Shadow Slave

Chapter 3141 Fate of a Tyrant

A morning came when Effie was called back to the wall.

This time, however, it was not to defend it. Using a crutch, she limped her way across the castle with Jet. The halls and courtyards weren't crowded anymore, at least — the citizens who had found shelter inside were now safely protected in her Soul Garden, enjoying all its gifts. So, she did not have to carefully make her way through the mass of people.

Still, Effie could not help but grumble.

“Ugh... who made this crutch? It's so shoddy. Feels like it is disintegrating a little with each step."

Jet gave her a look.

“Be thankful, fool. Do you think it's easy to make a crutch in a besieged castle? There are no trees around, in case you didn't notice. Plus, people of your height are not exactly common."

She paused for a moment and then added:

"The royals offered to make one from stone, while Morgan had the bright idea of making one from steel. In the end, Nightwalker disassembled a bunch of priceless antique furniture to fashion this thing. In the real world, you could buy a city block with that."

Effie gave her crutch another look.

“A whole city block?"

Jet smiled faintly.

“Well, the world is ending. So real estate prices are suddenly very affordable."

Chuckling, they ascended the wall and pushed their way through the crowd of soldiers standing on the battlements in silence. Everyone was here — even those who had ended their shifts and were supposed to be resting.

All of them were looking across the burned city in a strange, transfixed silence.

The castle stood on elevated ground, so they could see past the city wall from here. As Effie and Jet made their way to where Kai, Morgan, Seishan, and Nightwalker stood, they looked into the distance too. Laughter died on their lips, and they found themselves drawn into the silence.

‘Ah...’

The sun was rising, its rays spilling over the horizon. They illuminated the blackened ruins of the city, the crumbling wall, the terrifying killing field below it... and there, beyond the killing field, in the distance, the vast encampment of the Steel Horde.

At this time, it would usually look like an ocean of shimmering light, with countless fires burning in the dim twilight of the early dawn. However, today, the siege camp was dark and quiet, with only pillars of smoke rising above it here and there.

Mundane people could not see, but Saints like Effie were able to discern more. Kai, meanwhile, saw it all.

Even without his magical eyes, though, she could tell at once glance what had happened.

Effie felt her breath turning slow and haggard. A sudden weakness permeated her body.

The Steel Horde... was gone.

Sometime during the night, the warriors of the King of Kings had abandoned the camp, retreating the way they came. They took what they could with them, but left countless tents and weapons behind. Many of them were dead, after all, and those who survived had a long and arduous march in front of them.

If they truly did retreat, of course.

Effie slowly turned to Morgan, struggling to find words.

In the end, she just asked in a hesitant tone:

“We won't find a big horse statue there, will we?"

Morgan lingered for a moment, then shrugged.

"There's only one way to find out."

The other members of the cohort nodded solemnly.

It took some time to organize a sortie. Only the strongest of the defenders were allowed to go, since the encampment of the Steel Horde was still infested by the plague. Seishan was with them, but it was better to be safe than sorry — so, nobody below the Ascended Rank left the castle.

Effie went, too, hoping that her precious crutch would survive the journey.

They passed the blackened streets of the destroyed city. As they traveled, Effie remembered various scenes from her time here. There was the restaurant she had often gone to, back when the city still had supplies. There, a square where she had once watched children enjoy a puppet show, missing her family. There, a street she had often used to travel from the castle to the wall.

All of it was gone now, turned into ash and cinders.

As they neared the wall, there were more memories. Rushing soldiers, endless battles, the joy of those who survived, the sorrow of those who had outlived their loved ones... countless scars, countless wounds.

The wounds had healed, and the scars had disappeared as well. But the memories remained.

The wall remained as well, even if it was crumbling. Effie felt that the only thing keeping it upright was the will of its builder, the Mason. But the old man was dying now... once he was gone, the wall would probably succumb as well. Then, the city she had come to know would be truly and utterly gone.

Finally, they crossed the killing field.

The last time Effie had walked across it, she had been on her way to surrender to Azarax. That had probably been the darkest day of her tumultuous time in this Nightmare. Only a few weeks had passed, and she was coming back... however, the circumstances were entirely different now.

Soon, Effie and the rest of the scouring force entered the eerily empty camp.

The tents still stood, but the soldiers were gone. Winds blew as they scattered smoke across the desolate expanse of the abandoned camp. Weapons and equipment lay discarded in the dirt, piles of rubbish littering the mud. Here and there, an unbearable stench emanated from the tents.

Lifting the fold of one of them, Effie grimaced and covered her nose. There, a decomposing corpse lay, wrapped in a blanket, bearing the familiar and ghastly signs of having died from the plague.

No one seemed to have bothered with collecting and burning the dead. The retreating soldiers had enough mercy to kill those infected who were still alive, at least, instead of leaving them to the slow and agonizing death from the plague.

It didn't make sense.

Why would the Steel Horde just leave? Had Azarax truly decided to retreat to save his remaining forces? Effie could not quite imagine him admitting defeat. She had always expected to fight one final, decisive battle against him... even if they did not manage to slay the King of Kings himself, they could at least destroy his army, ending the Nightmare that way.

But the Steel Horde was simply gone. There was no sign of Azarax, either. All that remained was silence and desolation, which made Effie feel a sense of eerie, confused unease.

The scouts spread throughout the camp, investigating the mysterious absence of people. Effie wandered it for a while, as well, looking around in confusion. The eerie sense of incongruity grew, but she also felt a powerful, overwhelming sense of relief.

Her enemy was gone, after all. The terrifying army that had been besieging the city for two years had retreated. It was almost unfamiliar not to feel the weight of the Steel Horde pressing down on her... but it was not unwelcome. Quite the opposite.

Finally, they found the answer to the question that had been plaguing their minds ever since they entered the camp. It was hidden in the great tent at the heart of the encampment, where Azarax and his generals used to hold council.

The tent was empty, as well, but the stench of blood was far more powerful here. There were puddles of it on the floor, which had almost, but not quite, dried — as if many people had died here recently.

There were no corpses... except one.

There, on the throne that towered above the vast expanse of the tent, a plague-ridden corpse sat, staring down at the uninvited guests with glassy eyes. Azarax was nearly unrecognizable.

The plague had changed him, somewhat, but it was more so because of the traumatic damage done to his body.

He was impaled through the chest with a spear, pinned to the backrest of the stone throne, with dozens of arrows and javelins striking out of his flesh. Every part of his body that had not been pierced had been hacked and torn apart by sharp blades, as if hundreds upon hundreds of blows descended upon him in quick succession, delivered by scores of hands.

All of him was painted black by the plague-ridden blood, making him look like a ghastly effigy of a human made from tar and mangled flesh.

He must have resisted fiercely after being struck for the first time... it had taken hundreds of blows to bring the fearsome Azarax down, and even then, Effie was not sure how many of his attackers had survived their mutinous ambush.

But in the end, he still died. Azarax the Mighty, the Plague of Steel, the King of Kings... had been weakened by the plague of his own making and slain by his own generals, becoming the greatest and final victim of the Steel Horde.

It was a fitting end for a bloody tyrant like him.

In fact, Effie thought that it was better than he had deserved.

‘I hope you die a thousand deaths, bastard.'

She inhaled deeply, remembering all the pain and humiliation she had endured at his hand.

The years of a bitter siege and all the soldiers she had lost to his ambition, as well. All the civilians who had perished because of him.

Reality was far more cruel than Effie, though.

Instead of dying a thousand deaths, Azarax had been robbed of the right to die, spending thousands of years nailed to a tree in a godforsaken desert before succumbing to the curse of Shadow God.

She used to think that such a fate was a bit too gruesome...

But now, Effie was glad for it. That much torment... was enough to make up for one-tenth of the sorrow he had caused, perhaps.

Looking at the imposing, monstrous corpse that sat on a bloodied throne, she inhaled deeply, and then let out a long sigh.

‘Goodbye, Azarax. You called yourself the King of Kings... but you died like a dog. A fate most fitting.'

Their Nightmare seemed to be coming to an end.