I Refused To Be Reincarnated-Chapter 878: The Twilight Warriors

It was with a gaze of steel that Elliot met Morris' demand. He fished four bracelets from his satchel. Engraved symbols ran across the laurel leaves adorning the composite metal. He handed one to each of the team members, his voice soft yet determined.

"I didn't join you to leech off victory but to be part of it. Take them. I know you probably won't need them, that the orcs will die before reaching us, but I'll feel better knowing my bracelets will keep you safe from the worst. For the rest..." He sighed. "I'll cover your backs... and... thank you for trusting me."

"Nonsense." Morris snatched his bracelet with a gentle grin. "I'll be the one thanking you for the artifact if you were my age."

Another member, Karen, took hers. "Mage-ranked artifacts? Good stuff! And don't worry too much, Elliot. We've all had a first time on the battlefield. Mine was... shameful. And I'm being kind to myself."

The other two shuddered at these memories, then voiced their agreement and thanks for the equipment.

"I remember puking and pissing myself back then. Or did I puke piss? I still don't know." Morris shook his head, pointing at an orc patrol returning to the closing gates of the village. "Alright, team. The moon calls for blood to warm this chilly night."

Friendly gazes sharpened as they moved down the slope. Elliot wondered whether Morris had tried to comfort him or if he had really felt miserable on his first time. The teenager was five years older, a student he had looked up to, dreaming of ranking within the top twenty of the House of Exorcism like him. No matter the answer, he couldn't imagine Morris or himself puking.

Covered by shrubbery and boulders, he moved in a crouch toward the village. The silence should have been suffocating, but he found the night breeze refreshing. They would succeed.

Once at range and surrounding the village's walls, Morris gestured with two fingers. No words needed. They all knew what to do: strike the brazier-lit watchtowers.

Like his companions, he channelled his mana, lighting the tip of his wand in starlight. Before the guards knew they were under attack, his team hurled their spells at Morris' signal.

Flames swallowed a watchtower in an inferno of agonising shrieks. Another shattered into a torrent of splinters as the soil shot through its structure. The watchmen in the third tower felt a soft, unassuming breeze before their bodies fell into bloody pieces without allowing them to scream.

Elliot fired a stream of starlight that seared through the darkness at the fourth tower. Flesh melted before pain could even register. Smell and light did, though. The village erupted in a cacophony of guttural roars and the pounding of war drums.

Elliot hesitated for a moment. Not because he was killing them. No, Diane and the other teachers had taught him for two years what orcs and other slightly intelligent species were: beasts. Rather, it was the mixed stench of burnt wood and flesh that made him cover his scrunched nose.

Karen tapped his shoulder. When he turned, he found her grinning. "You're holding well, but stay focused." The rumbling ground erased her grin. "They're coming. Kill the warriors!"

Morris and the others rushed back from their positions to stand in front of Elliot, forming a line, as the gates were almost torn off their hinges from the inside.

"I'll hold the shaman back. Don't let the warriors interfere!"

The orcs drowned Morris' command under their charge. Their muscular bare chests and the scaled bovines that led the charge made Elliot stumble a step back. The towers they had set aflame reflected off the orcs' blades, axes, and disturbingly eager faces, as if they had hoped his team would attack them.

A trap? His eyes narrowed, only to widen as his mind raced with questions. He roughly counted fifty orcs, none of whom had smooth skin. Scars were natural for warriors, but they were all wrinkled, bald, or grey-haired. Their withered chests whispered glory of a youth long gone, while their tusks chipped at the base.

"Pull yourself together, Elliot!" Karen shook his shoulder, her voice urgent. "Release your spells!"

"But... they're old! Something's not right—"

"Trust me, they're strong enough to split a ten-year-old kid's skull with their axes. It's us or them, so release your spells!" She cut him off, her hands guiding his wand at the approaching enemies.

Elliot swallowed dry as his teammates bombarded the orcs. They were beasts—he hadn't changed his mind—but beasts in their twilight years. Wasn't it unnecessary, even cruel, to kill them?

He sighed heavily... then shot his spells. A quick death. That was the best he could offer these old orcs.

The first volley of spells dug searing trenches through the gorge's solid ground. Scaled bovines stumbled, then shrieked as their powerful legs snapped like decayed bones. Their riders rolled on the ground, screamed something that amused the others, even as they weathered the assault of sharp wind blades.

It was madness. That's what Elliot managed to think before Karen wrenched him back. An arrow lodged itself deep where he had stood. She hurled a water javelin at the archer, yelling. "Kill their sharpshooters first!"

He shivered. Truly a madness too different from Teacher Maxwell's war simulations.

"Tough bastards!" One of his companions' exasperated voices reached him amidst the chaos. "They're determined to go down with a bang."

Elliot clenched his jaw, multiplying his spells. Old orcs burning like torches kept running at them. He didn't know whether he should admire their determination or tremble in horror. It didn't matter. Not now. Success first, think later.

Against all the quick victories he had imagined, the warriors slowly pushed through the waves of spells. A few, more dead than alive, zealously paved the way for those behind.

Morris snorted, his eyes locked on the hooded figure emerging from the burning gates of the village. "The shaman's joining the party, guys. Prepare for melee combat and join me once you're done!" He rushed around the closing warriors in a blur of flames.