Chapter 47: Chapter 47: Warriors United
Ping!
An opening in the air.
A bolt flew through the air with an accident and caught in the soil wall.
Boom!
The hard heated earth wall detonated with a boisterous bang, leaving an enormous opening.
A warrior who was seeking shelter behind it was immediately killed by the bolt.
"????? ??????" "????? ?? ??????? ????" "???? ????"
Blasting voices reverberation from the edge of the wilderness.
Balak. A clan of brown-cleaned savages.
They had blades and bows in their grasp and were going after Morg's fortification.
Ping-.
A bolt flies, and an officer is sent tumbling down the bulwarks.
In a matter of moments, Balak's savage champions toppled every one of the skirmishers and mixed up the bulwarks.
Blast, blast, blast!
They put a match to the cotton fields underneath the walls and hauled the savage slaves with them.
Pound, pound, pound!
The yapping of canines all over.
The Brutes of Balak rode their extraordinary wolves in gatherings of a few, and in their grasp they conveyed nooses areas of strength for of.
These were tossed up high, and a slave, consistently a lady, a man, and a youngster, was taken alive.
It resembled a chase.
The shock was quick to the point that the fort was worked up.
Flares were all over, warriors were kicking the bucket, and many slaves were being hauled alive.
What's more, amidst everything, Vikir dipped.
A portion of the savage ladies' eyes illuminated when they saw him.
"???? ????" "?? ?? ???" "???? ????? ???? ???????"
They threw the nooses very high, swung them up, and heaved them at Vikir's throat as one.
Furthermore, with that.
Tut-tut-tut.
The three-strand rope noose snaps around Vikir's neck.
The savage heroes kicked at the mounted wolf's midsections, driving it like a pony.
But.
...Crack!
The wolf had to quit running.
Vikir was remaining there, unmoving.
Thud.
The rope noose fixed around his neck, however Vikir didn't move.
Then, Vikir turned the noose with his hands and gave it a firm crush.
Quack, quack, quack!
The wolf and the three savage female heroes spread across the floor.
The essences of the savage men around them curved.
They yelled something and pointed their bows at Vikir.
Blare, signal, signal.
Bolts of unimaginable speed. As one, they thrusted for Vikir.
Be that as it may, Vikir's hand was a lot quicker.
...Whoosh!
Vikir immediately drew his longsword and saturated it with an atmosphere.
The fluid quality of the Inclination represented a solitary point on the tip of the sharp edge.
Papapapap!
Vikir drew a figure of eight with the tip of his cutting edge, cutting every one of the flying bolts fifty.
The savages shrank back with sickening dread at seeing Vikir's quality.
They really wanted to take note. This manipulative power must be seen by the individuals who contacted some peculiarity.
Vikir squinted, taking in the gathering of Balak before him.
Earthy colored skin. Hair of fluctuating shades of silver, dim, and dark.
Faces painted dark, collars with thistles around their necks, riding on the backs of huge wolves and involving bows as their essential weapons.
"Very much like I recalled before the relapse.
I've confronted Balak's champions oftentimes previously.
They are combative, yet every hero is exceptionally gifted.
It is lucky that this is a plain with a stronghold, for assuming we betrayed them in a dim wilderness, we would struggle.
'Before we set out, Hugo guaranteed me that we were not to connect with until we were joined by the primary body.'
This was Baskerville domain, however it was rented to Morg, so Vikir had not a great explanation to put his life in extreme danger in question with them.
"...."
"...."
Vikir squeezed the savage fighters with a perfect proportion of energy, and they felt free to at him.
They had seen the spooky swordsmanship Vikir had shown only minutes prior.
Then.
...Boom!
There was a noisy blast, trailed via burning blazes.
An earthen wall fell, and a young lady ventured out from behind it.
The person who might one day be called a foe and the Sovereign of Dark.
Morg Camu, she scowled at the brute heroes of Balak with red eyes.
"Die!"
Camu crossed her hands.
Quadra-projecting, four hostile spells showed and started to shake the front line topsy turvy.
Strong impacts of fire and wind, steel and rock, drove firestorms and rock showers.
Balak's brute heroes were gnawing the wolves back, flagging noisily among themselves.
Maybe the time had come to withdraw.
Camu kept the trespassers under control, however looked back at Vikir.
Her look was attracted to the couple of drops of dark fluid on the tip of Vikir's sharp edge.
"You were an Inclination? That is astonishing."
Camu was really dazzled.
What sort of dominance was an Inclination?
A lifted up domain that normal individuals couldn't arrive at even after a long period of preparing.
Indeed, even individuals of Baskerville, who were supposed to be swordsmanship prodigies, could arrive at it when they were thirty.
"I see. You are the main man I can perceive."
Camou sneered and moved forward to Vikir's side.
She had taken a guarded position, as though she suspected Vikir was burnt out on projecting his quality.
"Remain back, it's perilous."
Stepping before Vikir, the camo made a mass of steel and rock while gathering icicles of fire and ice to pound the field.
Three circles of wizardry, even a fourfold cast.
Really a Funeral home virtuoso, an ability deserving of a kick in the ass at age 15.
"I will retaliate for my sibling's demise!"
Camu called all the mana in his body and flung it at the savages.
But.
The war zone is where even the most virtuoso of abilities can't let their watchman down.
...Pow!
Camou grimaced at the stinging sensation at the scruff of his neck.
"A bolt?
Be that as it may, on the off chance that it was a bolt, he would be dead before he got an opportunity to consider it.
He arrived at up and hauled the thing out of his scruff.
Something so little and slim it might have fallen through the safeguards floating in the air.
It was a desert plant needle.
PING-
Camu felt his head turn.
The thistles probably been bound with incapacitating toxin.
"????! ??? ???? ?????!"
I see
one of the savage champions pointing at the camel and bouncing all over with merriment.
Obviously, he was the person who shot the sedative needle.
Also, presently.
Whirly-lic-
The brute fighter tossed the tether he was holding at the camel.
It seems as though he means to catch the camel alive.
But.
Jaws-
The rope was blocked midway.
Vikir connected and got the tether midway.
Kukuk... ...
The brute fighter and Vikir started to battle.
The other man pulled at the noose energetically, yet the all around godlike Vikir was no counterpart for his solidarity.
Boom!
The savage hero was lost the wolf's back and spread on the ground.
"That is basically a simpleton.
Vikir shook his head as he watched the Balak fighter roll around on his back.
Vikir glanced back at Camu.
"I figure we ought to withdraw from here."
"What? However, the farmlands and the detainees?"
"It would be smarter to abstain from drawing in them until we have rejoined the fundamental body of the Baskervilles."
The camo looked tangled.
Soundly, easing off reasonably here would be better.
But.
She had recently lost her darling relative, and without giving it much thought, her feelings got the better of her judgment.
He was taken alive by a savage clan. He probably experienced horrible agony and dread until the snapshot of his passing.
The picture of her sibling streaked through her brain, and her clench hands fixed.
All of a sudden.
PING-!
A sharp puncturing sound came from someplace.
Vikir instinctually snapped his head back.
A bolt experts past the scruff of his neck, sending him flying into the city wall.
Boom!
The blow was sufficiently able to pierce the ear of the bulwark.
"...!"
Vikir snapped his head back.
A solitary female fighter gazed back at him, roosted on the rear of a huge wolf.
Dark hair blended with silver, tipped with three-sided ears, and a face spread with debris.
She tossed her tether right at Vikir, as though she realized he would evade it.
The snake-like tether plunged down, holding back nothing at a flawless point.
"...."
Vikir didn't respond, rather serenely going after his blade.
The dark atmosphere that represented the Baskervilles attracted four teeth the air.
The noose snapped in half in midair.
All of a sudden.
"Danger!"
There was a hand on Vikir's back.
He turned his head to see a cover of hardened bodies pushing against Vikir's back.
What's more, behind him, the savage man who had tumbled away from the wolf prior, pulling at the noose reluctantly.
I thought he'd be a bonehead, yet he's more grounded than I naturally suspected.
The noose was wrapped firmly around the camel's midsection, and the brute took off running with the deadening toxin.
'... ... So this occurs.'
Vikir murmured delicately.
A transient failure to understand the situation is exorbitant.
Morg's next patriarch would realize this the most difficult way possible.
"Indeed, even in her unique history, she was hijacked by savage clans once.
Indeed, even before the relapse.
As a young fellow, Disguise was caught as a captive and removed as a prisoner.
Obviously, it wasn't some time before she got back, butchering brute clans.
It was during this time that she became known as the Sovereign of Foes and Dark.
"In any case, I actually need to take care of my business.
Despite the fact that it's not Baskerville's business, Vikir has shaped an essential collusion with Morg.
Vikir rapidly releases her emanation.
Ka-ang!
The silver-haired female fighter's weapon obstructed Vikir's way.
"...bow?
Vikir's eyes limited as he understood the personality of the thing impeding his sword.
The Balak female champion before him had swung her bow with its full length, impeding Vikir's edge.
Then.
Vikir stared at the lady before him.
A bizarre feeling of uneasiness washed over him.
"You look recognizable.
Similarly as Vikir was going to scrounge through his memory.
The fighter shouted out.
"You said you'd see ... ... once more, didn't you?"
She talked in broken Magnificent.
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