Chapter Fifty-Seven: A Futile Victory

Colonel Rayleigh’s arrival drew nearly every enemy crossbow, musket, and spell toward him in an instant—countless ranged attacks rained down upon his not particularly tall figure, their flickering magical beams engulfing him completely in a heartbeat. The sheer density and saturation of the assault caught us all off guard; we stood rooted to the spot, helplessly watching our commander endure the onslaught, unable to even fathom how we might aid him.

Within mere moments, Colonel Rayleigh’s life ebbed away by nearly a quarter. Fortunately, at that critical juncture, he invoked “Blessing of the Holy Light”—the exclusive skill of a paladin. A radiant aura, blessed by the Supreme Deity, enveloped him, absorbing every blow that came his way. Until the magical protection reached its limit, nothing could threaten the colonel’s life.

The Blessing of the Holy Light bought us precious time to react. Immediately, someone shouted, “All healers, restore the colonel’s health!” Others responded at once: priests, shamans, druids, paladins—various healing magics flashed across the colonel’s form, and soon our commander was once again vigorous and robust. By the time the holy aura faded, his life had been nearly fully replenished.

“Keep healing the colonel, don’t stop! Don’t let them get close to him—stall for as long as you can!” The voice rang out again. I looked up; sure enough, it was Foshiao, the swordsman, issuing orders as he dashed to the frontline. His blades whirled into a violent storm—but alas, he was swiftly felled by an undead wielding a warhammer.

On the battlefield, warriors are never alone. When a person displays courage, all those around are inspired, their spirits inflamed.

After a string of defeats and in dire straits, many had lost all hope, their courage to fight drained. Some of our spacewalkers had already abandoned the battle, traversing planes and leaving the field behind. Others were similarly demoralized, lacking the will to fight.

Yet now Foshiao’s words rekindled hope in those who remained, prompting them to rally and rejoin the fray.

“Hold on! Time is almost up!” someone shouted, “Less than five minutes left!”

Indeed, though the battle was lost beyond recovery, we still had a mission: to keep the enemy trapped here for a full day, buying time for the Allied Army at the rear to organize their defenses. This hope was what sustained the spacewalkers, stopping them from abandoning the fight prematurely.

This final time limit also spurred the enemy to a last frenzy. The ranged attackers forsook their own safety, letting our counterattacks cut them down, all in their desperate effort to destroy the colonel.

Their melee fighters charged with equal ferocity. Each opponent before me was wild with excitement and anxiety, their only goal to strike down our healers, slowing our efforts to save the colonel, heedless of their own safety.

Moments ago, a demon berserker recklessly rushed at Krado, the tauren shaman, first smashing his life totem with an axe, then interrupting his healing wave, and finally hacking at the poor tauren mercilessly. I stood behind him, stabbing again and again, trying to draw his attention and save Krado’s life. But it was futile; the berserker never glanced at me, not until he finished off Krado and, satisfied, let me kill him.

The battle became unbearably brutal; I hardly knew how to contend with these madmen. I almost wished they’d strike me instead, so a priest or paladin might live a little longer—but such wishes were impossible.

Now, the true battlefield was no longer the clash of soldiers; it was centered solely on Colonel Rayleigh’s life. We no longer fought for kills or territory, but for the green bar of life above the colonel’s head.

The colonel’s health fluctuated wildly, reflecting the hardship of this struggle. Never before had I seen such a multitude of spells cast upon a single person; countless magical auras shimmered around him, obscuring his very identity. His health trembled, each change tugging at our hearts.

A magical lightning struck with a critical hit, instantly costing the colonel over five hundred points—a few timid comrades even gasped aloud. Yet in the next moment, a “Hymn of Life” spell restored four hundred points, and many sighed in relief.

We could hardly expect the enemy and our healing team to coordinate, letting the colonel’s health fluctuate in any predictable pattern. Often, attacks came in waves, his health plunging; at other times, a dozen healing spells would land together, and his vitality soared. Who would have thought such simple numbers could be so thrilling? I wondered if anyone with a weak heart might succumb right here.

“This is so nerve-wracking…” Xiange Yayi nervously patted his chest, trying to calm himself. “…It’s more exciting than the stock market. Oh…” Just as he looked up, three musket shots struck the colonel, the numbers plummeted, startling him. Luckily, two healing waves quickly enveloped the colonel, restoring some of his lost health, and Xiange relaxed slightly.

“Bah, nonsense!” Feiyin, nearby, immediately furrowed her brows and cursed. “Can’t you see his health is still dropping? Sooner or later it’ll hit rock bottom! If the stock market crashed like this, I’d rip your crow mouth to shreds!” With that, the fierce mage threw out two ice storms. A few unlucky “Giant Bone Undead” suffered her wrath, frozen into popsicles.

I didn’t quite understand their banter, but one thing was clear: no matter how hard we tried to heal Colonel Rayleigh, his life continued to dwindle amidst the relentless turbulence. The enemy’s strategy against our healers was working; our healing pace had noticeably slowed.

“One last minute! Hang in there!” Foshiao’s invigorating voice echoed again, though this time it came from behind us. I glanced back—our cool-headed swordsman was now ragged, weapons battered, evidently having made several desperate runs from the resurrection point. He must have suffered greatly in the recent carnage.

Every second of this last minute felt like a year. With each tick, Colonel Rayleigh’s health dropped by hundreds. For us, time had become the greatest enemy—its existence was hateful. If only we could somehow make time vanish in an instant, we would spare no effort to try.

“Thirty seconds left!” I could no longer tell where the voice was coming from. The countdown calls rose and fell, and time seemed to condense into a tangible river, flowing slowly before our eyes.

“…Twenty-five, twenty-four…” Longbow Shoots the Sun had abandoned fighting, desperately casting healing waves and shouting the count.

“…Twenty-two, twenty-one…” Formation of Wild Geese muttered softly as he healed.

“…One hundred twenty, one hundred nineteen…” Er… time seemed to have a unique significance for Ding Ding Little Spear.

“…Come on, your delay is way too much!” The Yangtze Delta couldn’t help but knock the half-orc warlock on the head.

Time still flowed too slowly. With fifteen seconds left, Colonel Rayleigh’s life was down to just over seven hundred points; by any calculation, he could hardly last ten more seconds.

No matter how much I admired him, I no longer hoped this great warrior could survive. What pained me most was that, even sacrificing himself as a barrier, he could not defend his honor or hold the enemy at bay.

“He’s almost done for, push harder!” someone jeered, mocking the colonel’s fate. Rage burned within me. One sword, two, three—I lost myself, not even knowing what the person looked like after I killed him.

Ten seconds, three hundred points of life—time slipping ever closer to death.

The colonel still fought; from his face, I saw no fear. He bore his destiny, yet a few seconds’ difference might render his death meaningless.

Despair overwhelmed me. This would be a fruitless defeat—not only had we failed to vanquish the enemy, we hadn’t even accomplished our mission to delay them. When people invest their passion and blood, even their lives, defeat is all the more bitter.

But my despair came too soon. I underestimated my spacewalker comrades—their resilience, their dedication, their keen perception, their boundless creativity.

With ten seconds to go, six paladins clad in heavy silver armor stepped forth, converging from all directions to form an impenetrable ring, enclosing Colonel Rayleigh at the center.

At that moment, the six raised their left hands high, chanting loudly the sacred incantations of the Supreme Deity. Six golden holy auras descended from the sky, encircling these devout knights.

“Blessing of the Holy Light”—the paladin’s protective spell—played an unimaginable role at the battle’s final hour, granting us diamond-precious seconds. All attacks striking the aura failed; until the shield was shattered, it protected the casters—and Colonel Rayleigh within their wall of flesh.

These six paladins were only just past level forty; their magic, though noble, was nowhere near the colonel’s power. Facing the storm of ranged attacks, none could tell how long their shield might last—perhaps five seconds, perhaps only three. When it was gone, only their bodies would defend our commander.

They knew this, yet acted without hesitation or regret.

Among them, one stood out: his stature was particularly massive, towering a head above the others—his head so large his neck was barely visible, raised proudly toward the sky.

Throughout the history of the Farvi Continent, perhaps only one paladin bore such a unique appearance. By chance, I knew him well.

It was none other than the tauren warrior Niu Million, who had stumbled into the paladin’s profession after being forced into a transfer on the notice board—our friend Niu Million.

He stood with his back to us, facing tens of thousands of enemies, bellowing defiantly. Who could have imagined that, just days ago, he was a berserker, crying and making a scene during his profession transfer?

Besides Niu Million, another familiar face was among the six knights—a human named “A Lifetime Pursuing Dreams.” We’d met him exploring the Forest Tomb; then he led another adventuring party, and only because his team was too large did he hand Krado and Black Aurora—those two dialect-speaking fellows—over to us. Now, “A Lifetime Pursuing Dreams” was level forty-seven, and I envied his ever-excellent gear—who knows where he acquired such treasures.

Four seconds—the holy aura lasted only four seconds before shattering. Dense spells and arrows tore through the shield, savagely assailing the six. In an instant, their lives, together with their immeasurable merits and honor, reached their end; six bodies fell silently forward, closing a cycle with no regrets.

Four seconds was enough—the healers did not squander the knights’ sacrifice. Colonel Rayleigh’s life soared back to fifteen hundred points—a number sure to dash the enemy’s hopes.

I can no longer recall how I survived the battle’s last six seconds. Our enemies attacked with renewed frenzy, but behind their zeal was the despair of surrender.

We gave them no further chance; the healing team fulfilled their duty, sustaining the colonel’s life past the final time limit. I stood among the passionate, proud crowd, the countdown echoing in my ears: “…four, three, two, one…” As the last number rang out, a deep humming sounded from the top of Storm Fortress; a vast gray magic circle had appeared above. All eyes turned skyward, anxiety rippling through the ranks of the Doomsday Empire.

Suddenly, a brilliant blue pillar of light descended from the magic circle, bringing with it a legion from every race of the Farvi Continent. This was a powerful, swift, well-trained force—the lowest among them were level fifty warriors.

In an instant, the tide of battle within the fortress was reversed. The Doomsday Empire’s forces retreated, finally abandoning the walls for the open field.

Regrettably, even in this moment of salvation, we could not save Colonel Rayleigh. Just as reinforcements arrived and victory seemed assured, a sinister black lightning bolt lashed out from behind the enemy lines, striking the colonel like a venomous serpent. All our tireless effort was undone; the green bar above the colonel’s head drained away, leaving only a faint red shadow.

At the other end of the lightning, the troll chieftain, the evil dark warlock “Hand of the Void” Mlak, revealed his grim visage.

“By the authority of the Doomsday Ruler, grant death’s blessing to his enemy!” With these words, a black shadow rose from the ground, enveloping Mlak, then gradually vanished into the void.

Colonel Rayleigh was dead, my mind plunged into chaos.

We had fought and struggled all day, sacrificed countless lives to defend one man, and just as we thought victory was within reach, he fell before us so easily—what thoughts could I possibly have?

Death came too suddenly for me to process.

The mission complete, my spacewalker comrades, their work done, filed into the teleportation array and left the battlefield where they’d fought so hard. These world-weary travelers, seasoned in life and death, would not be moved by anyone’s passing. They understood life far better than I—far wiser, far more detached.

Only I remained, staring blankly at the colonel’s cold body. Even in death, he stood sword in hand, upright and heroic, facing the enemy with pride.

“Farewell, warriors, my fearless comrades, my brothers-in-arms…” In his final moment, our colonel spoke to us with calm, steady voice, a proud smile on his face, as if his death was a happiness.

“…To die at your side is my honor…”

The sky’s crimson glow was finally gathered into the embrace of the earth, leaving only a pale remnant at the horizon, outlining the colonel’s body as a fading silhouette.

At last, I tore my gaze from that silhouette, turned, and walked slowly toward the teleportation array.

Farewell, colonel… I whispered in my heart:

…To have lived at your side was my honor, too.

The portal opened before me, blue light flashing…