Chapter Three: The Sword Saint

When Lancer had walked in the indicated direction for about ten minutes, he finally heard shouting. Climbing over the hilltop, he saw a band of bestial warriors locked in combat with a horde of ghouls. In this world, the so-called beastmen were those green-skinned fighters engaged in battle—not the amalgamation of various races one might expect from stories of other realms. The beastmen infantry were tangled with the ghouls, while behind them, a group of Soulwalkers, shamans, and witch doctors tirelessly supported their line. Likewise, behind the ghouls, numerous warlocks and witches offered their own aid, and occasionally, a few wagons glimmered as they unleashed bursts of light.

“Mission start—Help the beastmen repel the Scourge’s assault.”

Lancer was momentarily stunned when the mission appeared. He realized he’d been set up, but now was no time to dwell on that. He readied the crossbow he’d just acquired, took cover by a tree, and took aim at a witch. He knew from experience that only by eliminating the enemy’s support did one have any hope of breaking their advance—otherwise, it would become a drawn-out war of attrition. There was no need for a second shot or to trigger his Weapon Master traits; with a single bolt, he watched as a witch shattered into fragments and vanished amidst the army.

Lancer noticed he’d gained two experience points. Though meager, he was of the mindset that every little bit counted. He nocked another bolt and felled a second witch. At that instant, his instincts screamed a warning. He rolled sharply to his right, just as a mass of soul fragments exploded where he’d been standing.

Catching sight of the soul fragments, Lancer’s expression shifted—he immediately knew which Scourge hero had arrived.

“Shadow Demon—Nevermore. I didn’t expect one of the Scourge’s notorious heroes to join the fray, and it had to be you,” Lancer called out to a shadow pooling on the ground. He was fully immersed in his role now. In this world’s lore, Lancer was a neutral hero by title, but his actions had long marked him as a staunch defender. Time and again, he’d clashed with the Scourge to protect civilians, earning him a place on their most-wanted list.

“Heh… Lancer the Ranger. What a surprise to find you here. I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time—your soul is a most fascinating curiosity,” Nevermore replied. As his words faded, another burst of soul fragments detonated beneath Lancer’s feet.

“You despicable wretch! Resorting to ambushes?” Lancer snarled. After all, Nevermore’s heritage as a Shadow Demon warranted constant vigilance. There were many heroes in this world, but clear hierarchies prevailed. Veterans like Nevermore—household names among heroes—stood at the apex for good reason. Lancer, by contrast, was only just stepping into the upper echelons, still unfamiliar with many of his own skills. While their official rankings may have been comparable, here and now, Lancer was clearly at a disadvantage.

“Hah! Do you enjoy discussing honor with a demon?” Nevermore flung a cluster of soul fragments at Lancer, who deftly stowed his crossbow, dodged aside, and drew two Desert Eagles. He unleashed a hail of bullets at the Shadow Demon. “These two fit my hands best,” Lancer mused.

“What’s this? Another of the goblins’ inventions?” Although Nevermore was struck a few times, the shots landed on scattered spots and caused him little harm. He wasn’t interested in a full fight; his goal was merely to pin Lancer down and buy time for his minions. He attempted to draw Lancer into conversation. But Lancer had no patience for such distractions—he’d already caught sight of a red figure moving through the forest.

“Well, well, black mass of mystery, you sure do talk a lot. Do you really think a faceless thing like you could ever comprehend the weapons I wield?” Lancer’s words were ordinary enough, but with his sharp tongue unleashed, his anger only intensified. Nevermore hurled soul fragments at him in a rage, but Lancer merely sneered.

As Nevermore’s attention fixed entirely on Lancer, a crimson blur burst from the trees.

A red-skinned orc, wielding a massive blade, charged forward and hacked wildly at the Shadow Demon. The pain snapped Nevermore from Lancer’s taunts. When he saw who was attacking him, cold sweat broke across his brow. “Yurnero! What are you doing here?!” While Nevermore could enhance his attacks by torturing souls, his greatest weapon was detonating or unleashing those tormented souls. But the Blademaster’s Blade Fury could sever such attacks. Among all the defenders, there were few Nevermore hated to face as much as the Assassin in the Shadows or the Blademaster himself.

“Hmph! Nevermore, luck’s run out for you today. I happened to be nearby and saw the beastmen’s signal for help. This time, I’ll make sure you never leave!” Yurnero snarled. The Shadow Demon had committed too many atrocities—countless heroes among the defenders had sworn to end him.

“Hmph! Think you can kill me? Not so easily!” In moments, Nevermore regained his composure. He’d survived countless ambushes over his long existence.

“You must be the new human hero everyone’s talking about. Help me take this fiend down, and I’ll see to it you’re properly welcomed back at the village,” Yurnero called out before charging Nevermore. The Shadow Demon wasted no time, detonating another soul fragment at Yurnero’s feet. But the Blademaster was not so easily harried; with a nimble leap to the right, he barely paused before lunging back at his foe. Realizing direct assaults would serve him better than soul magic, Nevermore switched tactics, but was quickly pressed back by the Blademaster’s relentless offense. Lancer, seizing the opportunity, retrieved a vial of “poison” from his ring and coated a crossbow bolt.

He’d chosen to assist because a new mission had just appeared.

“Side Quest—Help Yurnero drive off Nevermore. Reward: 500 experience.”

With Nevermore forced to defend against both the Blademaster’s onslaught and Lancer’s hidden attacks, the balance of battle tipped in their favor. Yet at that very moment, Lancer’s ring alerted him—another hero was approaching from the forest.

“Yurnero! Hurry! The enemy has reinforcements!” Lancer called, just as a yellow-fletched arrow shot from the trees—its target was the Blademaster locked in battle with Nevermore.

“Haha! Yurnero, and you little human brat—you’re both doomed now!” Nevermore jeered, and Lancer instantly felt the pressure intensify.

His keen senses identified the new threat at once—a Skeleton Archer, infamous as the bane of melee fighters, whose flaming arrows were deadly indeed.

Realizing this would not be easily resolved, Lancer quickly pulled another potion from his ring and drank it down. Instantly, it felt as though something within him ignited. Time was short—he dashed into the forest.

“Swish!” An arrow flew at him, but he blocked it with his crossbow’s body. A voice rang out in confusion—the archer clearly trusted in his shot, not expecting it to be thwarted. But Lancer knew that burning counted as a negative status, and the potion had granted him immunity.

At last, Lancer came face to face with the new enemy.

He hadn’t expected the Scourge to deploy not only Nevermore, but also the infamous Skeleton Archer. His tone was light, but he attacked without pause, sending volley after volley of arrows at his opponent, who retaliated in kind. Lancer’s urgency grew—the potion’s effects would soon run out. Suddenly, a colossal roar erupted from the woods.

A thunderous crash shook the earth—Lancer watched as seismic waves rippled through the ground.

“Damn it! Why is Cairne Bloodhoof here?” Nevermore’s panicked cry rang out, and with that, he turned and fled. Lancer made no move to pursue—without his ultimate, he’d likely be kited to death. Instead, he hurried toward the source of the commotion.

When he arrived, he saw Yurnero with his blade plunged into the earth, and beside him stood a hulking tauren wielding a massive axe. The two were drinking together, but their mood was dour.

“He got away,” Yurnero said, frustrated. Such chances were rare indeed. “Let it go. That bastard took a direct hit from my Spirit Stomp—it’ll be a year or two before he’s fit to fight again,” Cairne replied nonchalantly, passing the jug to Yurnero. After a swig, Yurnero handed it to Lancer, who took a drink—fiery but less potent than some spirits he’d had before.

“Enough, Yurnero. Don’t dwell on it. The ancestor ceremony is soon—cheer up,” Cairne said, then turned to Lancer. “Cairne Bloodhoof. Pleased to meet you, Lancer the Ranger from the human lands.” He extended a massive hand, and Lancer shook it firmly.

“Fine! He got lucky this time. Next time, I’ll finish him!” Yurnero grumbled, snatching the jug from Cairne and taking another pull.

“Haha, that’s the spirit.” Cairne produced two more bottles, handing one to Lancer. When their drinks were finished, the three headed toward the beastmen’s village.

“By the way, Cairne, since your ancestor ceremony is about to begin, why would the enemy attack now? Surely, with all the beastmen heroes gathered, coming here would be suicide for Nevermore,” Lancer mused, wondering if the Shadow Demon was particularly loathed even among the Scourge.

“Haha, you see, the ceremony’s location is chosen by shamanic prophecy. We often have to travel far, so it’s impossible for them to know where we’ll gather,” Cairne explained, musing that if his friends had arrived earlier, Nevermore might not have escaped so easily.