Devouring Monarch: Rebirth of the Profane Phoenix - Chapter 258

Chapter 258: Westrin Massacre – The Warband!

Meanwhile, to the east of Romantica, Alan Nelphim watched from his castle wall. As his body trembled, a grim picture painted itself in Alan Nelphim’s eyes.

The once vibrant coastal city of Westrin, once a beacon of life and love, was now transformed into ruins. The very symbol of his kingdom was being reduced to rubble, a heartbreaking sight that seemed to mirror the state of his heart.

***

“NO!”

Alan’s desperate scream of terror was the first word that fell from his lips.

An orc’s stone mace crushed another knight’s head into a mushy mess. The huge warchief stood in his gaze, ignoring the arrows while taking down Alan’s forces with his two great swords—huge chunks of stone formed into massive swords.

Another soldier ran his sword through the orc’s shoulder, but the wound was barely even a scratch. In retaliation, the orc swung his blade at the man’s stomach, cleaving him in two.

‘This cannot be happening. I sent my warships and knights to support my cousin!’

“Where did these savage monsters come from!? What is that huge warship!”

“Lord! We cannot hold. They are battering the gates. The squires have fled!” A knight dressed in armour rushed to the top of the wall, panic clear on his face. “Please flee, Lord! To the royal castle!”

“And abandon the people of Westrin?”

“WHAT PEOPLE! THE PEOPLE ARE BEING EATEN ALIVE!” The knight’s voice echoed, causing the entire wall morale to shatter further while blood oozed from the knight’s abdomen. It was clear he would not last. This seemed to be his last moment of loyalty and revealed how much the people loved the Lord of Westrin.

“Abandon me and flee, Lord! Forget about me, about us! Return in the future and avenge our fallen brothers and sisters!” the knight said. “There are too many monsters! The imperial guards have fallen!”

As the knight finished his words, a crossbow bolt struck his arm, ripping it off with before he shot off the wall. The moment it happened, Alan’s hand clutched his sword, a grim face with his eyes narrowed, dark shadows covering his cheeks as he looked down slightly, a forceful breath escaping his lips.

‘If I want to escape, this is my only chance… why must I flee? Is this my destiny?’ Alan Nelphim shook his head and turned to the west, where his Royal castle was located.

“I may survive should I flee. However, the men and women who have suffered may wait years to be free from suffering, even in death. My loyal knights, though I would ask you to join me in the last hours, I relieve you of your duties. Go to the capital with my word, my symbol and serve a new lord, maybe one who knows how to fight and protect you all better.”

The knight’s faces shook with mixed emotions. Alan Nelphim’s order was tantamount to protecting their shame and loyalty. ‘Should we remain, we are all likely to die. However, should we leave, our lord will definitely fall.’

A low cry.

This is how it began, the last charge, a beloved lord’s final moments beside his knights and people.

“What are you waiting for?”

“To the Lord of Westrin!”

“Forward! Forward!”

Alan Nelphim, surrounded by his knights and common soldiers, the people of Westrin who had not fled, rushed to grab arms, then down the wall staircase.

They ran down the stone steps while swinging their swords wildly at the monsters that were climbing up the wall. These monsters were built of muscle and stood two metres tall.

“GRAAAAAAA!”

“To the gate! Protect the gate!”

The soldiers, men and women, carried no banner and wore no armour—no banners nor symbols. Only their voices carried his name, and they fought for him.

It was at this point that Alan Nelphim shouted.

“For you, I will fight to the end. My beloved people! Knights of Westrin, there is no glory here. Only death! But please… One last time, Charge into the midst of this battle with me!”

“Ahhhhhhh!” Lord Alan Westrin, the quietest lord in most meetings, charged into battle despite those who mocked him and his choices to benefit the people. He now charged into battle without a special power, only a Stage Five Lord. He grabbed his beloved longsword with a single-handed sword, a style called the Sky Sword Style.

Clang! Clang!

The swords of the orc brutes crashed against the people of Westrin and armoured knights with a clang, cutting down any they came in contact with. They were in no formation, only brutalising the rallied humans.

“My people!” Alan cried out before his sword beheaded an orc warrior. “I am here! To fall beside you all!”

“AHHHHHH! May the light of Celestia grant me courage in this darkest hour!”

Alan Nelphim’s roar surged through the wills of those fighting beside him as their bodies shivered, not from fear but determination. As soon as they had arrived in front of the gate, Alan Nelphim shouted.

“Foul Orc invaders, I shall vanquish you until I breathe my last!”

The orcs’ group split up like water before flowing to surround him, but Alan’s sword cut through two orcs as he pushed forward.

“Gargle gurgle gugl.”

The huge orc general grinned and charged at Alan Nelphim as if drawn to his beautiful warrior spirit. The disdain from the orcs vanished when they saw the knights come charging despite the number difference. They instead gave bestial roars and fought the knights one by one, as if this was a series of duels.

The brute general ran forward while swinging his twin swords at Alan, leaving no time for the young lord to retaliate.

Alan Nelphim clenched his teeth, ducked under the slash and drove his sword deep into the orc’s thigh, then pulled it back before unleashing his sword; however, a huge stone blade smashed his chin, causing him to flip backwards, landing in a pool of blood.

He quickly got back to his feet. His sword, the symbol of his kingdom, still in hand, Alan Nelphim was certain of his demise.

“Give up, human,” the orc general grunted in fluent human language but with a slight orcish accent.

“I cannot give up on my people that have fallen. I will fight!” His sword pointed at the warchief’s chest. The moment his words seemed to be translated into the orcs’ minds, he nodded.

“I, Grom’Gaius, admire you, human lord; what is your name? We shall duel to the death, and I will spare your knights.”

The words were rough, reverberating, but once he heard them, Alan corrected his stance, then aligned his sword across his body, the blade pointing to the sun, revealing the crest of Celestia on his hilt. “I, Alan Nelphim, Lord of Westrin, accept your challenge, Grom’Gaius! Let us fight to the end!”

“GRAAAAA!!!”

Suddenly, the orcs became active; they stopped fighting and killing and started forming an enormous circle around the two. Grom seemed to whisper something to a slim troll with a staff, and then several orcs guided the knights and commoners. Only five hundred people. Yet the orcs guided them to the western gate.

“Lord!!!”

“MY LORD!?”

“LORD NELPHIM!”

“Your people seem to adore you, Alan Nelphim. We orcs admire good leaders, powerful leaders. You are strong, and I will honour that strength.”

Grom’Gaius grasped his two swords, impaling the ground and shaking the entire area. Once the knights left and the gates were closed, Alan nodded, taking his sword in one hand. He then took the last knight’s short sword, holding it in his off-hand.

‘This may be my only chance at victory… not a personal victory, but to save those 500 people.’

Grom’Gaius boomed as if praising Alan’s determination.

“Courage, Alan Nelphim! Kukuku! Grek Var! Ahom Tak!”

“Grek Var~ Ahom Tak!” The orcs began to stomp and slam their chests when pronouncing ‘Var’ and ‘Tak’ as their chant seemed to set the atmosphere for the dual.

A single knight remained, his body broken, watching with bloody eyes as his lord set up his swords.

“Let us fight.”

“Come at me!”

Alan Nelphim disappeared in the moment he dashed towards his opponent.

Grom’Gaius’ stone blade clashed with his lord’s sword and pushed him back. Alan didn’t back down; his offhand glowed red, creating a slash of flames that sliced through the air and his opponent’s shoulder, leaving a deep wound.

Grom roared.

“GORRRRAAAA!!”

He raised his swords and slammed them into the ground before breaking into a sprint. Alan’s eyes widened, seeing an almost 2.5-metre giant running faster than a horse before his shoulder smashed into the human lord.

The human’s body flew backwards with a loud crunch, his body breaking through a brick wall, shattering a pane of glass and landing in a puddle of blood while he vomited black blood from his mouth. The blow damaged his lungs, his body broken, and his bones cracked, but Alan Nelphim did not stop fighting.

“Haa….. Hu….” His lungs seemed to whistle as he tried to breathe, with only one eye that could see, yet Alan didn’t give up. With only a sword in his hand, he tightened his grip, then rushed towards Grom’Gaius.

This was not a surprise attack. Grom’Gaius saw him coming with his advanced senses and grabbed his longsword with both hands to smack down the desperate human.

“I dedicate my life to the people of Westrin and my beloved goddess. Holy Smite!”

A divine light shone through the longsword, its blade almost cutting through the stone sword like a hot knife through butter, and the orc’s skin burned as a single blow slashed along both his arms, creating a spurt of blood before Alan twisted his blade and plunged forward.

Grom’s eyes widened as Alan Nelphim used this opportunity to plunge his sword into Grom’s right eye.

The orc leader trembled before roaring while grabbing Alan’s throat, causing his face to be pale, and the light in his eye vanished.

‘I… I am finished…’ Alan Nelphim realised he had lost.

“You… are… strong… Alan Nelphim, and in recognition of this, I shall grant you a quick death, and I will never heal this eye in respect for your fearless spirit.”

Alan’s eyes dimmed as he coughed up thick globs of blood.

In his final moments, the orc war chief snarled as he lifted Alan by the neck with only a single hand before slowly removing the broken iron sword from his eye, pulling it out with a sloppy, wet sound and a burning sensation.

‘So this is… where it ends?’ Alan’s body hung limply before Grom tossed him into the middle of the road. Grom’Gaius beheld him with one eye before muttering to the dying lord, “I will spare your people…”

BOOM!

The next moment, Grom’s fist smashed into the ground and crushed Alan’s corpse into a bloody pile. Around Grom’Gaius, the orc army began singing the chant once more, yet not a single orc chased the fleeing humans.

Instead, they settled in the port city of Westrin, now conquered by the orc kingdoms.