Knights and Magic Wand
Chapter 595 - 595 280 Holy Sun Iris_2

595: Chapter 280 Holy Sun Iris_2 595: Chapter 280 Holy Sun Iris_2 Azeryan pressed the undead knight hard into the ground with his spear, watching as the attendant’s battle axe was about to behead it, when he felt his grip loosen, and the monster dissolved into a mist of blood.

The axe blade struck the ground, numbing the attendant’s hands.

Azeryan quickly turned around, leaning against its back to prevent another unexpected stab from behind.

In just an instant, the army’s battle formation was thrown into chaos by the swift undead monsters.

The Blood Mist Knights, appearing and disappearing without a trace, and the wraiths emerging from invisibility dragged the soldiers to the ground.

Only the light of the Holy Light constantly emanating from the center of the formation could barely dispel the nightmare-like shadows of the undead.

The screams wore down the warriors’ will to fight, and more and more fell in the bloody battle.

Azeryan saw the Thorny Flower family’s Knights of Valor waving their weapons amidst the dire battle formation, crowding around Lord Eriv, step by step advancing toward the immobile Blood Armor Knights.

He immediately abandoned the unknown whereabouts of the enemy, calling on his attendants and two Avalon Knights to try to break through the obstructions and catch up.

At the forefront…

Eriv, undiminished in courage, skillfully wielded his sword, beheading an enemy whose helmet had been smashed open by Baron Krosh’s war hammer.

With one hand, he lifted the fallen undead, and his family heirloom sword cleaved into the enemy from below, the cold glint flashing, and the dwarf steel sword inexorably cutting through the bone, dismembering it bloodily.

Throwing aside the severed leg in his hand, Eriv strode forward in fury.

Until he was blocked by that familiar yet unfamiliar face.

“Forgive me, Balfe.” Eriv gripped the sword hilt tightly, pain seeping into his eyes.

Keen citizens of the Thorny Flower couldn’t help but lower their weapons, their expressions twisted under their face masks, almost grinding their teeth to pieces.

The old knight, obeying orders, silently screamed at his former lord, his face showing a moment of struggle, but the next second, his bloodthirsty instincts took over all consciousness.

The imposing figure lunged forward; it seemed to have no ability to turn into mist, Balfe only attacked Count Eriv swiftly with his corporeal form.

But the unarmored flesh couldn’t withstand the Knights of Valor’s sharp blades.

The cloak spun, the swath of the Thorny Sword in Eriv’s hand smoothly sliced through the old friend’s neck.

The heavy, headless body fell behind the Thorny Flower Master, and Baron Targas reversed his spear blade into the back of the old friend, penetrating the heart.

Unwilling to look back at the struggling sight of the headless corpse, Eriv roared forth with anger, leading his vassals finally to the damned Blood Armor Knight.

The Knights of Valor surrounded it, yet no demon ghosts emerged from the darkness to obstruct them.

…..

His pain…

cannot compare to yours…

grant him true torment…

The low whisper stirring the soul echoed in Charlemagne’s mind, as he grasped the Demon Sword by his side and stepped forward with delight.

The figure suddenly dissolved, leaving behind an illusory trail of blood mist.

The bloody light flared in the eyes of Baron Targas, who defended the lord from behind.

This brave knight, who had galloped across battlefields for over a decade, lost his ability to think in an instant forever.

Spinning around to resist the sword blade, the long spear snapped in half, a line of blood appearing from the top of Targas’s helmet.

Man and armor, the imposing body split cleanly in two.

The Demon Sword drew a trajectory; as the blood-red figure disappeared and reappeared, it swept across the waist of the knight turning around with a war hammer.

Krosh’s upper body, wrapped in chest armor, slowly separated from the lower limbs.

Charlemagne slowed down, as if savoring the slightly calmed storm of hatred within him; that extraordinary perception made everything around appear to freeze in slow motion.

A pair of blood-red eyes appreciated the angry emotions of Orland Lord, who was turning around, glancing away to see another knight on the left aiming a spear thrust at him.

Smelling the scent of the Kantadar people’s blood, rage made the red mist flicker again, the crimson shadow sweeping past like a reaper harvesting lives.

When Eriv turned back, everything in his ears seemed much quieter.

The ground appeared like a crimson carpet was laid, covered with the corpses of countless warriors.

Too many familiar faces would never rise again.

“…When I descended here, you were already dead…”

The whisper from behind made Eriv’s expressionless face under the face mask turn sharply, thrusting his sword immediately.

A crisp sound accompanied the two blades piercing through flesh and blood.

Not only did the Thorny Sword penetrate Charlemagne from his lower ribs, but the cold Demon Sword also pierced the Thorny Flower Earl’s chest.

Stepping back, allowing Eriv’s powerless body to slump down.

Charlemagne casually pulled the dwarf treasure sword from his chest and lungs, tossing it to the ground.

“No!!

No!——!!” A heart-wrenching shout came from afar.

David, guarding Harvey Mage, fell into despair and fury; he smashed the enemy in front of him with a hammer, attempting to rush there.

However, more Blood Knights surrounded him tightly.

Charlemagne’s gaze swept over that angry knight, his iron claw-like left hand slightly lifted towards the corpse on the ground.

“…I will not…grant you a straightforward death.”

The lifeless body of the Thorny Flower Master was raised by the blood-colored mist, as Charlemagne’s hand armor seemed to melt away.

Pulling off the other’s helmet, he embedded his sharp fingers into Eriv’s neck.

“Become a slave of blood…”

The blood flowed backwards, and the empty eyes of the Thorny Flower Master gradually filled with a vivid red.

In the blink of an eye, from above came a sharp gust of sword wind, a long sword glowing with blue light slashing down Charlemagne’s left wrist wielded by a descending figure.

The severed hand fell, and Eriv’s body also returned to the ground.

——Clang!

Sideways, the Demon Sword met the second strike of blue light, both sharp blades pressing against each other.

At the moment of contact, the blue light shattered.

Agatha, succeeding in her surprise attack, chose not to pursue, instead kicking the ground to retreat swiftly.

The soles of her boots screeched against the stone bricks as the female knight crouched down and stepped back, halting her form, casting a sidelong glance at the enchanted treasure sword in her hand, now severed.

The treasure sword forged by the kingdom’s finest swordsmith and magician was ultimately powerless against the terrifying evil blade for even a moment.

Looking again towards the blood-armored monster turning in the distance, she couldn’t help but widen her eyes.

The severed hand falling away astonishingly transformed into a flow of reversed blood, flying back to the creature’s wrist.

A perfectly intact left hand rose again, gently caressing the blood-stained demon sword, while the cold, crimson eyes behind the high-crowned helmet fixed on her as well.

Agatha’s heart was left with nothing but a chill.

After escorting the messenger to escape through the secret path from the fortress, she took note of the fierce battle before the main castle, waiting for the moment when, through such great sacrifice, she exchanged for a fleeting lapse from the enemy—yet it failed to injure the monster even slightly…

Her mind was racing for strategies, but in just a blink, she saw the monster turn into blood mist and vanish without a trace.

She swiftly stepped back, instinctively drawing a short sword with her left hand, crossing it with her broken long sword to block the lower side.

——Crack!

The two top-grade steel blades lasted less than a second before exploding into fragments.

The demon sword’s slash before the female knight now shifted to a flat blade.

It was Seryan’s Sigect swordsmanship!

Too fast, but…

mediocre skill…

Decades of deadly battle experience flashed through her mind; the sword wounds she once suffered spurred Agatha’s body into action before her conscious mind could issue a command.

Facing the oncoming thrust, the female knight didn’t retreat but instead advanced, rolling on the ground without any semblance of grace, like a ridiculous iron ball skimming past her opponent’s side at high speed.

With his thrust in vain, Charlemagne paused slightly, turning aside, intending to stab leftwards with his right hand sword blade.

Though his speed surpassed hers by many times, his response was several beats too slow, just enough to scrape past the woman’s figure and plunge into the ground.

——Boom!

The demon sword penetrated the ground, with sprawling blood-red cracks expanding outward, as if mocking.

An anger of countless souls surged into his heart; Charlemagne lost the mood to torment his opponent.

“…I will kill you!

Woman!”

Watching the female knight’s peculiar movement—springing up, kicking off, and spinning backward—continuously escaping, Charlemagne dissolved into smoke with a ‘bang,’ chasing after her with the encompassing red mist.

Weaponless, Agatha’s heart raced with urgency.

“Catch!!!”

A frantic shout came from beside her.

Unable to pay attention to the life or death of the lord beside her, Azeryan, unwaveringly holding the Thorny Blade like a javelin, hurled it towards the female knight flying in mid-air.

They had played this “game” with Olivia more than once; the noble youth believed that the skilled Princess Guard could do the same.

Living up to his hope, Agatha effortlessly caught the thrown treasure sword with a twist of her body.

But in an instant, the figure of the Blood Armor Knight had already solidified, brandishing the demon sword, bringing it down unceremoniously.

Resigned to fate, with a slanted sword, Agatha only hoped the long sword in her hand could grant her a second’s chance to dodge.

With a sharp clang, the demon sword collided with the Thorny Blade, bending the treasure sword in a dramatic curve.

The blade emitted a faint purple glimmer, yet surprisingly, it did not break.

Nevertheless, the mountain-toppling force of the Blood Armor Knight sent Agatha’s body flying like a cannonball.

BOOM!!!

An explosion like shattered air erupted as the robust female knight slammed into the ground, raising an airborne torrent of stone slab fragments.

The rotary chain links and straps binding the exquisite armor on her back snapped apart, and Agatha spat blood from her mouth and nose.

Feeling the impact of her right hand joint, which bore the brunt of the force, fracturing, the female knight gritted her teeth and flipped over, rising to kneel, forcibly straightening her twisted right arm with a snap.

As her feet hit the ground, Charlemagne’s gaze lingered briefly on the treasure sword in the woman’s hand, now glowing purple, before moving over to the young knight who threw the sword nearby.

The blood eyes, indifferent to the darkness under the moonlight, scrutinized this ostrich-feathered helmet knight guarded by several warriors with a murderous look.

Until….

He glimpsed the emblem cloak of the Holy Sun Iris adorning his body.

The chaotic boiling hatred in his mind suffered a momentary glitch.

Charlemagne could no longer shift his attention away for even a second.

“…Who are you!”

A hoarse wave of sound rolled forth.

The Blood Baron transformed into a sky full of crimson.

Ignoring the knights guarding by their side, the blood-red gust wrapped around, grabbing him by the neck armor, lifting him into the skies.

Effortlessly, with feet almost weightless, Charlemagne carried him up to the fortress balcony, ignoring his struggles to kick and punch, snarling softly once more:

“…Who are you!

Who dares to use this emblem!”

Suffering the pain of neck armor being crushed and distorted, Azeryan backhandedly drew a dagger from his waist, stabbing furiously into the crack of the blood-armored monster’s helmet.

Charlemagne grasped the dagger blade, forcibly ripping it out and tossing it aside, clawing to tear off the young knight’s face mask.

Riveted shaft fragmented into bits.

Revealing the slightly twisted handsome countenance caught in a strangling grip.

“Tsk—go to hell…

I’ll be waiting for you in the Dead Sea!” Azeryan refused to answer, only spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm onto the enemy’s face mask.