YM778.TV Chapter 192
Chapter 192: Foolhunt Begins
The expeditionary forces were rallied early in the morning. Orion brought with him ten of his Waxknights, and Argrave brought his three companions, plus Silvic. In total, that placed them at sixteen. All had plenty of rations. Orion brought a weapon along. It was an ornate flanged mace made of black metal and gilded with snakes on the shaft, and thoroughly enchanted.
Orion distributed backpacks full of rations to all, including Argrave and his companions—they had been diligently gathered and preserved. The Waxknights accompanying them were C-rank mages, one and all, and seemed to be skilled with their blades.
The morning was spent by Silvic—in truth, Anneliese—scouting out a proper path. The obfuscation was paranoid caution on Argrave’s part, concealing some of their abilities in case they needed them. Anneliese marked the trees in the vast wetlands ahead with her Starsparrow. Argrave repaid some of his debt to Erlebnis—the first hours of the journey would be safe, he knew. He would likely regain his ability to use the Blessing of Supersession the next morning.
After their preparations…
“If you stray too far from me, my power wanes. Barring Orion, perhaps, all will die. The wetlands themselves will consume you in hours, and none will find your body,” Silvic cautioned.
“How dangerous can it be for knights of the faithful?” a Waxknight rebuffed.
Silvic turned her head towards him. “I will not make you believe me. I see no reason to stop you from killing yourself.”
Orion crossed his arms. “Heeds the spirit’s words. We are allies against evil,” he commanded.
“Then we may go whenever you are ready,” Silvic directed.
Orion stepped away, peering through the trees into the vast wetlands beyond. A cold morning mist blocked much vision ahead. This fog seemed different, somehow—the wind did not affect it.
“Oh gods,” Orion sung. “As I walk through hardships, protect me, your Lordships…”
Orion stepped ahead first, heading into the wetlands. Argrave pulled his gloves a bit tighter and then walked forward just after him. Soon enough, the whole party disappeared into the cold morning mist, heading for the foul Plague Jester.
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As they pressed towards the first fortress, the unnaturalness of these wetlands was made readily apparent.
Silvic seemed to possess a boundary of protection she could extend. In ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ it had been an annoyance—the player would follow by the side of this slow-moving character, staying within the safe zone as they moved to the first fortress. Now… things were different, death was reality, and Argrave was tense. He and his companions stayed near Silvic, the Waxknights forming a loose circle around as Orion led them.
The difference between that within Silvic’s protection and that without was visible and tangible. A cold mist surrounded them just outside a boundary as though they were trapped in a bubble. This mist writhed and twisted into shapes, faces, and let out muffled screams that were horrifyingly intense. Beyond that, the wetlands themselves twisted and writhed and bubbled, mud and water stretching and contorting like taffy made of rot.
The first few hours, the howling fog shrouded them as though it were solid, and the light of the sun faded. The Waxknights were forced to light the way with spell light. The waters rose, and before long, everyone waded through knee-high muck. Well, mostly everyone—Argrave was glad to be tall more than ever as the ice-cold waters stung at his shins. Experiencing this place firsthand made the Waxknights take Silvic’s directions very seriously.
Yet as the hours passed… the enemy started to come.
The first to press through the boundary were the leopards. Their element of surprise was ruined by Silvic’s presence, who warned their party long before they came. Even still, their assault was a formidable thing—they came from the trees, jumping down from above, and simultaneously attacked from the ground. The Waxknights on the perimeter intercepted them, but Orion dealt with the bulk.
If anyone saw Orion fight, they would all probably think of the same thing: he can do whatever he wants. His talk of being blessed by 96 gods was no delusion. It was fact, and that was made wholly evident through the first fight alone.
As the leopards stalked through the high waters to get at them, Orion raised his foot up and stamped the water. His foot did not sink back in the water—instead, it met something solid, and he stood up out of the water. In not seconds, a wall of ice formed around their party, isolating the leopards that had jumped down at them from the trees. The Waxknights treated this as the natural order of things, dispatching the large cats quickly with their enchanted blades.
The wall of ice abated some of the assault, as all of the cats needed to climb over it to get at their party. Argrave attacked sparingly, making good use of his escort. He had instructed his party members to do much the same.
After a time, the ground began to shake, and Silvic said, “The rockhides come.”
“Hippos coming!” Argrave relayed, but none treated this as seriously as they should have—most didn’t know what hippos were, probably.
But the shaking grew in intensity, and the waters stirred. A great noise split the air, and Argrave was pelted by chunks of ice. A hippo broke through the barrier of ice Orion had established, bringing with it a tidal wave of water. Its skin was black, reminiscent of volcanic rock. It slammed into two Waxknights in its charge, tossing them aside with ease. It must’ve been 10 tons of pure mass, towering above all. It pressed towards Silvic, where Argrave and his party waited.
“Anneliese, Durran, let’s—” he started, stepping backwards and preparing spells.
Orion stepped forth. He held one hand out and caught the top of the hippo’s open mouth. His legs stayed firm, appearing indomitable. His elbow bent as it received and halted the hippo’s charge, enchantments sparking as they protested the great force pressing against them.
“And though the wicked may be strong…” Orion said, a foul anger in his tone.
The hippo loosed a deafening noise like a groan unique to its species, but the prince slammed its jaw shut with one hand, pushing it back in the same motion. His mace whistled through the air in an uppercut. It struck the hippo on the bottom of its jaw. It was powerful enough to send its titanic head into the air, and its front legs rose up out of the water. It collapsed back into the ice wall, its jaw out of its hinges. It was alive, but badly wounded from one strike.
“The righteous always win,” Orion finished. He reached out his hand and finished the hippo, pressing through its eye to destroy the brain. Once he pulled his hand free, he looked beyond the breach in the ice wall, where two more of the gigantic creatures approached. Orion stepped atop the corpse of the rockhide he’d just ended, moving to meet both alone.
Argrave looked away, content that Orion would be able to handle all comers from that side. He spotted something atop one of the ice walls, and his gaze locked onto it. A black gibbon as large as a man hung from one of the trees, one of its too-long arms clinging to the branch. The other held a stick that hummed with liquid light.
The gibbon had a pouch on its neck—it inflated with air, letting out a quaint sound as it turned pinker. After, it let out a staccato call, several high-pitched hoos that filled the air. Argrave tensed, and as the gibbon called, the apes descended on them en masse, swinging from the overhanging trees so adeptly it was impressive despite the danger.
Recognizing the threat, Argrave used [Waning-Cycle Bloodmoon] immediately. A thread of his blood formed a circle before his hands as the Waxknights confronted the apes, immediately proving his caution warranted. The apes swung their light-imbued sticks with intense ferocity. Their arms were six feet long and pure muscle. These humble sticks blessed by wetland spirits cut through enchanted armor easily.
Yet the Waxknights were not mere knights. Their waxpox-ridden skin was as hard as stone, and they felt no pain. What few blows they did not parry with their enchanted blades were returned twofold, and the gibbons fell one after the other. Though they stemmed the tide somewhat, it was not sufficient to stop all.
Anneliese conjured a B-rank ward—her own magic, this time, and not from her ring—to confront the tide of apes that hunted them. The sticks slammed against the golden ward as the apes cried out angrily, and after not a second, they broke past, screaming “HOOHOOHOOHOO!”
Argrave stepped ahead of his three companions and greeted the apes with blood magic, sending crescent blades of his dark blood towards each and all that pressed further. It was an overwhelming slaughter, and Argrave did not need to use even a quarter as many as he had against the Sentinels in the Marred Hallowed Ground. A good thing, too—receiving a single blow from the gibbons’ weapons could break bones easily.
When the last gibbon fell, Argrave turned his head about, searching for more foes. Just then, a hippo barreled through the ice wall. Argrave prepared to fight, only to see the hippo scrambled away on its back, feet swinging through the air as it tried to turn and run. Orion stepped forward, planting his foot on its stomach. He pressed his foot down and bashed his mace against its head relentlessly, each blow causing the water to stir and yet more ice to break.
When it finally stop struggling, Orion stopped swinging. His breath was not labored at all, and he glanced around, giant black braid matted with blood. He looked at his mace—it had bent slightly, and he corrected it with one hand.
“The faithful cannot be stayed,” Orion concluded. “We eat, rest, and then press onwards. No more than fifteen minutes.”
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In their first battle, one of the Waxknights very nearly died from that hippo’s charge—his spine was broken, and he barely avoided drowning before being rescued. A broken spine was a damning thing on Earth, but magic proved its differences from modern medicine. The broken spine was healed by one of the Waxknights.
Orion spoke to Durran as he ate, telling him about the Vasquer pantheon—even now, the prince did not forget his promise to give the tribal lessons on the pantheon. Argrave listened to Anneliese as she disclosed something, and then Argrave stepped away, coming to stand on a tree’s root that was above the water.
“The fortress is an hour’s walk away,” Argrave called out, drawing all’s attention. “There’ll be another fight waiting there. The Corpse Puppeteer, Waqwaq.” Argrave looked around, then pointed to Orion. “Like the name suggests, this thing controls the corpses of those fallen. We’ll be fighting against those that conquered these wetlands years ago—powerful warriors all, and with numbers no less than the army that took this land.”
Orion crossed his arms, listening intently.
“I’ll need you to stem the tide, Orion,” Argrave explained. “You and your Waxknights are the only thing capable of holding back that horde of the dead. What’s more, you need to remember this—if your comrades should die, crush their skulls. Elsewise, they’ll rise again, and fight you.
“Meanwhile, my companions and I will deal with Waqwaq. Silvic will help us make a path,” Argrave placed his hand to his chest, the other waving to his allies. “If you go, Orion, I’m sure the enemy will try and flee. Can’t have that happen.”
“Can you be trusted with this task?” one Waxknight argued.
“Of course they can,” Orion said at once, slamming his giant hand against the knight’s back. “I trust my brother and his companions. Look! Look how he bleeds for us! He uses his own blood to stay our enemies!” Orion moved to the slain gibbons, where he’d used blood magic to fell his foes. “They have faced fouler and come away fine. Would that you knew of their deeds…”
Argrave frowned, staring down at Orion. As much as he wished Durran had not disclosed everything, he could not blame him for doing so.
“I shall obey,” Orion placed his hand to his heart. “I look forward to seeing this Waqwaq’s head.”
“It has no head,” Argrave shook his head. “But you’ll get what you want, I suspect.”