AWB Chapter 378 378: Intelligence Error
Chapter 378 378: Intelligence Error
The tide of death crashed against the shore of the living.
One after another, the carefully forged dragonglass weapons shattered against the army composed of the dead.
That hard and razor-sharp black glass, born of flame, proved far less effective against these wights than expected—one could even say it was utterly useless.
Spears of dragonglass pierced through the enemy, yet did nothing more than pierce—having no effect on the wights, as though what was stabbed was not a walking corpse, but a rotting, soft piece of deadwood.
Axes of black glass hacked into those already decayed and ruined bodies, with much the same result.
This was not what had been promised.
At once, all the soldiers on the front line were caught completely off guard by this sudden turn of events.
Those quicker to react managed to immediately strike again with their weapons—or resorted to fists and kicks—responding with urgency to launch another attack, attempting to halt the enemy and salvage the situation.
Others simply discarded the utterly useless "firewood sticks" in their hands and returned to the weapons they were more accustomed to.
The clever and quick-thinking withdrew at once, letting others take their place at the front.
Then, seizing that sliver of space bought with blood, they swiftly returned to the one method that had just inflicted heavy damage upon the enemy—fire.
Oil-soaked cloth was wrapped around long wooden poles to form crude weapons. The moment they were lit, they became torches.
On the front line, life and death hung by a thread.
At such a moment, survival was all that mattered—who cared what orders the commanders had given?
So long as they were not frozen in fear or outright fools, no one would stand idle.
But where there were those who reacted swiftly and decisively, there were naturally those who were slow—or simply unlucky.
Though the wights moved stiffly and clumsily, as if any agile and strong man could toy with them using nothing more than a stick—
That was only true on an individual level.
Faced with this overwhelming tide, their sole weakness had long been erased by sheer numbers.
Their decayed, ruined brains seemed to retain fragments of memory from life.
The weapons in their hands were still wielded with unsettling fluency.
Whether rusted swords and blades, broken-shafted spears and axes, or even a stone picked from the ground—everything became a deadly weapon.
Like waves crashing upon the shore, they struck the human army like a reef, shattering into sprays of mottled crimson.
Flung into the air, they froze into snow.
Falling beneath their feet, they became blood-frost, crushed into muddy sludge.
Pale fragments of bone, tangled with brain matter and flesh, were hurled in all directions.
All of it, in the end, became screams—cries of agony that echoed across this brutal battlefield.
In this moment, life was as fragile as a frozen soap bubble—beautiful, brilliant… yet shattered into nothing at the slightest touch.
In this moment, the swollen, blackened limbs of the wights—frozen with congealed blood—were the most merciless truth in the world.
And those countless glowing blue eyes, suspended within the cold mist of the dead tide, were the most terrifying proclamation.
Comrades who had been cheering beside them only moments ago died in an instant—merely drawing close to the wights was enough to feel the biting cold that followed them, to smell that strange, frigid stench clinging to their bodies.
Panic began to spread.
The tide of death was beginning to show signs of breaking the army of the living.
"What's going on?!"
"Dragonglass can't kill them!"
"Our men can't withstand this kind of impact!"
From their elevated vantage point on a frozen ridge, within the command tent deliberately set upon a hill, the commanders present saw more clearly than anyone what was unfolding on the battlefield.
The panic was not confined to the front lines—those commanders, who had earlier dealt devastating blows to the wights, now cried out in alarm.
"The intelligence was wrong!"
On the frozen coast, Lord Randyll pulled a thick fur hat over his head, leaving only his iron-gray beard exposed.
His voice cut through the clamor like cold iron, shattering the fear that had begun to seep in from the battlefield.
"My lord commander, what should we do now?"
"Give the order!"
Yes—there was still a pillar to rely on.
Pairs of eyes turned toward the supreme commander of this human army upon the frozen shore.
Facing their expectant gazes, Randyll showed not the slightest fear.
He even stepped forward, his gaze burning cold and fierce, like twin flames, fixed upon the frontline where life and death collided.
"All forces—abandon all dragonglass weapons. Return to the use of fire."
"Archers advance again—full assault. Maintain continuous fire coverage."
"Left flank cavalry, move out. Divide into three waves—strike the right flank of the wight army. Each charge: strike and withdraw. Do not pursue deep."
"Bring forward the siege engines. Trebuchets ready—deploy wildfire!"
"Infantry wings advance and envelop. Prepare a pincer attack—coordinate with the cavalry. I want a bite taken out of them!"
When narrow paths meet, the brave prevail.
Knowing they would face creatures that were not human—nor even living—Randyll had long made his preparations.
And so he understood clearly—at such a moment, they could not retreat.
Leaving aside whether retreat was even possible, to fall back in disorder and attempt to create distance again would be nothing short of fantasy.
Their enemy was not man—nor even the living.
To turn their backs now would mean nothing less than total annihilation.
Thus, only by being ruthless—more ruthless than the enemy, ruthless even to themselves—could they hope to seize victory.
As Tarly's orders rang out, the human army, which had until now fought cautiously, merely probing the enemy, finally began to move in earnest.
…
Meanwhile, beneath an unremarkable ice mound not too far from the battlefield—
A noblewoman stood in the shadows.
Even amidst the howling cold wind, she wore a crimson qipao beneath, with only a gray-white, silver-furred cloak draped loosely over her shoulders.
She gazed at the distant battlefield and said: "It's begun… but it looks like Kal's army is taking heavy losses."
As her voice fell, not far from her stood another figure—also accustomed to remaining in the shadows.
A red-haired female warrior clad in green armor.
Her tone was far more composed.
"Their enemies are an army made from corpses, puppets of magic. No matter how many they kill, it's only a matter of how much they lose in return."
"And besides… isn't this exactly what Kal wanted?"
Standing on slightly higher ground, the armored red-haired warrior had already drawn her sword, the tip planted into the frozen earth. Both hands rested upon the hilt.
Having seen battle before, she understood far more than the noblewoman beside her—whose talents lay more in seduction than in war.
"What Kal's purpose?"
The red-haired warrior's words left the noblewoman blinking in confusion.
The warrior merely smiled and did not bother to explain. Instead, she turned her head toward the dark-skinned witch with a mass of thick, curly hair.
"So? When do we move?"
"Kal only left this handful of people here. If they all die here, wouldn't that be far too obvious? And wasn't his intention for us to protect them?"
Unlike the warrior and the noblewoman, the curly-haired witch did not remain in the shadows.
Though she too stood beneath the ice mound, using its bulk for cover, she stood instead in what little light there was.
The sky remained choked with clouds, the air filled with howling wind, snow, and freezing mist—there was no sun at all.
The witch stood with her eyes closed, dressed in a simple robe. Under the assault of the cold wind, the fabric clung to her body, outlining a striking figure.
But in this cursed place, no one cared for such things.
Faced with the question from her fellow vampire sisters, the witch still did not open her eyes, as though sensing something.
Only after a long while did she slowly part her bluish-purple lips.
"There's no need for us to go looking for them. They've already come to us."
"After all, we're standing in someone else's domain. Not being noticed… was never going to be easy."
As her voice fell, the curly-haired witch opened her eyes—black, with a faint trace of blood-red—and turned her gaze into the freezing wind at her side.
The endless white mist rolled in, swallowing everything.
Even the last faint trace of light from above had vanished into the pale expanse.
And carried along with the wind… came a strange, metallic clatter that echoed all around them.
"Damn it!"
The noblewoman—smooth black hair, a bright red qipao beneath a loose fur-lined cloak—felt the hairs on her body stand on end the moment she heard the sound. With a sharp motion, she leapt behind the red-haired warrior, trembling as she hid.
The warrior did not react nearly as strongly.
"Come down. Don't let our guests think we lack manners."
Among the three vampire sisters, the curly-haired witch had, at some point, naturally taken the lead.
The other two had no objections. With a single step, they leapt down to stand beside her.
The black-haired noblewoman still tried to make herself as small as possible, hiding behind the other two.
The warrior, however, had already taken her stance, sword in hand—blade tip driven into the frozen ground, both hands resting upon the hilt, standing before the witch.
As for the witch, no one knew when she had produced a short wand, no longer than her forearm. She held it loosely between her index and middle fingers and thumb, its tip pointed toward the approaching figures, flickering with a glow of purple laced with flowing red.
As the three sisters made their "preparations" to receive their guests, shapes emerged from the thick mist.
There were more than a dozen of them—riding dead horses, or the corpses of bears, wolves, even mammoths.
Mounted upon their beasts, the Others closed in from multiple directions, forming a loose encirclement around the three sisters. Their eyes—bright as stars—glowed an eerie blue as they fixed their gaze upon these women who carried not the slightest trace of life.
In their eyes… there was confusion.
As though they could not understand what exactly stood before them.
From the sisters' perspective, the Others were tall, their skin pale as milk, yet their entire form resembled something withered, like dead trees.
They were somewhat like the walking corpses that wandered the grounds of their castle at night—
But not quite the same.
Because these Others were living beings of ice.
They wore armor that shimmered like reflections, shifting colors as they moved—armor formed of ice.
In their hands were weapons that gave off a strange blue glow—thin blades like shards of crystal, or long spears formed entirely from solid ice.
With their arrival came a piercing cold, as though it could shatter anything it touched.
As for their mounts, they too were coated in a layer of frost—like frozen sweat. Blackened, lifeless entrails spilled from their split-open bellies, dragging across the snow and leaving long trails behind.
One after another, "ice spiders" the size of hounds appeared silently at their sides, moving without a sound.
"What a grand welcome. So… does this count as infiltrating the enemy camp?"
With danger clinging to her skin like crawling insects, the red-haired warrior narrowed her eyes in the storm, a mocking smile tugging at her lips.
"If walking straight into someone else's home counts, then I suppose it does."
The curly-haired witch replied lightly.
Yet their casual conversation, as though no one else were present, made the Others—who had noticed them from the very beginning—glance at one another.
At first, upon discovering the three, and sensing no trace of life from them, the Others had not paid much attention to the vampire sisters.
But when curiosity drove them to approach… they were startled by what they saw.
After all, they had never imagined that one day they would encounter beings who were alive—and yet dead—but not like the corpses they themselves raised.
The three before them clearly possessed intelligence.
So what in the seven hells… were they?
The dark, bloodthirsty aura clinging to them was not something the living should possess.
And if humans were all like this… then what need would there be to bring about the Long Night?
If not for the tens of thousands of living still fighting their wights not far away, some of these Others might well have begun to doubt their own existence.
At that moment, one of the Others rode forward on a dead horse.
He looked no different from the rest—tall, withered, pale, his blue eyes like twin stars, lacking pupils entirely, nothing more than glowing orbs.
Then, suddenly, he spoke.
But his voice was like ice cracking—harsh, grating, and utterly meaningless.
"What is he saying?"
The noblewoman frowned.
"Who cares what he's saying—just kill them!"
The warrior had no patience for such things. Her sword was her answer.
Yet faster and more direct than their exchange—
Was the sudden flare of light at the tip of the witch's wand.
"Why waste words? Kal's command was to destroy all such enemies!"
As the second daughter of the Dark Emperor who once ruled most of the Dark Continent, a witch who had willingly embraced immortality and darkness—
She had no interest in wasting time on meaningless matters.
…
Closing Note:
At present, the original author has stopped updating this novel, and there is no clear indication of when—or if—it will continue.
If the story resumes, I will pick up the translation again and continue sharing it here.
Thank you all for your support and for reading along.