Bro, I'm not an Undead!

Chapter 949 What Are They Stopping For?

A great platform stood on the coast opposing them, daring them to proceed. It stood proud, glinting lightly in soft blue, illuminating the 15,000 humanoid opposers with long ears and silver armour. The sight couldn't have been more sickening for the Ode of the First Horn who stood on the figurehead to the leading ship among the seven.

The Ode of the First Horn was the heir to the throne, the Crown Prince of Maqi.

He had been told to lead this mission to finally confront Opungale about an old grudge that the strongest human nation had been denied for so long by a certain mysterious individual. Now, with all the chaos brewing in Aigas, the chance had finally come. Perhaps getting answers was the goal, or perhaps it wasn't. What mattered was that as of right now, the Sif were showing signs of resistance and even if it was in their right to defend themselves, the Ode was determined to bring them to their knees first, a fairly easy ordeal.

Frail and humble to the natural, the Sif had of course succumbed to the weakness that came with millennia of peace and seclusion. Whatever they thought they gained from all that solitude was sure to prove fatal this night.

"Umbett, are you sure you can still hold out?" the Ode, a young man with crimson hair, peerless satin grey eyes and a bold, muscular frame accentuated perfectly by the nakedness of his torso, spoke behind him.

On the great ship, men and women mostly bare-chested like he was, were seated on the deck in long, straight rows, embracing eerie silence and profound concentration. Between the gap they left in their arrangement, was a massive, green bell hung from a hook suspended in mid-air. The flakes of rust and the lightning-shaped cracks on the construct gave away its astounding age, while attempting to flirt with the eye with its faded gold patterns. The bell swung this way and that, emitting a horrendous noise that formed visible arcs in the air, but none on the ship were affected. Not even the old woman standing before it.

"Don't insult me, my dear Ode," the old woman said with a smack of her chapped lips.

"Insult?" the Ode said with a brow raised. "You are exerting yourself so much before the real battle even begins; enhancing the properties of the bell and casting a Man-Stealing Curse, you might find, is terribly draining for the average Shamanic Mage."

The old woman chuckled.

She looked up with her tiny eyes which were almost buried in her sagging eyelids to see the impressive, barely visible barrier around the entirety of Opungale.

"There is no such thing as an average Shamanic Mage, boy," she said with a scoff. "How do you intend to deal with the fools waiting for us. They hardly count as a vanguard. Shall we delegate to our 'partners'? They might not get anything to do during the whole trip."

The Ode was amused.

"No. That won't be necessary."

***

Ashema was intrigued by the sight below him, but his interest was rapidly eaten away by the fact that the seven ships he had been following stopped when they were just short of ninety meters away from Opungale's coast, from the extended ice platform ahead holding up archers ready to fire thousands of arrows, and brave swordsmen more than prepared to engage.

He was eager for the chaos to begin, and yet the instigators directly below him had yet to show signs of offence besides the creepy bell they had been ringing.

It had affected Ashema quite a bit when it was first rung, but he had learned to dilute its effect by doing as the men and women aboard the ships did.

Concentration.

The bell, asides from rupturing insides, instilled a devastating sense of panic within its victims.

It seemed that, in exchange for its fatal capabilities, the solution to not being affected by it as much, was made rather simple. One just had to dip themselves in focus on something that gave them the greatest sense of stability, and of course, this could be done with minimal effort by strong experts.

It was fascinating to learn with the right kind of organs and a strong soul. It had been. But now...

"What are they stopping for? Are they suddenly getting scared?" Ashema scowled.

There was no movement from both sides for a full minute.

The tension grew with each passing second, making it seem as though whenever either side decided to act, the outcome was going to be outrageously devastating, but the thrilling scene of many soldiers from both sides – with one outnumbered terribly by the other 15 to 1 – didn't happen even when three more minutes passed.

"Are you kidding me? Am I going to have to be the catalyst these bastards need? The risk is far more rewarding than this bizarre wait! Should I act?" Ashema grumbled, his gourd in hand. The fact that the blood he had stored in it had long been guzzled to nothing didn't help his ability to restrain himself.

Should he wait? Should he just jump in and worry about the consequences later? Screw all the evaluations he had done about the strength of these creatures?

Ashema was close to it, but he held himself back.

Not yet.

He had just decided to rise further into the clouds and wait when...

"What?"

Squinting, Ashema saw it clearer even in the night.

It was behind the long-eared people ready for battle, floating above the trees inconspicuously, almost blended full well within the refined canvas of night.

Darkness shaped like a human.

Ashema was stricken.

It was beautiful.

It was shaped extraordinarily well, with a long robe attached to its figure as though it were some kind of extra limb that encompassed the whole body.

"Marvellous! What is that? Is it... What is it? Do creatures of this world actually know how to use the darkness better than us?" Ashema questioned himself. Indeed, his people were the best at using the darkness. They used it for travel, combat and creation. Being born away from the natural sun had granted them such prowess, after all.

Ashema was thrilled. Without a second thought, he decided to move and explore this oddity. He did not, however, throw caution to the wind.