Chapter 345: The Cost of a Few (2)
Days had passed since the war began.
Countless lives had already been lost.
And amidst the ceaseless battle, no one noticed the blood slowly rising from the corpses left to rot—now nothing more than empty, dried-out husks.
That blood rose into the air, forming a colossal celestial mass that hovered over the battlefield.
It had grown so massive that even the warriors below began to notice.
The blood-soaked orb spun slowly for a long time...
...until it exploded—at her signal.
Blood rained from the skies like a crimson storm.
But those drops were not water—they were concentrated blood that exploded the moment they touched their targets.
The fog gradually turned crimson, colored by the sheer number of deaths caused by the blood rain detonating across the battlefield, slaughtering hundreds at once.
The most terrifying part was how the blood of the dead would gather again, forming yet another blood sphere, repeating the cycle over and over in a brutal process orchestrated by a single person.
"Ah... how boring."
Sitting at the bow of one of the enemy ships, unfazed by the cries and wails around her, the Blood Queen Evelyn complained about the situation.
The woman who once emerged naked from a man’s stomach now wore full black armor. Her black hair and clean face exposed the spider tattoo on her neck.
As she sighed, a bolt of lightning shaped like a massive arrow struck and destroyed the ship to her left, yet she didn’t react.
Her crimson eyes scanned the battlefield until they locked onto a man with neatly-combed blond hair holding a massive bow—the one responsible for the earlier strike: Ivar Valerion.
"An SS rank combatant..."
Her gaze shifted again, locking onto a woman in ragged clothes wearing a golden helmet and sporting red hair.
"Another SS rank fighter..."
Aside from them, there were only the Sunlight geezers.
"None of them are appealing."
With a wave of her hand, another blood sphere formed from the lives still pouring out around her.
Among the Empire’s ships was one belonging to the Moonlight family, carrying their current Lord—Frost Moonlight.
At first, he seemed intriguing to her, but she quickly lost interest.
"He’ll die after just one or two rounds of play."
Frost, who had only recently reached S rank, wasn’t attractive enough, and orders had been given to keep him alive—someone else wanted him.
"This is boring."
With a frown, Evelyn questioned why she had come at all.
"Would’ve been better to stay with my toys."
"I see the Blood Queen has already grown bored of this battle."
Evelyn turned to see a large, heavily bandaged man appear behind her out of nowhere.
"And who are you?"
She looked him up and down, half-smiling.
’He’ll last a while... but he’s ugly.’
As if reading her thoughts, the hulking man introduced himself with haste.
"My name is Gvardiol, the empyrean assigned to Lord Godfrey."
"Empyrean? You?"
Evelyn was surprised. The odd man before her was clearly SS rank, putting him on equal footing with her and the other lords.
Gvardiol nodded.
"That’s right."
It made little sense for someone of his strength to be just an empyrean, but Evelyn quickly lost interest once she realized they were on the same side.
"So what brought you here, Empyrean Gvardiol? I believe I made myself very clear when I told those damned lords to stay at least three ships away from me."
She complained loudly as Gvardiol apologized with a humorous grin on his grotesque face.
"My apologies, my apologies... that archer blew up my ship a while ago, so I ended up here by accident."
"Then leave."
She casually waved her hand at Gvardiol like he was an annoying bug.
But he remained where he stood, staring out at the chaotic battlefield rocked by explosions and screaming corpses swallowed by the sea.
The Empire’s army kept advancing thanks to their overwhelming numbers. The Ultras were barely half their size, and their only hope was to rely on their elite fighters. Alongside the Pontiff and Evelyn stood Madam A, the Hollow Smough, and Gvardiol himself.
"Strange, isn’t it? How life constantly reminds us that human lives are never equal."
Gvardiol gestured toward the ever-growing number of corpses.
"We’ve slaughtered them, butchered their kin, razed their lands... and they barely reacted."
"But now—now they launch a war of their own just because we kidnapped a few children who don’t even make up 0.1% of their population."
He laughed, continuing:
"An emperor’s son. A lord’s heir. A church’s chosen. Names that carried so much weight for their leaders that they overshadowed the tens of thousands of other lives lost without a second thought."
"I wonder how the common people of that Empire feel, being forced into a war by orders from people who’ve never even glanced their way. Hehehehe—"
"Hey."
Gvardiol’s ramble was cut off by Evelyn, whose suffocating crimson aura flared in his face.
"Didn’t I tell you to leave already?"
Faced with her crushing pressure, Gvardiol showed no signs of distress. On the contrary—he seemed to welcome it, laughing loudly.
"My apologies, my apologies! I’ll vacate your personal space, milady."
Despite the polite words, Gvardiol answered her pressure with his own, unleashing a wave of dark aura.
But he wasn’t foolish enough to provoke an internal fight.
Not yet.
With his filthy smile lingering, Gvardiol left Evelyn’s ship, leaving her alone once more.
"This is exactly why I hate those highborn bastards."
Evelyn sighed, continuing to conjure more blood spheres.
"I’d better find someone to play with... or they won’t like what I’ll do next."
She attacked from afar, while the Pontiff held the front line.
Though the Empire was steadily advancing thanks to sheer numbers...
Their losses weren’t insignificant. Worse, their pace was far too slow for a mission that demanded urgency—especially when trying to rescue a group of youths they didn’t even know were still alive.
The words Gvardiol had spat out earlier hadn’t been wrong...
How many husbands had left their wives behind?
How many fathers had hugged their children for the last time before marching into war?
How many dreamers had their hopes stolen, dying in vain—blown apart by a stray cannon shell, or butchered by an enemy whose face they never even saw?
This was the war the Empire’s leaders had forced upon their people out of nowhere.
It confirmed what Gvardiol said...
Human lives were never equal.
"What’s taking you so long?"
Without warning, the entire atmosphere shifted. A violent thunderstorm howled into existence, descending from the heavens above.
"Your enemies stand before you... so why aren’t they dead yet?"
With every word, serpents of lightning exploded across the sky, as all eyes turned to the terrifying aura descending upon them.
A single man stood there—clad in majestic golden armor from head to toe, wielding a fearsome spear in one hand, and another forged of pure lightning in the other.
The Emperor—Maekar Valerion—had finally entered the battlefield.
His golden eyes stared down upon the Ultras below.
With a simple gesture, bolts of thunder rained down like furious serpents, crashing upon the Ultras’ fleet and obliterating them in brutal fashion.
The lightning strikes continued, one after another, as Maekar incinerated his enemies without mercy .. single-handedly turning the tide of battle.
"Let’s end this farce... once and for all."
With those words, Maekar descended upon the Hollows and the remaining lords, while the Empire unleashed its full might in a final, merciless push.