Academic gathering with a lich-Chapter 696 - 640: Ancient Humans

The sandstorm from the northwest had just ended, and here lay the edge of Sahazaan, where, upon some invisible boundary line, airborne sand and dust piled up respectfully on the other side as if encountering a barrier. This ancient land expressed its mystery to all, and within the barbarian tribes of Ocangas, that mystery was more akin to the roar of a dangerous predator declaring its presence. The green canopy of Sahazaan concealed blood and death; it lay there, stomach growling, eyeing these exiles.

The air was laced with an exhilarating, sweet stench, a constant reminder of the terror that pervaded this place. It was no doubt the right choice for the ancestors to have fled this land of death, and yet their descendants now engaged in foolish actions.

Maan occupied a peculiar position in the procession, trailing behind the Ocangas who carried a giant wolf carcass with its limbs and tendons severed, an overhead opening sewn shut with straw ropes to form a large food sack. There was a hole in the back of the wolf’s head, said to be the mark of a fatal spear thrust from the tribe’s leader, piercing its brain. The mix of blood and herbal scent drifting from that hole made Maan swallow hard.

The heft of this prey could easily feed ten warriors, a rare boon for the now frail tribe. "A true leader indeed," such thoughts flickered in the young mind, and Maan supported Ocangas’s ideas, though like the others, he didn’t deem it necessary.

Behind Maan followed some twenty robust tribal warriors, representing the entirety of the tribe’s current combat force. In the end, not one man withdrew, as no one wanted to be labeled cowardly, but the expressions on most faces were far from optimistic.

The tribe had entered the fringes of Sahazaan, officially stepping into the perilous food chain of slaughter and survival. To flee back into the desert was but a slow death, while ahead lay unimaginable grim trials of survival.

This was a torment far more excruciating than enduring hardships in the wilderness, yet, from some point on, this dodging, evasive tribe underwent a slight psychological shift.

Faced with the dire straits of a hopeful life-or-death survival, anger squeezed from the drumming of the heart and from the blood surged forth. The tribe, having endured the animalistic upheaval for decades, was nearly fed up.

Driven by this irrational indignation, the tribespeople followed their leader, offering the precious food to the enigmatic Shaman Priest, who might bring disaster upon the tribe.

Only then did they realize that the mysterious Shaman shared many similarities with this ancient land, and whether he brought salvation or destruction was a contemplation that silenced everyone, rendering the disorderly procession somewhat solemn, akin to a pilgrimage.

The thin "Priests" sat atop a small mound, their bent figures struggling to even raise their heads, and their black, tattered robes stood out like natural blemishes against the lush greenery of Sahazaan. Omuro sat motionless, as if in a long daze, with a numb gaze that lost focus, seeming to merge with the land into one entity.

Thump!

The wolf carcass was dropped to the ground by Ocangas, and the sound roused the Old Shaman. Omuro glanced lazily at the wolf corpse beside him, then at Ocangas and his warriors.

"Food?"

"An offering for you, the freshest kill from our latest hunt. Your War Pattern has been a great aid to us, and this is our token of gratitude to our elder." The tribe’s leader showed respect for a Shaman of dubious origin, a resolve that made the warriors behind him bow their heads and kneel just like their leader.

Omuro cared little for these people’s reverence, as he had other concerns.

"Who are you?"

Perhaps it was intentional, but Ocangas truly hadn’t formally met with this Shaman who remained at the fringe of the tribe. All communication had been through Maan.

"I am Ocangas, the leader of this tribe, elder. I represent the warriors in expressing our gratitude for your blessing." It was all groundwork for what would follow; the Shaman’s power was the barbarians’ lifeline, and Ocangas craved more of that power, beyond the strength of the War Pattern.

The reply didn’t exceed the Shaman’s expectations, and he deduced Ocangas’s identity. A typical barbarian elder would give some response after receiving such respect from the tribe’s leader. It was a matter of honoring power and tradition, but Omuro was far from typical.

His gaze settled on the kneeling tribal chief, lifting his staff to tap on the bone mask that adorned Ocangas’s face.

"What is this?" As an older generation casually engaging the younger in small talk, Omuro’s gesture towards the tribe’s premier warrior was almost provocatively insulting.

Ocangas raised a hand to stop his warriors, keeping his tone steady, "It’s the skull of a Great Deer, elder."

"I know what it is, I’m asking why you wear it?"

"My father once told me that we draw strength from living creatures; I covet the wisdom buried in nature, much like the elder’s wisdom."

Ohmuro glanced at him, and in that instant, the somewhat sycophantic leader felt a terrifying gaze upon him. Those eyes, hidden in the shadow of the hood, were bright and sharp.

Had he misspoken? Ocangas behaved even more humbly as the Shaman’s sweeping glance met him. His body trembled slightly at that very moment, an instinctive reaction of a creature targeted by a predator. The frail Shaman exuded a dread-filled intensity of murderous intent and craziness.

"Say it again, what do you want?"

The Shaman had reverted to his unassuming old man guise, toying with the edge of the hole in the back of the wolf’s skull with the end of his staff.

"Power, we need absolute power! The kind that will allow us to survive in Sahazaan! Be it food or souls, as long as my tribespeople can live, I and the warriors are willing to sacrifice."

"Oh, you’re not beyond help," the Shaman’s flat tone seemed to have changed a little, "Seeking power, eh? Then I will give it to you, the ultimate power."

Ohmuro reached out his hand, the palm as gaunt as that of a mummy, pressing it against Ocangas’s bone mask, perhaps in preparation for some mysterious ritual.

As the leader closed his eyes to accept the boon, a pressing sensation passed through the skull into Ocangas’s face.

Crack crack...

"You old immortals!!!" A warrior’s angry shout came from behind Ocangas’s ears; his vision cleared, and flakes of debris fell along his cheek.

His mask had been shattered, crushed by the hand of the Shaman Priest, something even he could not do.

This Shaman possessed an unimaginable physical strength, truly incredible.

"I’ve said many times, I don’t know voodoo skill, nor am I a Shaman Priest. But I can still bring you power, or to be precise, help you reclaim the power you’ve lost."

"Black Dragon Kin, the visage of the ancient human leader is quite noble, don’t wear just any rubbish on your face. Only trophies truly worth boasting of can become our adornment."

"Wisdom? Heh, you just need power, the ultimate power."

By Ohmhead’s side, the warrior’s rage ignited a storm of fury in Sahazaan, and predators that had been lurking in the jungle started to flee from the pressure.

"Sahazaan is our homeland, the proving ground I left for you. Take back what you’ve lost. Those prey have been too arrogant for too long on this land."

Not many approved of the Black Dragon Priest’s speech, for the entire lost kin were overwhelmed by the godlike oppressiveness of the Dragon Priest, barely able to lift their heads to gaze upon the insignificant figure and the terrifying beast behind him, grinning with a bloodthirsty smile.

"Well then, to help you reclaim the glorious past you once lost, I have brought our master from the past back to you."

"Meet your comrade-in-arms, your god, the Black Dragon, Alcalon."

The unfurling wings blocked out the sun, and the shadowed ancient humans felt a burning pain coursing through their bodies. Those golden serpent-like eyes ignited them like leaping flames. In truth, it wasn’t far off, as the power of the ancient bloodlines awakened gradually with the arrival of the Black Dragon, the ancient humans were undergoing the awakening of life forms from abandoned beings to the strongest at the top of the food chain.

Watching one warrior after another gain explosive strength and bulging muscles, Alcalon let out a majestic roar.

"My kin."

"Welcome back to the mythical era."