What Do You Wish For With Murky Eyes: Record of Highserk War - Chapter 60

The piled-up corpses were approaching the height of the makeshift city walls. It had turned into a collective graveyard, and Walm could hear strange sounds crawling through the corpses scattered without order. Walm, ready to confront it with his halberd, noticed that it were moving with a clear purpose towards the less-defended areas.

“It went over there!”

Fleck, the large shield wielder, raised his voice. The monsters advanced in a way that skillfully exploited the gaps between trained soldiers. Despite the warnings from adventurers, a Highserk soldier swung his shortsword, but it only ended up severing a few legs.

Without paying attention to the soldiers, a centipede with numerous walking legs broke through the city wall. If it were just a single entity, it would have been manageable, but a swarm of giant centipedes charged forward, carrying humanoid monsters like orcs, lizardmen, and goblins on their backs.

“Three got through!”

Insect-like monsters, approaching nearly 6 meters in length, climbed over the city wall and headed towards a corner where refugees were gathering. To make matters worse, the monsters riding on their backs scattered within the city.

Walm wanted to stab the kobold in front of him and assist in defense, but in return, an orc blocked his path, wielding a war hammer.

Dodging the heavy blow by turning his upper body, Walm thrust the spear into the gap between the ribs, impaling the orc’s heart. The orc, instantly lifeless, was kicked off the city wall by Walm.

Not only did Walm waste time, but the Highserk soldiers and adventurers trying to stop the creatures were also too late. Damage was about to spread to the evacuating civilians who lacked combat capability.

The centipede, carrying monsters and opening its predatory mandibles while lifting its head, had its head literally crushed by a figure that leaped out from among the refugees. Along with its hard outer shell, the sticky bodily fluid was scattered.

“Huh?”

No one blamed Walm for his dumbfounded reaction. A centipede that could potentially reach A-rank, and among them, an individual deserving of B-rank, was effortlessly crushed with bare hands. The one who accomplished this was a tough-looking, older woman with a plump figure.

“Oh dear, Highserk soldiers who have swept through neighboring countries are pathetic!! You too, active adventurers.”

Her provocative words didn’t bother Walm. As the lizardman and goblin on the back of the relaxed giant centipede attacked the middle-aged woman, their swords were deflected with bare hands. Instead, a fist-like hole appeared in the lizardman’s chest. The goblin, who tried to take advantage of the opening, had his upper body disappear as he received a knee kick after having his footing swept.

The woman, who had reached the castle wall with no one able to stop her, ran up to the ramparts with a lively stride that contradicted her appearance. A skeleton in armor greeted her, but she shattered its spine with a punch through the armor, and its crawling upper body was kicked high into the air.

“Mama!?”

“Deborah… What are you thinking?”

Two men who seemed to be family were trying to restrain the woman, appearing distressed.

“I’m going to kill all those pesky monsters!!”

Lifting the spare latch that was leaning against the castle wall, she swung it overhead, sweeping away the crawling monsters.

“That’s impressive, isn’t it!!”

A lizardman, who had clung to the ground and avoided the earlier attack, lunged from the side, but its head disappeared with a back fist. It was evident that she possessed multiple skills, including physical enhancement and hardening effects.

“Yogim, Moyes!! You two, come here. Don’t slack off!!”

Reluctantly, the two men named Yogim and Moyes climbed up the castle wall at Deborah’s explicit call.

At first glance, they looked like a slender mother and son, but their movements were refined and efficient even in Walm’s eyes. Yogim, the father, paid no heed to the crumbling footing, thrusting his shortsword into the throat of a leaping werewolf, twisting it, and pulling it out.

While a Hellbat attempted an aerial attack from an blind spot, it was met with a sword and sent crashing down, its entrails lifting into the air.

Moyes, the son, with limbs like withered wood, wielded a longsword with unimaginable strength, severing the poisonous tail of a scorpion and crushing its pincer-like appendages. He then stabbed the sword into the head and chest, reaching the base.

“What’s up with this parent and child…”

Al expressed the feelings of everyone.

“You guys are being outdone by Myard civilians!—grit your teeth, brace your legs, tighten your stomach, and fight!! Show me your military might!!”

To boost the declining morale, Walm spurred them on. Physical strength is finite. Nevertheless, the power of spirit is not to be underestimated.

Walm knows well what makes people grow and brings out magical power. It is in dire situations that people truly demonstrate their worth.

“Hahaha, monsters, monsters, monsters!! You wouldn’t see something like this even in our active days!!”

Invited by Deborah, who was scattering blood and flesh, the soldiers rushed into the frenzy of battle.

—————-

Under the counterattack of the twin moons shimmering, the sun was about to rise. People of all ages, archenemies, races, and nations, united as a combat unit called a battalion, fought for survival regardless of their differences. How ironic it is. What unites their hearts is not prayers for peace or words of fellowship but the imminent wave of death in front of them.

Taking refuge in a nearly collapsed building and having less than two hours of sleep on a “clean” floor with only dust and dirt, Walm woke up. The familiar sounds of battle indicated that the fight against monsters was ongoing. Despite enduring a long day, he was grateful that the makeshift castle walls had not been breached.

Even amid the prolonged battle, Walm managed to finish the time-attack-style elimination without letting anything flow from his lower body. Breakfast awaited him—a steaming bowl of soup was brought to him. The cooking, centered around those who couldn’t endure combat among the refugees, still functioned, and thankfully, a bowl of soup overflowing with steam was placed in front of Walm.

An old woman who looked indistinguishable from undead and a girl who had perhaps just reached the age of ten poured the soup into Walm’s bowl. The reduction in personnel and the consumption of resources must have been alleviated, and the food situation had “improved,” undoubtedly.

Walm sipped the soup, chewed and swallowed an unidentifiable chunk of meat, tore black bread with his teeth, and washed it down with the soup.

To replenish consumed magical power, quality sleep and high calories are necessary. The gravel and debris-scattered cobblestone sleeping area felt almost heavenly. All that remained was the meal.

Blood, flesh, and the mingling body odor, along with the lingering smell of emptied organs, wafted in the air, enhancing the meal. Furthermore, a chorus of screams and curses welcomed Walm. It was a place fitting for welcoming an elegant morning.

Opening the folded coarse cloth revealed hard-baked biscuits, the preserved food. Though softened with water, Walm’s teeth easily conquered the biscuits. There were times when he seriously contemplated deploying a magical membrane for body reinforcement when eating them without moisture, as it could be considered a weapon or madness—after all, there were instances where losing teeth could be ironically worse than combat.

“I can’t do without water.”

Thinking of his former superior who used to crush those hardened biscuits, a weapon that could be considered both deadly and insane, Walm chuckled softly.

Crunching the biscuits with a scraping sound, he swallowed them with water. After repeating this action several times, Walm’s breakfast came to an end.

He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and exhaled purple smoke above his head. Time did not allow him to finish it all. He addressed the soldiers who were also sitting and having their meals.

“Wanna have the rest?”

“Thanks a bunch, Sir Knight. You’re just like one of us.”

Though it was unclear if the biscuits were the culprits, the soldier with missing front teeth happily accepted, and after inhaling a lungful, he exhaled with deflated words.

“Good luck.”

Waving the cigarette lightly, the soldier bid farewell to Walm.

Returning to the battlements, Walm approached Deborah, who was spreading death, and inquired.

“How’s the situation?”

The adventurers were catching sleep as if their breaths had ceased. Four platoon commanders entrusted to Justus’ wartime brigade – Nepolc, Wake, Friug, and Yorl – were occupied with command, but the Deborah family who remained on the ramparts were the most skilled and could be consulted without hesitation.

“Give it a rest. I don’t recall signing up as a soldier.”

Crushing the goblin heads in the manner of a whack-a-mole, Deborah changed her tone.

“The pressure has eased. The fact that more than half of the monsters followed the Flame Emperor Dragon also had an impact. Nevertheless, there should be a leader guiding them.”

“Not confirmed yet.”

The living disaster, the dragon, was classified as an SS species. The main instigator leading a horde of over ten thousand shouldn’t be of A-rank caliber.

“There should be a leader and its entourage. It would be nice if they behaved themselves.”

“You seem strangely well-informed.”

“Yogim and I are retired adventurers. …During our adventurer days, we faced a large-scale rampage in the Falmoon Republic, albeit a small one. There were multiple leaders at the time, but the one we dealt with alongside the national army was of the Lord species.”

Walm delved into his memories. Falmoon was a country that had perished in a massive rampage over 20 years ago, and its remaining territories were annexed by the Highselk Empire.

“Soldiers and adventurers have fallen one after another. Haha, should we pray to some god?”

Yogim, looking less than fortunate, forced a smile.

If there’s any hope to cling to when the end is in sight, this is it. Walm, not believing in fate or whatever it is, knows well that even if gods exist, they are probably damn bastards.

“Don’t pray to me!!”

If Deborah were to leave the front lines now, Walm would offer prayers from the bottom of his heart to detain her.