Chapter 59: Three Versus Three

“Stop!” As the three of us completed our mission and were making our way back to the city, I suddenly grabbed Niu Baiwan and Longbow Shoots the Sun, halting them in their tracks.

“What’s wrong?” Niu Baiwan asked in confusion.

“Shh...” I cut him off, crouching low as I focused my gaze ahead.

Three unfamiliar figures had silently appeared on the steppe before us, approaching at an unhurried pace. They were too far away for me to see their names clearly—only two blurred, uneven rows of small letters hovered above each of their heads. One thing was certain: no wild animal on the plains would ever have such bizarrely arranged names.

The length and arrangement of their names were meaningless compared to what truly mattered: all three names were written in a vivid, blood-red hue, glowing faintly. Even at this distance, that crimson color radiated a sense of imminent danger.

You see, the color of a being’s name reflected the state of their soul. Docile, harmless creatures wore a reassuring pale green above their heads; ordinary herbivores with some capacity for defense appeared in yellow or brown. The deeper the color, the greater the hostility and threat to you. If you ever saw someone’s—or something’s—name in red, you’d be wise to keep your weapon within easy reach, for a fight was already upon you.

Naturally, the names of citizens from the Empire of the End Times appeared just as red to us. War had set us as irreconcilable enemies, and we had to be ever vigilant for intruders. The three silhouettes before us were, without a doubt, invaders from the Empire’s territory.

“What do you see?” Longbow Shoots the Sun asked, eyes wide, craning his neck as he tried to spot what I had seen.

“Three people from the Empire,” I replied, “...coming this way.”

“Where? Where?” Niu Baiwan called out loudly, curiosity getting the better of him. “...Why can’t I see anything?”

I unfastened the “telescope” from my belt and handed it to him. “Look through this and you’ll see.”

By the time the telescope had passed through Niu Baiwan and Longbow Shoots the Sun and returned to my hands, the three figures had drawn much nearer. I could finally make out their identities:

On the right strode a level-forty-three demon berserker. He was slightly leaner than Niu Baiwan, clad in bronze armor that slanted from his left shoulder, tightly encasing his left chest, entire left arm, and abdomen. His right shoulder and arm, however, were bare, exposing thick, crimson muscle—a testament to his formidable strength. A long-handled cleaver was slung across his back—a rare weapon whose unwieldy length made it slow to swing, but its powerful strikes and extended reach could easily catch the careless off guard.

Legend had it that demons were a race plagued by a severe gender imbalance. Driven by their lust for power and innate urge for destruction, demon males vastly outnumbered females, the ratio exceeding six to one. This made it exceedingly unlikely for males to secure a mate, placing immense pressure on the race’s continuation. This peculiarity was evident in the demon berserker’s name: “Male, elite university graduate, city resident, healthy, handsome, no bad habits, owns a home, annual salary of a hundred thousand.”

His name, though not as bombastic or endless as Niu Baiwan’s, was still impressively long. I had no idea what “elite university” or “city resident” meant, but “healthy and handsome” was clear enough. Obviously, his parents had been far-sighted, branding his name with a desperate plea for a mate at birth, hoping he’d win the race for survival right from the start.

On the far left was a female vampire with an angular face and short purple hair. Blue-black shimmering eyeshadow ringed her large, alluring eyes, and two tiny white fangs peeked from her lower lip. She wore a vivid red suit of leather armor, two slender rapiers crisscrossed behind her back, and a silver moon lute hung at her waist. Her ensemble was so eclectic it was impossible to guess her profession.

She was a level-forty-four sword dancer. Perhaps you’ve never heard the term—there’s no shame in that, for it’s a rare class.

Sword dancers are an advanced form of bard, champions of artistic beauty and possessors of musical magic. Bards have three possible paths: those with stirring, heroic voices become “Northern Minstrels,” inspiring their comrades with grand ballads and granting them various buffs; those who favor catchy tunes and lighthearted melodies may become “Jesters,” charming enemies and cursing them with debuffs in battle.

In group adventures, both “Northern Minstrels” and Jesters are highly sought-after companions. Though their own damage output might be limited, their songs can greatly amplify the party’s strength—used wisely, their presence is far more than the sum of its parts.

By contrast, the “Sword Dancer” is the bard’s lone wolf. Most of their battle songs affect only themselves, boosting their speed, strength, and other stats, with little benefit to teammates. Moreover, their deepening mastery of music enables them to wield the art of the “sword dance,” a rhythmic, graceful martial art. Any ordinary longsword in their hands becomes a weapon of devastating power. Legendary sword dancers are said to wield even the weakest blade to destructive effect, rivaling magical artifacts.

Yet, it seemed this female vampire had become a sword dancer not by the muse’s blessing, but by necessity—she’d picked the class that didn’t require loud singing.

“Stammers, Off-Key, and Forgets the Lyrics”—that was her name. I must admit, it takes remarkable courage to choose bard as a profession with a name like that. When that person is a woman, “formidable” is the only word that fits.

Between them walked a level-forty-four undead mage named “This Person is Dead. Burn Paper for Affairs”—a fitting name for one of the undead. His pale blue robe and staff, which occasionally scattered icy crystals, marked him as a specialist in ice magic, much like Feiyin.

But those weren’t the only strange names above their heads. Beneath each name was a long string of identical red letters: “Ruthless and Red, Upright and Strict, Law is Law, Violators Prosecuted, Empire of the End Times, Withered Lands Township Patrol, Red-Armband Squad.” It took me a long time to realize this must be their guild name—a name so outlandish it left me speechless.

The three adventurers from the Withered Lands were drawing near. In two or three minutes, they’d surely discover us.

“What do we do?” I looked to my companions, whispering the question.

“What’s there to think about? Just kill them all!” Longbow Shoots the Sun licked his lips in excitement, his bearded, ruddy face breaking into a wicked grin.

For a fanatical dwarven zealot, the answer was obvious. Whether it was three enemies, thirty, or three hundred, this reckless war maniac would charge forward, club swinging, “hmm-hmm-hah!” until his mana was spent... and, let’s be honest, end up beaten to a pulp.

Niu Baiwan didn’t act rashly. He borrowed my telescope once more, observing the three for a while before returning it and scratching his head awkwardly.

“They’re... three or four levels below us,” he murmured reverently... then hoisted his obsidian pillar onto his shoulder, beaming with the joy of a bully eager to pick on the weak.

Behold the “knight among knights”—the most virtuous, noble, and elegant the continent of Falvey has to offer. Sometimes I wonder, if the Withered Lands’ warriors were half as devious as this guy, the continent would’ve long been theirs.

We charged at the three unfortunate souls, already treating them as easy pickings—hardly arrogance, for among “Voidwalkers,” a difference of three or four levels meant a vast advantage in soul power. We outmatched them in attack, defense, and vitality, and our equipment was clearly superior as well. In such a fight, losing would be unthinkable.

As expected, the three from the Empire panicked at our sudden appearance, fumbling into defensive stances. Their inexperience was obvious—the lightly armored mage foolishly took the front, while the berserker and sword dancer hovered behind, failing to shield their comrade.

Thanks to my wind spirit boots, I surged ahead, sword poised, and launched a “Mighty Charge” directly at the sword dancer.

Seeing me approach, the vampire girl quickly began to sing a brief battle song. Her voice was ethereal and sweet, clear and on-key, showing no sign of the name she bore. In truth, her unfortunate name was nothing but a misnomer.

With her song, the sword dancer’s body swayed gracefully. Even as her enemy, I couldn’t deny her elegance; her supple waist twisted rhythmically, every muscle flowing like a blossom in the breeze.

As her dance intensified, her form began to blur, trailing a wavering afterimage behind her—a skill called the “Vortex Dance,” which heightened her agility and created mirages to dodge attacks.

But no amount of technique could bridge the gulf in soul levels between us. My sword struck true, blood spraying as the vampire lost over a hundred health points. She cried out and lashed back with both blades.

Her swordsmanship was indeed unique; no matter how fierce her assault, she maintained an air of artistry, weaving beauty into each cruel attack. In mere moments, I had been grazed on my shoulder, elbow, and left flank.

Yet, without enough power behind her strikes, her dazzling moves were just for show—little more than superficial wounds. Relying on my sturdy armor and powerful defense, I pressed my advantage, brawling head-on. In a contest of brute force, this crude, relentless style was most effective. After a few rounds, I had seized the upper hand, forcing the vampire sword dancer to rely on her agility to break away and gulp down healing potions, barely able to stay in the fight.

“Geoffritz, you scoundrel! Bullying a girl three levels below you!” Niu Baiwan taunted me loudly, all while gleefully swinging his pillar at the demon berserker—never mind that he himself out-leveled the poor, mate-hungry demon by over four levels. I couldn’t see what gave him the right to call me “shameless.”

In the moment Niu Baiwan was distracted by his own jeers, the demon berserker roared, a surge of power erupting from his body. His already massive muscles swelled, veins bulging, eyes blazing a deep, searing red as if blood might drip from them at any instant.

“Come on, let’s fight to the death!” he bellowed, charging at Niu Baiwan. His long-handled cleaver whirled with newfound speed and force.

Berserkers earned their name for a reason—their signature skill, “Rage,” allowed them to dramatically increase their attack power and speed for a brief time, at the cost of greatly reduced defense.

The demon, now in a berserk frenzy, hacked viciously at Niu Baiwan, hoping his ultimate move would turn the tide. But as he brought his blade down, Niu Baiwan quickly muttered a spell, raised his left hand, and a golden shield of holy magic enveloped him.

Clang! The blade struck the shield with a harsh, scraping sound, failing to break through.

Niu Baiwan stood unscathed.

“Forgot to mention...” he said, taking full advantage as the berserker’s defense plummeted, “...I’m actually a paladin!” He hammered away with his obsidian pillar, grinning slyly all the while.

Of the three enemies, the most miserable was surely the undead mage. Against Longbow Shoots the Sun, all his prior experience fighting spellcasters was useless. I guessed it was his first time being chased by a zealot wielding a club, and the dwarf’s speed defied belief. The mage dared not attempt any spell with even a slightly long cast time, for fear of being clobbered mid-cast.

At last, “This Person is Dead. Burn Paper for Affairs” seized a rare opening, freezing Longbow Shoots the Sun in place with an “Ice Lock.” He exhaled, preparing to retreat and whittle down the zealot from afar. But Longbow Shoots the Sun crossed his arms, chanting loudly as a blade of holy light shot from his hands, chasing the undead mage down—a classic zealot spell, “Divine Blade.”

Whether at range or in melee, Longbow Shoots the Sun was equally adept, leaving the mage utterly helpless.

It was a completely one-sided fight; we’d held the advantage from the outset. If things continued this way, it wouldn’t be long before we claimed victory in a bloodbath. As we lost ourselves in the heat of battle, dreaming of the glory to come, I suddenly sensed a strange ripple in the air behind me—a chill breeze brushed my neck, and a sharp warning flashed through my mind.