Chapter 66: BATTLE OF THE SWAMP (3)

“Formation!”

As the heavy cavalrymen scrambled backward, the surface of the bog erupted all around them.

Razor-Fin and fifty Grey-Fin pikemen burst from the duckweed. They wore the swamp. Algae clung to their scales, and their cold-blooded bodies didn’t register on the Paladins’ thermal magical senses.

They fought with the absolute, chilling silence of apex predators.

A Lizardman lunged from the reeds, thrusting a Star-Iron spear directly into the knee joint of a charging Paladin. The holy wards on the armor flickered and died on contact with the dense black metal.

The Paladin screamed, collapsing into the muck. Before he could cast a spell, another Grey-Fin was on his back, driving a bone-dagger coated in toxic sap through the visor of his helmet.

“Burn them!” Cassius screamed, swinging his broadsword. A wave of solar fire erupted from the blade, aimed right at Razor-Fin’s chest.

Razor-Fin simply dropped backward, diving smoothly beneath the murky surface. The solar fire harmlessly scorched the duckweed.

An instant later, Razor-Fin’s spear shot up from the mud directly beneath Cassius’s feet, piercing the sole of his boot and pinning him to the earth.

Cassius howled, dropping his sword. He looked down into the water, locking eyes with the Lizardman Captain lurking just below the surface. Razor-Fin’s vertical pupils were devoid of mercy.

The Grey-Fins swarmed the ridge. It was over in less than two minutes. The Paladins, weighed down by gold and starved of energy, were dragged into the deep water one by one. The heavy armor that made them gods on land became an inescapable anchor in the bog.

Razor-Fin pulled his spear free from the Lieutenant’s boot, letting the man collapse into the mud.

“Strip the gold,” Razor-Fin hissed to his kin, his forked tongue flicking the air. “Leave the meat for the scavengers. The Ka-Lam-Tee wants revenge for the Root-Father.”

The next morning, the sun rose over the Golden Camp, but instead of warmth, it only illuminated the despair.

Aurelius sat on his throne of light inside his command tent. His golden armor was pristine, but the bags under his eyes were dark. He hadn’t slept. He had spent the night waiting for his hunters to return with fresh meat and clean water.

The tent flap opened. Sir Valerius stepped in. He looked like a broken man.

“Report,” Aurelius commanded.

Valerius swallowed hard. He didn’t look his King in the eye.

“None of them, sire,” Valerius whispered. “Four hunting parties. Two hundred of our best Vanguard knights. None of them returned.”

Aurelius gripped the armrests of his throne. “Did they desert?”

“No, my King.” Valerius stepped aside.

Two squires entered the tent, dragging a heavy, foul-smelling canvas tarp. They laid it on the pristine rug before the throne and pulled back the fabric.

Aurelius stood up slowly.

Inside the tarp was a pile of golden breastplates, helmets, and gauntlets. But they weren’t intact. They were shattered, crushed inward by blunt force, or eaten entirely by some horrific, rapid-rusting acid.

And stacked neatly on top of the ruined armor were two hundred golden Sun Amulets which were the holy symbols worn around the neck of every Paladin.

They were covered in dried mud.

“The border patrols found this piled at the edge of the tree line,” Valerius said, his voice shaking. “Just fifty yards from our camp. They… they crept right up to our perimeter in the night to leave it. We didn’t hear a thing.”

Aurelius stared at the pile of broken gold. He had four thousand Paladins sitting in this camp, starving, thirsty, and surrounded by an enemy they couldn’t even see. The ’savages’ weren’t hiding behind walls. They owned the shadows.

Three miles south of the Black River, the ancient, petrified woods of the Rotting Druid were screaming.

Three thousand Golden Paladins marched in a wedge formation, acting less like an army and more like a localized apocalyptic event. They didn’t bother looking for traps or fighting the wildlife. They just burned it all.

Mages in the center of the formation held their staffs high, chanting in unison. Waves of [ TIER 6: SOLAR PROMINENCE ] washed over the ancient, rotting canopy. And the damp, moss-covered trees vaporized instantly.

The Druid’s followers consisting of massive fungal golems, razor-boars, and ancient Ents, charged from the shadows, trying to protect their sacred groves. But without the element of surprise, and facing the concentrated firepower of three thousand soldiers, it was a slaughter.

A fungal golem the size of a house was reduced to ash in seconds by a volley of holy lances.

Up in the Void, Red was watching the southern border burn when a notification hijacked his screen.

[ INCOMING EMERGENCY CALL: THE ROTTING DRUID (RANK 4) ]

Red accepted the call.

The holographic window expanded. The Rotting Druid looked horrific. His leafy avatar was half-charred, and the background behind him was a wall of roaring, blinding white fire. The sound of cracking timber and dying beasts bled through the audio feed.

“Rubedo!” the Druid shrieked, his voice panicked and cracking. “He sent them! He sent three thousand to my groves!”

“I can see that,” Red said smoothly, steepling his fingers. “They’re doing quite a bit of landscaping.”

“This is not a joke!” the Druid slammed his wooden fists against his screen. “They are planning to plant shrines once they are done burning everything! They are purging the rot! At this rate, my population will drop below the threshold by nightfall! Listen to me! I am ready to accept Gorr’s proposal!”

Red raised an eyebrow.

“I will submit!”

“Oh?”

“I will become your vassal! I have 1,800 followers left. Gorr has 3,000. You have your thousand. If we merge pantheons under the Spiral, you will cross the 5,000 threshold! You will trigger the [ MAJOR DOMAIN SHIELD ]! You will get the perks! It will lock Aurelius out of the deep swamp completely!”

“It will keep him out, but his soldiers will pass through, anyway.” Red leaned back on his spectral throne.

Then, he looked at the panic in Druid’s eyes.

“That is a very generous offer, Druid,” Red said, his voice dripping with corporate sarcasm. “But correct me if my memory is failing… didn’t you explicitly state that day that your forest was south of his path? Didn’t you say that if you stayed out of it, he would pass you by?”

“I miscalculated!” the Druid pleaded. “He is a madman! But you need me, Rubedo! Look at the map! If he takes my territory, his Domain will border your swamp from the south and the west! You will be encircled! If you don’t take my followers, you will lose the war!”

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