Chapter 79 47: Hostages (2)

Althan could feel the distance fighting while his underlings were running towards it. Looking around, Althan found Harth—the knight squire was just as lost as him, uncertain what to do, even though he commanded the others to charge at the disturbance.

“What’s happening, Harth?” He screamed.

The squire didn’t answer, only glanced at Althan before rushing—not in the direction of the fighting, but the opposite. Bloody heroes! he was abandoning them.

“Hey,” Althan bellowed from behind, “Where are you going? Come back, come back?”

“Umm, Master Althan,” a voice called. Kian was standing behind now, barely keeping his expression steady. He’s but a lesser practitioner who never came across situations like this. Just seeing his face, Althan questioned his old self about choosing this fellow. “I think we should run too.”

“Will someone tell me what’s happening here?” Althan bellowed again, clenching his jaw. Even a fool which Althan, of course, was not would understand what’s going on here, but his mind was rejecting it persistently.

“Dark sorcerer,” Yeriel answered for him. In the sense of crisis, she regained a bit of lucidity of mind, or might be just her survival instinct. “We need to get away. Run!”

Her firm voice startled Althan, and he didn’t just stand there watching. Althan ran after her. Kian, the lesser practitioner, followed.

“What are we up against?” he asked, running.

“I don’t know,” Yeriel answered, chest heaving up and down in exhaustion as she ran. The snowy land made it even harder to run steadily, but she managed, barely shuffling through them. “I was with a knight; one among us betrayed us and killed the knight. He told me he had other associates. I know nothing more. I didn’t come here to find warlocks, that’s Oscar’s mission.”

“It’s that fellow again.” Althan groaned aloud. “When will he leave me alone?”

Yeriel didn’t seem to hear his complaint. “He knows more about this and his aunt,” she told, not sure if it was to herself or to the other two as well. “We have to find him first . . .”

“Hmm, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Althan said, panting.

He would eat shit before he asked for that bastard’s help. Not to mention there was no certainty that the flaming bastard would help him even if he could. Too much speculation about this mess.

However, Althan was sure Oscar would do ten times worse than what he did to him. He groaned, definitely not a pleasant thought to have while running away from dark sorcerers. ‘Curse that bastard! Why is it that every time I’m in trouble, it's because of that flaming bastard?!’

Abruptly, a scream of sheer panic and pain echoed out through the rattling, angry wind as Kian’s figure flung away a dozen metres to collide against a pine tree. The lesser practitioner didn’t even try to get up, stayed there like dead as loads of snow fell on him from the tree.

Althan spun and found a huge mace lurching at his waist. If it connects, his very waist might turn into a broken mess. Panicked, he screamed. “Trofas Safilas.”

Wisps of wind swirled around Althan, listening to his evocation, but the angry wind that surged throughout the mountain range made it harder to form the blades of wind. Althan clenched his jaw and steeled his will, forcing it out.

The transparent blade of gale wind swelled at the rogue warder. Even though the spell lost its power, it should be enough to severely injure the warder if it connects, however, the scene that played out was entirely different.

The warder withdrew his back leg half step and steered his huge mace in a horrifying swing, dissolving the wind blade like how water dissolved into vapour from volcanic heat. However, the time it brought was enough for Althan to sidestep, evading the blow.

Taking advantage of the moment, he withdrew further. Looks like he only had to continue with Evocation, as the warder won’t give any time to create any threatening spell circuit. ‘Either way, I’ll show you what fighting someone who knows his spells feels like.’

“Trofas Kamaraz. Trofas Safilas. Tofas Safilas,” Althan bellowed again, as if the power of his spells were only limited by the capacity of his vocal cord. However, only screaming the spells in the old tongue was not enough. Althan had to put every ounce of his willpower into his imagination to form the spells.

That was not all; he had to imagine according to the flows of the angry wind, or his spell would dissolve even before forming. Luckily, his spells were not against the flow of the angry wind this time around.

Gigantic waves of wind surrounded him, curling around him, elevating him a little. In a moment, it formed into a surging force like the current in the Avirin ocean and forced at the rogue warder, who had to ground his feet into the snowy land to not be flung away as the gust of wind was strong enough to toss him dozens of metres away.

The warder barely managed to neutralise the mad wind, but the next two weaves of wind blades shot at him, one aiming for his head, while the other one at his lower body. Gnashing his teeth, he titled his body sideways, and tried to dodge, but finding the transparent wind blades curling towards him, he gave up resisting the gale.

The angry wind flung him a dozen metres away, however, the blades were still coming at him. Twisting his body, he steered himself to lurch his mace, destroying the one that aimed for his head. While the other one struck his waist, disrupting the Armament. However, all his armament shattered when he knocked against the branch of a tree.

“How’s that, you evil oaf head?” Althan shouted. “Yeriel, did you see that?”

“I must admit that’s quite some show for a pupil of the academy,” a voice said, but it was not Yeriel’s voice. A heavy tone of a male. “However, not impressed.”

Althan spun and found a man in the middle of his prime standing, his heavy cloak swaying along with the angry wind. Yeriel was on the ground now, not moving even a bit, shuddering unnaturally. Her eyes—they were of utter horror now.

“Who are you?” Althan asked, voice turned heavy. Even though he asked, he didn’t wait for the answer, screaming again with, “Trofas Safilas.”

The newcomer only stood there nonchalantly and with a flick of his right palm, the wind blade dissolved into nothingness.

Althan’s expression went astray, and he was about to spell out more, however, at the very next moment, he found no air in his mouth to make any noises other than incoherent groans.

“Here’s a listen for you, young cub,” the hooded man said, “Never go for a punch when some pinching could do the job.”

Althan fell on the snow, struggling to even make out anything. The warlock released his technique as finally air came back to his mouth. The young prince groaned, stumbling on his four limbs. Coughing, he tried to speak again, “Huelio ne--”

However, he never managed to complete it as air escaped from his grasp yet again, and this time more vehemently, convoluting his body painfully. His face turned red, losing air, as he struggled to breathe.

“You should learn from your own failure,” the warlock said, though it didn’t seem he was talking to Althan, who, of course, was not in any condition to listen to anything. The rogue warder came running towards him.

“You’ve disappointed me again, Karol,” the dark sorcerer told the warder, who looked at him attentively, waiting for the next command. “What do you have to say for your errors?”

The warder remained silent for a moment, but remember, silence was never a good option against his master. “I have no excuses, Master,” he spoke.

“No excuses, so you admit your fault,” Rojar Iker said, inattentively, looking at the three young cubs in three directions. “That deserves a punishment, wouldn’t you say, Karol?”

Karol shuddered uncomfortably, not meeting the gaze of his master. “Yes, master.”

“Sealed the channels of all of them and joined with others,” the warlock spoke. “You’ll be in charge of every one of the hostages. And listen to me carefully, if there’s any mess up or even a ruckus, you’ll be responsible for everything. I want no mistakes from here, or you might have to experience what Kenny did. Do you want that to happen, Karol?”

“No, master.” The rogue warder’s expression paled even further.

“Good,” the warlock said, looking in the other direction, where the fights had already finished.

Meanwhile, Karol sealed Althan’s channels and bound him with chains. He came to the next person, the only female he encountered after the fight against the Arbiter and her Knight. He was about to seal her channel, but stopped.

“What’s the matter?”

“Master, her channels, they are already sealed.”

___________

Next Chapter: Compulsion