Qian Ye knew there was no hope of expecting any concept of war from the Atuwa tribe; the idea of Sacred Mountain for them was more like a belief. When something involved belief, it meant having absolutely no room for negotiation. Even though Qian Ye was surrounded by divine authority, it was all in vain.
He discarded his previous idea of reestablishing the front troops and pulling back to the holy land to combat Maydanzoh. But he couldn’t watch Atuwa’s foolish strategy of wasting their resources. At this point it was too late to get over there quickly. If the Black King became relentless, not even hundreds of Atuwa warriors and the Giants could withstand his rage for long.
Thus Qian Ye apprehended the elders and essentially yelled in their ears: “If we don’t want those warriors to die in vain, listen to me. Only I possess the power to counteract and defeat the Evil Black Demon. Are we clear?”
Elders glared at the Qian Ye, briefly before responding: “I trust not your words, but the guidance of the Holy Sprit. If destroying that dark menace remains your purpose, we may still choose to give you our belief.”
“It would matter least of all if you people didn’t trust me.” Even negotiating and conversing with these crude natives was exhausting enough to him, especially coming as he did right after the tragic, irreplaceable loss.
It might’ve been their realization of their own inadequacy, or the terrible price from the last battle had changed their minds; the elder’s manner softened: “For the purpose of this battle alone, we shall adhere to your command,” the elder proclaimed. “Remember: warriors of Atuwa neither shun nor fear sacrifices.”
“However,” Qian Ye stated, pausing briefly as the idea seemed slightly complicated for any elder to fully comprehend— “making that ultimate sacrifice is a quite separate concept than outrightly being sent to your dooms.”
Having obtained command, instantly, Ye reorganized all available forces and collected every viable unit into new battalions with appointed captains. Now he gathered exactly five hundred trained warriors, together with three Giants as part-time leaders. Upon these moving forwards out of Sacred Land, those remaining there were mostly frail ones, including old, women, and children.
Looking over these units properly equipped Qian Ye hesitated briefly before addressing all. “Now let those with crystalized power step forth!”
Approximately hundred warriors responded and came to form their lines. “Your purpose is clearly explained, comrades?” Qian asked.
“Yes, sire,” replied the one at the forefront. “To attack swiftly upon that Black Demon’s defenses while shortening the battlefield ahead of our other forces—just like the most standard offensive tactic we know—not merely using life as road-paths toward victory.” Despite this poetic explanation of the grimness of this endeavor.
Ye silently nodded. There weren’t even decent instruments for Qian to go and scrutinise as the weapons available to Atuwa’s clan were ancient at best with barely enough innovation in short notice by their craftsmen—if they could qualify to have any craftsmen, at all.
As the soldiers’ preparations concluded, he ordered the troops onward through designated pathways. But by reducing the marching intensity, Ye expected meeting Maydanzoh in a terrain more challenging for attackers—a topographical advantage for indigenous dwellers residing in this Inner world.
Elsewhere, far and high, The Unlighted Monarch suspended midair. Lifeless bodies of a massacre were scattered beneath, among those, the last Giants, still preserving dying poses, evident of their fierce last battles. Yet their fate was the cruellest of all.
A blood clan swept the carnage as The King appeared distracted. Finally snapping out of it, the King muttered with disregard: “What treasure could one even expect from these primitives? Forget salvaging, onward now!”
Of course, not daring even to doubt, his attendants obeyed until the spider demon Marquess dared to voice: “Your Majesty, maybe not material gains. However their potential as warriors is worth the recognition.”
Eyebrowse raising slightly, Maydanzoh uttered: “Are you indeed questioning My decree?”
“I humbly do not dare. I only offer a suggestion worth Your Highness’s reflection.”
Maydanzoh’s pupils glimmered in eerie, dark ways beneath them, voice smoothing yet laced softly with menace: “It might slip forgotten, my Marquess. Even in this newborn order across Pure Worlds, the Twilight Queen always dominates at the pinnacle. Your lowborn spider demons don’t come near us now, let alone some insignificant Earl—death inside this Inner World should feel only natural.”
With composure firm despite the threat looming, the spider retorted calmly: “Let this Marquess recall: blood heirline to the Queen Spider herself courses within.”
Maydanzoh glistened in curiosity briefly. Softly speaking back: “Yet again it proves, some inferior species never truly learn—that tracing such divine genealogy cannot ever promise safer status, but only elevate how appetizing they become.”
Enraged, The Spider Earl’s expression contorted violently. His immediate reaction was to bolt; only for Maydanzoh’s outline to flicker—then disappear instantly. From behind him, a blade sliced out from his ribcage.
As swiftly he sliced downwardly cleaving body armor, blood splattered across Maydanzoh’s body. However, the latter merely allowed his eyes relax, visibly sated. Eventually opening eyes, he whispered as though relished: “Certainly, the blood of Queen Spider proves to be the supreme delicacy.”
Obediently, all vampires pretended their eyes failed them entirely—pretending to not witness nor hear the slightest, going about duties with mechanical motions.
Then breaking the silence, a sudden, twisted smile crawled up as Maydanoz announced gently: “Remain unbothered and fear not, dears—Spiders were only meant for footstools; our illustrious and noble vampires shall always remain their master! Many are unaware the countless heroes who once swam in the Red River of Old—and remember: Even those wretched Demongenes would kneel before us.”
His attendants respectfully nodded—faces lit with false pride—however internally, a thousand words unspoken remained. For they, those who joined Maydanoz during Twilight’s War, were far from being noble themselves. It’s undeniable that in time ahead—no matter how glorious blood clans became in the future—all their own fates hung far below.
Sensing their thoughts, Maydanoz made no further attempt to convince; dark-purple blood mist swirled around him, absorbing each red streak.
Now his face wore nearly madness as he stared into the general direction from where the Sacred Mountain must lie. Murmuring indistinct, nearly incomprehensible phrases—words filled with twisted yearning, as one would speak of love: “You shall never even know how once, blood lineage ruled not one but twin sacred hills. You shall never—ever—know. . .”
Each underling simultaneously chose to avert their focus to distant landscapes, hoping to not remain caught in the King’s proximity. They had no comprehension what drove the Monarch, nor insight how deeply bound his connection went within The Twilight Queen… and none dared fathom the source of boldness allowing his hand upon the Queen Spider’s descendants.
Long-life though these beings were, surviving—simply living to eventually flee this Hell called the Inner World was precisely their modest objective.
“No salvaging today. Let’s press forth.” And at that signal, moving first slowly himself. Behind him followed obedient retinue, trying their speed in following his lead.
As his first march step struck ground, unexpectedly, the King halted. He waved in a flurry of several obsidian blades slicing off several alien-trees ahead.
“Have watched enough?” He mocked scornfully in the air.
His attendants had no idea at whom this message targeted—yet obeyed silently as usual; eyes kept firmly ahead, not even a moment’s gaze allowed to stray.
Meanwhile, faraway, with his own essence tightly entwined with Great Mother Tree, from afar Qian Ye stared coldly into the darkness of that approaching figure—each shattered and toppled alien-tree dimmed the view momentarily, only for its view instantly transferred to other surrounding ones nearby. Such watchfulness from Great Tree will haunt unceasingly; unless Maydanoz fells down every alien flora across, evaporation from this sight remained forever impossible.
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