CH220 Fury Army's Fangs

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The battle between the Fury Army Archers and the Goblin Archers—and their higher variant, the Goblin Hunters—did not end when both sides' infantry clashed.

If anything, it only intensified.

The Fury Army held the advantage in skill and sheer number of arrows loosed, but the goblins possessed something equally dangerous—superior defense, provided by the Goblin Priest and its subordinate Lesser Priests.

The Vanguard squadron, unfortunately, had no Barrier Mage to match. The Vanguard was built for speed and mobility. Mages couldn't keep up without slowing them down, and besides, they were far too valuable to waste outside the main force.

That was why the First Company lacked a clean defense against the endless rain of goblin arrows.

Instead, they had to resort to crude means—blasting volleys out of the sky, using personal shields/items or even relying on the vegetation to block incoming bolts.

Even so, men still fell.

The Colonel stood further up the slope, eyes locked on the midpoint of the hill where the Fury infantry had met the Goblin Fighters and Goblin Warriors. He immediately recognized the formation's intent—and their impending success.

So he made his own decision.

"Disperse!"

The Colonel's order carried over the chaos, sharp and undeniable.

At once, the Fury archers scattered.

Unlike the field archers of the main force, the ones attached to the Vanguard were different—deadly specialists trained not for mass volleys, but for precise, targeted kills amidst the battlefield's chaos.

They didn't normally fire in groups. Instead, they melted into cover, stalking their prey until the perfect opportunity presented itself. They were not mere soldiers.

They were predators.

They were the Fangs of the Fury family.

Unlike goblins, who favored reckless, overt shooting, the Fangs thrived in the dark, where each arrow was death unseen.

As the infantry tore apart the goblin frontlines, the Fangs seized the chance. They advanced under the blanket of the goblins' own volley, closing in unseen on the Archers and Hunters in the rear.

And then, the massacre began.

Goblin Archers and Hunters fell one after another.

The protective cloaks casted onto the goblins by the Goblin Priest and Lesser Priests made things more difficult, but the Fangs were experts at single-hit kills. Their arrows struck with such precision and force that the magical barriers collapsed after no more than three strikes each.

It wasn't that the Goblin Priest and his subordinates didn't wish to replenish their protections…

It was that they couldn't.

Their hands were already full—locked in a deadly clash against the Colonel himself.

The Colonel stepped forward, crossing into the range of the Goblin Priest and its Lesser Priests.

A suffocating aura burst from him. As a Late-stage Veteran, his pressure alone was enough to lock down the priests, freezing their ability to act freely and preventing them from interfering with the slaughter of their kin.

He spared a glance downslope. The Fury infantry had broken through the goblin frontline and were already pushing toward the village to link up with the Fangs.

The Colonel sighed—relieved, but also faintly annoyed.

That damned Major… You just couldn't hold back. You had to use your Berserk Mode.

Berserkers. A warrior archetype infamous across the battlefield. Their strength and physical attributes grew explosively when certain conditions were met.

For Crimson Berserkers, the trigger was blood. The more they were drenched in it, the stronger they became. It was precisely why this class was considered terrifyingly suited for war.

But nothing came without a price.

Crimson Berserkers were prone to bloodlust, losing themselves in a haze where friend and foe blurred into one crimson blur. Worse, they were highly vulnerable to mental control techniques—exactly the kind priests excelled at.

That was why the Major had been placed in this unit, and why he remained under the Colonel's command. The Colonel's unit needed a weapon of raw devastation. While only someone of the Colonel's level could restrain him should the Major spiral out of control.

One side found use on the battlefield, the other gain a strong card to be played as needed.

Plus, their opposing characters meant they managed each other's extremes to balance out the nature of the unit's leadership.

The Major's blood-soaked advance meant two things:

It made life easier for the Fangs, drawing goblin eyes toward the berserker rampage so the shadowy hunters could strike from the shadows between buildings.

It also created a new urgency. If the goblin priests managed to seize the Major's mind, the battlefield would turn catastrophic.

The Colonel had no intention of fighting both a Goblin Priest and a Crimson Berserker at once.

So he would end this quickly.

His Internal Energy surged, flooding into his hands before flowing into his bow.

But unlike an ordinary Warrior's Weapon Coating, the energy did not simply energy cloak on the weapon.

It transformed the weapon entirely.

The bow's frame twisted, its limbs lengthening, etchings glowing faintly along its surface as though drawn from another space.

[Magic Bow Metamorphosis]!

This was the hallmark technique of the Magic Archer class—morphing their weapon into the true bow born from the fusion of their Internal Energy and the vision of their Mind's Heart.

The morphed bow resembled a sleek recurve, yet it lacked a string.

The Colonel mimicked the motion of nocking an arrow. A bowstring of sky-blue energy flickered into existence, taut with power. As he drew it back, a massive deep-brown arrow condensed into being, formed from ambient earth-elemental mana.

The shaft was the length of a ballista bolt. Etched spirals twisted along its head, radiating lethality.

The Goblin Priest stiffened. Thick killing intent locked onto it, cold as an executioner's blade. It scrambled behind two Goblin Fighters and its three subordinate Lesser Priests.

Thwack! Boom!

The arrow screamed forward, ripping the air apart.

A sonic boom cracked across the battlefield.

This was not just an arrow. It was the quintessential killing technique of a Late-stage Veteran Magic Archer—nearly all of the Colonel's Internal Energy packed into a single strike.

The projectile punched through the Goblin Fighters and the Lesser Priests as though they were parchment, flesh and bone dissolving into mist.

But by the time it struck the Priest, the bulk of its force had been spent. The goblin's dome-shaped shield held, quivering violently before both energies shattered and dispersed.

The Priest wasted no time.

[Stigmata]!

Four grotesque, tentacle-like limbs erupted from its back and lashed onto nearby civilians. Where they touched, pulsing black sigils seared into their flesh.

The Colonel froze.

His next arrow died in his hands.

The tide of battle had already turned. In the village below, the Fury infantry and the Fangs had crushed the goblin horde, leaving only scattered resistance. The Major, blood-soaked and exultant, turned in the Colonel's direction just in time to witness the current situation.

"What are you doing? Shoot him!" The Major shouted.

But the Colonel's gaze was ice. He did not move.

"Why did you let him go?!" the Major barked, striding up beside him.

"It used Stigmata," the Colonel said flatly. "If it is killed now without clearing the curse, only those villagers will die in its place.

"I am not about to kill four innocents just to kill one vermin."

"Are you serious right now? Do you grasp how much damage that 'one vermin' can do?"

"More than you know," the Colonel's voice dropped into cold steel.

The Goblin Priest retreated swiftly, always keeping its hostages between itself and the Colonel's line of fire. Moments later, it vanished into the wilderness.

The Colonel's fingers curled into a fist. Then he flicked a coded signal at one of the nearby Fangs.

The shadowy hunter dipped his head once, then melted into the undergrowth, pursuing silently.

---

Hours later.

The Fang crouched at the edge of a hidden glade, eyes widening at the scene before him.

He couldn't help gritting his teeth.

His expression was murderous.

But he held control of himself. He pulled back, retreating into the shadows to carry his report back to his superiors for further instructions.

---

Back at the Exercitus Alexii main camp, Alex scanned the returned missive. His eyes widened. He shot to his feet.

"What?! The Wildkins are keeping the city by using civilians as hostages?"

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