Jackal Among Snakes

Chapter 638: Justified Fear of the Unknown

From the beginning, their group had agreed upon some strategies. One such strategy was a devastating opening salvo combining the grim virtues of necromancy and Argrave’s blood magic. As the dull steps of the Shadowlanders filled the air before them, Bhaltair, founder of the Order of the Rose, tapped Argrave’s shoulder.

“Bhaltair speaking,” he said quietly, predatory orange eyes gleaming. He was a large man, bulging with fat in places that hardly seemed possible. “Fifteen blades should suffice for the first wave. Over.”

Argrave gave him a nod, then sent out blood echoes. He spent the whole of them to conjure fifteen swords of his black blood, and they fell into the white ground ahead. Bhaltair moved to the center of this circle of blades, then gripped the bottom of his jaw. He unhinged it, then gray flesh spewed forth out of his mouth like something highly pressurized had just removed its lid. Undead beings resembling goblins sprawled out over the floor, already moving to grip the blades Argrave had prepared. They rushed into combat, moving with an animalistic grace. Bhaltair had lost some weight after he expunged what was inside—unlike most people, he had a genuine excuse for his obese appearance. He stored undead inside his body.

With Bhaltair’s undead facing one side equipped with black-blooded weapons, Argrave was content to consider that front held. The reason why became immediately clear—their frontrunner undead held his hand out, and Bhaltair cast an S-rank spell through it. Much like Argrave’s blood echoes, Bhaltair could cast spells at a distance—unlike Argrave, he wasn’t limited in rank, and his undead were merely a conduit for his magic rather than a reservoir.

A great blast of colorless electricity erupted from the undead and buffeted the coming Shadowlanders. Shortly after, Bhaltair’s undead fell upon the hardest hit, swinging their weapons in brutal arcs. As the blades Argrave conjured bit into their stone-like flesh, Argrave felt their life energy pass to Anneliese. She, in turn, replenished everyone’s supply of magic with the wellspring of power.

The dragon roared in the dead voice that everyone shared, and Argrave looked up at it. It soared through the air toward them.

“Archchief speaking,” he said, using his title instead of his name—perhaps arrogance, or perhaps it was because he genuinely preferred to go by that. “I’ll take to the skies. That thing, and other fliers, poses the greatest threat. I’ll keep it off us. Over.”

Without further ado, he clambered aboard his zombified wyvern and lifted off with tremendous speed. Argrave decided to trust the confidence of the southern tribal, turning back to the three most vulnerable fronts. To call it vulnerable, though, implied they were at risk of being overrun. They cast S-rank spells recklessly, knowing Anneliese could replenish what was lost. The Shadowlanders, however, took the damage like they were arrows instead of great bombs. To end them, one needed exceptional firepower—and Argrave intended to provide.Upstodatee from

S-rank blood magic was few and far between. Few casters had the desire, the talent in the field, or above all, the simple lifeforce to cast a sacrificial spell of that magnitude without dying. The few that did were not human. Vampires were the most common higher blood mages. They expected their supernatural body to regenerate any damage done. Argrave expected rather the same, but a pure S-rank blood magic spell was far different than an S-rank elemental spell infused with blood magic.

Still, Argrave declared a ceasefire to his allies and walked forth, bringing to the front of his mind the terrible spell known as [Apollyon]. He completed the spell with his right hand outstretched toward the approaching Shadowlanders.

holes for their fellows following soon after. Were they outside of this realm, Argrave could imagine the pain was unimaginable. Even here, Argrave could feel his vitality draining far faster than it could be

vitality into his body to replenish what

was consumed, bursting into colorless

at them, but it was all burnt away seconds before the bugs fell upon it and erased it from the world. An abyssal mole-man sought

rather than meet this cloud of death, yet still the locust swarm followed. Argrave could feel his creations tearing through enemies that had not yet arrived at this summit. When

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buckled, and he fell to the grass. The spell finally finished, unleashing its hold on his vitality. His allies folded around him to guard him from any projectiles that might come, and Anneliese flooded him with the energy still pouring

no blood here, so they destroyed without an end. If Argrave hadn’t the benefit of Anneliese, who could replenish him based off what he killed… that may well have wounded him badly enough he’d die. If it had taken any longer, the locusts would’ve been forged out of the blood in his brain—which, needless to say, wouldn’t have fared well for

handle the ground from here, but the Archchief seems overwhelmed holding back the dragon. If you could do some of the same up

buffeted away the dragon that sought to descend

was time for good

southron elves. “Ghislain. I need you to hide a largescale attack. Those fliers seem maneuverable enough to dodge if they see it coming. Can you conceal over a thousand projectiles about the

can, over,”

few moments for his vitality to recover, then took a familiar stance. In it, he conjured [Bloodfeud Bow]. Its rate of consumption felt generous after the apocalyptic power of [Apollyon]. It built up that familiar devastating power in his

speaking. Bring your projectiles above me,

obliged. The man seemed to write in the air with his fingers, and soon enough, each of the malignant looking eels faded away until nothing but emptiness seemed to linger above. If Argrave couldn’t feel them with his will, he might think

Archchief to fall back to the ground if he doesn’t want to get

mouth, then cast a spell inside. Then, she craned her neck. When she shouted, her