CHAPTER 60 - ANOTHER STUPID PLAN (Patreon)

Zamian came up with nothing.

Walking in slow steps beside Marlos, followed by Warlord Velma, Zamian was almost reaching the spot where Rozzo had attacked him but still hadn’t come up with a concrete plan.

‘If I try to run, Marlos will probably block her path when she tries to reach me. But then she’ll fight, the surge of essence will grab Rozzo and his two bodyguards’ attention, and they’ll stop holding him down to look here,’ he thought in distress. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t believe Marlos can deal with four Warlords… And even if he could, Rozzo wouldn’t pay him any mind. The vermin would simply rush in my direction.’

In simple terms, Zamian was having to split his mind between controlling his wounds, maintaining awareness without using the Luminous Senses technique, because of how damaged his body was, while trying to think of a way to meet Tulip, Bohlo, Soho, and Kurt and spend a whole day cultivating without being interrupted by Velma or, worse yet, Rozzo.

His mind was racing and throbbing with pain.

‘When did this blighting situation start to get so… worse?’

Sighing inwardly, he shook his head, and moments later, saw the two Great Warriors that had been accompanying Velma sitting on debris, talking to each other.

Beside them, one of those weird light sources flickered dimly, and from their bare feet, a weak pulse of Earth’s essence spread like a wave through the ground.

Seeing that made Zamian glance at Marlos and Velma’s feet, noticing that neither of them were using any similar skill.

Willing the wandering thought away and understanding the situation wouldn’t resolve itself, Zamian let out an audible wince and stopped, putting his hand against one of the corridor’s narrow stone walls and gasping.

Marlos arched an eyebrow, his single green eye glowing faintly. Velma frowned and spoke in a low tone.

“Move.”

Her muscles were tense, her eyes scanning Zamian and flicking between him and Marlos.

Forcing a cough, Zamian said, “Give me a minute. My wounds are flaring up.”

To sell the act, he used his Nameless Physique to force his wounds open slightly. His clothes darkened with blood, little stains forming near his stomach as he held the area and forced slow, shaky breaths.

Before Velma could say anything, Marlos stepped in. “Ohoho, poor kid,” he said, crossing his arms. “But don’t take too long. The two back there won’t hold the guy who wants to finish you for long.”

Velma sneered but said nothing. She didn’t move and didn’t take her eyes off them.

The two Great Warriors looked in their direction, but this time, they weren’t chatting or relaxing. On the contrary, their darkened, half-covered faces now hid something closer to fear.

A gaze they hadn’t even shown when looking at Marlos.

Zamian saw the glint in their eyes. His vision wasn’t bothered by the darkness. And he had a guess.

‘They fear my surname. They fear my father.’

He bit his lip, forced another cough, and spat some blood on the ground.

That gave him a reckless, and almost certainly doomed, idea.

But honestly, it was the only one he had.

Deciding what to do and unwilling to test Velma’s patience, he cleared his throat and, faking a limp, dragged his body toward the two Great Warriors.

For every three steps he took, they gave half a step back.

And that was the only thing that gave Zamian even a modicum of confidence that his plan wouldn’t completely backfire.

When they reached the previous resting area, Zamian winced again, and, panting, slowly supported himself on a nearby slab of debris, sitting on a rock.

Velma groaned, annoyed. “Move.”

Zamian turned to her. His eyes were hollow. His pale face looked sicker than ever.

‘Thank you, Nameless Physique.’

Faking a labored breath, he replied in a voice as low as hers. “Rozzo hit me too hard. I think I’m going to die.”

Marlos frowned deeply and, before Velma could respond, walked toward Zamian.

“What do you mean? Where did he hit you?”

At that moment, Zamian wanted to grab the man’s white beard and hug the bald lunatic for saying the right thing.

“...My back—”

Marlos cut him off.

“At least it wasn’t one of Rozzo’s techniques that hit you. Maybe debris. Or else you’d have turned to mush, right? Ohoho, but of course a Zealot like you wouldn’t escape unscathed from a Warlord’s assault.” Marlos’ eyes glinted as he analyzed Zamian closely.

That was something Zamian hadn’t fully considered, and maybe one of the reasons Velma had grown more suspicious. Her glares now split between him and Marlos.

They didn’t understand how Zamian was even alive after being directly targeted by Rozzo.

He forced more blood to leak from his lips and wiped it with his sleeve, then weakly smiled at Marlos.

“Calm down. My father wouldn’t—”

He stopped mid-sentence and lowered his head as if he'd accidentally said too much.

That single gesture was enough to make the two Great Warriors step back again, exchanging a silent glance.

Velma’s fist clenched. She scanned the surroundings, briefly breaking eye contact with the two in front of her.

Zamian caught her reaction from the corner of his vision, and with a quiet grunt, stood up on unsteady legs.

‘White Dot, in the absence of a true god, I wish you to bless my following actions.’

Jesting internally, he began limping forward, each step forced, his voice hoarse as he coughed mid-sentence. “Let’s go. We need to get to the Oasis.”

He moved slowly. One step. Then another.

 His hearts skipped a beat when nothing happened.

‘Come on. Follow the clues, you stupid sand people.’

On the fourth step, Velma’s voice rang out behind him, louder than before though still colored by that growling undertone.

“Stop.”

Zamian halted and turned toward her, keeping his expression confused, as if unsure what she meant.

“What about your friends?” she asked.

His eyes widened, and he flinched as if struck, struggling to piece together a response. “Th–they are a bit farther,” he said, pausing for just a second before rushing to finish the thought. “They’ll follow us shortly. Some outsiders are with them. People used to guide.”

Velma didn’t reply right away. Instead, she released a slow pulse of Earth’s essence from her feet. A brown line traveled forward across the ground, crept up the wall, passed over the ceiling, and kept going farther than his eyes could see.

Zamian watched in silence, his pupils narrowing slightly.

After a few tense seconds, Velma gave a nod and turned to the two Great Warriors, pointing.

“Go pick them up. They are in that direction, after two turns to the right.”

Before either Zamian or Marlos could object, the two warriors broke into a run. They didn’t hesitate. They clearly wanted to be anywhere else, as if proximity to Zamian was enough to curse them.

Zamian turned to Velma, his tone low.

“You can’t hurt them.”

He had hoped she would force him to guide them back himself. That would have given him more control over what happened next. Instead, the ruthless woman handed that task off to others.

Velma didn’t answer. Her arms remained crossed, her glare shifting between him and Marlos like a pendulum, always alert for the moment one of them would move.

Meanwhile, Marlos had gone silent. The old Chosen stood calmly, his gaze studying Zamian with something more thoughtful than before, as if still trying to piece the boy together.

Time passed. No one said a word. 

Then, the silence was broken by a new surge of essence.

It wasn’t heavy like Velma’s or Marlos’. It wasn’t oppressive like Rozzo’s had been either.

This one was smaller. Perhaps a handful of Zealots or Great Warriors, stirring too close.

Zamian stood up.

“Sit,” Velma ordered, her eyes pulsing with brown light.

He looked at her. Then, after a brief pause, he responded with a flat tone.

“No.”

His body ignited in a flash of white light as he dashed forward.

Velma's muscles tensed instantly, her body enhancing with Earth’s essence, just as Marlos stepped forward and lit up with a green glow, his figure empowered by Nature’s essence.

Once again, the wooden halberd met the massive metal hammer.

The impact sent a howling wave through the ruins, shattering pillars and cracking stone, but Zamian had already disappeared from between them.

He ran without hesitation, racing through the tunnels toward Tulip, Bohlo, and the others.

It took only seconds to reach the group.

He spotted Bohlo gripping two wooden hand-axes, both glowing faintly green with channeled essence, while Kurt had his hands pressed against his face, trying to stop the bleeding from his nose.

A little behind them, the unconscious outsiders were still collapsed, with Soho resting nearby. Tulip knelt beside the older man, tending to him while watching the others’ movements.

In front of the group, the two Great Warriors stood side by side, five Bonded Spheres hovering calmly at their flanks.

Zamian's body blurred into motion once more, slicing through the space between them. He passed through in a blink, and in the same motion, grabbed the axes from Bohlo’s hands.

Then, before anyone could react and before the warriors could even fully register who had just arrived, he moved.

Zamian slashed the wooden weapons, aiming cleanly for the necks of the two warriors in front of him. His intent had been swift decapitation.

He misjudged.

The force and speed behind his swing were far beyond what the weapons and his enemies could handle.

The wooden blades didn’t slice cleanly. Instead, they exploded through the men’s necks, sending bone and flesh outward in a shower of gore.

The wooden axes cracked from the recoil, splintering in his hands.

Zamian blinked. He stood still for a second. Then shook his head, willing himself to focus.

He turned to his friends, his gaze briefly locked onto Tulip.

“Can you make me a man later? For now, you guys need to bow down in the direction of the tunnel we came from.”

Bohlo, Tulip, and Kurt all stared at him in stunned silence, mouths slightly open, unable to respond.

The whole place trembled a heartbeat later.

A distant scream echoed through the tunnels, carried by a new surge of essence, this one jagged and filled with fury.

Zamian’s eyes gleamed.

‘They let Rozzo out,’ he thought, and the next steps of his plan began to crystallize. ‘Let’s hope they’re following that idiot. Otherwise, I’ll have to put my neck at risk again.’