novelhk Page 136
Page 136
"You can add the rest instruction directly," Celine Della suggested.
Old Roar shook his head: "Too complicated. The mind is chaotic, and the psionic imprint doesn't support such precise manipulation. Conflicting consciousness will create division, and then resistance... I need a more practical solution." Its gaze fell on a group of Templar Knights in the distance. These knights' bodies had been modified by the Witch King, acquiring varying degrees of inhuman characteristics—hard carapaces, reptilian scales, and insect-like compound eyes. These modifications greatly enhanced their endurance and combat capabilities.
"I need to research bio-engineering," Old Roar said in a low voice, "not only to create warriors, but also to increase the stamina and lifespan of slaves."
Serendella's crystalline pupils contracted slightly: "It is said that this magic perished with the War of Purification, and only the Witch Kings know its secrets."
The old roar sneered, "The Witch Kings merely inherited the legacy of their predecessors, unaware of its true essence. I possess the deductive abilities of a pseudo-Laplace's demon, my divination skills have reached a level surpassing even the legendary, and moreover, I have studied the Nesser Scroll... Creating such magic, or rather, rediscovering it, is only a matter of time for me."
This is Grommash Hellscream's ambition for the world of Atarth—not just to rule, but to master and surpass the magical limits of this world. In this world that has been drained of its vitality by the Witch-Kings, Grommash Hellscream wants to establish an order unlike any before.
"I'll begin preparing the experimental materials immediately," Celine Della said. "We have enough experimental samples available."
Old Roar nodded: "Choose the strongest and most physically robust slaves. I need them to master basic bio-modification techniques within a month."
Just then, an unusual aura drifted in from the sky, and Old Roar's nostrils twitched slightly. It looked up to the north, where a small team of red-scaled birds was speeding towards the oasis—Grimm and his reconnaissance team were returning.
"Looks like our spies have found something," Old Roar said, then spread his wings and leaped down from the top of the pyramid, gliding to the reception area at the edge of the oasis. Celine Della followed closely behind, her crystal body tracing a rainbow-like trajectory in the air.
The moment Grimm saw Roar, he leaped from his mount and knelt on one knee: "Great Wizard King, I have brought back urgent intelligence."
"Speak," the old man roared, his voice like molten lava.
Grimm quickly reported: "The Witch-King Agmar has dispatched a new army of sandworms, which is advancing towards our territory. We have spotted them on our northern border; there are at least five thousand of them."
A flicker of interest crossed Old Roar's eyes: "The Sandworm army... the Witch Kings have finally come up with something new."
Grimm continued, "These sandworms are different from the ones we've encountered before; they're larger, have thicker scales, and seem to possess some kind of magic resistance."
Old Roar pondered for a moment, recalling the battles against the Witch King's army over the past three months. In the first border conflict, Old Roar's dragon knight force ambushed the Witch King Agmar's camel cavalry in the desert oasis, achieving an overwhelming victory with minimal casualties thanks to the enhancement of his dragon blood and precise tactics. The second was in Redstone Canyon, where the Witch King dispatched elite Templar Knights. The two sides fought fiercely for three days in the narrow canyon, and although Old Roar's forces lost a third of their strength, they still routed the enemy. The most devastating battle was the Blackwater Oasis a month ago, where the Witch King united several tribes to form an army of ten thousand. That battle lasted seven days and seven nights, with Old Roar personally participating, killing two enemy generals and ultimately forcing the Witch King's army to retreat.
These memories flashed through Old Roar's mind. "Notify all outposts to prepare for battle," Old Roar ordered. "At the same time, move the Dragon Knights to the northern border. I want to see what's so special about these new sandworms."
Grimm accepted the order and left. The Old Roar turned to Serendella: "The nature of this war is changing. At first, the Witch-Kings were merely testing the waters, but now they realize the true threat."
"You seem eager to confront the Witch King head-on." Serendella keenly sensed the fighting spirit in Old Roar's eyes.
The old roar let out a deep dragon's cry: "I really want to see how the ultimate power of the Atas world, the Dragon Transformation, which is a combination of arcane and psionic energy, compares to my ancient red dragon standing atop the Faerûn pyramid."
It gazed up at the distant horizon, its eyes burning with the flames of war: "Alas, two thousand years of rule seem to have dulled the courage and passion the Witch Kings possessed during the War of Purification. They rot beneath the barriers they created by drawing life from the world of Atas with blasphemous magic, like zombies on their thrones. Long dead, only their shells still move."
Celine Della paused for a moment, then said, "Perhaps they're afraid of you."
"They should be afraid," Old Roar said, baring his sharp teeth, "because I have indeed come to destroy their corrupt rule. In this dying world, I will establish a new order—a more efficient slave empire based on mind control and bio-engineering."
This is precisely the fundamental difference between Grommash Hellscream and the Witch Kings. The Witch Kings rule merely to satisfy their own desires, while Grommash Hellscream views governance as an orderly system, a mechanism that needs constant optimization. In the world of Atarth, a world governed by distorted laws, Grommash Hellscream's rule appears exceptionally efficient and orderly, even more "humane" in some ways than the Witch Kings' rule—at least it doesn't recklessly waste human resources for momentary pleasure.
"Our empire will be stronger," Grommash Hellscream murmured, "and those Witch-kings will ultimately become my stepping stones." In this dead world, Grommash is building a well-functioning empire, its foundations being mind control and meticulous management. It may be terrifying, but in Atarth, it is the closest thing to "merciful" rule.
34. Trap
The old roar hovered high in the sky, its dragon wings fluttering slightly in the dry, scorching air, maintaining its suspended state. Its eyes, gleaming red like lava, looked down at the boundless, burning sea of sand below. A mocking smile appeared on its scaly face, making it appear even more ferocious beneath the huge scar that pierced its face.
The blazing sunlight reflected off its crimson scales, forming a dazzling halo, as if the god of the desert had descended to earth.
This is its empire, its territory, which in just three months has grown from an oasis to a vast area spanning hundreds of kilometers. Seven main settlements and countless scattered outposts have formed a stable interconnected network, with thousands of people joining this nascent power every day. Beneath the sands, new life is surging; above the desert, a new order is being established… but it will soon be over.
Those defeated mobbings from the city-state of Agmar have now become the backbone of Grommash Hellscream's army. Their will to resist, shattered by the elemental barrier, obediently accepted the rule of their new master. Later, their minds were rewritten by Serendella, transforming them into truly loyal warriors. These once arrogant Templar Knights now kneel before the Dragon Throne, swearing allegiance like grains of sand returning to the dunes, rivers flowing into the sea.
More importantly, through Zoka's dragonification ritual, Grommash Hellscream now possesses two complete half-dragon legions, each consisting of 120 warriors, all of whom have undergone the dragonification ritual and possess half-dragon characteristics. These half-dragon warriors have become the most elite force in Grommash Hellscream's army, and their existence instills fear and unease in the other Witch-Kings—the dragonification technique has always been the most important secret for the Witch-Kings to maintain their rule, and now a self-proclaimed Great Witch-King has emerged, engaging in mass dragonification; naturally, they are terrified.
Dozens of half-dragon warriors were conducting flight training nearby. Their bodies had transformed into something between humanoids and dragons, covered in solid scales, with powerful wings sprouting from their backs. Their muscle density had increased several times over, and their claws, teeth, and tails—whether grown or natural—were endowed with strength and magical properties comparable to adult dragons. They not only possessed the ability to fly but also mastered the characteristics of a dragon elemental subspecies—as half-dragons of red dragon blood, each warrior was immune to fire, sleep, and paralysis, and possessed the ability to breathe fire, enough to inflict devastating damage on the battlefield.
Of course, the dragon wings they acquired later in life don't make them fly much more nimbly or swiftly, but flight itself is their greatest advantage. The half-dragon warriors, currently training, traced graceful arcs in the air with their dragon wings, like a flock of hunting eagles, ready to swoop down and tear the enemy's throat at any moment.
However, the Half-Dragon Legion is only a part of the Old Roar's elite forces; its unparalleled aerial reconnaissance system is actually of greater strategic value.
High in the sky, dozens of pterosaurs streaked across the azure sky. With their innate ability to fly, they became the most agile aerial units in the Old Roar army after undergoing spiritual awakening and dragon transformation.
These creatures, enhanced by both psionic and dragon magic by Grommash Hellscream, possess sharp eyesight and extraordinary perception, enabling them to detect any anomalies on the ground at extremely high altitudes. Their lithe bodies are suited for prolonged flight, forming the outermost perimeter of Grommash Hellscream's empire.
In the higher atmosphere, the dazzling figure of Serendella, the jeweled cloaked lady, is an irreplaceable strategic asset. Her psychic powers not only allow her to easily conceal her presence but also to focus light into terrifying energy beams, destroying targets hundreds of meters away. More importantly, as a crystal dragon, Serendella possesses powerful sensory abilities, capable of detecting magical fluctuations and psychic energy flows tens of kilometers away.
Roaring Howl is a master of prophetic magic. The fusion of Casalos's psychic form with the red dragon's soul not only endowed it with formidable combat power but also enhanced its ability to foresee the future. Through complex magical rituals, it can peer into the river of time and foresee events that are about to unfold. Although prophecies are not absolutely accurate, the double verification from a pseudo-Laplace's demon is enough to give it a strategic advantage.
This three-tiered reconnaissance system—the pterosaurs' physical reconnaissance, Serendella's magical perception, and Grommash Hellscream's prophetic abilities—formed an impenetrable intelligence network. Grommash Hellscream possessed almost complete knowledge of the Agmarr army's every move. This absolute advantage in situational awareness far surpassed that of the Witch-Kings, who were still immersed in the glory of ancient times.
A streak of light flew rapidly from the northeast. It was a lightly equipped half-dragon scout, covered in full-body armor made of foamy obsidian resembling volcanic rock. This type of armor offered almost no defensive capabilities, but it was lightweight and heat-insulating, effectively protecting the wearer from the harsh desert environment.
In any case, for the general equipment level in this world, the dragon scales that grow on half-dragons already surpass the top-level standard armor in terms of defense.
"My lord!" The half-dragon scout circled to Old Roar's flank, flying alongside him and respectfully offering an aerial salute. "The Witch-King Agmar's army has arrived at Blackrock Canyon on the northern border and is now encamped. Reconnaissance indicates at least five hundred giant modified sandworms and nearly ten thousand warriors, including approximately two thousand Templar Knights."
Old Roar exhaled a cloud of sulfurous smoke, his eyes narrowing slightly: "Five hundred sandworms? He's raising so many giant meat skewers..." His tongue involuntarily licked Scarface, clearly savoring the deliciousness of the large insects' flesh, but what he said was quite different: "The city-state of Agmar couldn't possibly possess an army of this size after their last crushing defeat. That war has already depleted their resources. Without the support of other witch kings, Agmar couldn't have organized this strategic offensive."
"Yes, my lord," the half-dragon scout added, "according to Lady Serendella's reconnaissance, the sorcerers in the Agmar army are preparing some kind of large-scale spell, seemingly to summon the power of the Agmar Witch-King and create a sandstorm as cover."
Old Roar chuckled, "A classic diversionary tactic. Using the sandstorm as cover for a frontal attack, our army is forced to leave the city to fight, and then those fleshworms lead the Knights Templar to launch a surprise attack on the Oasis Fortress from underground... The same old tricks used for a thousand years, simple, but effective."
Another group of pterosaurs flew rapidly from the southwest. These pterosaurs were clearly different from their ordinary counterparts—their wing membranes shimmered with a crystalline luster, and their eyes were a diamond-like blue. These were elite scouts who had been elevated to the "Diamond Dragon" class by the Crystal Dragon Celinedale. Due to their enhanced psionic abilities, their perception far surpassed that of ordinary pterosaurs. (The remaining text appears to be unrelated and possibly machine-generated gibberish.)
"Great Great Wizard King," the leading diamond dragonman knelt on one knee in mid-air, his stability achieved only by using psionic energy to create a suspended support, "we have discovered two obsidian crystal coordinates on the outskirts of the oasis. They were carefully hidden beneath the sand, and without our crystal perception abilities, they would have been virtually impossible to find."
Old Roar's pupils suddenly contracted: "Obsidian crystal coordinates?" Its voice turned low and dangerous, "Those are the anchor points of the Path of Elements. Someone's planning to get a piece of the pie after the battle begins..."
Even without using prophetic abilities or the deductions of the pseudo-Laplace's demon, Grommash Hellscream could deduce that this was the work of other Witch-Kings. Those cunning old foxes hiding in the city-states planned to suddenly open the Path of Elements after Agmar and Grommash Hellscream's armies clashed, commanding their armies to flank and encircle them, reaping the benefits of their attack. Moreover, given the Witch-Kings' track record, the targets of these two ambushes included not only Grommash Hellscream's army but also Agmar's forces. This seemingly simple confrontation was actually a meticulously planned multi-pronged trap.
Grommash descended to the top of the command tower, where a group of commanders had already gathered: the former Agmar Templars led by Grimm, and the Sriclin warriors led by Sedok. They had all received the deepest mental imprint, becoming Grommash's most trusted tactical executors.
"Great Witch King," Grimm knelt on one knee, "the rallying order has been issued, and the two half-dragon legions have begun to assemble at the northern border."
"Very well," Old Roar nodded, a destructive glint in his molten dragon eyes, "but we won't act as Agmar expects. Instead, we'll give them a... surprise."
Crystal Dragon Serendella gracefully landed on the command tower, still somewhat resistant to being addressed as Grommash Hellscream. "My...Lord, I have sensed the energy fluctuations of the Agmar Shamanic Order. They have begun to guide Agmar's power to establish a connection with the elemental realms; the wind and earth are responding, and a sandstorm of considerable scale is about to be born."
Two beams of laughing sulfurous flames spewed from the old roar's nostrils: "Then, let's give them a good 'helping hand'." It turned to Grimm, "Command our elemental priests to continuously strengthen the connection between the entire region and the earth elemental realm. When the sandstorms summoned by Agmar's shamans blot out the sky, we must make them bigger and longer-lasting."
Grimm stepped back in response.
Celine Della asked, puzzled, "What exactly are you trying to do? Isn't this helping the enemy create a favorable environment?"
"A favorable environment?" Old Roar said. "An environment that can withstand it is a favorable environment. In extreme environments, my little ones will have the advantage." It looked at the various modified warriors training in the distance. "These feral humanoid races from different deserts are already more adapted to the desert than the city-state people. After being enhanced by both dragon magic and psionic energy, they are like fish in water in a sandstorm. As for Agmar's army, apart from a few elites, most of them are ordinary slaves conscripted from the city-states. Light sandstorms can cover them, but when the sandstorm starts to rage, it will become their graves."
The crystal dragon lowered her head, her materialized psionic energy swirling into undulating light, reflecting her fear: "You want them to launch a surprise attack in the sandstorm?"
"That's right," Old Roar nodded, "The bigger the sandstorm, the better. Our soldiers will break into smaller groups, infiltrate the enemy lines, and use their individual strength and environmental adaptability to eliminate as many enemy troops as possible before retreating to no man's land. This will be a perfect guerrilla war."
"And what about the sandworms and Templar Knights who plan to ambush our oasis from underground?" Serendella continued, a slight tremor running through her as she guessed some of Old Howl's thoughts. "And the other Witch King armies lying in ambush on both sides?"
A cruel glint flashed in Old Roar's eyes: "For them, I've prepared a 'grand gift.'" He pointed to the massive obsidian temple and arena in the center of the oasis, "It's not just a building, but also the casting material and medium for a super ninth-ring spell. Once the enemy enters the oasis, they will become part of this spell."
Serendella stared in astonishment at the two magnificent obsidian structures, and now she fully understood why Old Howl had spent so much resources building them—they were not for living or worship, but an unprecedentedly colossal magical trap.
35. Under the sandstorm
A fierce wind began to rage, and the half-dragon warrior Saransis knelt on one knee atop the dune, gazing at the gradually forming brownish-yellow giant wall on the distant horizon.
His dragon scales shimmered with a dark red luster under the setting sun, like the surface of rock sculpted by flowing lava. This was the result of the dragonification ritual "bestowed" upon him by the Great Wizard King several days prior. The process was agonizing, but the outcome was worthwhile—at least a third of those who participated were dissolved into a burning mass of flesh and blood, while less than two-thirds survived, gaining the power bestowed by the Great Wizard King.
Now, Salahens possesses not only half the physique of a dragon but also dragon scales for defense, and its claws, teeth, and tail are as sharp as knives, making it more lethal than any forged weapon in this metal-scarce world. The power of fire element flows within its body, replacing the meager stamina provided by food.
"The winds have shifted," whispered the half-dragon warrior beside him. She was once a priestess of the city-state of Agmar, but had now been transformed into a half-dragon sorcerer.
Saransis did not respond, but continued to observe the strange phenomenon on the distant horizon.
The setting sun was shattered into twisted, bronze-colored spots of light, and the clouds, like cotton wool crumpled by an invisible hand, swept across the sky at an unnatural speed. The outlines of the sand dunes also began to distort and deform under the influence of changes in the air's refractive index, like some kind of illusion in the desert.
"A storm of magic." He finally spoke, his voice carrying a metallic resonance due to the mutation of his vocal cords after his dragon transformation. "The shamans summoned a power they couldn't control, and the Witch-King Agmar tried to defeat fire with fire—foolish..."
Suddenly, the sound of the wind in his ears disappeared, and Saraensis' eardrums began to ring painfully.
This was a harbinger of extreme pressure changes, a clarion call for battle. He raised his right arm to signal his comrades to prepare, then swung it down sharply. This was the final gathering; from now on, every half-dragon warrior… no, every member of the Great Wizard King's retinue would fight their own battles in this storm.
The sand began to sweep across their ankles in horizontal ripples, the fine sand on the ground flowing towards the storm as if it were alive. Saraens took a deep breath, immediately feeling the scorching metallic smell fill her nostrils. Electrolytes accumulated in the air, a harbinger of the impending terror of the storm.
"Remember the High Priest's orders: follow the psionic markers and fight individually. The stronger the sandstorm, the greater our advantage," Saran'thers reminded his companions. "Do not cross the edge of the storm into the shamanic order's controlled area."
The storm engulfed the half-dragons without warning, followed by an even larger army of their kin behind them.
His field of vision shrunk abruptly from a kilometer to less than two meters, the entire world filled with the frenzied dance of sand. Saransis couldn't open his eyes; even his enhanced senses after transforming into a dragon were rendered useless in this extreme environment. At this moment, the only thing guiding him was the psionic markers implanted in the consciousness of every half-dragon warrior by Lady Serendella—the red dots representing enemies and the blue dots representing allies.
"Begin the operation," Saraens said finally, then turned and walked alone into the depths of the sandstorm.
His voice was drowned out by the roaring sand and no one could hear it, but no one stopped him. The other half-dragon warriors also set off in different directions.
There are no squads, no groups; each half-dragon warrior is an independent hunter, searching for their own prey in this magically created chaos.
This is the Great Wizard King's tactic—to allow each specially trained and enhanced follower to leverage their individual strengths in the most extreme environments, while the enemy cannot even guarantee basic maneuverability.
Saraensis crouched down, on all fours, and began to move forward through the sandstorm in an ancient crawling manner. His wings were pressed tightly against his back, using the streamlined shape of the wing membranes to cut through the resistance of the sandstorm. The dragon scales automatically adjusted their angle, allowing the sand and wind to slide across his body surface rather than impact him directly.
The sand, sharp enough to cut through iron, rubbed against his dragon scales, making a clattering sound. These sounds gradually intensified and eventually merged into a continuous white noise boom.
The sense of three-dimensional space completely vanished, replaced by swirling sand and mist in all directions. In this chaos, only the psionic marker implanted by Serendella could still provide direction.
In Salamsus's consciousness, hundreds of red dots were scattered across the area ahead—these were soldiers of the Agmar army. He selected the nearest target and moved straight toward it. His dragon claws pounded on the rapidly flowing, fish-scale-like waves of sand, each step digging deep into the sand like a shovel stabilizing its body against the force of the storm.
This was not difficult for it, but it would be a considerable obstacle for the un-dragonified legions, though it was still an obstacle that could be overcome.
As the distance closed, he could "see" the Agmar soldier huddled on the ground, half-buried under the dunes. This scene was common throughout the battlefield; the Witch King's ordinary soldiers were completely unable to move in the sandstorm, and their only survival strategy was to bury themselves in the sand like ostriches and wait for the storm to pass.
Salanthers approached his target silently. The soldier's face was completely buried in the sand, only a small section of his back, wrapped in an oilcloth cloak, was visible. The half-dragon warrior's sharp claws pierced the soldier's back, exiting through his chest. The soldier died without even making a sound. The blood was instantly dispersed in the sandstorm, the wind and sand burying the lifeless body, leaving not a trace. Salanthers didn't linger, immediately moving on to the next red dot.
Across the sandstorm-ravaged battlefield, hundreds of half-dragon warriors were enacting the same scene. Like messengers of death, they silently moved through the dust, reaping the lives of one Agmar soldier after another. These soldiers were completely disoriented in the sandstorm; they were unaware that death was imminent. Even those few with heightened senses who attempted to resist were, with their vision completely blocked, their limited counterattacks were nothing more than futile struggles.
Saranses has already eliminated five soldiers and is moving towards the sixth target. It's a massacre with no suspense whatsoever.
More importantly, the High Priest and the Lady in the Jewel Cloak monitored the battlefield from the air, constructing the only psychic "map" that could be lit up.
No half-dragon warrior would cross the safety boundary and enter the controlled territory of the Agmar Shamanic Order. The Witch King's army was strictly hierarchical, and the priests who created the storm were not among the lowly ranks, but remained safely at a distance, controlling the storm—a storm that did not belong to them—through the spells bestowed upon them by the Witch King.
This is precisely the brilliance of the Great Witch King's tactics: confining the battlefield within the sandstorm, turning the enemy's advantage into a fatal weakness.
Saransis continued his hunt. In his perception, blue dots representing allies were roaming the battlefield, while red dots were steadily decreasing. Agmar's army was suffering casualties at an alarming rate, while the half-dragon warriors were almost unscathed.
As you move forward, new red dots of light will always enter the psionic map's perception range.
Suddenly, an unusual spot of light caught Saransis's attention—it was a bright orange spot, larger and more dazzling than the markings of ordinary soldiers. This meant the target was of higher status, possibly a commander or a Templar.
Saranses gave a low laugh and immediately changed direction, moving towards this particular target.
After a slow trek, he finally approached his target. Through his weak psychic senses, he discerned that this was a high-ranking commander of the Archmar Witch-King, attempting to maintain contact with his other soldiers through some kind of device. Unlike ordinary soldiers, this commander seemed capable of maintaining basic mobility in the sandstorm, but his attention was entirely focused on preserving his psychic powers, oblivious to the approaching danger.
The half-dragon warrior approached silently, its crimson vertical pupils gleaming with a predator's light beneath its transparent eyelids.
A delicious prey, eliminating him is enough to have a significant impact on the local battlefield.
Just as he was about to launch a fatal blow, the commander suddenly turned around, finally realizing what had happened.
But it was too late. Salam's dragon claws had already pierced the commander's chest, the sharp claws easily penetrating his bone armor and flesh. Terror and confusion flashed in the commander's eyes; he flailed his arms as if trying to display his power, but only blood gushed from his mouth.
"Agma...deceived us..." the commander whispered with his last breath, "The sandstorm...was too strong..."
Ignoring these dying murmurs, Salahens drew his dragon claw and plunged the commander's body into the endless sandstorm. He continued moving towards his next target, his dragon form moving with ease through the deadly dust.
The sandstorm continued to intensify, and even the half-dragon warriors began to find it difficult to breathe. The gaps between their scales were completely filled with crystalline salt, and every movement brought slight pain. But this was precisely what the Great Wizard King had trained them to endure—pain was the source of strength, and forged steel was rebirth.
The seed of psychic energy planted by the Lady in the Jewel Cloak during his awakening now intertwined with his will, unleashing new power. His psychic energy broke through to a new realm; immersed in the power of his mind, the half-dragon warrior's body became stronger and his movements more agile. An invisible, distorting force field enveloped him, significantly reducing the storm's power.
As time went on, the electrical ions in the sandstorm accumulated to a critical point, and leaping lightning began to flash in the air, illuminating a brief area before being quickly swallowed up by the endless sand and dust.
These lightning bolts weren't particularly powerful, but they were enough to give the half-dragon warriors extra vision, allowing them to pinpoint targets more precisely.
Unbeknownst to them, Saraensis had already eliminated more than twenty enemy soldiers, including two high-ranking knights and a commander.
The Agmar army on the entire battlefield had lost nearly a third of its troops, and they didn't even know where the attackers came from.
A perfect hunt, perfect tactics.
Salahens was filled with pride, just as the Great Witch King had taught them—to harness the power of the enemy's elements, to transform chaos into order, and to bring death to those who did not deserve to live.
Suddenly, a strange fluctuation pierced through the sandstorm's barrier, forming a bright, noisy cluster in Salanthers's psychic perception. This wasn't a mark from Serendella, but rather some powerful magical or psychic energy fluctuation. Salanthers felt an instinctive alert; could it be a powerful enemy, or some kind of trap?
"Warning: Boundary breach." A gentle voice suddenly echoed in his mind; it was the jeweled cloak lady's telepathic message. "Avoid this area; it's a danger zone..."
Saraens immediately stopped and adjusted his direction to move away from the mysterious white dot.
That could be some kind of counterattack attempt by the Agmar army, or it could be the location of the shamanic priesthood, but as long as they obey the High Priest's orders and do not leave the protective range of the sandstorm, the enemy cannot reach them.
He continued his journey through the sandstorm, hunting new prey. In this chaotic realm, created by the combined magic of both sides, the half-dragon warriors were like the scythe of death, mercilessly reaping lives. This was not a battle, but a massacre, a one-sided slaughter that resembled art.
In the distance, a crimson light suddenly pierced through the sandstorm's barrier, shooting straight into the sky. That was dragon's breath—the Great Witch King had personally joined the battle.
This was a signal that the battle was about to end. He turned to his last prey, continuing his unfinished mission. (The last part, "梅有有咏梅想空你林在在没呢," is a nonsensical string of characters and doesn't translate directly. It's likely a result of OCR errors.)