The Ogre Strength Fairy and the Eldest 'Son'-Chapter 354 - A Cold Beginning To A World At War

Rain had ceased hours before, but puddles still dotted the town square where Corde hez Iralev stood. Puddles filled with vantablack ichor as much as water. Her breathing remained fairly controlled despite hours of combat and the limited stains on her blue battle dress and travel cloak was barely evidence.

Of the seven dozen lesser Voidlings she’d dispatched by herself since dawn, a quarter of them alone had fallen in the last little while. But now, the three Intermediate-class entities leading them against her stood at the edges of the square. Humanoid forms rippled with void essence as they assessed her with cold white fire-eyes.

Corde adjusted her grip on the Duskblade - the slender lightweight sword whose already famed edge maintained a perpetual coating of frost through her constant, second nature application of her Element. Mist trailed around the weapon as it visibly cooled any air around it as condensation from the air crystallized along its length just as fast as it lost any material to evaporation.

’Three at once, away from a leader. Uncommon.’

The first Intermediate rushed forward, its ’hands’ morphing into vicious hooks designed to tear and rend. Corde stepped into the attack rather than away - the opposite as she had been doing while fighting Lessers. A flashing arc severed the creature’s leading appendage as her footwork slid around the rest of it.

Wound edge solidified instantly as her foreign Frost essence contacted the Void ichor, preventing the typical amorphous reformation. States that induced change were most effective on the black, immaterial substance attempting to mimic Physical matter. But such Aspects that could introduce rapid change were notoriously hard to source on a battlefield.

Fire cultivators and the like were prized for fortress defense, where prepared ignitions of volatile substances could ruin a swarm’s momentum over a wall - or destroy any ’tower’ or ’ladder’ formations they attempted to construct from their own bodies. But Corde wasn’t the type of warrior looking to meet the enemy from atop of a wall.

A second eldritch creature flanked left while the third circled to come in from the right. A sort of textbook pincer movement that made them more like fighting other humans than their little tentacle limbed underlings. The swordswoman pivoted on one foot, keeping her blade between herself and the nearest threat already turning to swing its other arm her way.

The second Intermediate closed distance faster than she expected. Its form compressed and launched forward like a projectile - a move she’d seen leaders do but rarely these types. Corde’s blade intercepted it and severed deeply through its form to nick the core... but the impact forced her back three steps.

Boots splashed into a puddle and she dipped the already cold top of her Duskblade into the near water, channeling frost essence to momentarily thicken the coating on her weapon that was lost when piercing the Voidling. When the third entity lunged from her blindspot, a spinning counterattack cleaved through its shoulder region as the essence charged edge parted Voidmatter like cloth. freewёbnoνel.com

The wounded enemies both retreated, forms destabilizing briefly before they reasserted control. Meanwhile, the first had thinly regrown its severed limb by purging the ’corrupted’ section. A benefit that cultivators didn’t have and a healing factor most would not, offset by the ’relative’ ease they could be killed with skilled attacks.

’As if we can’t be killed by a harsh blow to the right spot.’

Corde’s movements continued to waste no energy as she repositioned herself in a new stance. Unlike many warriors of the continent who relied on power, her chosen style emphasized precision and control. Each strike targeted weaknesses in patterns that three other Descents worth of fighting these creatures taught.

The first and second - still softly screeching from its injury - attacked simultaneously. She ducked under one sweeping limb meant to be a feint, but her blade scored a line across its midsection anyway. The real attack from the other grazed her shoulder, tearing fabric but missing flesh.

In the entangled moment, the third entity seized ’opportunity’ by striking at her exposed back. Corde hez Iralev sacrificed her outer cloak by allowing the creature to first grasp the heavy fabric before her hand slipped free its buckle at her collarbone. Lighter and less restricted, the woman danced away while weaving a barrier of swings.

Sweat beaded her brow despite the chill her essence generated near her. Age had begun its work on her, even as a Tri-Primalist. Present in the microscopic delays between thought and action that 88 years had brought.

Nothing anyone else would notice, but clear enough to her experienced awareness. Unable to escape the impression that, even ten years ago, she would have slain one of the three in the short encounter already. Whether that was true or not didn’t matter... but it did drive her forward.

The square grew more treacherous as the battle continued. Puddles had frozen where her essence had touched them for extended periods, creating patches of ice that the Voidlings struggled to navigate as their ’feet’ either slipped along or crushed through with unpredictable variation.

As she fought, her gaze drifted for only an instant to the damaged water tower at the square’s edge. The wooden structure leaned precariously from supports that had splintered from earlier fighting. When she dodged a Lesser leaping toward her instead of slicing it through.

Substantial amounts of water remained trapped in its confines, she knew. Water that would have been important to the town in any other year. Strategic retreats that looked only like regular progression of their assault positioned herself between the tower and her opponents.

Aggression tightened and their movements became more synchronized as they sought to overwhelm her and the seeming weakness. For a short while after engaging, they had thought they had miscalculated the difficulty... even having accurately gauged the woman’s level of cultivation. But now they thought they had her.

The first enemy committed to a lunge with force that it perceived as a finishing strike. Corde waited until the precise moment to parry and let her blade be pushed violently aside right into the damaged support beam. Timbers cracked, groaned, and failed as the woman twisted and slipped her ice covered blade free - now without much of any frost left on it.

Water cascaded across the square as the structure collapsed. Catching one Intermediates in its path. Before the flood had even settled, the Frozen Duskblade channeled Frost tinged essence into the water surrounding her opponents. Not enough power to form a solid sheet, but enough to build an uneven layer over most things nearby.

The standing Intermediates struggled for purchase on the suddenly all but frozen surface and frost crept up their lower extremities where they contacted water. And even more crawled over top of what was already built. Yet that was not the threat... just the stall.

She reached the first Intermediate while it was still regaining balance, her Duskblade piercing directly through its core with one thrust, one twist, and one pulling tear free. The second entity, witnessing and hearing its compatriot’s demise, attempted to retreat by extending its arms toward the roof of a nearby building. Cold black blade severed these before they could secure purchase - then its core organ followed suit.

The final had been trapped under the wood, pushing at it with its amorphous form to squeeze out the harder to ’change’ organ. Confidently, the old warrior woman walked forward and struck downward after sidestepping and severing a burst of small tentacled limbs in one sweep.

All around, the void miasma of three creatures dispersed with no true difference than seven dozen had. Corde stood alone in the ruined town square, surrounded by rapidly melting ice and dissipating essence that did not belong on the material plane. Her breathing had deepened... slightly.

She wiped her blade clean as she scanned her surroundings for more enemies hiding. Eventually, she rebuilt the Frost coating before sheathing her namesake. Which was only seconds before a distant horn signaled Continental Army movement.

Reinforcements arriving too late to be useful - a common occurrence in her experience as a solitary fighter. Her fourth Descent cycle had proven no different from the previous three in that regard. Cultivators worked best alone and without waiting for mortal help, as noble as it was for them to raise their blades.

Corde could respect it but also admit some futility. Not that she thought their society had other options. Complete reliance on her kind would lead to even more problems.

"And life is unpredictable. If they don’t maintain an ability to fight, what happens if all the heroes as they call us are gone? I’d like to think, even losing many lives during such a war, the mortals would still prevail eventually over the invaders."

She retrieved what remained of her torn cloak and assessed the damage the rending hooks had done with a critical eye. It could be mended, though the void ichor stains were quite hard to fully wash out. Another battle trophy to add to her collection and another order for the Void Defense tailor next year.

The approaching Continental Army squad numbered sixteen - two officers, fourteen regular soldiers, and two scouts. The sergeant’s weathered face showed relief upon seeing there her standing amid the destruction. A formal salute was given before he began to speak.

"Frozen Duskblade. We were dispatched to assist, but I see the situation is already under control."

Corde acknowledged with a slight nod. She had no biting words to give and felt no great pride in her accomplishment. Destroying the whole battleground in a single encounter was hardly something to brag about... or draw any kind of pleasure from.

She didn’t know of anyone who would even do such a thing and smile afterwards.

This content is taken from (f)reewe(b)novel.𝗰𝗼𝐦