Chapter 26: Frogman Cultivator [1]
The mahogany desk in the grand obsidian office vibrated with the heavy, frantic breathing of a beastman pushed to his absolute limit.
Standing before Tiger Lord Manuses was his right-hand man, Trojan, a towering Sun Tiger Man who possessed the imposing, sharp aura of a low-level Martial Master.
The commander’s golden-gilded armor was scorched with soot from the mid-ring skirmishes, and his clawed hand rested tightly on the hilt of his twin broadswords.
"Lord Manuses, the lower sectors have completely fractured!" Commander Trojan reported, his voice tight with suppressed rage.
"We just received word from the eastern smelting pools. The reinforced iron gates were completely shattered, the Troll priest has been assassinated, and the entire detachment of Orc sentries, Fox watchmen and our elite Sun Tiger soldiers were butchered in less than a minute. The Crimson Wolf-kin have been freed from the hanging cages."
The commander took a heavy step forward, his slit pupils burning with lethal intent. "This is no longer a random slave riot," he paused,
"It is a calculated, systematic execution of our defenses. Grant me permission to mobilize the entire royal vanguard." Commander Trojan crossed his chest as he pledged "Give me the order to lead our full force down into the channels and go all out. I will personally rip the heads off whoever is directing these wolves!"
Manuses didn’t move.
He stood by the massive panoramic opening overlooking the smoking canyon, his hands gripped tightly behind his back.
The silence in the room stretched until it became suffocating.
"No," Manuses spoke, his voice surprisingly quiet, cutting through the commander’s boiling momentum.
Commander Trojan blinked, his ears twitching in disbelief. "My Lord? If we do not strike back with everything we have right now, we risk losing total control of the mid-rings before dawn—"
"I said no," Manuses rumbled, turning his head just enough to cast a cold, clinical glance over his shoulder. "Pull back the perimeter guards from the lower trenches. Order the vanguard not to make any further moves against the eastern sector."
"But Lord Manuses—"
"Do not make me repeat myself," the Tiger Lord interrupted, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low cadence. "Let them take the trenches." he declared.
"Tell the enforcers to keep doing exactly what they are doing right now—maintain their current positions, protect the main gates, and just observe. Do not engage the wolves. Do not pursue the independent hyena factions."
The right-hand man stood frozen, his jaw clenched, but the absolute authority in the Tiger Lord’s posture brooked no argument.
He bowed his head deeply, his armor clanking in the quiet room. "As you command, My Lord."
As the heavy iron doors closed behind his commander, Manuses turned back to the window, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the dark canyon. ’Everything is going according to his plans, that man is clearing the board for a complete restructuring,’ he thought bitterly.
’If I throw my entire army into the dark alleys now, I’ll have nothing left when the real architect finally steps into the light.’ Lord Manuses sighed deeply.
’And besides, that wasn’t a bad offer,’ he thought, ’We’ve deemed the god of the Trolls to be evil, I will not worship a True God who accepts living sacrifices.’
’If the God of Beasts is as benevolent as that man said... then’ Lord Manuses paused, ’Maybe I’ll pray to him.’
"I still have a day before that man returns," Lord Manuses inhaled deeply, "It should be enough to make my decision."
**
Miles away from the chaotic alarm bells of the volcanic palace, the southern perimeter of Tempest City ended in a series of jagged, forgotten sulfur cliffs.
Roy walked calmly through a narrow, overgrown cleft in the stone face, his tailored black coat completely untouched by the damp, sticking mist of the outer wastes.
Guided by his god-level system awareness, he stepped into a concealed, ancient drainage tunnel that bypassed the city’s tracking arrays entirely.
The air inside the tunnel didn’t smell of sulfur or copper. Instead, it carried the deep, earthy scent of stagnant moss and old river stone.
As Roy walked deeper into the damp dark, the moisture on the walls began to shimmer with a faint, translucent green hue.
There were no torches, no footsteps, and no sound.
To any ordinary cultivator, this tunnel would look entirely abandoned—a completely dead space with zero spiritual fluctuations.
But Roy simply smiled, his dual-colored golden-crimson eyes piercing through the heavy illusion wards layered over the stone.
He stopped at the center of a wide, flooded chamber where the water reached the trim of his boots.
Sitting cross-legged on a smooth, moss-covered boulder in the middle of the dark pool was a small, ancient figure draped in tattered, mud-stained robes.
The old Frogman cultivator sat perfectly still, his wrinkled, gray-green skin blending seamlessly into the dark background.
His webbed hands rested on his knees, and his bulbous eyes were tightly closed.
He didn’t have a weapon, and his breathing was so slow it was entirely imperceptible.
He had completely erased his presence from the world. To the rest of Tempest City, he was a ghost.
"For someone trying to hide an entire tribe of escaped slaves, you chose an exceptionally well-crafted array, Elder," Roy spoke smoothly, his voice echoing clearly across the still water.
The old Frogman’s large eyes slowly opened.
They didn’t reflect the panic of a runaway slave; instead, they gleamed with the deep, terrifying stillness of a deep lake.
The moment his gaze locked onto Roy, the passive weight of a Martial General realm third mana core subtly rippled through the water, creating perfect, concentric rings that stopped exactly an inch away from Roy’s boots.
The air rippled.
The old man didn’t stand up, but his deep, croaking voice resonated directly through the stone walls.
"A wolf-man walking through a high-tier concealment ward without tripping a single rune," the old Frogman murmured, his gaze tracking the golden-crimson mana faintly humming around Roy’s fingertips. "You are no ordinary messenger of the market guilds. Who are you, boy, and why have you come to the trenches of the forgotten?"
Roy took a slow step forward on the water, his expression completely unbothered by the pressure of a Martial General.
"I am the one who set your people free tonight, Elder. And I’m here to see if you’re ready to help me finish the job."
He stretched his right hand forward, his
lips curled faintly as he spoke.
"My name is Jarden Rome and I’m here to liberate your people!"
