Chapter 77

Worm turned his gaze to the assassin amidst the raging flames. She was a red-haired woman, her hair singed and smoky, who had undoubtedly cast a spell at the same time as the regular soldiers were all cut down. The choice of fire magic was likely due to its wide range and destructive power, but Worm was accustomed to being enveloped in flames.

"Why don't you die!!"

The voice, filled with irrationality, reached Worm's ears. There was no doubt that she was one of the main culprits who had shattered the right corner tower, but her boldness in blowing away her comrades along with the enemy had fallen silent.

"Ah, did you receive a scolding?"

Worm received an answer that felt out of place. A man with a strikingly colorful and ornate appearance was sitting at the site of the corner tower. Near him stood a mercenary leader, who seemed to be in charge.

Worm had encountered people dressed in such flamboyant attire several times on the battlefield. They were usually commanders who maintained a strong influence on the battlefield, and most of them were nobles.

Noble blood sometimes turned into a curse. The pride and dignity of their lineage made them stand out, leaving them no place to hide and forcing them to stand at the forefront. Considering the risk of losing the command structure, it could be seen as intentional arrogance, but as nobles, they had to act this way to govern people and command the masses.

"Do you think you can stand your ground with this numerical disadvantage?"

"Hardly, do I look like such a noble person to you?"

The mercenary leader threw a word at Worm. It was unclear whether it was out of resentment for the comrades he had killed or due to some other reason, but his words were tinged with mockery and frustration.

Worm was becoming isolated amidst the enemy. To be precise, there were still soldiers around him, but they had been left behind. The path of retreat was closed, and a few soldiers, though injured, continued to resist.

Clearly, they did not believe they would survive. They were driven by stubbornness. Some were likely enraged, determined to make their deaths meaningful by taking as many enemies with them as possible, turning into soldiers of death.

Among them, there might be those who had simply been left behind or those who had stayed to support retreating comrades out of a sense of responsibility. But their remaining lives were few. If they focused on fleeing, Worm could escape the encirclement. He could open a path with fire magic or use the speed difference from wind magic to break free.

Even if the forces of Viscount Edgar were defeated, Worm could escape to the decadent city. The army aimed to occupy the area around the magic silver vein. According to the story of the Dalimark soldiers, the invasion would not extend to the urban areas, which would invite intervention from the central government.

"You should run, you know."

Worm's sentimentality made the mercenary react sensitively.

"Do you think you can run? You'll die here. Don't worry, your body will be carefully disassembled and sold in pieces. Your eyes and liver will fetch a high price."

It was a passionate and extreme declaration. The high market value was conveyed with murderous intent, and while it didn't feel entirely bad, being dissected would mean Worm's death.

"Even on the battlefield, being in demand physically is a problem."

Worm had never imagined that he would face a day when he would be killed by a large number of people for his body. As the soldiers around him continued to fight and were cut down one by one, a kind of limit was approaching.

"What a foolish character."

The word "duty" always chased after Worm. In his previous life, he was also a workaholic. He would complain about reaching his limit and being unable to do more, but he would drag his body and tackle the work in front of him.

He envied egoists and individualists. It wasn't out of malice. They had a firm will and a sharp mind when it came to their own interests.

Worm, an imperfect collectivist, would choose personal interests over the interests of the group or community he belonged to, as long as it didn't cause significant damage. However, when he understood that it would have a major and fatal impact on the group or community, he would neglect himself or a few.

If he fled, would the two boys escape? Would the main camp's Hayselk volunteers avoid harm? Would the people of the fallen nation, his compatriots, be able to rebuild without the magic silver mine? These were the curses that bound Worm. The path of retreat was closed, and Worm resigned himself.

"Really, it's so frustrating."

The pain in his eyes was unbearable, and the loss of light was terrifying. Still, these were not the only reasons for his hesitation.

Worm understood very well what would happen if he used the ghost fire without being noticed. He had burned many people, old and young, male and female. Yet, he had never burned both his comrades and the enemy soldiers who were in the same dire situation amidst the enemy lines.

What would the people who didn't know what was about to happen think in their final moments? Some would speak their last words with their entrails exposed, and some unknown young soldiers would reach out for help. All of this would be a necessary sacrifice for the group, and Worm's tainted conscience would try to justify it with the same old hypocrisy, making him feel nauseous.

To save an unknown young soldier who was begging for help, he would have to kill comrades he didn't know. It was a profoundly unfair situation.

"Haha, truly, there is no salvation."

A question arose. If he had to choose between saving the main camp's Hayselk soldiers and involving the young boy, which would he have chosen? The option that came to mind made him naturally let out a voice, and a dark smile overflowed. As he indulged in these futile thoughts, the flames that had been projected began to fade, and the dissection of Worm was about to begin.

He grabbed a mask from a bag hanging at his waist and put it on his face. The mask, which had not been used for a long time, trembled with joy and anger at the return to the secular world. It stuck to his face painfully.

Worm liked the mask. It was the same as a robber's mask. If your face couldn't be seen, humans could calmly commit cruel acts. Worm was no exception, a cowardly one.

"Sorry, but you like it, don't you?"

Worm played with the mask. Sensing the change in magic, the mask made a clattering sound of joy. The ghost mask loved the blue flames that burned the world and found joy in watching them from a front-row seat. It was a man of bad taste. Worm burned the images of the remaining comrades into his mind and whispered softly.

"…Hate me, I'm sorry."

"What are you doing, that thing—"

The words of some noble were cut off. The burning pain in his eyes was overwhelmed by the survival instinct and rational killing intent. To send them to the underworld, the ghost fire was awakened from its year-long slumber.

Blood seeped from his eyes, and the pain in his eyeballs affected his brain. To endure the pain, he clenched his teeth and continued to laugh. Otherwise, the pain would have overwhelmed him.

"A, ha, hahaha, haaaah!!"

The scorching wind swirled and spread into the sky, and the blue flames overflowed. The cheerful shouts quickly turned into screams of agony. Among them were still comrades and slightly breathing wounded soldiers.

"It's been a while."

The emotion that a human who had summoned hell should feel was inappropriate. Still, Worm's mind was filled with the dark and murky days of his former squad and Dandegue.

"A, Ahh!? Fire, fire!!"

"Put it out, put it out!!"

The screams faded one by one. Consumed by the inferno, the people who had their esophagus and lungs burned were equally deprived of oxygen, drowning on the ground.

There were exceptions. The elite horsemen and the mercenary group were truly excellent. Despite being consumed by the blue flames, a few soldiers still tried to close the distance and kill Worm.

"Don't falter, cut off his head!!"

Worm began to welcome them. The pain from the magic consumption and the intermittent intense pain in his eyes were still better than the suffering of the enemies in the heat wave.

The soldiers who instantly cast a magic barrier were forced to leave the formation as their magic power ran out. The smell of burning flesh and hair quickly replaced the smell of burning.

A regular soldier who withstood the blue flames and thrust a spear at Worm was barely breathing, how weak. Worm entangled the spear tip with his halberd and pulled it out, and the spear fell from the enemy soldier's hand, unable to hold it due to the heat.

His fighting spirit was not lacking, and he tried to draw his short sword, but the hook-like return from the side blade cut his throat faster. As he killed one, two, the number of soldiers trying to approach Worm decreased. It was unclear whether they had been consumed by the blue flames or had decided to flee after a calm discussion of their remaining magic power.

What was certain was that everyone on the battlefield was losing something to the ghost fire—sight, thoughts, and life. As the ghost fire created a sea of blue flames, Worm continued to laugh, his mask vibrating as if in ecstasy.