SWDnovel Chapter 1647 - 1647: Personalized War Rooms(1)
Chapter 1647 - 1647: Personalized War Rooms(1)
[And the enemy has been scattered!] Hurricroak declared with glee. [Now, since everyone chose their dance partners, I will now distribute the background music that I have composed for the occasion.][You...you made us background battle music?] Razorstella asked with clear confusion in her voice. [Why?]
[Well, not only does the music come with enhancement and debuff effects, but these motherfuckers are basically seeing us as boss battles. Might as well make their last few moments in the mortal realm of the living somewhat memorable.]
[Dark.]
[To be fair, they dug their own grave when they decided to try and jump the Ringmaster,] Springdermain added. [So, what does my BGM sound like?]
[You'll find out in about a minute, because it looks like our guests have finally arrived!]
[Oh shit!]
[Places everyone!]
[You guys think we'll be able to do this again anytime soon?]
[Maybe!]
[By the way, have you all managed to set up a proper place for our guests? The ones we actually like I mean.]
[Yes.]
...
When an aether warrior reaches a certain level of cultivation, nothing really surprises them anymore.
Teleportation becomes less of a miracle and more of an everyday occurrence.
Wandering ruins may be fragments of other realities, but they're only worth exploring if the loot is any good.
And even the most terrifying aether beasts become nothing more than pests in the eyes of the powerful.
As such, for all intents and purposes, the kidnapped aether warriors should've been more or less fine by their lonesome.
However…this aforementioned numbness didn't ever take [Chaos] as a factor.
Despite outward appearances, many aether warriors still felt the same things they would feel from their early days to present day, albeit, in a lessened state.
In other words, when [Chaos] strips away the veils known as modesty and experience, all that is left is raw emotion.
And oddly enough, this feeling extended to a certain group of warriors that should've been more…dead, in their reactions.
…First, a priest…
'Where the fuck am I…'
When Hulna got grabbed by the gargoyle, a part of him had thought that he was going to die in that instant.
He had assumed that the gargoyles and the bookwyrm were in cahoots with one another, and the moment that he got grabbed would end with him getting pulled into the bookwyrm's warm gaping maw.
The image of a million paper cuts getting soaked with ink had filled the man with dread, but they thankfully didn't happen.
Instead, something much worse occurred instead.
The gargoyle had dragged him into a portal that resembled a hellish gateway, the kind that some of the more dogmatic sects would preach about being a mere stone's throw away from becoming someone's new reality unless they converted.
Fire and brimstone preaching wasn't Hulna's style, but it was effective.
After they passed the threshold, Hulna's senses got scrambled but he could immediately sense third things.
First, the gargoyle that was holding him had disappeared once they got through the gate. Hulna could only assume that it was a purpose-fulfillment sort of deal.
Second, and more importantly, he could feel that he had entered some sort of subspace that was connected to the main space he and the others were in just moments ago.
And lastly, that he was now standing on solid ground. However, he couldn't really determine the make and look of the room quite yet because of his senses still being scrambled.
"Like the rooms of a wandering ruin," Hulna concluded after he managed to stop the world from spinning. "But it's so dark in here that…wait…that's not right…"
As an Aether King, Hulna's senses should've been sharp enough to look directly into a pitch black cavern and see even a small cockroach running about. But the fact that he couldn't do that in a relatively small, warm room meant that there was something more to the place blocking his vision.
Or to be more precise, there was someone else preventing him from doing so.
Before Hulna could even speculate the possibilities, the first few notes of a religious chant suddenly filled the room. However, these sung notes didn't sound right to his ears.
The chants sounded as if they were coming from pieces of metal that had been forced to sing, while accompanied by instruments he had never heard before.
As the signing continued, torch after torch lit up one after the other and illuminated a hall that Hulna recognized as being a courtroom but done in a style that he had never seen before.
In places where clerks or guards were supposed to be stationed, there were large monstrous statues performing those same tasks.
"What the fuck…"
As the singing reached an apex, a final pair of torches illuminated the central desk where a familiar figure made of flames sat.
Needless to say, the appearance of this flaming judgeman caused Hulna's hair to stand on end.
A part of him expected this to happen, but it was still shocking to see in person.
Thankfully, everything else has been such a shocker up to this point that he was able to ask a question without sounding like a stuttering fool.
"Is it safe to assume that you didn't give me your real name when you appeared in my church?"
[Yes,] the flaming judge man answered before taking command of the situation. [Welcome, Abbot Hulna. To your judgement.]
"J-judgement?!" Hulna screamed in alarm, a sharp contrast from the last time he assumed to be in such a situation. "I have done nothing to warrant such a thing!"
[Are you sure about that?]
As soon as this question was asked, a new presence appeared in Hulna's senses.
One he hadn't sensed for a long time.
"It...it can't be!"
...Cliffhanger because we need an aside...
The False Crusaders that accompanied Abbot Hulna and Abbot Feroxxa were more than just enhanced corpse warriors.
These four were once powerful Aether Lords that had once fought alongside the Sacred Flame Theocracy's armies in the early days of the war.
However, they had all fallen in battle against the Erupting Dawn Empire...or stabbed in the back by ambitious and unscrupulous mercenaries.
Regardless, the [Flame of Ambition] had managed to secure their bodies and had used part of its power to make sure that they didn't rot or disintegrate until it was ready to use them.
Why?
Because these particular corpses had a touch more... individuality to them.
Aether warriors of a certain cultivation rank have noticeably stronger bodies and spirits, meaning that something like death is not as final as it would be for other mortals. However, this also meant that if someone or something were to try to use these remains for their own nefarious purposes, they would have to deal with a rather powerful ego.
An ego that, if somehow isolated from the people designated at their controller would act a bit... different from an obedient puppet.
A whole lot different.
...And now with this information in mind...
Frosttusk was initially mildly annoyed at the fact that he had drawn the short straw when it comes to choosing his opponents. In his head, these so-called False Crusaders were just fancier corpse puppets.
Such beings wouldn't be able to appreciate the fact that his room was a homage to the people of the Echoing Valley, nor would they recoil in curiousity and fear at the sound of his personal background music.
Hurricroak had apparently used "heavy metal" as the theme, and it suited Frosttusk quite nicely.
Either way, none of this would be understood by the False Crusader...at least, that's what Frosttusk thought was going to be the case.
From his vantage point, a throne at the head of the hall, Frosttusk watched as this False Crusader react in the same way as a normal mortal warrior would to such sights and sounds to the point that he was curious if they were actually sentient.
[How...peculiar...] Frosttusk said aloud, unsure if the False Crusader would reply. Much to his pleasurable surprise, the False Crusader.
"What the fuck?!" The False Crusader exclaimed, their voice having a strange echoing effect to it. "Who...no...what the fuck are you?"
[I am...Frosttusk...the Kaijin of...Revenge...and... Regret,] Frosttusk rumbled. [And you're in...my...domain.]
"Revenge and—wait, did you say just say 'Kaijin'?! So the legends are true," the False Crusader said in alarm. "But that can't be..."
Frosttusk allowed the corpse warrior to panic for a few more moments before asking a follow up question.
[But it is...so...I must ask...who are you?]
At this question, the False Crusader suddenly jerked as if the question triggered some lost instinct in them, causing them to suddenly take on a stance and respond.
"I am...I am...I am Magnarus of the Golden Sand sect. I am a master of the [Revolving Iron Fist]. I was here to assist the Sacred Flame Theocracy for services rendered in the past."
[Really...?]
The way the False Crusader answered caused Frosttusk to raise a brow.
There was something to his words that he just couldn't parse.
Then again, they said warriors talked not with words...but with fists.
[Well met...Magnarus...now...HAVE AT THEE!]