Chapter 849: Revised: Chapter 826 Lone Bravery

Due to Alamir’s divine arts obstructing their vision, Lancelot focused his attention on the sky, guarding against sudden rays, missiles, meteors, or other forms of magical attacks. But the Lich’s counterattack was completely beyond his expectation–the ground suddenly began to shake violently, as if the solid city walls beneath them had turned into the deck of a small boat in a storm.

All the creatures on the wall, including Lancelot, were thrown to the ground, but this wasn’t the worst of it: the earth itself emitted painful groans under the torment of this spell, and several ten-foot-wide cracks appeared out of nowhere, breaking the wall above in the process. Several figures instantly fell into the cracks; a few lucky ones transformed into crows at the last moment and flew out, but more vanished without a trace.

Lancelot and his companions were fortunate; the section of the wall they were on remained intact, and they managed to hold onto some protrusion or indentation to fix themselves in place–the only exceptions were Lancelot and his black steed. The former had already straightened the upper half of his body, his feet suctioned to the ground like magnets, while the latter’s four hooves alternated in a peculiar rhythm, resembling a swimmer maintaining their position in water, showcasing agility far beyond the surrounding bipedal creatures.

In this state, Alamir couldn’t possibly maintain his concentration for casting, and the pillar of light from his divine arts completely dissipated, revealing the Lich casting spells not far away and the undead army beside it. The earthquake affected both sides equally; the Lich’s army couldn’t advance either, but once the magic ceased, the defensive structures relied upon by the defenders would be completely destroyed.

Urgent bells rang from the high tower behind them, accompanied by Soveris’s anxious shout:

“Everyone, retreat! Retreat!! Retreat!!! Get out of that damned place!”

Transforming amidst the violent shaking ground wasn’t an easy task, but everyone knew the battle was over, and it was time to let go. Bruto very reluctantly pulled out a black feather for transformation from his pocket, ready to activate the magic within, but Lancelot’s demeanor made him pause.

“Big brother, what are you doing?” The dwarf shouted with all his strength to avoid being drowned out by the surrounding noise, “Don’t act rashly!”

‘You all go first.’ Lancelot’s voice echoed clearly in everyone’s mind, his eyes fixed on the distant figure of the Lich, ‘I intend… to give it a try.’

“Try what?”

‘General.’

Lancelot’s voice still echoed in everyone’s ears as his body leapt up as lightly as a petal caught in the wind, landing on the black steed that was hopping side to side. He immediately steadied himself, reached into his waist’s dimensional bag, and pulled out an exquisitely beautiful, softly glowing blue-silver sword. The wind seemed to cease as the sword appeared, and a cold, resolute female voice resonated in everyone’s heart:

‘When evil runs amok, judgment shall come!’

Everyone’s gaze fixed upon that treasured sword, except for Lancelot’s close companions who noticed a small bat clinging to the sword’s hilt, almost as if it was part of the sword. However, the companions knew very well that it was no mere decoration.

The black horse, in sync with its master’s intent, let out an excited neigh, and the next second it carried Lancelot in a leap, jumping off the high wall’s edge. A miraculous scene unfolded as the steed with fiendish blood didn’t fall–it trod on air with its flaming hooves, as if there was an invisible bridge beneath it, allowing it to gallop freely. The knight atop raised the treasured sword high, pointing directly at the still spell-casting Lich in front.

Gasps echoed from every corner of the battlefield. Whether those flying in the sky or the townsfolk still on the ground, their gazes were drawn to the swiftly receding figure. Despite fearing another dashed hope, they couldn’t help but imagine that the human knight who brought so many surprises might indeed create another miracle?

Lancelot, charging at full speed, naturally paid no heed to the spectators’ thoughts. His entire focus was locked on Peyton Derrick. His actions were driven not by foolish bravery or desperate recklessness, but on his extraordinary vision, he noticed amidst the chaos a key detail: during spell casting, the Lich lifted its head high and its body trembled violently, as if struck by lightning.

Lancelot wasn’t entirely ignorant of magical principles; he knew the Lich was channeling dreadful energy through its body during spell casting, temporarily losing awareness of its surroundings. He believed this was a chance worth risking everything for. The inner spiritual cultivator within him tried to object, warning that one should only wager heavily when fully certain, but this time the inner knight won the argument.

The undead soldiers along the way continued to follow the Lich’s pre-quake orders to wait. Lacking autonomous thinking, they did not move to stop the human knight. Theoretically, undead without self-awareness would attack upon sensing live beings or when threatened, but the nightmare steed’s speed was too fast. By the time it charged into the undead army, it had reached its maximum speed of a hundred feet per second, giving no room for the enemy to react.

Like a small boat thrust into a sea of zombies and skeletons, one man and his steed plowed through, creating a wave of white bones. The enemy formation was not particularly dense, and aided by Lancelot’s Abyssal Spiritual Qi-augmented monstrous muscled horse, their speed did not diminish but surged towards the Lich with awe-inspiring momentum.

When there were only a hundred feet left, Lancelot unleashed his final trump card–in a burst of volcanic smoke and flames, the human knight transformed into a colossal Barlow Flame Demon, with the nightmare and Sword of Zariel growing proportionately.

In Lancelot’s eyes, everything around seemed to slow. He clearly saw the Lich’s eyes slowly opening, filled with the shock of being caught off guard. But Lancelot knew very well there was nothing the Lich could do–except watch helplessly as the beautiful sword drew closer and ultimately pierced the bridge of its nose between the eyes.