Reincarnated Into A World Of Elves As The Only Man-Chapter 142: Blood and Victory

The courtyard had become a charnel house of unprecedented carnage. Blood pooled in frozen red lakes between the scattered corpses, steaming in the frigid air as the final moments of the battle reached their crescendo. The pristine snow had long since disappeared beneath layers of gore, mud, and the trampled remains of the fallen.

Captain Diana’s air blade screamed through the frozen air, its compressed wind howling like a banshee as it carved through Thorne’s defenses. The Third Guard’s metallic armor, which had seemed impenetrable moments before, split like paper under the concentrated atmospheric pressure. Diana’s strike found its mark between the silver-etched plates, the wind weapon punching through Thorne’s chest cavity with devastating force.

Thorne’s eyes widened in shock as her own blood erupted from the wound, painting the snow beneath her in arterial spurts. Her gauntleted hands clawed at the gaping hole in her torso, trying desperately to stem the flow of life escaping her body. "Impossible," she gasped, dark blood frothing from her lips. "My armor... my earth mastery..."

"Your problem," Diana replied coldly, her voice carrying over the din of dying warriors, "was believing that stone could withstand a hurricane."

She gestured sharply, and the air around Thorne compressed into a visible sphere before exploding outward. The Third Guard’s body disintegrated under the pressure, her remains scattered across a twenty-foot radius in chunks of flesh and bone that would never be identified.

Nearby, Commander Elira had finally cornered Whisper, the Fourth Guard’s ethereal movements becoming increasingly erratic as her void-based powers failed her. Elira’s mastery of air had proven superior to Whisper’s manipulation of nothingness—where Whisper created empty spaces, Elira filled them with compressed atmosphere that struck like solid hammers.

"Your void is meaningless," Elira declared, her air blades multiplying into a dozen spinning crescents that surrounded the retreating guard. "Emptiness can’t exist where air refuses to be displaced."

Whisper’s form flickered desperately between dimensions, but each attempt to phase through reality was blocked by walls of compressed air that had been pressurized beyond her ability to navigate. She materialized fully, gasping as her power abandoned her.

"You don’t understand," Whisper wheezed, blood trickling from her nose where the atmospheric pressure had ruptured delicate vessels. "The void calls to all things. Even you will join the emptiness eventually."

Elira’s response was swift and merciless. Her air blades converged simultaneously, striking Whisper from multiple angles. The Fourth Guard’s torso opened in six different places, her internal organs spilling into the snow as she collapsed. Her final breath was a wet gurgle, her colorless eyes reflecting nothing as death claimed her.

The remaining black-robed warriors, seeing their elite guards fall, began to retreat in panic. But Queens Elena and Elysia showed no mercy to the fleeing enemies. Despite Elena’s injuries from her earlier battle with Seven, she drew upon reserves of strength that spoke to her royal bloodline.

Elena’s earth magic erupted beneath the retreating warriors, stone spikes punching upward through the frozen ground to impale fleeing enemies. Three warriors were lifted off their feet, their bodies sliding down the bloodied stone projections as their screams echoed across the battlefield. A fourth enemy found herself trapped as the earth liquefied around her legs, then hardened instantly. Elena’s approach was methodical—she used a crystalline blade to open the trapped warrior’s throat, allowing her to bleed out slowly in the grip of the stone.

Elysia coordinated the final assault, her wind magic directing the allied forces like a conductor leading a symphony of destruction. Her air currents guided arrows to their targets with supernatural precision, while compressed atmosphere crushed enemy formations that tried to maintain cohesion during their retreat.

A group of five black-robed warriors made a desperate stand near the courtyard’s edge, their backs against a crumbling wall. Elysia’s response was as elegant as it was deadly—she created a localized tornado that lifted all five enemies into the air before slamming them repeatedly against the stone wall. Their bodies left wet smears against the ancient stones as they were reduced to broken, lifeless husks.

When the battle finally ended, the silence was deafening. The courtyard resembled a slaughterhouse more than a battlefield, with corpses stacked three deep in some areas. The few surviving allied warriors stood among the carnage, their faces pale with exhaustion and the shock of survival.

Elena swayed on her feet, her earlier injuries from the fight with Seven finally taking their toll. Blood seeped through makeshift bandages wrapped around her torso, and her breathing had become labored. "I need... I need to rest," she admitted, her royal pride warring with physical necessity.

Commander Maria, her own injuries from the battle with Vex still fresh, approached her queen with concern. "Your Majesty, you cannot continue in this condition. The wounds need proper attention."

"The mission—" Elena began, but Maria cut her off with uncharacteristic firmness.

"The mission requires you alive and capable," Maria stated. "I suggest we detail two warriors to remain with you while the rest of us continue the search for Prince Eren."

Elena’s jaw tightened, but she recognized the wisdom in Maria’s words. "Very well. Choose your warriors, but make it quick. Every moment we delay gives them more time to harm my son."

As Maria began selecting the guards who would remain behind, Lyra’s voice cut through the discussion. "Wait," she called out, her white eyes fixed on something moving among the corpses. "We have a survivor."

The warrior was barely alive, her black robes torn and bloodied, revealing deep gashes across her arms and legs. She had been pinned beneath the body of a fallen comrade and was now trying desperately to crawl away, leaving a trail of blood in the snow.

"Perfect," Elysia said, her voice carrying a coldness that would have chilled the air further if such a thing were possible. "We need information."

They dragged the surviving warrior to the center of the courtyard, away from the worst of the carnage. She was young, perhaps barely past her first century, with the pointed ears and elegant features common to their kind. Terror filled her dark eyes as she realized her situation.

"Please," she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please, I surrender. I invoke the right of—"

"You invoke nothing," Maria interrupted, her tone brooking no argument. "Your forces showed no mercy to our people. You will receive the same consideration."

They bound the prisoner’s hands behind her back with torn strips of cloth, ensuring she couldn’t attempt any desperate magic. Her injuries were painful but not immediately life-threatening—perfect for their purposes.

Lyra knelt beside the captive, her water magic creating thin, needle-sharp projectiles that hovered inches from the warrior’s flesh. "We’re going to ask you questions," she explained calmly. "Each lie will cost you something precious. Each truth might buy you a few more moments of life."

The prisoner’s eyes darted between the faces surrounding her, finding no compassion or mercy in any of them. These were warriors who had just survived a brutal battle, who had lost comrades and friends to her army’s assault. She was completely at their mercy, and that mercy was in short supply.

"Where is Luna?" Elysia demanded, her voice cutting through the prisoner’s obvious terror. "Where has she taken Prince Eren?"

The young warrior’s lips pressed together stubbornly, her loyalty to her cause still intact despite her circumstances. "I... I cannot tell you that. My oath forbids—"

Her scream cut off her words as one of Lyra’s water needles pierced through her left shoulder, finding the precise spot where nerve clusters would maximize pain while avoiding major blood vessels. The projectile twisted slowly, grinding against bone as the prisoner writhed in agony.

"Your oath," Lyra observed conversationally, "seems less important now than it did a moment ago. Let’s try again, shall we?"

The interrogation continued with methodical precision. Each refusal to answer brought new torments—water needles through joints, air pressure applied to sensitive areas, carefully placed cuts that would heal but leave lasting pain. They were experts in both warfare and anatomy, their knowledge combining to create suffering that was both intense and sustainable.

"The Obsidian Spire," the prisoner finally gasped after what felt like hours of torment. Blood ran from numerous small wounds, and her voice was hoarse from screaming. "She’s in the Obsidian Spire, at the realm’s heart. But you’ll never reach her! The path is guarded by things far worse than us!"

"Describe these guardians," Maria commanded, creating an illusion that made the prisoner see her worst fears reflected in the blood pooling around them.

The young warrior broke completely, words tumbling from her lips in a desperate stream. She spoke of creatures bound to Luna’s will, of traps that would drive intruders insane, of chambers where reality itself had been twisted into weapons. Through her terror-induced babbling, they learned of secret passages and hidden dangers that might have cost them dearly had they proceeded blindly.

When they had extracted every useful piece of information, Elysia stood slowly, her expression grim. "You’ve been helpful," she told the prisoner. "More helpful than you intended."

The captive looked up with desperate hope. "Then... then you’ll let me live? I told you everything!"

Elysia’s air blade materialized in her hand, its edge humming with compressed atmosphere. "I said you were helpful. I never said anything about mercy."

The execution was swift and clean, the prisoner’s head separated from her shoulders in a single, precise strike. Her body toppled forward into the bloodstained snow, joining the hundreds of other corpses that littered the courtyard.

"Now we know where we’re going," Elysia announced to the assembled survivors. "The Obsidian Spire awaits, and with it, the end of this nightmare."

But as they prepared to leave Elena in the care of her guards and continue their desperate mission, each warrior carried with them the weight of what they had become. The line between justice and vengeance had blurred beyond recognition, and they could only hope that rescuing Eren would somehow justify the darkness they had embraced in pursuit of that goal.

The snow continued to fall, but it would take far more than weather to wash clean the stains left by this day’s work.