Chapter 381: The Infiltration of the Demonic Camp

Drestra’s Orb of Air and spell of warming surrounded her as she felt her way through the murky swamp. Sounds were distorted. Visibility low. In some places, she could only see a few feet in front of her, but—as nerve wracking as that was—she was glad for it.

If she was having trouble seeing what was ahead, then the enemy would have trouble seeing her.

Soundlessly, she noted the number of strokes she had taken, and looked for the underwater markers that were pointing the way to the enemy camp. Earlier, Alex’s water elementals and a few of her kin’s familiars had scouted the cultists’ camp, bringing back information for a detailed map to take them through the waterways and straight to the enemy camp. If the water elementals hadn’t scouted the way in advance, finding the cultists camp and the gate in the waterway leading to it, would have taken more time than the captives had.

The camp was set up on a series of large islands that were elevated, rising high above the water and were sparse of trees. At the centre of the fortified camp a pit held the imprisoned witches, and around it, a towering palisade of thick logs had been erected. The murky waterway led right to the log walls: the pen was built on one of the larger islands, ensuring that water ringed the walls like a moat.

Llyworn had said that if the shackled prisoners were to somehow get free, they would have to swim through fifty feet of water to escape. Making things worse, the demons’ traitorous allies had repeatedly painted every imprisoned spellcaster with mana expulsion potion, leaving them broken. The witches were weak, underfed and in no condition to swim away—even if they could escape—while weighted down with chains.

The conditions the prisoners were kept in suited the demons and even Osrian and his followers, but in the end, their cruelty would be their undoing. While the set up satisfied the cult’s purpose, it gave the rescuers easy access to their kindred. They could simply swim through the swamp, right to the moat surrounding the island.

Of course there were obstacles in place to keep predators and other hostiles out. An underwater gate was positioned within the largest waterway leading to the demon’s camp.

Water demons patrolled it without fail, eager to catch anything bold enough to swim too close, and the demon leader believed she could never have enough sacrifices for their rituals. If the scent of mortals and other sacrificed swamp dwellers brought packs of starving monsters to their camp, the patrol would sound the alarm, calling reinforcements to put down the intrusion.

Then there were also mana sniffers to worry about.

These curious demons were highly attuned to mana shared by the Ravener and dungeon cores, though spellcasting or vast mana pools could also alert them. What helped the rescue team was information shared by Llyworn and Rhodri that the creatures were always surrounded by mana from demons and cultists, making it difficult for them to distinguish between mana wielded by their allies, or their enemies.

‘We should still use spells sparingly until the hostages are free,’ Drestra thought. Hart was at the head of the rescue team, obscured from her sight by churning silt and muck.

‘It’s up to you,’ she thought.

###

Hart was grinning like a maniac as he tore through the water.

‘This is bloody amazing,’ he thought, enjoying the excitement running through him.

A previous Champion—likely more than one—must have had skills in underwater combat. He was cutting through the swamp water like he’d been born in it.

‘This is the life,’ he thought. ‘Swimming through muddy water on the way to kill a bunch of cultists and demons so we can rescue some hostages…that’s normal everyday stuff. Not that bloody weird, mind-bending shit Drestra’s mother was doing.’

A shudder went through him—and it wasn’t from the cold. Images of things he’d seen with the Ash Ravens came back to him. Things he’d experienced.

He pushed the past from his mind, re-focusing on what was ahead.

This wasn’t the time for battling ghosts.

Hart searched for marker after marker, leading the team past each one.

‘There’s the root that looks like an old man’s hand,’ he thought, passing a craggy tree root; the last of the underwater markers. Hart signalled Angharad, who was in line behind him, to stop. They’d reached the spot the four water demons would be patrolling, just ahead by the underwater gate.

He drew his massive knife of Ravener-spawn bone enchanted with dungeon core dust and raised an eyebrow.

‘All this time they had us believing that dungeon cores were only good for pulverising and turning into weapons and armour. Now we find out mortals can control the bloody things. Jeez. Uldar, you old, rotting bastard, just what in all hells are you playing at up there?’

A patrolling demon suddenly loomed from the gloom just feet from him. Hart’s agility and generations of experience took over, and his knife was in its throat before it could even move.

He turned around.

‘One down.’

Nearby, two more shadows shot from the gloom.

Their claws flashed.

His blade flashed faster.

Both shuddered, then stopped, their corpses drifting down into darkness.

‘Three dow—Oh no you don’t!’

Barely visible through the silty water, he caught movement from the corner of his eye: another demon was clawing its way to the surface, about to raise an alarm. With one kick of his legs, the Champion was in pursuit, his power driving him upward, straight for the fleeing monster.

He caught it and his blade found its back while his other hand found its throat. Hart twisted the knife’s hilt as his grip crushed the creature’s throat; the demon shuddered once, then went still.

‘And that’s four. Better grab the other three before one of them floats to the surface.’ He swam to the bottom of the swamp. ‘Even the stupidest, laziest sentry in all of Thameland would notice dead demons bobbin’ in the water.’

The other three demons were tangled in tall weeds near the stagnant bottom. He added the last one he’d just killed to their muddy graveyard. A few well placed rocks to hold them down, and his work was done. They wouldn’t stay put forever, but it’d be long enough for him and his companions to get the prisoners far away from the hellhole they were in.

Hart remained at the bottom, waiting for the sound of bodies diving into the water, but all was quiet.

He exhaled.

‘Interesting. Quick and easy kills. Maybe the demons in that camp’ll put up a better fight.’

The Champion swam up toward the waiting witches.

###

Hart and Angharad were with a few more witches, waiting close to the watergate when Drestra and the rest of the rescue team caught up with them. With hand signals, he pointed to where the patrolling demons now lay, and she nodded at the giant of a man in approval as they swam to the gate.

Angharad, Drestra and several more witches went directly to the logs and floating before them, cast incantations that surrounded their hands with acid. The spells were lower-tier, but higher-tier spells weren’t necessary for what they had to do.

Together, they pressed their palms to the gate, acid slowly burnt the wood away until there was a hole wide enough for even Hart to fit through. He wasted no time in doing just that with Drestra right behind, and Angharad leading the rest of the witches into the murky waterway.

This is where things could get tricky.

Alex’s water elementals couldn’t get past the gate, so anything could be waiting for them.

They moved in single file, staying within sight of one another, keeping no more than two feet between them and the person ahead. Their pace was slow and smooth, disturbing the silt as little as possible.

The Sage’s anxiety grew. The longer they swam, the farther away their goal seemed to be, but if they rushed, they’d fail and her kindred would die. She had to trust Hart to be cautious and lead them through the twisting waterway. Her nerves didn’t leave, and she knew they wouldn’t until her kin were safe, but she could deal with that until the mission was done. With each stroke, the waterway opened up, taking them closer to the moat. Finally, there it was before them, and beyond, the island lay.

The rescue team kept moving forward at their slow and cautious pace until they reached the island and looped around. Hart was searching for a distinctive looking root that a witch’s bird familiar had spotted when it was scouting the camp from the air. It was hard to miss, not only because of its massive size, but because of its shape. It looked alive, like a giant’s head with snakes growing from it. A few feet away, he spotted it and The Champion, Sage and Angharad surfaced and hid beneath the root, looking around.

Islands surrounded them, each covered in a sea of tents. Between them, cultists and demons went about their business. Drestra tensed, holding her breath, praying that no alarm would be raised.

But none came.

It seemed the diversion had done what it was meant to. There were still dozens in the vast camp, but their numbers were depleted. And those who remained, were more focused on packing their supplies.

There were only two guards watching the moat, and the pair were more focused on a game of dice than on their duties.

“I love lazy guards,” Hart whispered, his large eyes lighting up. “They’ve made my life easy so many times. They’re like a gift.”

“If only the ones over here were so obliging,” Drestra said, peeking around the root at the palisade on the prisoners’ island.

The wooden wall held a single guard tower, and within it, a pair of sharp-eyed cultists. One looked to be packing up, while the other paced back and forth along the guard station, eyeing both the pit within the wall and the moat outside.

“Mmmm, doesn’t ruin the plan, though.” Hart said, pointing to the opposite shore. “See that tent over there, the one near the water?”

“Yes,” Angharad said.

“I’ll swim over there, use the tent as cover, get in the camp, and start killing. It’ll be nice and quiet at first, just to thin out a few, then I’ll make it loud.”

“And while everyone’s attention is on you,” Drestra repeated the plan. “I’ll cast flight on myself, kill the guards and anyone else holding the prisoners, then blast open the palisade.”

“And then we come in, free the captives and protect them, while you two handle the rest of the camp,” Angharad finished. “The plan looks like it’s still a go as far as I can see.”

“Yep,” Hart said, cracking his neck. “So, I’d better get to work.”

He grinned at his companions. “Wait for the screaming.”

With that, Hart sank beneath the water and moved through it as silent as an eel.

“I’ll let everyone know to get into position,” Angharad whispered, dipping below the surface.

The Sage waited anxiously, looking from the tent near the moat, to the cultists on duty in the guard tower above.

“Come on spirits and you too, Uldar,” she prayed quietly. “Make it so the guard doesn’t see him. Make it so the guard doesn’t see him.”

She watched as Hart’s head surfaced, he took a quick look around, then slipped onto the shore, pressing himself against the tent. He was moving quickly…

…then a bloody cultist made his way over to the tent Hart was hiding behind, carrying a bucket full of slop to dump into the moat.

“No, no, no,” Drestra whispered as he came closer to Hart’s hiding place.

The cultist would see him and—if he didn’t, then the guards on watch in the guard tower would.

She got ready to cast a fireball at the tower.

Then Hart blurred from behind the tent, grabbed the cultists by the neck and crushed it with a quick squeeze of his fingers. His other hand caught the bucket before it hit the ground and set it down gently while the man went silent. With fluid motion, he drew his knife, slashed open the side of the tent and slipped in with the dead cultist under one arm.

No cry of alarm went up.

Drestra’s heart was pounding as she let out a breath she hadn’t even noticed she was holding. Heartbeats later, a very large ‘cultist’ in ill fitting robes stepped from the tent and shuffled into the monsters’ camp. His head was bowed low beneath his hood.

The Champion of Uldar had infiltrated the camp.

Drestra looked up, ready to attack the guard tower.

“Wait for the screaming,” she whispered.