Volume 6 Chapter 19 The Cage of Light and the Silver Guillotine
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
The witching hour. The bottom of the Dead Sea was filled with the stench of methane and corpses that had been accumulating for centuries. The outline of the black forest was coated in a sticky, mucus-like humidity.
But to the world reflected in Melis’s orbits, it was not merely darkness. Deep inside, thick, pulsing blackish-red stains clustered together. Humans. Through the heavy canvas tents, the warm, animalistic exhalations and body heat stirred like maggots.
A staging area melted into the mire. Melis let her lips tremble slightly, pouring the situation out in a single breath.
”Heat sources, over seventy. Large tents, ten. Outer perimeter sentries, ten,” Melis reported in a clipped, professional tone.
”If we pass through… go down the middle. Right beside the campfire, in the shadow of the brightest tent,” Lara1 whispered. She curled the corners of her mouth, pointing toward the brightest center. “Humans rely on the light; they only look at the darkness outside. The barking guard dogs never look at the shadows at their own feet,” she added, her tone radiating a haughty, aristocratic air.
Farrell’s gaze slid toward Lara. He gestured with his chin toward the shadows of the tents in the darkness behind them. The muscles of the elites, who had been frozen like statues, began to contract for the slaughter.
”The large tent… in the center. I hear a strange sound coming from there, ringing in my head,” Mimi said, her voice small and innocent.
Farrell exhaled every ounce of air from his lungs, distributing the prey in a whisper that dissolved into the gloom. “Sylvia and I will crush the source of that sound. Capture the commander only. Reap the rest. The signal is the sound of the perimeter sentries hitting the mud. Move.”
Their presence vanished. The elites dispersed as if they had lost all mass.
The campfire smoke swirled. The moment a sentry blinked, brow furrowed, Farrell and his elites infiltrated the perimeter without a sound, like water striders skimming the surface, each taking position beside the tents where their prey slept.
Behind the center tent, Farrell and Sylvia pressed close. There was no sound from within. Only a high-pitched ringing, tight enough to squeeze the back of the eardrums, signaled that something alien was inside.
Commander, Farrell’s right arm rose. Five fingers splayed open.
The keen, motion-sensitive vision of the Elves captured the way those fingers were folded one by one, with the agonizing slowness of an eternity. The sound of multiple strings being drawn taut bled faintly into the damp night air.
”Four,” Farrell counted.
”Three,” he breathed, the bow tension reached its limit; the killing intent pricked at the skin.
”Two,” Sylvia watched, her Achilles tendons stretched, waiting for the moment of explosion.
”One,” Farrell’s fingers balled into a fist, clutching death itself.
”Zero.”
Sound vanished from the world. Only murderous intent remained, saturated.
Thrum.
The sound of the atmosphere tearing erupted from every direction simultaneously.
Surpassing the speed of perception, arrow fletching sprouted from the throats of ten sentries. A wet, sloppy, gurgling sound. Before their brains could comprehend death, their bodies fell under the rule of gravity, beginning a slow tilt—in the middle of that hangtime.
Rip.
The thick cloth of the center tent tore open as if caressed by a razor.
Killing intent flooded through the breach. Farrell and Sylvia lunged. Before the eyes of the four guards inside could even track the shadows of the intruders, the trajectory of Sylvia’s Crimson Lotus had passed through the necks of two. Fresh blood danced in a fine mist, painting the ceiling red. Simultaneously, the tips of Farrell’s blades pried open the spaces between the ribs of the remaining two—piercing their hearts with precision.
There were no screams. Only the wet sound of flesh being severed and the smell of rust—of life evaporating—filling the room.
Thud. Thump…!
Immediately after, a dull, low-frequency sound shook the outer wall of the tent. It was the sound of the ten perimeter sentries’ corpses finally hitting the muddy ground.
”Urgh!” the white-robed spellcaster in the back gasped. His eyes widened at the impact from outside and the chunks of meat rolling before him. It was not paralysis from fear. It was a respiratory reflex to sound the alarm. His diaphragm contracted rapidly, forcing air into his lungs.
Snap!
Just before a voice could escape, Sylvia’s toe kicked the caster’s lower jaw upward. The unpleasant sound of shattering bone. His brain rattled, and the caster collapsed, eyes rolling back, revealing the whites. Behind the man who had fallen, there, it sat enthroned.
Sylvia spared it a glance. In a battlefield smeared with mud and blood, only that silver box remained unnaturally clean. No drop of mud touched its metallic surface; only tiny green points of light blinked, like a heartbeat.
Physiological disgust. She clicked her tongue and cut her gaze away. “Suppression complete.”
The sound of the fall outside was not a failure of stealth. It was the gong for a calculated slaughter.
”Enemy attack. Converge on the light source,” a voice commanded.
There were no screams. No cursing, no shouting. Only voices devoid of emotion.
Soldiers sprang from the surrounding tents one after another. Half-naked. No muscle spasms, no sweating from fear. What moved them was only the interception procedure carved into their brains. Without a hint of panic, they grabbed their swords with mechanical movements.
”Form up,” a man who appeared to be the commander muttered in a low voice.
The dozens of soldiers dispersing responded to the voice that shouldn’t have reached them. Everyone sprinted simultaneously toward the center of the square, where torches were bursting.
They formed a circle under the light, eliminating blind spots. The optimal solution according to the anti-raid manual. A dense formation. One-tenth of a second after that defensive formation, like a hedge of steel needles, was completed—
The darkness above twisted. The air shrieked, and a massive black mass fell from the heavens.
BOOOOM!
”GAAAAAAH!”
Impact. A living disaster—Gauz—impaled the center of the circle. Splatters of mud and flesh. The shockwave radiating from the epicenter sent the clustered soldiers flying from within.
The sound of spines snapping and the metallic screech of armor crushing its contents overlapped, playing a discordant melody. In a single blow, nearly half were incapacitated.
Yet, not one of them screamed. They got up, covered in mud, necks rotating like broken dolls. Their eyeballs darted at high speed, searching for the enemy.
”Visibility poor,” one reported.
”Enemy, not confirmed,” another replied.
Mechanical reports. The emotionless voices leaked out. The Elves in the darkness frowned slightly at the sight of them calmly continuing to search even after their comrades had turned into lumps of meat. Eerie silence. But their eyes were darting around. Their retinas, having just been burned by the intense light of the campfire, had pupils contracted to the size of pinpricks.
To them, trapped in the cage of light, the forest spreading outside was a wall of complete blackness. They couldn’t see. But to the Elves lurking in the darkness, the outlines of the soldiers illuminated by the fire stood out in the sharpest possible contrast.
Thrum. Thrum.
”Ugh,” one soldier grunted.
”…”
Sniping from the dark. The arrows avoided the thick parts of the armor. The gaps in the visors, the seams of the chainmail at the throat, the armpits. Precision shooting at human vitals. Unable to even counterattack into the darkness, the soldiers sank into the mud one after another like dolls with cut strings.
Without a moment’s breath, total annihilation. In the center of the square, the commander alone stood isolated, sword still drawn.
Clink.
The commander’s wrist turned, and the dagger held in a reverse grip turned toward his own carotid artery.
”I won’t let you!” Farrell shouted as he accelerated. A step forward, dragging an afterimage behind him. The flat of his blade struck the commander’s wrist. The sound of the radius bone creaking and snapping echoed, and the dagger danced into the air. Flowing seamlessly, he locked the joint and slammed him face-first into the mud.
The commander did not scream. He only rolled his hollow eyeballs, continuing to stare at Farrell at close range. Farrell stifled the urge to click his tongue at that inhuman gaze.
”Gauz, wait. That one is a souvenir for the King,” Farrell commanded.
He stopped the giant beast’s fist—which was about to swing for the finishing blow—with just his voice. In the corner of his vision, Sylvia dragged the unconscious caster out and rolled him next to the commander like trash.
The combat sounds vanished. At the bottom of the forest, only the smell of mud, blood, and rust remained. Seventy-eight lumps of meat and a souvenir for the King were all that was left.
—
Summary:
The Elves initiate a surgical, high-precision raid on a human military encampment, utilizing the cover of darkness to exploit the enemy’s reliance on light. After a coordinated, silent infiltration and rapid slaughter of the guards, Farrell and Sylvia secure the commander and a mysterious silver artifact. The raid ends in total annihilation of the enemy unit by the beast Gauz, leaving only the primary targets intact as trophies.
—
Trivia:
The witching hour is explicitly cited as the time of the raid.
The encampment relies on an anti-raid manual for their defensive circle formation.
The silver box remains perfectly clean despite the surrounding blood and mud.
The enemies appear to have undergone some form of mental conditioning that suppresses natural fear responses.
—
Translation Notes:
Notes:
• Melis – Voluptuous 160cm elf watchtower guard and scout with blonde hair in a high ponytail, a seductive aura, and a low-cut tunic under a grease-stained leather apron. Married to dwarf artisan Kulum but infatuated with Ryuichi. Altered by Ryuichi’s essence, her acute senses grant the supernatural ability to perceive heat fluctuations, tracking heat signatures and anomalies from afar.
• Lara – A refined, nine-tailed golden fox-woman of the Hundred-Beast Federation with long eyelashes, serving as a cunning strategist, advisor, and receptionist. Highly intelligent and calculating, she uses Illusion Magic to project power and manipulates Gauz for political goals to survive her own fear. Now a captive subjected to a body search, she observes the protagonist’s magical experiments with visible distress and confusion.
• Farrell – An elf garrison captain restored by the protagonist, this determined swordsman leads village security with grim resolve and sharp authority. Eager to regain lost honor, he wields a vacuum wind blade and green aura. Shaped by a past defeat by Ryuichi, he respects his King, loathes the beast Gauz, and maintains a tense alliance with the protagonist while tactically protecting his people.
• Mimi – A petite, rabbit-eared Beastman from the Hundred-Beast Federation with translucent skin and high auditory sensitivity. Traumatized by the sound of the world’s life force being consumed, she acts as a sensory receiver and interface for the protagonist. Characterized by extreme fear, intense submissive loyalty, and strong physical reactions to magic, she is currently a captive with her companion, Lara.
• Sylvia – A voluptuous, silver-haired elven swordswoman with blue eyes and a heavily scarred, porcelain body, Crimson Lotus is a battle-hardened Silver-rank vanguard and living weapon. Enshrouded in a dark-red Spirit Shroud, she wields immense strength and mental fortitude. Despite being battered by a grueling sacrifice against Gauz, she remains a devoted protector with deep affection for Ryuichi, John, Nier, and her King.
• Gauz – A giant, steel-furred feline beast-man with golden eyes, a massive mane, and dense muscle armor. This hyper-durable, predatory commander wields the axe Agito and possesses an abnormal sense of smell. Arrogant yet fiercely loyal, he led a 30,000-strong force and views the protagonist as the only leader strong enough to hold his leash. Tied to a past security failure, he is now a charred runaway.
• King – A powerful, authoritative male lead who possesses immense physical strength and magic. He commands absolute loyalty and submission from the inhabitants of the Silver Moon Village.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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