlier, Freyja's team had thoughts of fighting back against these cold, lifeless monsters, but not now. The young people, who had been confident, were now chilled to the bone by the enemy's cold-bloodedness, and their remaining courage was shattered by the approaching death.

They could only retreat step by step, their faces pale, perhaps out of instinct, fumbling to draw their swords from their waists—though no one could guarantee how much fighting power they had left.

The forest was filled with the sound of heavy breathing.

Looking at these pale-faced young people, the lich couldn't help but chuckle from its leaky jaw.

The green light in its eye sockets flickered, as if enjoying the pleasure brought by their fear.

Indeed, human fear was their greatest enemy, weak, short-lived, and easily exploited by useless emotions. In contrast, the undead had overcome all these flaws; each one could be an excellent soldier, especially the lower-level undead—requiring no thought, only blind obedience.

Compared to the human militiamen, who, even after long training, still acted like helpless children on the battlefield, such weak creatures should not exist in this world.

It couldn't help but feel a deep disgust: Yes, Madara must win—

But just then, the lich heard an extra voice: "—It's up to you." It was a young man's voice, calm, steady, and full of confidence.

The lich felt its soul fire flicker, an ominous sign, and immediately turned around with caution.

What met its hollow gaze was a shining ring.

The ring was worn on the injured militiaman's index finger. It had never paid attention to him before—a half-dead human, what was there to notice?

Pretending to be injured could fool others, but not the undead. These cold-blooded creatures could see the life force of a living being, and the weak, dim life force of Sophie could not be faked.

He was indeed a severely injured patient.

It looked that way.

But the real threat came from the ring on his hand, a magic ring. The green fire in the lich's eyes dimmed, and it could almost smell the fatal aura gathering in the air.

It recognized this scent; one of its masters had let it touch some counterfeits when teaching it black magic. The aura emanating from the ring indicated that it was at least a 20th-level magic ring.

A formal wizard's item, how did it end up in the hands of an ordinary person?

The lich couldn't help but show a look of both fear and greed.

"Undead soldiers, go and bring me that thing—" It raised its bony staff and screeched.

"Oss—"

But Sophie raised his right hand and forced out the word—more like squeezing out the remaining air from his lungs. When the young man fell back, he was drenched in sweat.

The space expanded and then contracted sharply—

When the contraction exploded back to its original state, the chaotic air currents produced a piercing whistle that could pierce the eardrums.

The wind shot like straight arrows at the lich and its skeletal soldiers. Even as they raised their bony arms to protect themselves, the turbulent air currents passed through their empty ribs, forming vortices that pulled them off balance.

No damage, but the restraining effect was already significant.

"Freyja!" Sophie shouted.

The girl drew her longsword, the metal ringing clearly, her long ponytail dancing in the wind—

To Sophie's surprise, the young militia captain did not act rashly but immediately turned to the others and shouted, "Markmi, Eason! What are you waiting for, Bucci's militiamen! Third Squad, follow me!"

Inspiring courage sometimes acts like a signal; in life-and-death situations, a single word or hint can unleash boundless strength.

But there is one condition: calmness.

One person's calmness can influence many others, as it did now. The young militiamen were startled by Freyja's reminder but finally reacted—this was the best opportunity and the only chance for survival.

The sudden gust of wind forced the skeletal soldiers and the lich to retreat, leaving them no time to focus on anything else.

This discovery gave the young men renewed courage. The sound of swords being drawn from their scabbards filled the air, and the tactical skills they had trained for seemed to return to their bodies.

"Markmi, cover me."

"Damn monsters, it's your turn now..."

"Take out that black wizard first—!"

"That's a lich."

"Phineas, come behind me."

They began to counterattack.

But Sophie watched the chaotic scene with some concern, fearing that these guys might ruin the situation in a moment of impulsiveness. He couldn't help but remind them firmly from behind, "Remember to stay calm, everyone! Only by staying calm can you fight—!"

In the game, he had seen many newbies, just like these young people.

Enthusiasm is a good thing, but it shouldn't cloud the mind.

He had to recite the militia's combat regulations, which everyone present had memorized, but few could recall these dry yet valuable experiences in the heat of battle.

It had to be said that Bran was an exception.

Sophie had all the memories of that young man's final battle. As a new recruit, his performance was already as good as it could be. Even as a seasoned warrior, he had to admit that Bran had exceptional talent in swordsmanship—the only pity was that he encountered the wrong battle at the wrong time.

On the other side, the young men indeed calmed down at Sophie's reminder. But this wasn't enough; Sophie knew they needed a bit of an advantage to boost their confidence, or the morale they had built up would easily collapse.

The wind weakened a bit.

The skeletal soldiers rattled their chainmail and prepared to counterattack, trying to regain their balance. But Sophie's voice had already directed Bucci's militiamen to change their tactics:

"Listen, these low-level soldiers of Madara lack intelligence, move slowly, and their turning is their greatest weakness. Try to move to the left along the direction they hold their swords; there's a blind spot where you can attack safely..."

"Markmi, you and Eason should attack from both sides. Do you know how to cover? Yes, attract the skeleton's attention, just like that."

Sophie lay half on a rock, closely watching the battlefield and pointing out what the next move should be. His words seemed to have a special magic that made people believe—this is the power of confidence, calm, and steady, making people subconsciously rely on it in times of confusion.

And Bucci's militiamen soon tasted the benefits. First, Eke, at Sophie's suggestion, took a sword wound to his thigh in exchange for cutting off a skeletal soldier's tibia. Then his partner, Phineas, rushed forward and pierced the skull of the skeleton.

The moment the sword pierced the skull, the cold monster collapsed, its soul fire in the eye sockets flickering and then dimming.

A bit of golden light flew out from the scattered bones and entered Sophie's chest.

Sophie was startled; unlike the last time, this time he clearly felt something abnormal—experience points, he suddenly realized. But before he could verify this, he heard the young militiaman who had defeated the enemy shouting excitedly.

"Wow, I did it!" Eke almost couldn't believe it, pressing his bleeding wound and shouting, "Bran, how did you know all this?"

Sophie smiled. These experiences were ones he and his companions had summarized in the game, each seemingly insignificant but filled with profound lessons, as they were all forged through countless battles and deaths.

Bran had learned some similar knowledge in militia training, but in Sophie's view, it was too superficial, too superficial. If those knowledge could increase his combat effectiveness by 10% against skeletal soldiers, then his own should increase it by half or even more.

From the 375th year to the Second Era, years of fighting Madara had made Sophie thoroughly familiar with the enemy, from the lowest-level skeletal soldiers to the highest-level liches, bone dragons, and even vampire lords.

If it came to knowledge of this dark nation, few in Eruin could match him, especially before the First Black Rose War, when the relationship between Madara and the world of light was not as tense as it later became.

Conflicts and friction were not as frequent—

Of course, these experiences were one of the things Sophie was most proud of in this world. Relying on his familiarity with this world, he had the confidence to continue moving forward, step by step, back to the heights he once reached.

But now, he had to finish the task at hand. The gust of wind he had caused might have attracted attention, so for safety, he needed to end the battle quickly.

With this in mind, his gaze fell on the lich.

This was a formidable enemy.