Chapter 93: Chapter 83: This Necromancer is Too Strong
’This one is really proving its worth.’
’It’s forcing my hand. I’ll have to make training it a priority.’
As Lynch was lost in thought.
BOOM—!!!
The massive, scorching Fireball smashed squarely into the Water Curtain Shield.
Amidst the deafening explosion, crimson flames and billowing steam violently collided. A blinding light flared, as if countless fireworks had bloomed in a single instant, and a scorching heatwave rolled outward in all directions.
The Water Curtain Shield, already low on energy, trembled violently before shattering and dissipating completely.
Its impact blocked, the force of the massive Fireball also vanished without a trace.
Lynch and the Skeleton Guards, protected by the shield, emerged completely unharmed.
Lynch even had the presence of mind to casually blow away the rising dust. He then looked up and shot the old Shaman a friendly smile.
’After all, it won’t be long before he’s one of mine. I might as well say hello in advance.’
"Guh... Gak?!"
The old Shaman’s savage grin froze on his face, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.
’My long-planned decapitation strike... had been neutralized just like that, so effortlessly?’
’How is this possible?!’
’The strength of that Water Curtain Shield... it was clearly not some low-level Magic that could be cast in a hurry!’
’Could it be... he was prepared all along?!’
This thought instantly extinguished the pride in the old Shaman’s heart, sending a bone-deep chill through him.
In reality, the old Shaman could never have guessed just how terrified of death Lynch was.
For any risky operation, Lynch habitually gathered intelligence and formulated a plan before making a move. How could he possibly make such a rookie mistake?
Long before launching the night raid, he had gotten the full details on the Bloodfang Tribe from his captives.
In addition to the Tier Three Chieftain, Bloodfang, the tribe had one remaining old Shaman who had reached Tier Two, and a Barbaric Beast that he had tamed.
The battle had been raging for several minutes. The Chieftain had appeared and was locked in a bitter struggle, so why were the Shaman and his beast still nowhere to be seen?
It was a no-brainer. The old fellow was definitely plotting something, most likely planning to use a "decapitation tactic."
For a goblin Shaman, renowned within his tribe for his wisdom, such a tactic was perfectly logical.
And since Lynch had anticipated this, he had naturally dispersed his Squirrel Skeletons long ago, monitoring the entire battlefield like an all-seeing network.
The old Shaman’s entire approach—riding his Barbaric Beast, sneaking closer under the cover of the hovels and the darkness, and preparing to cast his Magic—had been under Lynch’s "surveillance" the whole time!
The reason he had remained impassive, even deliberately "focusing" on directing the assault on Bloodfang, was to bait the Shaman into revealing himself.
’Tricking him into wasting his ultimate move in the process would be the best-case scenario.’
"ROAR~~"
The old Shaman was, after all, an old monster who had lived for a very long time. Though shocked, he quickly recovered his senses.
’So what if the Necromancer blocked that fatal Fireball?’
Immediately, the old Shaman spurred his war Barbaric Beast to charge the Necromancer while swinging his wooden staff, attempting to chant a second Magic.
Suddenly, a powerful sense of danger washed over him.
He thought, ’This is bad!’ and was just about to act when—
WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH—!!!
A sharp, piercing sound tore through the air.
From the shadows of some ruined hovels to the side, a dozen bone Javelins, poised and waiting, suddenly ripped through the air in a volley aimed straight for the old Shaman.
The forest of bone Javelins created a surprisingly overwhelming presence, as if blotting out the sky.
The largest of them was the fastest and most powerful, its tip wreathed in a faint, blood-red aura, giving it an exceptionally menacing presence.
The old Shaman’s face paled in horror. In his haste, he only had time to raise a withered arm as a ring on his finger flared with brilliant light.
A shield of flames instantly enveloped him.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Most of the ordinary Javelins that struck the Magic Shield were either deflected or repelled.
But the main Javelin, wreathed in its blood-red aura, was extraordinarily powerful. It shattered the shield of flames in a single strike.
Its momentum unbroken, the bone Javelin plunged into the Shaman’s hastily raised right arm with a sickening SQUELCH, piercing straight through and snapping the bone.
The immense force of the impact sent the old Shaman tumbling off the back of his beast.
THUD!
The old Shaman crashed heavily to the ground with a grunt of pain. Blood streamed from his broken arm, and his wooden staff was knocked from his grasp.
He struggled to his feet, intending to fight back, but when he got a clear look at his attackers, his ancient body froze. He was completely stunned.
Eleven Skeleton Spearmen charged out from the shadows.
The Skeleton in the lead was exceptionally tall and powerfully built. Soul Fire burned in its eye sockets, and on its head, it wore a Beast Bone Crown.
The old Shaman knew that crown all too well.
He himself had spent months polishing and blessing it; only the most powerful warrior in the tribe was worthy to wear it.
"Mo... Moragu?!"
As if struck by lightning, the old Shaman cried out the name.
Moragu had been his most prized protégé, the most talented elite spearman of the younger generation—one he had personally trained—and the future hope of the tribe.
Not long ago, he had been sent out on a "hunting" mission, a task the Shaman had thought was a sure thing...
But now, he was dead.
And not only was he dead, but he and the ten elite spearmen under his command had all been turned into cold Undead Skeletons in the enemy’s service.
SQUELCH!
While the old Shaman was still stunned, a bone javelin pierced his heart.
The one who wielded that javelin was none other than the Moragu the old Shaman had just named.
But its name was now Bone Spear Hainuo.
SQUELCH! SQUELCH!
The sound of javelins piercing flesh echoed one after another.
In an instant, the swarming Spearmen had turned the old Shaman into a human pincushion.
Blood gushed from his wounds, instantly soaking his feathered cloak crimson.
Yet the old Shaman seemed oblivious to the pain, his eyes still fixed in anguish on the Skeleton Spearman wearing the Beast Bone Crown.
With great effort, he turned his gaze to the Necromancer in the distance, sitting high atop a Hellhound Skeleton, looking down as if he controlled everything.
Hatred, fear, regret... He couldn’t tell them apart. He couldn’t tell anything apart!
A rattling, gurgling sound escaped his throat, like air from a broken bellows, and he coughed up mouthful after mouthful of blood.
The next instant, his consciousness faded to black.
An unknown amount of time later, the old Shaman’s vision returned.
A gentle voice, one that felt incredibly warm and familiar, echoed in his ears.
"From this day forward, you shall be known as [Bone Shaman Blazing Flame]."
...
