Overpowered Wizard

Chapter 228: B3: C18: Old Friend

As the Silver Guardian raged against the Voracious Blood Beast, the royal son of the Windstorm Tribe stood on top of his scorpion and used his Wind Howl spell.

His mind recalled the runic text and mystic sayings from his Grimoire of the Windstorm Adept. He felt the rare traits from his royal heritage empower his spell, giving his voice a booming effect.

Prince Omar shouted with magic that kicked up some billowing gusts. He ordered his personal entourage, two hundred scorpions, a witch, and a hundred gardener orphans to back away from the gate.

He had to muster some bravery to make himself stand out and be heard. He also had to turn his back to the strident noise of silver magic clashing with bloody brute force.

Thankfully, his traveling group weren’t complete imbeciles and followed his instructions, the scorpions especially. That gave him some relief, but not much

He had many reasons to fear being too close to the conflict other than getting caught directly in the middle. He also feared getting caught in attacks from the nearest siege weapons looming over them on the massive wall. He also feared the patrols of powerful skeletons closing in from all angles.

Another factor of note was the ten young men and women standing within the gate. They had a presence of deadliness that differed from the striders and paladins.

The young ones wore dark armor that matched the black and dark red aesthetic of the evil village. They were watching the battle unfold while keeping their distance, as if they had other ways to deal with threats like the strongest gnoll in the world.

Perhaps they were waiting for the Dark Lord to make an appearance.

Nonetheless, Prince Omar led his group to retreat to a safe distance before they stopped to watch.

So far, they had suffered no direct attack, no casualties. Prince Omar hadn’t even seen another gnoll.

The brutish race would usually go about in packs, especially when attacking human settlements. But the Voracious Blood Beast was so strong, she could tear through a few thousand men by herself.

The old fool still lives! Prince Omar thought, feeling glad, even if he didn’t show it on his face.

However, Prince Omar had to ask himself how long could Arnold last against Ezda. The skillful man was attacking with all he had.

Yet, the mad and voracious gnoll woman kept laughing at his attempts. She made cruel and nightmarish sounds, yipping and howling, as if the former protector of the garden was tickling her.

Prince Omar watched as Arnold flipped backwards and away from a powerful swipe from Ezda. The Silver Guardian slashed his sword underneath him and created an arcing frame of silver and metallic flowers.

From his elevated platform, he slashed across the air multiple times and sent flying crescents with sharpened edges at Ezda’s bulky form.

Is she shifting again? Prince Omara wondered, noting how Ezda now stood fifteen feet tall.

She hadn’t shifted into a more bestial form. Instead, she stayed humanoid as Arnold’s flying volley of silver crescents crashed against her furry hide.

The silver attacks barely nicked her. Only a few trickles of blood came about from Arnold’s efforts against the Voracious Blood Beast.

Ezda laughed, grew some more, and glowed with a menacing red light from under her flesh and fur. The same light glowed from her minor cuts.

Prince Omar Windstorm felt great and intricate magic blooming from the gnoll woman’s body, magic that he could feel as a Level 51 Wind Wizard. But he couldn’t sense anything more than that when Ezda was clearly something far above him.

He couldn’t even shout a warning in time before Ezda dashed forward. She moved so fast she became a glowing red streak from Prince Omar’s perspective.

Somehow, Arnold flipped out of the way, but only by a hairbreadth.

Barely missing him, Ezda crashed through his silver arched bridge, shattering apart the flowers and crumpling the rest. She went off the road and into the fields like a bolt of blood.

By the time Arnold landed solidly on his feet, he quickly worked up another silver conjuration with sweeps and flicks of his liquid sword. Prince Omar turned from the Silver Guardian and saw the return of the glowing blood streak, but now at an even faster speed. ṚaƝò฿Ęṧ

Again, Prince Omar felt the tyranny of levels and stats. The Nomad Prince of the Windstorm Tribe was only strong enough to see the difference in might, resilience, and tenacity.

He could barely get a word out as the two titans of combat clashed again. Arnold did all he could to form a silver palisade of thorns and stakes. Yet the Voracious Blood Beast rammed straight through while she stood twenty feet tall.

Arnold had to dive and roll along the pavement to avoid getting turned into a human splatter. The crumpled remains of his palisade crashed and tumbled off the road on course with a unit of skeletons.

Prince Omar noticed a strange occurrence where something supernatural caught the smashed silver palisade, stopping it from hitting the skeletons.

What could’ve done that? He had no idea, his magical abilities failing him.

“Excellent,” Ezda said. “You were more stunning when you were angry and foolish in your younger years. I miss this version of you, old friend.”

“I am not your friend!” spat Arnold.

“The more you disagree, the more you make this fun for me.” Ezda chuckled darkly. “Grow stronger, Arnold of Ambrose. Become faster. Challenge me whenever you want. I shall entertain you, break you, and remake you. This I give to you freely.”

Ezda turned and sauntered the rest of the way through the gate, as if this was her home. Only then did the gate guards and the skeletons draw fully onto the scene.

Half of the guards tried to attend to Arnold, but the angry man waved them away. One guard walked up to Prince Omar before slowing down and turning to the orphans.

“Hey, I know you. You’re that little boot girl. The one the Dark Lord favors. From the charity. Yeah, you’re that girl,” said the young guard. “Welcome home, kid.”

“You better have the place cleaned up for me and my friends,” Boots said confidently.

“What?!” Prince Omar broke his composure as he turned toward Boots, who stood with her little fists on her hips.

The little girl, who was apparently favored by the Dark Lord, smiled mischievously up at the prince. Then, in a tone that would’ve had her lashed a hundred times back at the empire, she said, “What? You thought I was going to say all that out in the open? We street rats aren’t dumb, y’know? Can’t let you try to use me for ransom or something.”

With a wave, Boots and the other hundred orphans dashed forward toward the gate. The witch snorted, turned to sneer at the nomads, then stepped ahead behind the orphans.

She stopped to check on the battered Silver Guardian. Arnold accepted her aid before going the rest of the way into the village.

Prince Omar and his entourage watched from the background. Then the prince turned toward the boyish guard, who had several runic skeletons standing behind him.

“What are those big bugs for?” the young guard asked, pointing at the caravan of two hundred scorpions.

Prince Omar recomposed himself before speaking in an official tone. “A gift from the Windstorm Nomad Tribe to the Dark Lord of Ride-or-Die Village. I would like to deliver them–”

“Can they dance?”

“W-what?”

“Can they dance? They won’t be worth much unless they can dance.”

The Nomad Prince, a royal son of the Windstorms, and a competitor for the ultimate seat of power at the head of the empire, was at a loss for words.

What did this backwater and unruly peasant mean when he asked about the dancing abilities of the giant scorpions? Why was he asking this in such a mundane fashion after a battle between powerful figures? Why was he concerned about something so frivolous after the Voracious Blood Beast walked freely into his human village?

“Yes, they can dance,” Prince Omar said slowly.

“Oh, sweet, now we have some new competition for the spects and librarians.”

Prince Omar opened and closed his mouth. One man from his entourage pushed in.

“You speak to Prince Omar Windstorm, a son of royal blood and ambassador of the United Nomad Empire! Do you know nothing of respect?! Are your masters incapable of training you?! We should have you whipped!”

Prince Omar said nothing more.

The young guard turned and looked back at the skeletons. The undead creatures shrugged, and the young guard turned to the nomads with a smile.

“The Lady Instructor isn’t here, and I already had my limbs broken and my spine twisted from training earlier. So excuse me and my friends if we are a little more casual about procedures regarding royalty.”

A strange hat appeared on his head. Prince Omar gasped as he felt the magic inside of the young guard. It was ... powerful. Almost as mighty as the Silver Guardian.

How could this be possible?

Prince Omar kept his bearing, but the men of his entourage cowered as the young guard continued speaking.

“Also, regarding your special treatment, your highness, we’re still waiting for orders from the Head Admin. Last I heard, Lady Rhea was having dinner with Magi. So you can wait for her to finish and watch some spiders dance off with your scorpions in the meantime. Or screw off into the darkness over yonder. The gnolls are camped up nearby, and they usually play nice these days. Usually.”