Chapter 149 Chapter 145 Wasteland
A few days after advancing underground.
When the six members of the Savior team emerged onto the surface together.
The biting winter wind came at them like a knife, slicing across their faces.
Literally, with no hint of exaggeration.
The bard Felix covered his face, blood dripping through his fingers and falling onto the black ground, the drops evaporating instantly as if they had landed on a hot iron plate.
He lamented, “I want to go home.”
Saint Jenna raised her hand and pointed.
A faint white mold appeared on him, and his wounds healed.
Jima, as if caressed by a spring breeze, couldn’t help but stretch her wings and open her arms, saying, “It feels like coming home.”
Below their feet was a gentle slope, with ice and snow only extending to the foot of the slope, after which lay a patch of black earth, rough and uneven, filled with cracks like jagged wounds.
Beneath the cracks flowed lava, solidified black lava everywhere, and in the distant sky hung a thick layer of dark clouds, which moved as they flashed with lightning, arcs of deep blue lightning falling like rain.
George said, “The wasteland is truly a place deeply corrupted by magical power.”
Jima replied, “After all, every apocalyptic army passes through here.”
It’s quite simple to reach the demon realm on foot; just walk north, arrive at the wasteland, and if you’re lucky, you might suddenly find yourself in the demon realm.
At the North and South Poles, the demon realm and the mundane world are the same; magical winds surge from the cracks at the poles, ultimately being drawn into a massive whirlpool.
George pointed at the distant dark clouds and asked, “Jima, do you know what this symbolizes?”
Jima felt uneasy, sensing that George and the others were now taking it for granted that she was Demon King Jima. Perhaps not. If that were the case, she would have been sliced long ago. Maybe they were seeing her as something else.
Jima replied, “It symbolizes that we cannot stay under the dark clouds for too long, or we risk being struck by lightning.”
“Is this a normal phenomenon?”
“If it disperses in an instant, that would be abnormal.”
As soon as she finished speaking, the thunderclouds scattered suddenly.
It was like a case of prophetic irony.
Jima remarked, “This is unusual.”
“What could be causing it?”
“I’ll do a divination.” Jima fixed her gaze on the dissipating clouds, blinked, and performed a quick divination: “A magical disturbance caused by some powerful ritual. To be specific, I need to perform a ceremony to amplify my divination.”
“Now?”
“Later. Let’s move forward.”
The group continued along the path downward, surrounded by black rocks with sharp spikes protruding upward, looking quite suitable for impaling corpses. Not a hint of green was present among the stones.
The booming sound of thunder echoed between the rocks.
Not far away, on top of the pointed black rocks, Eve Frostleaf leaped like a bird, landing lightly on a spike; she waved her hand, and flames burst forth in red.
This signal indicated that enemies were approaching.
Jima immediately drew her branch axe spear and leaped into the air.
Amidst the sharp black rocks, she spotted several figures, demonized hounds, these corrupted dogs, with their heads and shoulders reaching the chest of an adult, each exhibiting different mutations, with many mouths and claws on their shoulders.
These demonized hounds were very cunning, using the stone spikes to conceal their forms, appearing and disappearing stealthily. Their fur was black, and if one wasn’t careful, they could go unnoticed.
But nothing could escape Jima’s eyes.
In fact, before taking off, she sensed this little conspiracy targeting her team, recognizing the people and objects behind the scheme.
She shouted downwards, “Eighteen demonized hounds, feinting from the six o’clock direction, main assault from the three o’clock direction.”
George immediately commanded the team to form a rough circle, holding his sword as he ran towards the three o’clock direction.
First, a roar erupted from behind them in the rock forest, three demonized hounds charging fiercely, barking loudly.
George shouted, “Jima, don’t sing. It’s unnecessary.”
Reluctantly, Jima shut her mouth.
The three demonized hounds charged forward and then stopped, trying to draw attention. From the three o’clock direction, a dozen demonized hounds burst out directly from the rock forest; George met them head-on, slicing with his sword as the demonized hounds fell apart.
In no time, the demonized hounds suffered heavy casualties, and the remaining ones turned to flee, but each met their end under Eve Frostleaf’s arrows.
Jima descended and tapped the head of a demonized hound with her branch axe spear, confirming it was dead before bursting its stomach open, saying, “The viscera is here; let’s see the result of the divination.”
The transformed, dark viscera flowed out, with mouths that opened and closed, emitting a foul odor.
Bard Felix couldn’t help but turn his head away.
Saint Jenna found the smell quite pleasant, so she walked away to avoid it.
Jima pressed the tip of her spear against the long-mouthed viscera, inspecting closely: “The divination result is not good; there is a strong ritual to the northeast. Do I need to scout it?”
“Be careful,” George replied. “Just take a look and come back.”
“Okay, what’s your next step?”
“Finding the nest of the two-headed dragon and paving the way for the army.”
Jima flapped her wings and took flight, heading southeast.
Below, the black land and lava cracks rushed past beneath her.
Although Jima felt less secure after leaving George, she felt much lighter and could ponder the critical question.
What exactly had George imagined her to be?
The inheritor of the Demon King’s memories?
Impossible, could it be?
After thinking for a long time, Jima still had no clues. She considered whether to ask the Master of Deception but shook her head.
The Master of Deception had tarnished her reputation, and she had heard of it. Just as the Blood God sect encouraged mutual combat, the sect of the Master of Deception encouraged mutual intellectual duels.
Just as she was contemplating.
Her gaze crossed over a hill, spotting a group of soldiers and an altar towering over the land.
A sharp gaze pierced through Jima from below; her eyes locked onto it immediately.
It was indeed the Eternal Chosen One, brandishing a blazing sword, pointing directly at Jima, alongside a zombie dragon, on which sat a powerful warrior clad in blood armor.
Jima immediately halted; the Eternal Chosen One Marus raised his sword, pointing straight at her.
Past memories surged to her mind, tormenting her nerves with experiences of narrowly escaping from the sword of the Eternal Chosen One Marus.
But Jima steadfastly resisted, quickly regaining her composure, and gave the Eternal Chosen One Marus a middle finger gesture, saying, “If you’ve got the guts, come up here!”
With that, she flapped her wings and soared higher, while carefully observing below.
The army numbered less than two thousand, mostly ordinary Northerners, gathered there, likely called by the Eternal Chosen One Marus.
The altar was filled with severed heads, and a crack opened. A heavily armored demon warrior was stepping out grandly.
The Eternal Chosen One Marus was gathering an army.
Jima let out a sigh of relief; it seemed his progress wasn’t very fast. She turned her gaze to the blood-armored warrior riding the zombie dragon and, in the blink of an eye, performed a quick divination.
No information came through; the opponent was very powerful.
Noticing Jima’s probing, the blood-armored warrior rode the zombie dragon, taking to the skies, flying towards Jima.
Jima immediately turned around, becoming invisible, disappearing into the sky.
