“There are so many monsters that it doesn’t matter how many we kill in a direct battle. They eat our and their own fallen to produce an offspring that reaches maturity in days.
“It’s the reason we always dispose of the corpses after every battle. The good news is that without the leaders, the monster tide will fracture into multiple hordes that can actually be exterminated.”
“Can’t you or Vladion do it?” Kamila asked.
“Yeah, right.” Ilthin scoffed. “Monsters are immune to my charms and even if they weren’t, their leaders are damn smart. They don’t go around wearing a crown or lavish clothes.
“They stick to the middle of the tide, surrounded by so many underlings that I’d die before I get there. Even if somehow I managed to succeed, how do I tell the real leader from his bodyguards?
“It’s not like I can take a stroll among them and ask for directions. I would be surrounded by millions of monsters charging at me from every side. Not even if I was a Divine Beast I would survive that.”
“Point taken.” Lith nodded. “Any news from the elves?”
“Only that they have locked themselves inside a Fringe.” She replied with a snort. “They use guerrilla tactics as well but with the advantage that the monsters can’t enter the Fringe.
“The elves prepare their spells, get out, unleash them, get in, rinse and repeat.”
“Why so angry? It sounds like a good strategy.”
“It is, but as I told you, unless you get rid of the corpses it just buys you a bit of time. On top of that, the elves have refused to leave the Fringe even for a few hours and turned down every offer to collaborate.” Ilthin replied.
“Idiots. Lith took out his communication amulet and called Aalejah. “I can’t do anything about the elves from Jiera but those from Garlen are supposed to help us. Otherwise they can kiss their future cities and the books about modern magic goodbye!”
The former apprentice of the World Tree was now a member of the Awakened Council of Garlen and the appointed liaison between elves and humans during the colonization expedition.
“Hey, Lith. It’s been a while. How are you doing?” Her blue eyes sparkled with joy from hearing a familiar voice.
“I’m alive.” His voice oozed sarcasm. “I need you to contact the elves of Setraliie. They are not keeping their end of the bargain.”
“That’s not true! We are doing the best we can.” The elf was annoyed by both the accusation and the fact that the rumors about Lith calling someone only when he needed something turned out to be true.
“Nonsense! I’m here with Ilthin and she’s- Wait, we? Are you on Jiera as well?”
“As well?” Aalejah echoed in surprise. “When did you arrive and why didn’t you tell me anything?”
***
Middle area of Jiera, Cascan region, human Awakened city of Naerma.
Orpal Narchat finished gulping down the broth remaining in the bowl and burped with satisfaction. It had been weeks since the last time he had a real meal and the warm sensation spreading from his stomach to the rest of his body made him feel reborn.
Night’s plan to use the monster tides of Jiera and its lost cities to have Orpal gain the battle experience he sorely lacked had been a success until it wasn’t.
Fighting against the swarms of monsters was the perfect way to increase his battle awareness and force his bloodline abilities to manifest. During the training, she only let him use Thorn, sealing the Black Rose armor and their steed, Moonlight.
Killing someone bound to a Horseman was close to impossible, but they still experienced pain. Without the armor, every mistake rippled into bleeding wounds and ruptured organs, giving Night’s host the feeling of a real battle.
She even refused to heal his wounds until his body was turned into shred, making Orpal experience death over and over again. He was a blue-cored Awakened armed with a Davross weapon, but a tide was comprised of millions of monsters.
The moment he faltered, blood blurred his vision, or fatigue clouded his judgment, he was ripped apart limb from limb, feeling every bite and claw tearing his flesh apart.
Lost cities, instead, were the perfect opponents to put Meln’s abilities to the test and check on how much of the true power of his equipment he could tap into by himself. Night would give him the armor and the steed, but offer him no help.
Orpal learned the hard way what it meant to fight against another immortal opponent and a stronger one at that. Even Tower tier Blade spells didn’t leave any permanent damage on a cursed city.
They just pissed it off and made the entity go all-out, usually turning Orpal into a smear under their feet in a matter of seconds.
‘How strong was that pile of trash?’ He asked after every defeat.
‘About as much as your brother.’ Night always replied with a mocking laughter.
Of course, it wasn’t true. A cursed object of that size needed a Guardian just to be pushed back. Without a proper spell to destroy their power core, the death of a cursed city would have triggered a devastation of untold proportions.
Yet the lie stoked the fires of Orpal’s rage and envy, keeping his motivation strong.
What Night had failed to take into account was his mental sanity. Or rather, the state that was considered normal for his twisted mind.
Death was a scarring experience and Orpal’s streak of defeats on Jiera was longer than the Wayfinder. Both took a toll on his mental state and after escaping from the Golden Griffon, eating was the only pleasure he had left.
To heal Orpal’s wounds and make him stronger via body refining, Night needed nutrients. The Horseman’s pocket dimension had been filled with delicacies, but after months without restocking there wasn’t a single morsel of food left
To make matters worse, Orpal had never learned how to cook or to field dress a prey.
Cooking was a woman’s job and his parents had disowned Orpal when he was considered too young to handle a knife. As for Night, she had never needed to do either of those things.
Her previous hosts were undead whose meals required no preparation. She only knew the thrill of the hunt and the ecstasy of the feeding. To make matters worse, monsters tasted disgusting even if someone knew how to butcher them.
Orpal had tried to imitate the protagonists of the stories he had listened to as a child, ripping off a leg or arm from a corpse and putting it on a fire as it was. The result tasted so bad that it required him to swallow the meat while holding his nose without munching.
Even then, he would usually puke everything in a few hours.
Night didn’t care since during that time she still managed to extract from the wretched flesh everything she needed. She considered his pain and hunger the proper punishment for Orpal’s incompetence and she believed that it would have made him grow strong faster.
That until his mind had started to slip.
