Yarra’s Adventure Notes
Chapter 1212: Door to the Past - Danacus’s Hideout (Two-in-One)

Chapter 1212: Door to the Past - Danacus’s Hideout (Two-in-One)

"Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh." Three emerald feathers arrows were almost silently shot from Flare’s hands, vanishing in mid-flight as if entering another realm the moment they left the bowstring. But the very next instant, defying all logic, the arrows appeared from behind three moribund, reversing their direction of flight, and stabbed unexpectedly into their backs.

Seemingly, the final choice made by the expedition deep into the Realm of the Dead greatly surprised the moribund. They had assumed that the undead along the path would heavily drain the team’s resources. Additionally, to counter the relentless pursuit of the undead, at least one-third of the team would be tasked with rearguard action, blocking the undead out of the room. However, they had not anticipated that Shaman Finchy would sacrifice his last breath to transform into lightning and temporarily seal the room’s entrance, preventing the chasing undead from entering, leading the trio of moribund into an extremely awkward predicament. Although their strength was formidable, individually stronger than any Demigod present who could not pull them into their domain, they were in great agony under the siege of over a dozen Demigods. Particularly with these Demigods operating under unified command, the moribund had no chance of victory.

Thus, as the team proceeded into the room, paying no further heed to the battle outside, the three moribund, like ducks with their necks snapped, ceased their laughter abruptly and stared in surprise at the formidable foes before them. However, the team members, not wasting a single second upon entering, launched a forceful attack on the moribund. In everyone’s mind, there was concern for Shaman Finchy outside, but since he chose to sacrifice himself for the group’s opportunity, they thought it better to move forward than to waste the opportunity he had garnered, floundering like fools. Thereby honoring the old Shaman’s sacrifice, as soon as Kyle made the decision, the team swiftly shifted into combat mode, besieging the moribund.

Facing the flood-like offensive of over ten Demigods, the moribund’s battling space was compressed to the absolute minimum. Wave after wave of attack forced them to huddle together, defending passively. Any intent to counterattack would risk breaches in their guard, resulting in wounds of varying depths, and even if they were willing to pay the price, it was futile; every time they attempted to strike back, a knight would appear at an opportune position, rendering their efforts fruitless struggles.

Under Kyle’s direction, except for Nellie, everyone extravagantly expended their energy. Berserker Carl and Weapons Master Klarke clung close to the three moribund, their powerful movements fiercely colliding with the enemy, forcing them to retreat step by step. The scorpion-tailed lion Dillie soared into the air, the sufficiently high ceiling granting ample space for flight. Circling Dillie was akin to an eagle searching for prey from above; though not once did it swoop down to attack, its mere circling presence exerted a considerable psychological pressure on the enemy. Behind the moribund, Aske’s figure flickered in and out of visibility. The icy Sand Person never launched an attack, yet as an assassin capable of a one-hit kill, his mere presence behind the moribund exerted substantial psychological strain, forcing them to stay alert to his potential ambushes.

Four fighters up close entangled the three moribund, creating a conducive environment for others to launch ranged attacks. Queen Flare and Goblin Christo took positions on opposite sides of the moribund’s flanks, their arrows and bullets raining down incessantly. Possibly conserving energy, the archers’ shots were not particularly powerful, but the high frequency of their attacks compensated for the lack of individual potency. It was like the common drizzle in the City of Knowledge—minuscule drops barely felt individually, yet in succession, could silently soak people’s hair and clothes.

Philarx, wrapped in his slender frame in a black robe, stood with an indifferent face directly in front of the moribund. His right hand was raised into the air, his slender fingers exposed as he out of boredom, seemed to delicately scribe incomprehensible glyphs and patterns in the air. However, when least expected, some magical sigil would suddenly pulse with energy, activating a spell that would abruptly materialize and descend upon the moribund’s heads. Unlike the predictable and incessant barrage of shooting, Philarx’s indiscriminate and unheralded magical attacks were undeniably potent—any spell he casually released carried destructive force capable of dimming the skies and fracturing the earth, forcing the moribund, again and again, to either dodge frantically or neutralize it, disrupting their combat rhythm.

Maya and Tiya remained squarely behind all the combatants, the twin sisters never directly participating in the offensive against the enemies. Or more precisely, they did not engage directly—Light Winged Human Maya shone everywhere, her dazzling light illuminating the spacious room as brilliantly as the Huron Divine State across the sky, although of course, she wasn’t standing there merely to provide light. Whenever any of the close-quarters combatants or Nellie, who had warded off all enemy attacks, sustained wounds from shadows darting in exchange, a tangible white beam would erupt from Maya, resembling a ball of light, warmly embracing the injured comrades. And as the glow dissipated, the injuries would vanish along with the light, leaving no trace to be found.