Chapter 129: Ch. 129: The Serpentine Celebration

Ch. 129: The Serpentine CelebrationWe had returned to the Snakeman tribe's lands, Anok, the one-armed traitor, now in tow. His head hung low as the villagers greeted us, their slitted eyes narrowing as they took in the captured betrayer. Arman's arrival, however, drew more than silent stares. The fourth prince had been missing for days, feared dead or worse, and his sudden return sparked a mix of relief and unease.

That I had accompanied him back didn't go unnoticed.

Healers rushed to tend to Arman's wounds, though the warrior himself shrugged off their fussing. His natural resilience was remarkable, his body healing far faster than any mortal should, but even he winced as bandages were wrapped tightly across his muscular frame. There was little time for rest, though.

Soon, Arman invited me to join him for a meal in his large, vine-covered hut, a space designed for both comfort and tribal rituals.

The room was alive with blue firefly lanterns, casting an ethereal glow. Their light danced across the walls, illuminating the gathering crowd. There was no shortage of food—odd-smelling stews, platters of roasted swamp creatures, and bowls brimming with what I could only guess were delicacies of the tribe.

A dish of stewed swamp rats, their tiny legs sticking out of the bowl like dark talons, caught my eye. Their presence was unsettling, a reminder of just how alien this world was to me.

As we took our places on woven mats, I noticed something peculiar. No chairs. None. In most cultures, chairs symbolized status—those in power sat above their subjects. But here, even the prince sat on the floor. I couldn't help but wonder what message this sent.

Were we all equals now? Or did it simply reflect their customs, where hierarchy was expressed through other means?

Arman's hut was unlike any palace I'd seen. There were no grand displays of wealth, no glittering trophies or ornaments to showcase his status. Everything was functional, a reflection of the Snakemen's pragmatic way of life. Yet, beneath the simplicity, there was an undeniable elegance. The mats, woven from fine reeds, were soft underfoot.

The clay walls, though rough, were adorned with intricate carvings—symbols of their gods and ancestors, I assumed.

Despite the modest surroundings, the air was thick with tension. The Snakemen had grown silent, their serpentine eyes fixed on me. I could feel their unease, their curiosity, and their suspicion. Arman, of course, noticed this too.

"Aren't you eating, Lord Hades?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of mockery. He leaned forward, his slitted eyes gleaming with amusement. "Or is our food too primitive for your divine palate?" Find your adventure at M-V-L

I glanced down at the bowl before me. A mass of green, wriggling… no, it couldn't be. Worms. Mixed with diced swamp vegetables and what looked like chunks of roasted rat meat. My stomach churned at the sight.

But I wasn't about to back down. Not now.

"Screw it," I muttered under my breath, grabbing a spoon. The room fell silent, every eye now locked on me. It was as if the entire tribe had stopped breathing, waiting for my reaction. I hesitated, then plunged the spoon into the mass, lifting a wriggling mouthful toward my lips.

The first bite was a shock—sweet and savory, with a chewy texture that wasn't entirely unpleasant. The flavor was far better than I'd anticipated, a mix of honey and roasted meat with a hint of spice. I blinked in surprise. S~eaʀᴄh the Nôvelƒire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

"It's… not bad," I admitted, and the room erupted in cheers. The tension broke, replaced by laughter and chatter as the Snakemen clapped and shouted in their native tongue.

Arman chuckled, leaning back on his mat. "You've won their favor now, Lord Hades. Not many outsiders would dare eat the green worm soup."

"Well, I'm not most outsiders," I replied, taking another bite. The taste, once foreign, was starting to grow on me. There was something oddly addictive about it.

As the meal continued, I observed the tribe more closely. Their customs, their conversations, their interactions with one another—it was all so different from what I had seen in the human world. These people, though fierce in battle, had a deep sense of community. They cared for one another, shared everything, and lived in harmony with their surroundings.

It was a stark contrast to the world above, where greed and ambition often tore societies apart.

At the center of it all was Arman, the prince, though he carried himself more like a soldier than a royal. His people respected him not for his title, but for his strength, his leadership, and his willingness to fight alongside them. There was no distance between ruler and ruled here. They were all one.

As the night wore on, the conversation shifted. Arman's wife, Rashak, a striking serpentine woman with long black hair and pale teal skin, joined us. Her presence brought a new energy to the gathering. She was sharp, quick-witted, and clearly unafraid to challenge her husband.

"Has my husband properly thanked you for saving his life?" she asked, her voice smooth but firm. Her red eyes gleamed with amusement as she glanced at Arman, who scowled in response.

"I was getting to that," he grumbled, rubbing his bandaged shoulder.

Rashak smirked, her sharp nails playfully digging into his arm. "Maybe you weren't apologizing loud enough."

Arman winced, hissing in pain, but there was a fondness in his gaze as he looked at her. Despite their banter, it was clear they shared a deep bond, one forged through years of hardship and struggle.

Rashak turned her attention to me, her smile softening. "You've done more for us than you know, Lord Hades. My people have long been seen as little more than beasts by the outside world. But tonight, you've shown us a different kind of respect. You've treated us as equals."

I nodded, unsure how to respond. The truth was, I hadn't come here to make friends or win favor. I had come for answers—for information about Anok, the traitor who had nearly killed Arman with the poison of black amber. Yet, somehow, I had found myself caught up in their world, in their customs, in their lives.

"You honor me," I said finally. "But I'm just a guest here, nothing more."

Rashak's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Is that so? And here I thought you might be staying for a while. After all, it's not every day we get to host a god in our humble village."

"Maybe he's just here to find himself a Snakeman bride," Arman teased, earning a sharp look from his wife.

I smirked. "Not likely. But thank you for the hospitality."

The night stretched on, and as more drinks were passed around, the mood lightened. Laughter filled the air, the Snakemen telling stories of their ancestors, their battles, their victories. It was a side of them I hadn't expected—a side that reminded me, in many ways, of the mortals I had once watched over in the Underworld.

They, too, had their joys, their sorrows, their moments of triumph and despair.

Yet beneath it all, there was a darkness—a shadow that loomed over the celebration. Anok's betrayal had shaken them to their core. The black amber, a poison so rare and deadly, had nearly taken their prince's life. And though they had captured the traitor, the threat was far from over.

I watched as Arman's expression darkened, his gaze drifting to the entrance of the hut where Anok had been taken away earlier. The traitor's fate was sealed, but the damage he had done lingered.

"You were poisoned by black amber," I said, breaking the silence between us. "How did you survive?"

Arman's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. "I was lucky," he said after a moment. "The healers acted quickly, but… it wasn't enough. My soul is strong, but the poison is still inside me."

"And your son?" I asked, glancing at Rashak, who had fallen asleep beside him.

Arman's face softened as he looked at her, his hand resting gently on her swollen belly. "We don't know yet," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "The healers say the baby is healthy, but… the poison could still affect him."

The weight of his words hung in the air, a reminder of the stakes at play. Anok's betrayal wasn't just a personal vendetta—it was an attack on the future of the Snakeman tribe.

"I'll find out who sent him," I promised, my voice low but firm. "And when I do, they'll pay for what they've done."

Arman nodded, his eyes hardening with resolve. "Good. Because if my son dies… there won't be a place in this world safe for them."

The fireflies above flickered, casting long shadows on the walls as the night deepened. Outside, the sounds of the swamp echoed in the distance, a reminder that even in the quiet moments, danger was never far away.