Regaleon: The Forgotten Knight

Regaleon barely managed to steady himself after the guardian’s latest concussive blast had hurled him across the dais like a discarded doll...

His battered body struck the fractured obsidian with a sickening thud. For several agonizing moments, he simply lay there, trying to pull himself together.

Every muscle in him screamed in protest. A dull ache pulsed through every inch of his body, while fresh pain blossomed wherever his armor had already been dented during the battle. Blood trickled steadily from the corner of his lips, splashing onto the black stone beneath him in slow crimson droplets.

The countless dents and fractures marring his once pristine armor stood as silent reminders of every clash he had endured since stepping into the crypt...

His ribs felt as though they had been crushed, his shoulders burned, and even drawing a full breath had become painfully difficult.

Returning to his feet alone felt like an impossible task... Yet Regaleon clenched his teeth.

With a strained groan, he forced trembling arms beneath himself and slowly pushed upward. Every movement sent fresh waves of agony surging through his battered frame, yet he refused to remain on the ground.

And After what felt like an eternity... He finally stood; but barely...

The instant the clouds of dust began to settle, his golden eyes swept frantically across the battlefield.

It was... Chaos. Actually, even that word failed to capture the devastation before him.

The crypt was never a place of order, but now it resembled the aftermath of a cataclysmic war fought by beings far beyond mortal comprehension.

Enormous slabs of obsidian had been torn apart as though struck by divine wrath while deep fissures stretched across the dais in every direction...

The broad staircase leading toward the platform had been split almost completely down its center, a massive trench carving through its length like the scar left behind by an ancient titan...

Shattered fragments of Terracottas littered the battlefield in every direction, their broken armor and severed limbs scattered amongst mountains of rubble...

Fresh craters scarred the platform wherever the six-winged guardian’s Greatsword had fallen, each one serving as a grim reminder of the monster’s overwhelming might.

And amidst that sea of destruction, the three sarcophagi remained untouched. Not a single crack marred their ancient surfaces and like silent monarchs presiding over a ruined kingdom, they stood unmoved while devastation unfolded around them...

Yet they weren’t the only figures occupying the heart of the battlefield.

The six-winged guardian still stood before them.

Towering above the shattered dais, the colossal knight resembled an ancient deity that had awakened for the sole purpose of delivering judgment.

Crimson flames burned steadily behind the narrow slits of its winged helm. Its colossal Greatsword rested against the fractured ground, the edge still radiating a faint metallic hum after unleashing repeated waves of destruction.

Behind it, six magnificent metallic wings slowly unfurled. Silver light danced across every feather while crimson reflections from the Terracottas’ visors mingled with the guardian’s own radiance, giving the ancient construct an almost divine appearance.

It hadn’t moved yet but its mere presence alone weighed upon the battlefield like an invisible mountain...

Regaleon’s expression gradually darkened as a grim realization settled upon him; this was no longer a battle, instead, it had become an execution waiting to happen.

Suppressing the bitterness rising within his chest, he quickly searched for the others and what he saw caused his heart to tighten..

Several meters away, Aureleah knelt upon one knee.

One arm remained wrapped protectively around Sylveris, while the other braced against the ground to keep herself upright.

Their desperate use of ”Shadow Drift” had spared them from being swept away by the guardian’s latest blast but the survival had come at a steep price.

The silver-haired Assassin’s breathing was ragged. Blood continued to seep through countless wounds decorating her slender frame, staining the beastskin garments clinging to her body.

She could still remember the uncertainty that had gripped her the moment she activated ”Shadow Drift.” Actually, she hadn’t be certain whether transporting another person with the Rune would even be possible as she had acted purely on instinct...

Fortunately, it had worked; but unfortunately, the Rune had consumed nearly every fragment of Aether she possessed.

Aureleah could scarcely feel the remaining energy flowing through her pathways and whether she could activate Shadow Drift again remained uncertain.

Even so, the failed Assassin slowly rose to her feet and without hesitation, she stepped in front of Sylveris once more.

Her silver eyes remained sharp despite the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm her, while both hands tightened around the hilts of her twin daggers...

If another Terracotta wished to reach her sister, then it would first have to step over her corpse. That was her conviction...

Not far away, Valmyr struggled to stand.

A violent cough escaped him, followed by a mouthful of blood that splattered across his dented shield.

Of everyone present, he had perhaps endured the greatest burden after Kaeloris as he alone had held back an entire wave of charging Terracottas and his massive Shield bore the evidence...

The once smooth surface of the Soul Essence had become a landscape of dents, fractures, and deep gouges left behind by relentless impacts.

At its very center rested a depression so deep that the metal had nearly folded inward. This was the consequence of one of the mace-wielding Terracottas’ crushing blows.

Had Valmyr failed to activate ”Mountain Stand” in time, that single strike alone would have shattered every bone in his body and the failed Vanguard would never have risen again...

Even now, his breathing remained labored as he dragged himself upright. Yet before he could recover, more Terracottas were already advancing toward him...

A few dozen meters away, Vaelorin slowly stirred.

A painful groan escaped his lips as he struggled to prop himself into a sitting position.

The movement alone was enough to send fresh waves of agony coursing through his battered body; every bone ached, every muscle burned, feeling as though countless blacksmiths had spent hours hammering every inch of his frame without pause.

His breathing came in ragged gasps, each inhale sharper than the last. Blood trickled from several cuts scattered across his body, soaking into the tattered remains of his garments.

His fiery red hair, once tied to his back, now hung loosely over his face, matted with sweat and dust.

Several meters away, his staff lay half-buried beneath shattered fragments of obsidian.

The sight immediately drew his attention and suppressing the pain threatening to overwhelm him, Vaelorin staggered toward it with slow, uneven steps...

Elsewhere, Veyrath looked utterly miserable.

Actually, if misery itself had taken human form, then it would have resembled the failed Alchemist.

His clothes had long since lost their original color beneath layers of dust, blood, and pulverized stone.

His hair stood wildly in every direction, while bruises covered nearly every exposed patch of skin and even his bronze cauldron, which had once filled him with confidence, now rested beside him like an oversized piece of scrap metal.

Throughout the battle, he had desperately swung the enormous Soul Essence at every Terracotta foolish enough to approach.

Each strike had landed with impressive force and each strike had accomplished... Absolutely nothing.

And that realization had nearly broken his spirit.

Against ordinary opponents, his Soul Essence possessed considerable weight but against constructs rivaling Rank One Animas... It might as well have been a cooking pot.

Therefore, Veyrath had long abandoned any thoughts of defeating his enemies as his sole objective became surviving long enough to see another breath.

Truthfully, luck had also played a greater role in his survival than skill. Every time death had reached out to claim him, circumstance had somehow intervened to snatch him from its jaws.

Most recently, the guardian’s devastating shockwave had quite literally saved his life by knocking both him and his attacker away...

Simply remembering that fact caused the failed Alchemist to let out a bitter laugh. Clearly, the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him...

Not far away, Caelestra had fared marginally better than the others.

Considering she wasn’t a frontline combatant, the failed Merchant had performed far beyond anyone’s expectations.

Her enormous Treasure Chest rested beside her, its reinforced corners chipped and dented from repeated collisions.

Again and again, she had swung the cumbersome Soul Essence like an oversized hammer, relying purely upon its incredible weight to force the Terracottas backward.

She hadn’t destroyed a single construct nor had she expected to, but every swing had bought her precious seconds. Seconds that often meant the difference between life and death.

But even those precious seconds had demanded an enormous price...

Blood stained the sleeves of her clothes, her palms had become raw from gripping the heavy chest, and her shoulders were trembling uncontrollably from exhaustion.

Every breath she drew was heavier than the last. Yet she refused to release her Soul Essence because If another Terracotta decided to approach, she intended to swing it again...

Even if her arms gave out afterward...

Regaleon’s gaze slowly swept across every member of the cohort, assessing their state.

No one remained completely unscathed and none of them possessed the strength they had entered the crypt with.

Every face was pale, every movement was sluggish, and every breath was labored. And even those still standing were doing so through little more than sheer determination...

A bitter expression gradually settled upon the failed Knight’s face.

He had actually underestimated the crypt; no, not just him... All of them had.

The warning signs had been there from the very beginning; the impossibly intact architecture, the countless Terracottas, and the overwhelming pressure lingering throughout the ancient hall.

Every clue had pointed toward the existence of something far beyond their ability to overcome, yet they had chosen to ignore them... Or perhaps, they had simply convinced themselves that overcoming the first wave of Terracottas meant the crypt’s defenses had already been exhausted.

But looking back now, that conviction seemed laughable...

In truth, even calling their earlier encounter a victory felt dishonest as the Terracottas weren’t truly defeated.

Instead, for reasons none of them understood, the constructs had simply ceased fighting after witnessing the corpse within the coffin.

Whether it had been reverence, fear, or simply obedience toward some ancient command or presence, none of them knew.

But one thing had become painfully clear, they had mistaken mercy for victory...

Regaleon’s gaze drifted toward the surviving Terracottas.

One after another, the ancient constructs rose from the rubble. Some were missing arms while others bore cracked armor or shattered helmets, but they continued moving with unwavering discipline.

The six-winged guardian’s repeated strikes had destroyed many of them. However, their numbers was still overwhelming.

The surviving constructs steadily regrouped, forming orderly ranks once more as though the previous battle had never occurred and once again, the rhythmic sound of armored footsteps echoed across the crypt...

Regaleon watched them while thinking deeply. If they continued fighting, nothing would change because they lacked the strength needed to destroy the remaining Terracottas.

Also, they possessed no strategy capable of defeating the six-winged guardian and truthfully, he wasn’t even certain such a strategy existed...

His gaze rose toward the towering knight once more.

The colossal guardian stood motionless before the three sarcophagi, its Greatsword resting quietly against the fractured dais.

Even after witnessing its terrifying power firsthand, Regaleon still couldn’t imagine a realistic way of bringing it down.

The difference between them wasn’t merely one of strength, it was an insurmountable gulf and continuing this battle would accomplish nothing more than throwing their lives away.

It would be no different from pouring a single cup of water onto a house consumed by an inferno; meaningless gesture, one destined to fail.

Regaleon slowly closed his eyes and drew a long, steady breath. When he finally opened them again, the hesitation within his gaze had vanished.

A decision had been made; there would be no glorious last stand, and no reckless attempt to accomplish the impossible.

Survival came first, always.

His grip tightened around the shaft of his halberd. Then, in a firm voice that carried across the battered battlefield, the failed Knight spoke.

”Everyone...” His golden eyes swept across each of his companions. ”We’re retreating...”