Volume Seven: Union of Servers Chapter Fifty-Five: Because of the Card

Although we could not prevent the enemy’s siege engines from approaching the city walls, this did not mean they had gained any decisive advantage. Despite our defenders being greatly outnumbered, with the help of many formidable Skywalkers, we managed to keep the besieging enemy outside the walls, forcing them to crouch in anticipation of being kicked off their siege engines.

Unbeknownst to me, nearly thirty soldiers of the Empire of the Apocalypse had already died by my hand. Some fell to my sword, others were frightened by my “Fear Roar,” causing them to topple from the siege engines and smash into a pulp. What surprised me was how these ugly invaders were both foolish and weak: their attacks were feeble, barely costing me a few dozen points of health—no pain, no real threat. With only the simplest combat techniques, I could easily dispatch them.

Though this was a battle crucial to the safety of the entire continent, fighting such “rookies”—as the Skywalkers liked to call others “birds”—left me mentally exhausted, unable to muster any fighting spirit. In my eyes, their threat was inferior even to the forty-second level thick-skinned wild boars roaming the forests of Wuzig Mountain. I felt a tinge of pity for these enemies embarking on a doomed journey; their efforts were in vain, attempting the impossible. Their deaths were futile, utterly meaningless in this battle.

If all soldiers of the Empire of the Apocalypse were of this caliber, the outcome would be beyond doubt. Even if their numbers doubled, they would never breach our fortress of flesh and blood.

A “Demon Vanguard,” horns atop his head, legs bent, feet shaped like hooves, charged at me with a spear. I raised my shield, using the “Block” skill to deflect the spear easily, then stepped forward and drove my sword deep into his abdomen with a “Thrust.” As I prepared to turn and continue my attack, suddenly a cold wind, sharp as metal, pierced swiftly through my back.

A wave of intense pain surged across my back, making me groan softly. The agony left me feeling weak, as if my strength and courage drained away with that blow.

This ambush cost me nearly two hundred points of health—the heaviest attack I had suffered since the battle began. Alarmed, I quickly turned to face the dangerous enemy behind me.

Yet his agility far exceeded my expectations. As I turned, I caught only a blur from the corner of my eye, and within that fleeting moment, I saw a vampire assassin wielding two daggers, his gaze greedy and predatory like a wolf stalking prey. His eyes were a deep violet-red, pupils black slits, and his short, brilliant white fangs protruded from his lower lip in sharp contrast to his blood-red mouth. Above his head glowed the name “Serpent Rain Immortal” in crimson.

As the third advanced class for Wanderers, “Assassin” truly embodied their combat essence. They are the pride of the night, children of shadows, lurking unseen in the darkness, elevating cold-blooded slaughter into an art that erupts in a silent instant. Daggers are their killing tools, their most faithful companions, and “never reveal oneself before others” is their unalterable creed. They are the vilest ambushers and the most dangerous foes; under their shameless assassinations, some never realized death had come for them.

No race suits the “Assassin” class better than vampires. This shadow-dwelling race is born with the ability to vanish in darkness, greatly enhancing the stealth skills of assassins and reducing their chances of being detected. They also possess the innate “Blood Extraction” talent, allowing them to convert a tenth of the damage dealt to enemies into their own health within thirty seconds, and, like elves, they are naturally gifted with superior speed. I don’t know how many adversaries you hope never to meet, but a skilled vampire assassin would surely be among them.

Seeing him circle behind me again, I quickly dropped low, aiming to use the “Whirlwind Slash” skill—a technique that strikes all enemies nearby at once, especially effective when surrounded or ambushed from behind.

I thought my reaction was swift enough, yet I was still a step slower than my opponent. Before my blade could reach him, a blunt object struck the back of my head hard—the dagger’s hilt, as I learned later. The blow clouded my mind, robbing me of combat ability and forcing me to crouch, waiting for my body to recover—a consequence of the assassin’s unique “Heavy Strike,” similar to the Wanderer’s “Sap,” but usable even when not in stealth.

Taking advantage of my stupor, the cunning foe stabbed me twice more.

Fortunately, I had equipped sturdier armor before the battle, and its powerful defense prevented these attacks from dealing fatal damage. Yet my remaining health was now less than half.

Though “Heavy Strike” left my body immobilized, my mind remained clear, able to discern and reason. I realized this Serpent Rain Immortal was nothing like any enemy I had faced before: he was level forty-five, cunning and sharp, skillfully using abilities against me, and his distinctive name—all pointed to one fact: he was a Skywalker.

Indeed, the invading army of the Empire of the Apocalypse also had Skywalkers among them. Perhaps, due to the threat posed by the city’s catapults, these clever and dangerous individuals had refrained from attacking, letting weaker, lower-level soldiers lead the charge. Now, in close combat, they had begun to act.

What changes would the enemy Skywalkers bring to this battle? The tense situation gave me no time to ponder. The stun soon faded, and I regained control of my body.

Learning from my earlier mistake, I didn’t rush to turn and confront Serpent Rain Immortal, the vampire assassin, head-on. Instead, I immediately used the “Fear Roar” skill. Under its effect, Serpent Rain Immortal fell into a dazed state, wandering aimlessly in place, giving me time to gulp down a health potion and, with another shout, use the “Battle Cry of Courage” skill to boost my attack and defense temporarily.

Serpent Rain Immortal must have had some equipment protecting his mind; his fear status didn’t last long, and he quickly recovered. Fearing he would regain his speed advantage, I forced him into direct combat. In two exchanges, my heavy armor gave me the upper hand. Sensing the shift, Serpent Rain Immortal flung a handful of dazzling magical powder into my face, blurring my vision. When I could see again, he had vanished, hiding his presence so I couldn’t find him.

Though unseen, I knew he hadn’t gone far, still lurking nearby, waiting to strike again. Being targeted by an assassin is unnerving; I had to fight the invading besiegers while constantly watching my back. The battlefield was chaotic, wails and clashing metal everywhere, yet any slight sound behind me sent chills down my spine. Even without an actual attack, I felt phantom stabs, as if the vampire assassin’s piercing gaze could penetrate my body.

Amid this confusion, something caught my eye—a sudden inspiration. I kept swinging my sword, subtly shifting my position to the right rear.

My guess was correct. Barely three seconds after I steadied myself, that fierce wind struck from behind once again. Though alert, I couldn’t dodge in time and took another heavy blow. But at the same time, a soft “click” sounded behind me—the trigger of a trap.

It was a trap set by a Beastmaster—I didn’t see who, but I owed them thanks. The trap didn’t deal obvious damage; its main function was to slow the beast that triggered it, making it easier for Beastmasters to tame. It bore the standard trap mark of the Continental Allied Army. When I saw it, inspiration struck, and I positioned myself beside it during combat, so if Serpent Rain Immortal tried to ambush me, he would inevitably trigger the trap.

Only one thing I hadn’t expected: Serpent Rain Immortal’s attack struck a critical blow, wiping out a full four hundred points of my health. Now, my health was much lower than his, putting me at a severe disadvantage.

At this point, neither of us had any retreat. We had to go all out, face-to-face. Even slowed, Serpent Rain Immortal’s combat skills were remarkable; in direct confrontation, he always found openings, slipping behind my weak defenses to strike. His attack power was astonishing—despite taking potions, I couldn’t keep up with my draining health.

However, the assassin’s fragile leather armor cost him dearly. Nearly every strike of mine took over a hundred points of his health, his health bar dropping as relentlessly as a dwarf’s ale bottle in a tavern.

This war of attrition could not last; soon, both our health pools were nearly empty. Barring any surprises, the next exchange would be the final round of this battle.

For me, this was hardly a fair fight. Death for my enemy was merely a failed adventure, but for me, it meant permanent oblivion—despite the battlefield being full of healers capable of resurrection, who knew if they would even see my corpse? I had to fight harder, risk more, to preserve my chance at existence.

For this strike, I used the “Slash” skill, unleashing my full strength without reservation.

But at the moment I attacked, a wave of panic swept over me: Serpent Rain Immortal, my opponent, had been restrained by the trap, his movement hindered. Yet in the instant I unleashed my final blow, the trap’s effect expired, and he regained his agility. His daggers, sharp as a beast’s fangs, lunged straight at me.

Was this the end? The thought flashed like lightning through my chest, chilling my blood with despair. My attack became futile; even if we died together, I would still be the loser.

In my darkest moment, the city wall closest to us suddenly collapsed—a tower crumbled and shattered. Smoke billowed, stone fragments flew, and the scene around us changed drastically.

Perhaps it was an illusion, but at the moment the tower fell, all the Skywalkers nearby—whether allies or enemies—seemed to pause briefly, including Serpent Rain Immortal in front of me.

Though the collapse of the wall was a dire event, it became a rare lifesaving opportunity for me. Without hesitation, I slashed Serpent Rain Immortal’s neck. From his head burst a final red flash marked “–72,” and he toppled, dead.

Before falling, he glared with hatred at the ruined tower and uttered his last words of this life, full of unwillingness:

“Damn lag…”

Having brushed the threshold of death, my heart pounded with terror. I hurriedly withdrew to the rear of the formation, gobbling food and blood vials to restore my health before returning to the fray.

At least the battle had taught us one thing: the curse of “lag” was not ours alone; our enemies suffered from it as well. I cannot imagine who spread such a dreadful curse, but as long as the enemy doesn’t gain an advantage because of it, we can count ourselves lucky.