Chapter 872 Triumph on the Battlefield

Ragnar, Sumeri, Nikolai, and Orcus stood in stunned silence, disbelief written across their faces as they witnessed Hubrion's miraculous resurrection.

Orcus, in particular, was overcome with panic and fear, his previous calm demeanor shattered by the unexpected turn of events.

"H-How . . . how did you survive my death skill?!" Orcus exclaimed, his voice tinged with desperation.

Hubrion's expression was calm and collected. He reached into his armor and retrieved a small straw doll, holding it out for Orcus to see.

The necromancer's face contorted in horror at the sight.

"That . . . that is . . ." Orcus stammered, his voice trailing off in disbelief.

Hubrion grinned, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "This is a revive doll that Malifira gave to me," he explained. "She said that any death spell would be directed into this doll, protecting its owner from instant death. We knew about your spell, Orcus, and so we came prepared."

With a dismissive gesture, Hubrion tossed the straw doll aside and leveled his weapon at Orcus. "It's over, Orcus. You cannot defeat me."

Enraged beyond reason, Orcus flew into a frenzy, hurling curses and insults at Hubrion with wild abandon.

But before he could mount a counterattack, Hubrion appeared beside him in a blur of motion, his blade slicing through with a force that rippled the air and crushed hundreds of skeletons.

With a swift and decisive stroke, Hubrion severed Orcus's head from his shoulders, bringing an abrupt end to the old demon's reign of terror.

As Orcus's lifeless body crumpled to the ground, Hubrion stood tall and victorious, his expression steely and resolute.

"If you don't wish to stand with Lord Azazel any longer," Hubrion declared, his voice ringing with authority, "then we have no use for you in the new Netherworld!"

The battlefield lay quiet, the echoes of battle fading into the distance as Ragnar and the others caught their breath.

With Hubrion's victory, a palpable sense of relief washed over them, replacing the tension that had gripped their hearts moments before.

As they surveyed the scene, they witnessed a miraculous sight: the skeletons and undead that had once swarmed the battlefield now dissolved into nothingness, their dark forms dissipating like mist in the wake of Orcus's death.

It was as if they had never been there at all, leaving behind only the scars of battle etched into the earth.

With the threat vanquished, Ragnar and the others allowed themselves a moment of respite, their weary bodies sagging with exhaustion as they leaned on their weapons for support.

Each breath felt like a victory in itself.

"I never want to face something like that again with only the three of us," Sumeri remarked.

"Four," Nikolai corrected her.

Sumeri rolled her eyes. "Hubrion just went off and did his own thing, leaving us to deal with this horde."

"He did defeat the boss," Ragnar pointed out. "This mission was easier than we antic.i.p.ated, and we haven't even needed to use any of the life-saving items Ren gave us. I'd say this mission was a success."

But their moment of peace was short-lived, for soon they were joined by a procession of guild members, their faces etched with confusion and surprise.

They had arrived too late, their eager antic.i.p.ation of battle met with the unexpected sight of a defeated foe and a battlefield already won.

Questions flew among the gathered crowd, murmurs of disbelief mingling with expressions of awe.

How had Ragnar and his companions managed to defeat the boss without them?

What had transpired on the battlefield to lead to such an outcome?

Ragnar could only offer a weary smile in response, his gaze lingering on Hubrion's towering form as the centaur warlord stood triumphant amidst the aftermath of battle.

Though the fight had been hard-won, everything had turned out well in the end.

As the guild members dispersed, their curiosity sated but their hearts still filled with wonder, World Conqueror had done it again.

They gained firstbloods everywhere and were steadily rising to the top.

=======

"What's wrong, Ren?" Evie asked, her voice barely audible over the wind that whipped around them.

They stood at the base of Whispering Peak, their destination clear: to meet the G.o.ddess of Gossip.

Ren was engrossed in checking their guild's status, silently commending the others for a job well done.

Their guild had risen to the top five, and with a bit more effort, they could reach the coveted number one spot.

Closing his status window with a satisfied smile, Ren turned to face Evie. "I was just checking our guild's status. Looks like the others are doing great."

"That's good to hear. Ragnar and Leonel must be making good progress," Evie remarked.

Ren suppressed a laugh. "I'm not so sure about Leonel, but Ragnar will surely get the job done."

"With Isolde by his side, I'm sure Leonel will be fine."

"That's what I'm worried about. Those two are cut in the same cloth after all.

Evie laughed a little and changed the topic as she eyed the daunting mountain before them.

"Speaking of which . . . I'm worried about how we're going to climb this steep, wintry mountain," she admitted.

"Yeah, no one told us it would be so steep and slippery," Ren sighed, surveying the icy slopes ahead.

Azazel and the rest had departed for the nearest village under Pamela's suggestion. She said there were encountered tribesmen who were skilled in scaling mountains.

While it would have been easier to fly or use levitating magic to reach the summit, the prison where the G.o.ddess of Gossip was banished could not be accessed by such means.

So, they had no choice but to tackle the treacherous ascent by foot.

Despite the daunting task of climbing the mountain, Ren didn't want to give up that easily. This was a quest they couldn't afford to fail, not when Lorelai's life was on the line.

"Hey Ren, Evie, we're back! And we've found someone who will take us to the mountain!" Azazel's voice echoed through the camp, drawing Ren and Evie's attention.

This time, Azazel and the warlords weren't alone.