Unlike the players, who were chasing the coalition troops across the periphery without aim or tactics, the tieflings had long since formed a tight offensive formation. Using the breach carved open by the players, they plunged into the three-thousand-strong coalition force like a razor-sharp blade.
Mezrolash charged at the very vanguard, his armor spattered with gore, so fearsome that hardly anyone dared approach him.
He raised his bloodstained greatsword high.
Channel Divinity: Dreadful Aspect.
A gloom like the dead of night immediately enveloped the surroundings.
Mezrolash channeled his darkest emotions, condensing them before unleashing them as a magical aura of menace—an ability unique to Oathbreakers.
Engulfed in shadow, the coalition soldiers cast aside their helmets and armor, succumbing to primal terror.
"No, stay back!"
"Aaagh—!"
"Run! Run!"
"A devil! He's a devil incarnate!"
Blood splashed across his face. The corner of Mezrolash's mouth curled slightly. "A devil incarnate, am I...?"
The words seemed to stir old memories.
After a brief silence, he spoke calmly, "Since that is what you wish me to be, then so be it."
Striding forward, Mezrolash swung his bloodstained greatsword, bringing down flashes of crimson light—the blood-red Divine Smite unique to Oathbreakers.
Amid shrill, agonizing screams, the lives of the coalition soldiers were harvested ruthlessly, as if by Death himself.
The men scattered in all directions to flee him as though evading an actual fiend. Even the tieflings under his command felt an unfamiliar dread toward their terrifying leader, doing little more than following behind and loosing scattered volleys of arrows.
Damakos hurried up, asking with deep concern, "Captain... are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
"Never better."
As he spoke, Mezrolash raised his greatsword once more.
Channel Divinity: Control Undead.
Corpses crawled slowly to their feet, picking up severed limbs and jamming them back onto their bodies. Flickering ghostlight burned in their hollow eye sockets as they snarled and lunged toward their former comrades.
"No—!"
"Gods above..."
"He really is a devil!"
"The monster brought them back! He controls the dead!"
Seeing their fallen comrades reanimated as undead lunging at them, their familiar faces twisted with a ravenous hunger for living flesh, the coalition soldiers' morale shattered completely. They fled in frantic desperation—none of them wanted to end up as such grotesque horrors.
Mezrolash slowly lowered his bloodstained greatsword.
"The effect is quite good."
A faint gleam flickered in his solid black, iris-less eyes. Blood coated his ram-like curved horns; at this moment, he looked every bit a fiend from the depths of Hell.
Control Undead was an ability he had never used in the past, but Mezrolash had long since discarded his qualms.
Since he was now the minion of an evil dragon, even something like this...
Did not matter.
Mezrolash looked around, only to realize with mild surprise that even his own companions harbored a sliver of fear deep within their eyes.
He chose to act as though he hadn't noticed, merely issuing a calm command: "Keep pushing forward."
Spearheaded by the shambling undead, the tieflings pursued the crying, routed coalition soldiers all the way to House Bosque's command post.
Rather than a commander, Andre Bosque was more like a frontline vanguard. As soon as the battle had begun, he had charged headlong into the fray by himself, dumping all the burdensome command duties onto the subordinate nobles.
As those pamper-bred aristocrats watched the undead draw nearer, sheer terror overtook them; one even fainted on the spot.
In their eyes, war was supposed to be an elegant art, not brutal butchery.
Moreover, the orders they had received from House Bosque were simply to preserve their own strength rather than fight to the death.
Yet now the enemy had carved a path straight to their doorstep, far exceeding anything they had anticipated.
Baron Matthew's voice trembled. "Wh-what should we do?"
Beside him, Viscount Luton whispered, "How about... we surrender?"
"B-but I doubt they'll honor the sacred aristocratic conventions..."
"They're minions of an evil dragon!"
The undead closed in with guttural groans while the tieflings stood at the ready with weapons drawn.
Mezrolash merely stepped forward at an unhurried pace, pointing his sword at the command tent from a distance.
"Gentlemen, surrender and you shall live."
His voice was not loud, yet it carried with unmistakable clarity.
Silence fell over the tent, followed by the sound of frantic rustling.
Baron Matthew finally broke under the immense pressure. Stumbling out through the rear exit, he vaulted onto his warhorse.
"You damn fiends!
"Go to hell!"
He cursed at the top of his lungs as he galloped away.
Mezrolash said nothing more. Watching the mounted noble with cold eyes, he raised his blade, which was shimmering with magical light.
Crown of Madness.
A twisted, jagged crown materialized above Baron Matthew's head, and madness instantly flared in his eyes.
Losing all control, he tumbled from his horse and began thrashing wildly on the ground.
Mezrolash strolled over and looked down at him.
"You are quite brave."
Rolling on the dirt, Baron Matthew shrieked incoherently, "One day, I'll slaughter every last one of you!"
Squelch—
With a swift, clean thrust, the raving baron was pinned dead to the ground.
Watching this gory scene unfold, the remaining nobles inside the tent cried out in horror.
Yet it was not over.
Mezrolash pulled free his bloodstained blade.
The corpse on the ground began to squirm slowly before staggering to its feet, eerie light glowing in its empty sockets—Baron Matthew had been transformed into an undead.
Silence fell over the nobles like a tomb.
Mezrolash drove the undead baron before him to the tent and repeated calmly, "Gentlemen, surrender and you shall live."
He paused.
"At the very least... I will not turn you into something like this."
Sweat poured down Viscount Luton's face. Finally breaking beneath the pressure, he fell to his knees with a thud, blubbering through snot and tears, "I surrender! I surrender! Please, I beg of you, don't turn me into an undead!"
"I surrender too! Just spare my life!"
"House Terman is willing to pay a ransom!"
"House Fate requests cooperation!"
"On behalf of House Chris, I pay my respects to the Lord of Cinder!"
With Viscount Luton leading the way, the nobles in the tent dropped to their knees one after another, pleading for mercy amid incessant wailing.
Mezrolash gave a slight nod.
"Pardon our lack of hospitality, then."
The tieflings moved in and bound the kneeling nobles.
Damakos stepped forward and reported cautiously, "Captain... no, My Lord, the coalition's right wing has completely routed. The Starfallen are hunting down the stragglers. Should we coordinate with Lord Langpu to hit the enemy's center from the flank?"
Mezrolash shook his head. "No. We withdraw immediately."
Damakos froze in bewilderment. "B-but My Lord, we..."
A hint of mockery played in Mezrolash's pitch-black eyes. "We withdraw directly. We are going to invite these nobles to witness a grand ceremony."
"Yes, My Lord."
Though perplexed, Damakos obeyed the order and led the terror-stricken nobles back toward the north of the mountain pass.
Chapter 114