The clash of armor faded into the distance, the soldiers' figures gradually blurring from sight.
In truth, there was no need for excessive worry. They had delayed long enough already.
As long as Leda's sharp mind hadn't failed her, the moment two squads missed their return time, she would definitely send someone out to investigate.
For now, all they had to do was give everything they had to stay alive.
Nolan fixed his gaze on the approaching insect silhouettes. The larvae were easy enough to deal with, but facing two Kindred of Rot charging together was another matter entirely. He didn't dare let his guard slip for even a second.
Nolan narrowed his eyes, sheathed his staff at his waist without hesitation, and raised his hand to fire a blue arrow of light.
Soul Arrow!
The Kindred of Rot immediately sensed how unusual this Golden Needle Knight was. Casting magic without a Glintstone staff was something only legendary masters were said to achieve.
And more than that, the magic he used looked nothing like the spells practiced by the sorcerers of Liurnia of the Lakes.
"Whatever you are, you'll die all the same!"
The Soul Arrow flying straight ahead was easily cleaved apart in midair. The scattered magical energy rippled outward, causing the tree roots to flare with sudden light.
By that faint glow, a blurry figure flashed through the tangled roots at astonishing speed.
With a flick of his wrist, the Claymore in Nolan's hand burst into brilliant blue light, its edge seeming to sharpen in an instant.
Magic Weapon!
Like a cannonball loosed from its barrel, Nolan surged forward, closing the distance to within ten meters. He spread his palm and fired another Soul Arrow without hesitation.
The range was too close. The concentrated magic detonated directly against the Kindred of Rot's halberd, while the expanding shockwave forced the already wounded Kindred of Rot nearby to scramble out of the way.
The explosion carried tremendous force, but it didn't deal much real damage to the one in front. Acting on instinct, it staggered backward.
And then, in the next instant, a blinding blue light filled its vision.
Nolan said nothing. His focus had already sharpened to its peak. That last Soul Arrow had been nothing more than a feint. He hadn't forgotten that both of them still had enough strength left to unleash Pest Threads.
Time seemed to slow.
The distance between them shrank to less than two meters. The moment Nolan saw the creature tightening its grip on the glaive, he decisively activated his skill.
The Kindred of Rot looked down in shock as a figure like a steel beast closed in at terrifying speed.
The Claymore, glowing with a mysterious light, was held to the knight's left side, his stance coiled and ready to strike.
Stamp · Upward Cut!
There was no time for thought. Countless battles had forged Nolan's instincts, and his body flowed through the sequence in one smooth motion.
The greatsword surged upward like a crashing wave, slashing diagonally from lower left to upper right. Its keen edge tore across the insect's chest, carving a horrifying line of blood.
This was reality. The Kindred of Rot were intelligent beings, not rigid game constructs without thought. The instant it realized it couldn't withstand the attack, it chose to retreat.
Before its heel had even fully touched the ground, it ignored the pain and lunged forward again, swinging a heavy punch with all its might.
Thud!!
The fist never reached Nolan's chest.
In that split second, his left hand extended at blinding speed, forming a radiant blade of light, which he swept forward with a casual motion.
Farron Flashsword!
The sound of flesh tearing rang out as two vivid sprays of blood blossomed in the air.
The Kindred of Rot let out a pained whimper. The light blade cut mercilessly between its punching arm and the hand gripping the halberd, while a deep, crimson line simultaneously opened across its throat.
Both arms hit the ground at the same time. The body followed, collapsing as its last trace of life faded away.
Nolan didn't spare the incoming glaive a second glance. He hefted the Claymore onto his shoulder, stepped back once, and cleanly avoided the falling strike.
That earlier Dryleaf palm strike had clearly not given the other insect enough time to recover. This blow was neither fast enough nor vicious enough.
Nolan flexed his wrist smoothly, guiding the Farron Flashsword upward in a clean, rising arc.
Swish—
A sharp whistle tore through the air as a streak of deep blue light swept across the Kindred of Rot's thick neck like a shooting star.
With a soft whoosh, the massive hand gripping the halberd went limp. Its body, taller than any ordinary human, seemed to lose all support. Its knees buckled, it dropped to the ground, and its head rolled away across the roots.
Blood erupted from the severed neck like a fountain, drenching Nolan from head to toe. He turned away without expression, his cold gaze locking onto the revolting insect that was steadily pressing toward his comrades.
At that moment, the dark clouds slowly dispersed, and the bright full moon once again bathed the Haligtree in its light.
Moonlight slipped through gaps in the leaves, illuminating the soldiers and the bloodstained swords and shields in their hands.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Crimson droplets fell steadily from their armor, each one striking with a crisp, hollow sound.
The warriors, soaked in blood, raised their shields. The archers had already drawn the longswords at their waists, bracing themselves for the next assault.
These men and women fought with ferocity, their swings even more savage than those of the shield-bearers.
There was no need for words. Several sword-and-shield soldiers worked in close coordination, forming a tight defensive line.
Whenever a Kindred of Rot tried to use its speed to slip past the shields and strike the rear, it was forced back by blades from the flanks.
It was a crude version of a shield-thrust formation. Their shields were small, and they wielded straight swords. Even when they managed to block an attack, the impact still left them dizzy and shaken.
Without their numerical advantage and solid teamwork, they would have been wiped out long ago.
Even so, the soldiers were already pushed to their limit. Their enemies were too fast, and their blows far too heavy.
The only real difference between the Kindred of Rot and Haligtree Knights was the lack of armor. Even an ordinary straight sword could still threaten them.
Nolan stepped forward with measured strides, Claymore in hand. The roar of battle was deafening, yet his movements remained steady and unhurried.
Moments like this demanded patience, not recklessness.
He took out his Flask of Cerulean Tears and took a small sip, then bit into a piece of pickled turtle neck meat. In an instant, both his stamina and mental energy recovered.
The prolonged, high-intensity fighting had drained him heavily. This brief window to reset his condition was hard-won.
"Damn insects. Being rejected and still refusing to let go. That's just bad manners!"
With a curse, Nolan quickened his pace and charged out from the tree roots, Claymore braced on his shoulder.
From a distance, the wide roots came into view, the two sides locked in brutal combat atop them. Now and then, one could spot basic techniques like thrusts and impaling strikes being used.
Rows of Kindred of Rot sent shield-bearing soldiers flying, yet every time they moved in for the kill, they were driven back at the last moment.