Academic gathering with a lich-Chapter 628 - 581 Sahazaan’s War Cry

There was an endless desert where, geographically, lay the periphery of an ancient land called Sahazaan. To this day, no human has set foot in this desolate place, which is one of the four major nodes of the magic network. Even spellcasters rarely tread on that land. Its only visitor in the last hundred years had been scholars of the magic network’s construction, with the owner’s permission.

The Black Dragon Priest and his ancient human clans were once the rulers of this land.

But now, without the dragons, the Ancient Human Clans had become just barbarian tribes struggling for survival in the desert.

Clad in beast skin and two meters tall, the tribal warriors were whispering amongst themselves about the newcomer their leader had brought in.

"That frail Shaman Priest must be up to something. He’s always holed up in his hut, and other than little Maan and the leader, no one knows what he’s up to. Maybe he’s a disguised sharp-tooth rat."

"I think he’s more of a burden. Doesn’t help with hunting but enjoys our food and bed. You should see how arrogant he is. He’s a shameful fraud!"

"No! He’s a monster! I saw it with my own eyes. He used Voodoo on our warriors with a staff, making the meat rot and children die of illness. I warned the chief, but he wouldn’t listen to me." 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"The chief has been bewitched. Haven’t you noticed our herding routes have changed? We’re going deeper into the desert, getting closer to that land of monsters. We’re going to be sacrificed, we’re going to be killed."

Maan was one of the newly born infants in the Barbarian Tribe, his parents dying from wolf bites during the hunt, similar orphans received care from the tribe. His new task was to look after the mysterious Shaman who was the subject of all the talk.

No one knew who he was, not even Maan who took care of him, full of doubts about the old man who was always cloaked in a black robe, wearing a terrifying mask that made Maan afraid to look him in the eyes.

He came from a very powerful tribe, then was abandoned. That was the only piece of information Ohmhead had told Maan.

Maan, holding a clay jar, crawled into the secluded small tent, Ohmhead’s dwelling was a lot cleaner than the rumored Voodoo hut, it could even be described as simple, and Ohmhead was squatting by his bed, quietly meditating.

Though Ohmhead was an odd old man, he was a freak with vast knowledge. Maan felt he could learn something called "wisdom" by staying by his side. He also had other ideas. His naturally weak body, only five foot seven, made it difficult for Maan to become a warrior of the hunt, and the useless wouldn’t get any food.

Maan wanted to learn Voodoo, to become a Shaman respected by the leader like Ohmhead.

"I’ve told you many times, I’m not a Shaman, I don’t practice Voodoo Skill."

Crawling into the tent, Maan heard Ohmhead’s complaint again, which Maan treated as his modesty. He placed the clay jar in front of him, watching him stir the stuff inside.

"Then how did you find the water puddle in the rock crevice and the Sand Horned Lizard? Both aren’t common in the desert."

"I heard it, saw it."

"Can a Shaman sense these things in the cinder? That’s amazing."

"I don’t need cinders to see those things, I’ve told you before, I don’t practice casting spells." Ohmhead emphasized, annoyed once again. Looking at the white ash-colored paste in the clay pot, Ohmhead seemed to be in a slightly better mood.

"Wormgrass mixed with Beast Bone, the paste has been cooked nicely, the granules are very fine, you’re very meticulous, Maan."

Maan chuckled, stepping over the brazier and sitting next to Ohmhead. When Ohmhead was in a pleasant mood, the dreadful aura that hovered around him would disappear; this was something Maan had discovered on his own.

"What is this for? Medicine or poison?"

Ohmhead grabbed some of the white paste with his hand, toast-searing it along with his arm over the brazier.

"The closer you get to Sahazaan, the bigger and stronger the beasts become. You’re too weak now, to survive you need some tricks. This is paint. Give me your hand."

Maan dutifully extended his bronze arm, and Ohmhead, with a hand covered in paste, smeared it onto his arm, sketching some primitive, roughly-shaped lines that resembled the claw marks of a wild beast, with a kind of savage beauty.

"War Pattern, the precursor to Rune Study, knowledge that predates all other learning because it existed before the birth of writing. Never mind, you wouldn’t understand anyway. Remember these patterns, Maan, and then draw them on your other arm."

"Yes, Master."

Maan took this as Ohmhead’s first lesson, intently watching the patterns drawn on his left hand. The roasted paste wasn’t too hot, giving a cooling effect on the skin, and as the thick paint cooled, it smoothed out, making it easy to spread.

"I did it!" Maan indeed had a talent for drawing, and recreating the War Pattern on his other arm didn’t pose a challenge for him. He excitedly waved his arms, showing off to Ohmhead.

"Not bad, Maan. Now, give a shout."

"What?"

"Shout something, anything will do."

"Ah~" Maan yelled, turning funny at the end because it went off tune. He looked at Ohmhead, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"Louder!!! Didn’t you eat meat??!!"

Ohmhead’s groundless roar startled Maan.

"No! I didn’t eat meat today!!" Maan’s yearning for meat made a scream erupt inside the small tent. Amidst the roar, Maan noticed something unusual about himself—the two arms covered in War Pattern grew hot, as if ablaze, the blood coursing through the arms felt ignited, sending excitement up to his brain.

This was the feeling of power! Maan felt that in this state, he could tear apart a Giant Sand Scorpion with his bare hands. The joy of gaining strength thrilled Maan immensely.

"Ohmhead! I feel stronger... Eh?" Five seconds after his shout stopped, the energized state was gone.

A shout can activate the power of the War Pattern?!

"Drink!!!" "Ha!!!" "Ah!!!" "Yah!!!"

Ohmhead sat in his place, watching the kid shout and punch at the air.

Until Maan played until he was tired, gasping for breath and collapsing on the ground.

"It seems you’ve grasped the function of the War Pattern."

Maan nodded, "The War Pattern can enhance my strength during the roaring process. But why is it necessary to roar to gain strength?"

Omuro spoke in an indifferent tone, "This is the price for obtaining power. In battle, a roar can intimidate the enemy, boost morale, and grant strength. Isn’t that wonderful?"

"But it’s a bit tiring..."

"You won’t be tired if you’re dead."

Unable to argue, Maan acknowledged that Omuro indeed had shown him something miraculous. This application of War Patterns was currently the most effective power the tribe could harness. Moreover, it could be quickly transformed into combat strength, and roaring had always been a habit during battles.

"Omuro, this method, have you named it? How should I introduce it to the chieftain?"

"This War Pattern has its name; it’s called... Slave Warpattern. In my former tribe, this pattern was only painted over the whole bodies of beasts and slaves, as a form of entertainment for us."

"...Painting it on beasts, what kind of monsters were your former tribe? Can this War Pattern be applied to the entire body? Would that lead to a massive increase in strength?"

"Yes, painting it over the entire body could also fry your brain, turning you into a bloodthirsty maniac."

"...I’ll remember the side effect."

Omuro waved his hand dismissively and turned his back to Maan.

"If you’ve understood, then scram. This War Pattern is enough for your upcoming hunts. Maan, the task of applying War Patterns is yours to handle."

"Eh?" Suddenly tasked with such a heavy responsibility, Maan was a bit panicked. "To me? But I’ve only learned and succeeded once. What if I make a mistake?"

"Then that unfortunate soul will die, perish because of your blunder."

Maan shivered.

"Why don’t you do it yourself, Omuro? You would certainly do better than I. And that way, those tribesmen wouldn’t speak ill of you once they understand your importance."

"Speak ill of me? Only fools whisper slander in secret. The powerful stand by their strength. Don’t bother telling me such foolish things in the future. I don’t care about their opinions of me—they will kneel before me soon enough. Don’t come to me for such trivial tasks of applying War Patterns; I have more important matters to attend to."

Maan obediently crouched to one side.

"So, the more important tasks involve rotting the tribespeople’s food and extracting the souls of children?"

"I have left enough food for you to fill your bellies. Too much abundance only leads to laxness. With the fighting spirit extinguished, all I can do is use survival to pressurize you. As for soul extraction, that little one was already critically ill; granting him an early release spares him the pain. Throwing the infirm to the wilderness, I simply streamlined the process."

"You’ll understand in time that the harvest I’m conducting now is for our future."

Maan lifted the tent flap, casting a glance back at Omuro before departing.

"I’m not sure what you’re planning, Omuro, even if you need to sacrifice our people for some terrible ritual, but you have indeed brought a hope for survival to my people."

"I just hope... Omuro, if the next time you need to harvest a life from our people, you can start with me. I’m an orphan, no one would care."

Maan walked away.

Ohmhead’s gaze returned to the past.

...

The storm tore through the land, while the young man climbed the ridge in the pouring rain.

Lightning illuminated the scales of a monster, its golden serpent-like eyes becoming the sun within the darkness.

The Black Dragon looked down upon the human before it, its eyes filled with contempt.

"So you are the mightiest warrior of your tribe? Laughable, you and your tribe dare to fool me!"

The slight human stood firm against the dragon amidst the tempest, unflinching.

"I have completed your trial! I certainly qualify to be devoured by you! Monster! Eat me! Remember your promise, that you would protect my tribe!"

The Black Dragon was momentarily surprised as it crawled out of its cave, its ferocious form encircling the man; man and dragon faced each other in the deluge.

"This courage indeed qualifies you to be a warrior. But are you truly not afraid? Your family will lose you forever."

"I’m an orphan; the tribe raised me, and I will give everything for it."

The Black Dragon spread its wings wide, its roar drowning out the thunder.

"Hahahaha, how amusing, a perfect match!!!"

"Very well!!! You are as proud a warrior as I, you and I, we will be the most compatible comrades-in-arms."

"Brave one, you shall become an ally of the Black Dragon Ohmhead! Become my Dragon Priest! My kin!"

"Join me, and become the rage of this world!"