CHAPTER 59 - HEIR ROZZO (Patreon)

Before anything else could happen after his question, Zamian commanded the White Dot to show his current stats.

PERSONAL INFORMATION  

Name: Zamian Greenfield   Level: 4 [14%]Tier: Mortal  Main Pathway: KnowledgeTitle: Insightful

STATS 

Body: 359/24000Mind: 9000/26000Soul: 4000/24000

‘I better get to the Oasis in less than two days, or I’ll need to cultivate and recover my body in these tunnels… Honestly, I don’t know what would be more dangerous.’

Zamian dismissed the text, his glowing eyes flickering as he scanned the trio before him.

Marlos spread his arms with a grin. "Ohohoho! You finally arrived, little lunatic." He tapped his halberd against the stone floor, nodding toward the woman. "This delicate lady here is Velma. One of the older Warlords. The other two are random worms."

‘By older, does he mean powerful?’

The two men beside her snorted, but Velma remained silent.

Zamian’s gaze swept over her. Despite Marlos’ words about her, there was nothing delicate about her. Velma was a brute of a human, towering like a mountain of muscle, her skin a battlefield of scars and her black short hair tied in a ponytail. Cold eyes locked onto Marlos, her entire body coiled like a predator waiting for a single excuse to strike.

Zamian tilted his head slightly, trying to keep his own stance relaxed. 

He already knew three more Warlords were hiding, so he rather not look anxious in front of those enemies.

‘Maybe they already moved from their previous place to here.’

His eyes scanned everywhere, but he found nothing.

‘If this turns into a fight, Marlos could be fine against her alone, but that’s not what’s happening here. She just needs to pin him down while the others prepare for a stronger strike.’

Marlos, however, didn’t seem too concerned. He rested his halberd lazily against his shoulder and chuckled. "Well, well. The young ones had their fun, and now we can get back to talking."

Velma finally moved. Not much, just a tilt of her head, a slight shift of her stance. 

And now, her eyes glowed brown.

"Dispel your armor," she ordered, her voice like grinding stone. "And your weapon. You’ll be coming with us. The Sultan will decide your fate."

Zamian narrowed his eyes.

Brown essence flooded the tunnel. A deep hum resonated from Velma’s metal hammer, causing the tunnel to shake slightly.

Marlos, glowing with a faint green hue, didn’t move.

Their essences clashed. Not in a physical battle, but in raw, silent pressure of essence.

Earth Pathway against Nature Pathway.

This short clash was enough for Zamian to see the end result.

Marlos was stronger, even in his current state. If Velma were alone, he could win, even if he lost a few limbs.

‘But she isn’t alone… I can’t let this continue.’

So he made his move.

“The Sultan was betrayed.”

The words cut through the growing tension, as Velma’s brow furrowed slightly, her essence settling in, and Marlos sharply turning at him, eyes widening.

 The two Great Warriors exchanged confused glances.

Zamian took a step forward. “And I want to see him.”

"And who are you?" Velma rumbled.

"I’m Zamian Greenfield." He let the words settle before finishing. "Dante Greenfield, the previous Lord Chosen of the Sanctuary, is my father."

And then, the tunnel shook.

Zamian’s instincts screamed as he felt a surge of Earth’s essence from above.

Chains erupted downward. They were as thick as his arm, jagged lengths of metal and earth, silver streaks twisting through them like veins. They slithered like serpents, twisting midair with a sickening fluidity, not merely seeking to bind him, but to crush him.

Zamian’s body blazed white.

His foot slammed into the ground, launching him backward just as the first chain struck where he had stood, shattering stone like brittle glass.

Midair, he twisted, dodging a second set of chains lashing out from the walls. His instincts blared, white essence covering his body, amplifying his speed.

More chains coiled like tentacles from all directions, aiming at his head.

‘Not trying to capture me. They want me dead.’

Zamian landed lightly, but the wall beside him cracked. More chains erupted, aiming for his legs and torso.

He gritted his teeth, dashing forward as something heavy dropped from above.

The ground trembled as a young man landed before him, brown essence flaring. A fresh, pulsing scar ran from the top of his forehead to the tip of his chin.

Nature’s essence leaked from his scar, while a brown line of text hovered above his head.

[LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]

This Warlord was leaner than Zamian, even if a bit smaller. He wore the common garb of Oasis citizens, yet his face was bared for all to see. Around his wrists, thick brown bracelets pulsed with brown essence, two chains connected to each of them, floating at his sides like vipers waiting to strike.

His bloodshot eyes locked onto Zamian, burning with hatred.

“You,” he growled. “Your father did this to me.”

His arm snapped forward.

More chains burst from his bracelets, propelled by a violent spike of essence.

Zamian dodged left.

Instantly, two more figures dropped down behind the scarred Warlord.

Zamian scowled while reading the lines above them, even if he was not surprised by what he saw.

[LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]

[LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]

What surprised him, however, was that the duo weren’t attacking.

They were trying to hold the scarred man down.

One slammed a palm against the ground, Linked Protection walls shooting up in a semi-circle behind the Warlord attacking Zamian. The other extended both arms, streams of brown essence flowing toward the scarred man’s chains, attempting to restrict them.

“Calm yourself, Heir Rozzo!” one of them shouted.

“Stay out of this!” Rozzo snarled, twisting mid-step.

His chains snapped outward.

The first bodyguard barely managed to conjure a barrier before a chain ripped through it, forcing him back. The second raised an arm, trying to redirect the attack, but Rozzo merely yanked his chains, the force sending the man stumbling.

‘This guy is no joke.’

Zamian’s eyes narrowed.

He turned and ran.

Chains exploded toward him, striking where he had been a fraction of a second earlier. He didn’t look back.

Rozzo, glowing in a brown hue, chased.

The tunnels blurred past as Zamian wove between crumbling structures, essence-fueled chains crashing in his wake. Every time he avoided an attack, the walls and ceiling behind him cracked and collapsed.

The bodyguards pursued them both, their Earth’s essence streaking through the air as they tried to intercept their Heir.

“Restrain yourself, Heir Rozzo!”

“Get out of my way! I’ll kill him!”

Chains whipped toward Zamian’s legs. He leaped forward, flipping midair. A chain tore through his sleeve, barely missing his arm.

The bodyguards rushed in, one throwing up an earth wall to slow Rozzo’s advance.

He shattered it with a single chain, one of the four hovering around him like restless vipers.

Zamian landed, panting. His white essence flickered. A sharp sting flared along his ribs. A thin gash had appeared. It was just a scratch, but the real problem wasn’t the blood loss. 

‘Blighting wounds. I can’t keep adding them, my body won’t hold for long!’

His wounds contracted painfully as he gritted his teeth.

As he was preparing to use his Luminous Senses to find a way out, he saw a mountain image appearing above Rozzo, the man pausing.

And then, bodyguards lunged. 

One managed to grab Rozzo’s arm, brown essence pulsing.

“Enough!”

The chains snapped midair, withdrawing.

Rozzo struggled briefly, but the second bodyguard joined in, seizing both his wrists. 

Their essence surged, as the technique they used was fortified. Behind them, semi-transparent brown images of massive mountain peaks materialized, pressing down on Rozzo.

Zamian exhaled, stepping back.

Then, his head snapped to the side.

Another surge of essence.

A shockwave that tore through the tunnels.

‘Marlos and Velma clashed.’

They have accompanied Zamian and the rest. Better yet, Marlos seemed to be chasing them, while Velmas chased Marlos.

Now, the Warrior Chosen’s wooden halberd met Velma’s metal hammer, the impact howling through the air. Essence roared between them, sending cracks through the stone beneath their feet.

Marlos grinned, muscles taut. “You really didn’t want me joining in, huh?”

Velma didn’t answer. Her cold eyes locked onto him, muscles bulging as she tried to absorb the full weight of his strike.

Then, one of the bodyguards holding Rozzo down shouted.

“Stop! Everything is under control!”

Velma barely spared them a glance.

With a flick of her wrist, her hammer slammed to the ground.

Marlos smiled, putting his halberd on his shoulder.

Dust settled.

Velma’s gaze landed on Zamian.

“You can come with us, Zamian Greenfield.”

Zamian wiped the blood from his side, nodding.

Then, she continued.

“But as a prisoner.”

His lips curled into a smirk.

“I could accept that… but what about him?”

Zamian pointed at Rozzo, who trembled on the ground. The two Warlords flanking him muttered urgently, their voices barely above whispers, trying to rein him in.

But judging by the sweat dripping down their faces and the continuous surge of essence radiating from all three, it wasn’t working.

Velma noticed.

For the first time, her expression changed, her features creasing with something close to frustration.

She exhaled, rubbing her temple. “We can move without him. Just don’t use essence.”

Marlos laughed.

“Ohohoho, so your solution is running away from that little one?”

Velma nodded.

“Yes,” she said simply, then glanced at Marlos. “He’s one of your nephews.”

The bald man scratched his white beard and nodded.

“I see,” he muttered, then turned to the bodyguards. “Hold him tight.”

With that, he faced Zamian.

“Let’s pick up the others and get moving to the Oasis.”

Zamian stepped closer to Marlos, lowering his voice.

“She’s not going to demand you dispel your armor and halberd again?”

Marlos smirked, speaking in his usual tone, loud enough for anyone to hear.

“Don’t worry, little lunatic. Now that she knows your full name, we’ve got other concerns. Like the fiery one over there trying to break free.”

Zamian sighed, pressing his wound.

“...Any chance we can reach the Oasis in less than a day?”

Marlos shook his head. “With Zealots and Great Warriors tagging along? No, no.”

Zamian muttered a curse under his breath. “Then we’ve got another problem. I need a place to cultivate.”

Marlos’ grin faltered slightly.

“We can stop for a few moments, don’t worry.”

“That won’t cut it. We need at least a full day.”

Marlos finally lowered his voice, whispering.

“...Then I hope you’ve got a plan, because they won’t give us so much time.” His eyes flicked toward Velma, who was walking a few steps behind, staring at them.

Zamian sighed, already thinking.

“...I’ll come up with something.”