Chapter 106

The copper root glowed white-hot, distorting the air with the heat it emitted. Nick doubted it would be useful again, but it had fulfilled its purpose.Silence fell over the battlefield for a split second as the strike group tried to digest what had happened.

Then, the Wild Hunt charged.

Their steeds—twisted creatures of muscle and shadow with burning green eyes—galloped in eerie silence, somehow not disturbing the ground beneath them. The riders were all clad in enchanted armor, intricately etched with tiny runes, and their weapons were equally striking.

The humans hesitated, stunned by Arthur’s failure, but only for a moment because Eugene’s roar sent them scrambling into formation. “HOLD THE LINE!”

Nick didn’t wait for the enemy to come to him. He attacked first.

He twisted the air with a flick of his wand, forming two Jet Streams and imbuing them with enough mana that they would have carved through the hobgoblins’ protections. With a grunt of effort, he sent them both screaming toward two fae knights who were getting dangerously close, sharpening their tips into razor-thin blades of wind.

The first knight barely had time to react before the spell slammed into his side, hurling him off his monstrous steed. He crashed into the dirt, rolling violently before coming to a dead stop.

The second knight, sensing danger, tried to dodge but was too late, as Nick adjusted the trajectory as soon as he moved. The hit his leg where he lacked armor, severing it at the knee, sending both rider and mount tumbling.

Nick didn’t pause to celebrate.

With active, he spread his senses across the battlefield, tracking every movement, every shifting current of air.

A mounted knight swung his curved blade at a soldier’s head, and Nick redirected it with a , sending the strike wide.

A pair of fae lancers gathered for a charge, so Nick whispered a warning on the wind, and the shield wall braced just in time.

Whenever someone was about to be struck down, he was there, shifting the air just enough to disrupt an attack or reposition an ally. He wasn’t the strongest fighter, but he could control the battlefield like no one else.

Arthur hadn’t taken his failure well and was going through the ranks of fae like a scythe through a wheat field. Every time his sword struck, arcs of electricity crackled outward, spreading across multiple enemies.

Nick quickly understood why Arthur preferred to fight alone. His power was immense, but it lacked finesse. Every strike required space. Any ally standing too close would get caught in the discharge. That weakness, if it could be called as such, was why Arthur was still holding back.

Nick had seen what he had done to the Moss Oni. If he had unleashed that degree of destruction now, he would undoubtedly have defeated the hunt, but he would also have devastated the battlefield—including his own allies.

Despite his restrictions, Arthur was still a terror. The moment the pressure was taken off him to gather for another strafing run, he immediately punished the fae, smashing into their line and carving two knights from hip to shoulder so quickly that Nick only knew it happened through his senses.

The leader of the Hunt, a tall fae with antlers woven into his helmet, still kept to the back for some reason, merely snarling orders to his subordinates.

Arthur didn’t even spare him a glance as the four fae who had intercepted his lightning urged their mounts toward him.

Meanwhile, Eugene made sure the lines of soldiers didn’t falter when faced with the ghostly steeds charging them down. He never stopped moving, exploding in flames when he got surrounded or flashing into existence where the shield wall was weakening.

Each time a fae lingered too long, hesitating in their charge or trying to adjust their attack, Eugene smashed into them like a meteor, sending waves of fire with every strike.

Nick watched one knight scream as Eugene cut him in half, his body burning to ash before it even hit the ground.

Still, the Hunt fought back.

Their knights worked in perfect synchrony, weaving spells into their charges to break through the defensive formation. More than once, Eugene was forced to abandon his duel with a fae to intercept these attacks, thus letting an enemy who would have died by his blade live to attack again.

A cluster of fae riders gathered together at one point, attempting to break through the shield wall with sheer force. Given that Arthur was still engaged with the four elites, and Eugene had just left to take care of a group that had begun strafing runs, Nick was left alone to coordinate the men.

“LEFT FLANK, BRACE!” He sent the command on the wind, reaching the soldiers just in time.

They raised their shields, locking together shoulder to shoulder, and with a burst of , they prepared to absorb the charge.

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Right as the fae made contact, Nick unleashed a powerful from the side. The abrupt appearance of a howling tornado broke the lancers’ momentum, causing several of them to tumble off their mounts.

The soldiers roared, surging forward to cut them down before they could recover.

The fae’s unnatural agility came to their rescue, as even dismounted and outnumbered, they managed to retreat in good order and inflict severe wounds on all those who dared break rank, forcing Nick to dismiss his spell and pull them back.

So worried was he about maintaining the integrity of the shield wall that he didn’t even notice an enemy taking aim at him. He barely managed to push himself away with a gust of wind, leaving the lance of ice to graze his arm and smash into the ground.

Arrows rained down from both sides. Swords clashed with deadly intent. For every man that fell, a fae lost their mount or their life.

Nick saw an archer about to be skewered by a knight and redirected the lance’s path at the last moment, causing it to glance off the man’s iron pauldron instead of piercing his heart.

Another soldier was thrown to the ground, and Nick softened his fall with a gust of wind, allowing him to roll back onto his feet instead of breaking his neck.

Despite his best efforts, he knew he couldn’t save everyone.

Then, Arthur finally managed to maneuver one of the elites away from the humans, and a bolt of lightning immediately struck him down, turning the ground around him to glass. For a moment, Nick expected the fae leader to finally enter the fray, but to his surprise, he bellowed a command that was evidently an order to fall back.

The riders wheeled around, retreating toward the distortions in the air that had brought them here. As they went, they grabbed the fallen knights, dragging them up onto their steeds to ensure not a single corpse was left for the humans. Those steeds that had died in the clash simply vanished into smoke as if they had never existed.

Nick watched as the last of them vanished into the distortions and kept watching until the unnatural rifts sealed behind them.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then, someone let out a cheer.

The battle with the Wild Hunt had lasted barely ten minutes, but to Nick, it had felt like hours.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling his pulse race. His breath came in slow, controlled exhales, but his mind was still wired for combat. His entire body was tense, expecting another attack, another blow to parry, another charge to dodge.

But the battle was over.

Nick took stock of himself. He had come out of the skirmish mostly unscathed, although his clothes had torn at the hem, and his left forearm throbbed from a glancing blow of Fae magic he hadn’t been quick enough to shield against. His mana was drained—not entirely, but enough that he needed to be cautious with the rest until he could properly recover.

There was one pleasant surprise, however. The System quickly informed him that he had actually succeeded in killing one of the fae, and Nick was fairly certain he knew which one it was.

You have slain Deothmor, Rider of the Hunt (Level 43)!

You have earned 78,500 EXP!

You have leveled up!

You have leveled up!

NICK CROWLEY

LEVEL

MANA

STR

DEX

CON

INT

WIS

CHA

Occultist/Human

The sensation of growth hit him immediately. His body adjusted, his mana reserves expanded, and his reaction speed sharpened.

Normally, he would have celebrated. Now, he couldn’t bring himself to do more than exhale in satisfaction.

Because while he had won, others had not. Three more men were dead.

Considering how desperate their situation had been, the loss wasn’t that bad, but it still stung.

The priests were already moving through the injured, hands glowing with soft golden light as they poured their mana into healing spells. They worked quickly and efficiently, but their stock of potions was dwindling.

Eugene stood in the center of it all, directing the survivors, helping where he could, and reinforcing morale. He turned as Nick approached, not letting his expression betray his feelings. “We need to keep moving,” he said without preamble.

Nick nodded. He had expected as much.

The dead needed to be buried, yes, but they couldn’t afford to linger any longer than necessary. The Hunt would be back, and they needed to find a more advantageous position to fight.

Arthur hadn’t been able to use his full power with how close they’d all been. If they allowed the Hunt to dictate the flow of battle like that again, they genuinely risked being overwhelmed.

Soon enough, the three fallen soldiers were placed in a shallow grave, much like the ones before.

Nick watched as dirt was piled over them. There was no time for markers or speeches. The priests muttered a quiet prayer, and then it was done.

“We’re close now. We need to reach Marthas before the enemy reorganizes.” Eugene ordered, making it clear that there could be no other course of action.

The Wild Hunt was relentless, according to every bit of folklore he knew—from Earth and here. So why would they stop attacking now?

It took them a few minutes to resume their march, and it was another hour before Nick stopped. His father gave him a look, noticing his furrowed brow and heavy silence. “Nick?”

Nick exhaled, stretching his senses as far as he could. He felt nothing. No monsters. No movement. The forest was silent. Nick didn’t trust it, and so he kept scouring the area, looking for anything that might be out of place.

Then, just at the very edge of his range, he felt a ripple.

Another distortion. Then, two more. One six hundred feet ahead. One six hundred feet behind. And the last, to their right.

Despite knowing it was exactly what the enemy wanted, Nick had no choice but to alert everyone. “Three distortions! They’re surrounding us again!”

Eugene roared orders to get ready, and the group immediately snapped into formation. Those with minor wounds that had yet to be addressed were let into the center, where they would have to apply potions and salves as quickly as possible, and the archers readied their bows.

The sound of galloping hooves filled the air, growing louder with every second.

Nick reached for his mana, preparing to cast, but then, he noticed something that made his blood run cold.

As the fae knights broke through the trees, charging forward in a blur of motion, Nick saw faces he recognized.

Deothmor, the knight he personally killed at the beginning of the first clash, rode at the front as if nothing had happened.

Nick barely had time to process that before another familiar knight rode beside him—one that Eugene had personally incinerated.

His throat felt dry as he stared at the knights in their pristine armor, their unsullied weapons, their unbroken bodies.

Nick forcibly twisted his thoughts away from the unproductive spiral. If the dead rode…

“I just need to kill them again!”