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ArabicArknights: Soul Knights of Terra — Chapter 39
Chapter 39: This Is Sarkaz
Five days had passed since Vera and Hoederer struck their deal.
During this window, the four brothers kept busy with their own distinct agendas. Gregor spent his daylight hours at home keeping Ifrit company, only to set out on foot under the cover of night. Relying on his Paladin trait of limitless stamina, he marched relentlessly. Whenever his brothers used the mental chat to ask if he was hopelessly lost, Gregor stubbornly insisted he was heading straight for Kjerag, exactly as Vane had instructed.
Meanwhile, Gusi remained holed up in the freezing Ursus tundra, endlessly propagating his mutated ancient trees. The canopy of his Black Forest expanded at such a terrifying rate that even Gusi himself occasionally lost his bearings in the dense thickets.
Vane’s routine was the most monotonous of all—constantly dancing on the razor’s edge between critical health and full vitality. In his spare time, he played games with Ifrit, or found himself dragged away by a returning Vera to serve as an immortal punching bag for her mounting stress.
As for Vera herself… she was living a deeply fulfilling life on the front lines.
A deafening explosion triggered by Originium Arts shattered a rocky hill in the distance. Vera stood her ground, expressionlessly fanning away the acrid smoke drifting past her face.
‘How many times does this make it…’
“Including that last one, thirteen times, right?” a mercenary standing nearby muttered, counting on his calloused fingers.
“Now that you mention it, the ‘greetings’ we’ve been getting these past few days have really dropped off,” another mercenary chimed in, leaning against his heavy shield. “Think the big shots up top are finally ready to talk peace?”
“You call this a drop-off!? [Sarkaz swear word]!” Vera finally snapped, unable to hold back her irritation.
The first mercenary immediately waved his hands. “This is already nothing, Big Sister! Right now, these bastards are just tossing a few Arts from a mile away. It’s their way of saying ‘I see you, but I can’t be bothered to walk over.’ It used to be a real party out here. We’d be locked in face-to-face melee, and nobody went home until a dozen bodies hit the dirt. Look at us now. We’ve been marching for five days and haven’t seen a single drop of blood.”
As if to punctuate his complaint, another distant spell flared against the horizon, kicking up a useless cloud of dust and achieving absolutely nothing.
Vera felt a sharp throbbing in her temples. Spending five straight days surrounded by the relentless boom of artillery was pushing her to the brink of a nervous breakdown.
‘[Sarkaz swear word]! What is even the point of this!?’
Hoederer stepped out from the settling dust. Hearing her frustrated muttering, the towering Sarkaz offered a calm explanation.
“Stating positions, marking boundaries, and… attrition.” He gestured toward the distant plumes of smoke. “Every time an Arts spell lights up the sky, it’s a signature claiming ownership of this territory. Constant friction applies steady pressure to the enemy. It drains their resources and their focus, while simultaneously training our fresh recruits to breathe the ash of the battlefield. Here in Kazdel, quiet is usually just the prelude to a storm. Or… it means one side has already been entirely wiped out.”
Ines stepped up beside him, her voice dripping with its usual dry mockery. “For most mercenaries, this level of long-range crossfire is perfect. It proves to the higher-ups that we are actively engaged, while conveniently keeping our own necks off the chopping block. After all… nobody wants to die for nothing.”
Vera fell silent.
‘This entire race of Sarkaz… is there seriously something wrong with their brains?’
Suddenly, Ines turned her head. Her mocking tone vanished, replaced by a chilling gravity.
“Something is wrong… that wasn’t a greeting.”
“Finally! A real job!”
The surrounding mercenaries, who had been slouching and complaining just moments ago, instantly ignited. They racked the bolts on their crossbows, checked their blades, and dove for cover. Their movements were so fluid and predatory they looked like entirely different people.
Hoederer shifted smoothly into command mode. He glanced down, then turned his single eye toward W, who had quietly slipped up right behind Vera.
“W, what is the status of the explosives?”
“Huh? Why don’t you look down and see what you’re standing on?”
Hoederer’s eye twitched. He casually shifted his boot off a freshly buried trigger mechanism. “…Set them up further away next time.”
Vera watched the sudden spike in bloodlust around her, completely baffled by the shift in atmosphere.
‘What is going on? Why is everyone suddenly so hyped? Haven’t we been under attack this entire time?’
W leaned in close, her chaotic eyes scanning Vera from head to toe with a predatory gleam. “Are you really a Sarkaz? You seriously can’t tell the difference?”
Vera’s muscles locked up.
‘Did I get exposed!?’
Just as alarm bells began shrieking in her mind, Ines stepped in, her cold voice cutting through the tension.
“I imagine our esteemed employer simply hasn’t needed to live like a wild dog, fighting over scraps of carrion just to survive. Or have you already forgotten whose coin bought the supplies strapped to your waist, W?”
“Tch… meddlesome witch.” W glared at Ines, shooting Vera a sharp, provocative grin before spinning on her heel. She skipped off to plant more of her dangerous little toys according to Hoederer’s orders.
The rest of the mercenaries scattered into the ruins, leaving only Vera and Ines standing in the open.
“It seems… you know something?” Vera asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
Ines did not answer directly. Instead, her eyes remained fixed on the horizon. “Tell me, Milady Employer… do you know where Sarkaz mercenaries source their supplies?”
“…From the payment after completing a contract?”
“And besides that?” Ines pressed.
“…Buying them?” Vera offered, feeling like the answer should be obvious.
Ines let out a faint, humorless breath. “It is scavenging.” Her low voice stripped away any romantic illusions, laying bare the bloody reality of Kazdel. “To put it bluntly… we strip it off the dead. Weapons, rations, clothing… even the flesh on their bones, so long as the Originium hasn’t corrupted it completely. Every battle is a harvest. We take from the enemy, and when necessary… we take from our own. Those distant blasts earlier were just greetings. Without close-quarters contact, there are no bodies to loot. But now…”
Ines narrowed her eyes at the encroaching shadows. “Someone has delivered fresh goods right to our doorstep.”
A deafening blast erupted mere meters away, sending a shockwave of dirt and shrapnel into the air. Vera’s heart hammered against her ribs.
[Time Stop Sound Effect]
In a world frozen in absolute stillness, Vera’s eyes darted across the battlefield. Her gaze pierced through the suspended clouds of dust, locking onto the distant ridge. Lurking within the shadows were the glaring, blood-red optics of enemy combatants.
‘Enemies?’
A heavy knot of tension twisted in her gut. Despite spending weeks in this brutal world, this was the first time she was facing a genuine, lethal assault head-on.
The temporal freeze shattered. The howling wind rushed back into her ears, whipping the dust and her silver hair into a frenzy. Ines stood completely unfazed by the nearby crater. She glanced at Vera, her expression unreadable.
“Do you wish to stretch your muscles, or would you rather test our strength first?” She paused, adjusting her grip on her weapon. “If you have no intention of dirtying your hands, I suggest you step back. After all…”
A shrill, tearing whistle cut through the air before Ines could finish her sentence.
Instantly, Vera’s perception of the world warped. The frantic chaos of the battlefield ground to a crawl. The roar of the wind stretched into a low, distorted hum. The floating embers and dust motes drifted like leaves in thick water. Even the movement of Ines’s lips slowed to an agonizing crawl.
‘Time stop? No… I didn’t cast it… Is my own perception slowing down!?’
In the mobile game, the Necromancer’s starting passive talent was simple: Decreased bullet speed, increased gold pickup range. But when that digital mechanic materialized into the brutal reality of Terra, it did not magically slow down the enemy’s projectiles. Instead, it accelerated her own cognitive processing to a terrifying degree—granting her true Bullet Time.
In her hyper-extended vision, Vera watched Ines abruptly snap her mouth shut. The caster’s usually stoic face twisted into sharp alarm. Moving at a speed that felt agonizingly sluggish to Vera, Ines whipped her arm forward, hurling a throwing dagger directly at… Vera’s back!?
Vera shifted her weight. In the dilated flow of time, a pitch-black crossbow bolt materialized from the smoke, hurtling straight for her spine.
‘Since when!?’
There was no time to think. Even though the bolt appeared slow in her accelerated mind, the physical reality was that it was closing the distance at lethal velocity. Without a fraction of hesitation, Vera drove power through her hips and violently twisted her torso.
From Ines’s perspective, Vera’s reaction was nothing short of monstrous. The employer had been staring blankly a microsecond prior, only to snap into motion the instant the bolt threatened to pierce her armor.
Vera’s hand blurred to her waist. She drew her longsword in a brutal, sweeping arc. A crescent of pitch-black energy swallowed the incoming arrow whole, shattering it into splinters. Using the momentum of her own slash, Vera spun entirely around, her free hand snapping out to snatch Ines’s airborne dagger right out of the sky. With a fluid, almost arrogant grace, she slid the void sword back into its sheath.
Silence fell between them.
The two women stared at each other through the settling dust. After a brief hesitation, Vera flipped the dagger and offered it hilt-first.
“Here you go…”
Ines did not ask any questions. She accepted the blade with a clean, decisive motion. “…Thanks.”
Sliding the dagger back into its harness, Ines returned her focus to the treeline. Her internal assessment of this mysterious employer had just skyrocketed. It wasn’t merely the bizarre, shadowy Arts she wielded; her raw physical reflexes and combat instincts eclipsed those of veteran Sarkaz bloodlines.
Vera turned her gaze forward. Dozens of dark silhouettes were now pouring over the ridge, weapons drawn and howling for blood.
“Do you want to make a move?” Ines asked.
“I don’t— cough!” Vera nearly blurted out her cowardly truth, quickly choking on the words and pivoting hard. “I mean… these small fry aren’t worth me drawing my blade!”
“That is true…” Ines actually nodded in agreement, her eyes drifting down to the void sword resting at Vera’s hip. That flawless parry had clearly left a lasting impression. “Then please wait here. The slaughter will be over shortly.”
“How fast can it be?” Vera muttered subconsciously.
The answer came immediately.
“Hahahaha! Watch your step, idiots!”
W’s manic laughter shrieked across the killing field, instantly followed by a chain of devastating detonations. The distant ridge vanished in a blinding flash of orange fire. Piercing screams, panicked curses, and the sickening, wet thuds of dismembered limbs hitting the dirt echoed through the valley.
And that was merely the opening act.
“Hahahaha! [Sarkaz swear word], you [Sarkaz swear word] finally showed up! I’ve been waiting for you!”
“Don’t steal my kill, you bastard! That head is mine!”
“Charge! Offer this victory to the Big Sister!”
“[Sarkaz swear word]! You dare hold out on the loot!?”
The deafening roar of explosives, the unhinged cackling, the crude profanity, and the fanatical war cries all bled together into an uncontrollable storm of violence. The sheer volume of it hammered against Vera’s skull, making her brain ache.
But the auditory assault was nothing compared to the visual nightmare unfolding before her.
The mercenaries, who had been lounging in the dirt an hour ago, had transformed into rabid beasts. Braving a dense hail of enemy Arts and crossbow bolts, they launched a suicidal counter-charge. Spells slammed into their armor, arrows bit deep into their shoulders, and blades sliced open their flesh—yet they did not even flinch. To these veterans, the lethal barrage was nothing more than a light drizzle.
Vera watched in paralyzed horror as serrated axes hacked through bone. She saw raw Originium Arts melt skin from muscle. She saw spears impale chests. Hot, bright crimson blood sprayed from both friend and foe, painting glaring, wet arcs through the ash-choked air.
It was so vivid. So raw. So utterly cruel.
When the vanguard clashed in a brutal melee, the skirmish instantly devolved into a white-hot meat grinder. Swords ground against ribs, heavy maces shattered skulls, and the dying gurgles of the enemy harmonized perfectly with the euphoric howling of Hoederer’s squad, weaving a literal dirge of hell.
A wave of deep nausea washed over Vera. Her stomach churned violently, threatening to empty itself. She spoke without thinking, her voice trembling with a deep, hollow shock she couldn’t hide.
“This is… Sarkaz.”
Ines stood rigidly by her side, her cold eyes tracking the slaughter with the detached boredom of someone who had seen it a thousand times before. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, yet it crashed down upon Vera’s chest like a suffocating boulder.
“This is Sarkaz.”