Chapter 136: Weilna's Counterattack

Pain.

Not the pain of the flesh; Sa Ka Wei had long been accustomed to that dull sensation wrapped in dragon scales.

It was the numbness of being gnawed by something deep in the soul. Like insects, like mold, like some invisible tentacles, slowly eroding the edges of his consciousness.

He had been sleeping in the belly of this purgatory volcano in the 72nd Abyss plane for who knows how long—perhaps months, perhaps a year.

Time in the 72nd Abyss plane was a pool of stagnant water; there was no day or night, no seasons, only the eternally unchanging dark red sky and the pungent smell of sulfur in the air.

The Abyss plane would erode the souls of outsiders. This was recorded in the Dragon Inheritance, but only when truly in it could one experience that feeling—like ten thousand ants crawling in your consciousness, slowly, continuously, never stopping.

Sa Ka Wei opened his eyes.

The cave was pitch black, with only the dark red faint light from the magma pool in the distance occasionally surging. He felt something approaching; it wasn't footsteps, but a deeper pressure, like water seeping into sand.

Kalawa walked in gently and said in a low voice: "Great Duke, I am very sorry to disturb your sleep. A demon who calls himself Count Feinuo is visiting, and he says he has a deal you will be interested in."

Sa Ka Wei's voice rumbled from the depths of the cave, carrying the anger of being awakened: "Daring to disturb a Black Dragon's sweet dream, he had better have the ability to bear this anger."

Before the words fell, a slender figure had already paced in. He was a gentleman who looked to be in his sixties, with graying hair neatly combed back, revealing a full and pale forehead.

His face was thin, his cheekbones slightly high, and his skin was like fine parchment, covered in dense yet elegant textures. A pair of pupils were dark gold, the vertical pupils slightly contracted, glowing in the dark.

He wore a tailored black three-piece suit, with a dark silver Ouroboros brooch on the collar, and his right hand leaned on an ebony walking stick, with a dark red gem inlaid on the head—smoke seemed to be slowly flowing inside the gem.

He walked with his back straight, his footsteps as light as a cat's, and a smile that was not quite a smile hung on the corner of his mouth, the whole person exuding a kind of reserved and... dangerous cunning unique to old-school aristocrats.

"Respected Black Dragon Great Duke, I have already come in." He bowed slightly, his tone calm, "However, it seems your mood is not very good. But I think you will be happy immediately—Heh-heh-heh."

Sa Ka Wei's dragon pupils lit up in the dark: "Crush your head, and then peel off your skin and pour it into strong acid; I will be happier."

Feinuo was unmoved, standing still with his walking stick: "Don't be impatient. Prince Jilun Weibili has successfully beheaded the Thousand-Punishment Demon Lord Solos, and the Aisuosi Empire's army has already established a stronghold in the Silent Wasteland. The demons are gathering."

"It's just the death of a plane lord." Sa Ka Wei's voice was full of disdain, "The vacated throne will attract more competitors, and that has nothing to do with me."

"Then let me say something that has to do with you." Feinuo tapped the ground lightly with the tip of his stick, "Your subordinates made their own decisions and reached into the Gray Water Sanjiaozhou. But it seems because of insufficient troop strength, they got their hands pinched. I think you really should restrain them well."

Sa Ka Wei's low roar shook the cave walls: "My affairs are not for you to manage. If you can't say something that truly interests me, you will pay the price for your recklessness."

Feinuo let out a low laugh that rolled from his chest: "Heh-heh-heh, it seems I hit your pain point. Well, let's stop the small talk."

He paused, switched the walking stick to his left hand, and slowly pulled a yellowed parchment from his suit pocket, "I have a map of the Withered Bone Swamp in my hand. Now... no one should notice that place."

"My eyes aren't blind yet, no need for your reminder." Sa Ka Wei said coldly.

"Oh?" Feinuo raised his eyebrows, a hint of playfulness flashing in his dark gold vertical pupils, "Then you also saw the hundreds of thousands of warrior skeletons submerged inside? That is truly amazing—you know, this swamp was once a battlefield."

Silence for a few breaths. Then, Sa Ka Wei let out a deafening laugh: "Hahaha—interesting! Speak, what do you want."

Feinuo put the map back into his bosom, restoring the appearance of a polite old gentleman: "If I remember correctly, that late Abyss Lord imprisoned many souls in the fortress prison of the Weeping Bone Mountains. That Semi-God Rank

"That is not something you should be considering." Sakavi's voice dropped suddenly, carrying an unquestionable pressure, "Prepare the beacon for the Withered Bone Swamp, and get back to your hellish home!"

Fei Nuo bowed solemnly, his movements as elegant as if he were saluting at a court ball. He took three steps backward before slowly turning around, the sound of his walking stick tapping against the ground gradually fading away.

Silence returned to the cave. Sakavi was silent for a moment, then sighed: "Sigh... they really don't make things easy. But it is indeed time to restrain them."

He raised his massive dragon head and looked into the shadows, "Karawa, you go to the Graywater Sanjiaozhou. The swamp is your home turf; keep an eye on those bastards for me. The Muhe Plains are the foundation—don't cause me any more trouble."

Karawa's figure emerged from the shadows, bowing his head and bending his knees: "As you command!"

……

Verna stood before the fluorescent map, her finger pressed on the abandoned tidal trench at the intersection of the Whispering Shoal and the reed marsh.

Standing behind her were five individuals: Captain of the Royal Guard Veris, Spider Queen Priestess Masha, Goblin Mobile Corps Commander Captain Glick, Harpy Leader Lady Tali, and Gnoll Leader Kaimon.

This was not Kaimon's first time attending such a war council, but he always felt uncomfortable. The stone table was too small, the chairs were too low, and the stalactites on the cave ceiling always made him want to look up and sniff for the scent of prey.

He was a gray-furred gnoll with broad shoulders and a wide frame, and there was an old scar on the bridge of his nose left by a Drow scimitar, a souvenir from his days fighting in the Underdark.

His tribe had a thousand brothers, each capable of silently sneaking through the mud for half a day, biting through fungal tentacles with their teeth, and creating chaos in enemy camps more terrifying than a plague.

"Kaimon." Verna's voice pulled him out of his distraction.

"Present." He replied in a rough voice, his ears perking up.

"Your gnolls will not participate in the frontal assault." Verna's finger drew an arc on the map, from the Whispering Shoal around to the flank of the reed marsh, and then deep into the edge of the Humus Basin, "I want you to take everyone and go—this way."

Kaimon leaned close to the map, squinting his yellow eyes. That route required passing through the densest area of the mycelial network, bypassing at least three Bone-Spike Toad-Demon nests, and sneaking for nearly four hours through chest-deep mud.

For a human, this would be suicide. But a gnoll's sense of smell could detect the rot of fungal tentacles from half a mile away, and their hearing could capture the vibrations of a toad-demon's heartbeat five feet beneath the mud.

"And after reaching here?" Kaimon's claw pointed to a location on the map marked with a red cross; it was a key node in the Rotten Elder's mycelial network, marked by Drow scouts as the "Throat of Rotten Roots."

Three main mycelial trunk lines converged here, transporting nutrients and commands to the entire swamp like blood vessels.

"Destroy it." Verna said, her tone as flat as if she were ordering him to chop down a tree.

"Then retreat to the east, to this high ground, and wait for the signal. I don't care what method you use, I want that node's mycelium unable to sprout new buds within three days."

Kaimon grinned, revealing two rows of sharp yellow teeth. It wasn't a smile; it was the gnoll way of saying "received."

"What about the rest of us?" Goblin Mobile Corps Commander Captain Glick asked in a shrill voice. He was short, but his body was packed with solid muscle, and he carried a short bow disproportionate to his height.

The two thousand goblins under his command were no rabble; the harsh training of Drow instructors had taught them Drow-style Mobile Corps Commander tactics: disperse, harass, concentrate, retreat—like a swarm of well-trained wasps.

"You will fight the frontal battle with the main Drow force." Verna said, "But not a head-on clash."

……

The battle began two hours after midnight. This was the time Verna had chosen; the mist of the Abyss plane was thickest at this hour, and the perception ability of the mycelial network would drop by twenty percent due to the low temperature.

More importantly, Gray Swamp Lurkers needed to surface frequently at night to replace the air in their lung sacs (their breathing tubes would be clogged by dew at night), making this their most vulnerable moment.

Kaimon led his thousand gnolls out an hour before the battle began.

They did not take the Whispering Shoal, but instead climbed down a hidden fissure on the west side of the stronghold, stepping on reefs exposed by the low tide to circle around to the rear flank of the swamp.

This was the route the Skinner Gruul had once used to transport captives by sea, and dried blood still remained on the rocks. The gnolls' paws had thick pads, making almost no sound as they stepped on the slippery reefs.

Kaimon walked in the middle of the formation, his nose twitching constantly. The air was filled with the salty, fishy smell of the Ash Sea, the rot of the swamp, and the increasingly thick, cloying scent unique to mycelium.

He raised his right claw, and the formation stopped. The gnolls crouched silently on the reefs like a group of gray stone statues.

"Thirty paces ahead, there are fungal tentacles under the mud." Kaimon whispered to his brother Sola beside him, "Tell the brothers to apply the crocodile bile."

The gnolls took out rotten-scale crocodile bile stored in small pottery jars from their waist pouches and applied it evenly to the soles of their boots and their leggings. This pungent odor could confuse the mycelium's chemical sensors, making them mistake the gnolls for a group of passing crocodiles.

They set off again, leaping from the reefs into the waist-deep mud.

Kaimon led the way at the front. His ears rotated back and forth, capturing every sound: the wind in the distant reed marsh, the sound of bubbles bursting in the mud beneath his feet, and the rustling of mycelium slowly squirming underground.

His nose simultaneously analyzed dozens of scents—the fecal stench of toad-demons, the bloody smell of lurkers, and the intense, rotten-cabbage-like odor emanating from the massive "Throat of Rotten Roots."

When they were half a mile from the target, Kaimon heard the first horn of the frontal battlefield.

That was Lady Tali's command. The frontal feint team had begun to advance.

……

On the frontal battlefield, Lady Tali's fifteen hundred Drow warriors formed a sparse skirmish line, advancing from the Whispering Shoal toward the reed marsh. Five hundred goblin guerrillas interspersed among them, holding short bows and poison arrows, their footsteps as light as if they were treading on cotton.

The first wave of Bone-Spike Toad-Demons surged from the reed marsh, numbering about two hundred. They did not fire a volley—the distance was too great for the bone spikes to reach—but instead formed a crescent formation, attempting to outflank the Drow.

Lady Tali did not fall for it; she ordered the Drow warriors to crouch in place and raise their shields, forming an arched shield wall.

The goblin guerrillas fired poison arrows through the gaps in the shield wall; the arrows were coated with Abyssal fire oil, which would not be immediately lethal upon landing on the toad-demons' backs, but the flames would ignite the grease on their skin membranes, creating chaos.

The toad-demons began to hesitate.

Just then, Sylvia's harpies dove down from high above.

Three hundred harpies spread their gray-black wings, sweeping over the mist like a dark cloud.

They threw the pottery jars clutched in their claws toward the rear of the toad-demon swarm. The jars shattered, dark green Abyssal fire oil spilled everywhere, and flames roared to life, cutting off the toad-demons' retreat.

Trapped between the sea of fire and the shield wall, the toad-demons began to panic. They tried to organize a volley, but the bone-spike veteran commanding them was shot through the throat by a goblin sniper's poison arrow and fell into the mud.

A dull vibration came from deep within the swamp, the mud surged, and dozens of Gray Swamp Lurkers broke through the mud.

Their size was even larger than those Kaimon had encountered before, and the breathing tubes on their backs emitted white mist like chimneys.

The enemies at the front were in no hurry to fire their Corrupting Gaze, because they saw that no high-value targets available for aiming were exposed behind the Drow shield wall.

At the same time, the lurkers on the flanks began to encounter trouble.

The flank hunting team was already in position. Five hundred Drow elites were dispersed on both sides of the lurkers' path.

Crossbow bolts bit into the first lurker's left forelimb and right hind limb. The lurker let out a roar, trying to break free, but the arrowheads had pierced its scales, and the poison began to take effect, its movements becoming increasingly sluggish.

Ten Drow rushed up from the side, two of them carrying a barrel of concentrated Abyssal fire oil. They climbed onto the lurker's back, which was the blind spot for its Corrupting Gaze, and poured the fire oil into the bone-spike breathing tubes on its back.

The lurker's lung sacs were ignited.

With a dull explosion, the lurker's torso burst from the middle, and gray-white flesh and bone fragments splattered dozens of feet away. Its head landed on the ground, those milky-white eyes still glowing slightly, but it no longer posed any threat.

The second lurker saw the miserable state of its companion and began to retreat, wanting to pull back into the mud, but it retreated too slowly, and the Drow elves had already begun their hunt.

Tar smeared over the lurker's eyes, and the Corrupting Gaze turned into blind, wild firing; the rays burned grooves emitting white smoke into the mud, but did not hurt anyone.

Hatchet stood up from behind a mound, scimitar in hand, approached the lurker from the side, then leaped onto the lurker's head and stabbed the scimitar into its eye socket. The lurker convulsed all over, then crashed into the mud like a collapsing wall.

Less than half an hour after the battle began, hundreds of lurkers were all dead.

……

By this time, Kaimon's gnolls had already reached the "Throat of Rotten Roots."

It was a massive mycelial aggregate exposed above the mud, over ten feet in diameter, its surface covered with dark red scale-like bark, the top split open like a deformed dahlia, constantly oozing viscous black juice from the cracks.

Three main mycelial trunk lines extended from its base, deeply embedded in the mud, each as thick as a water barrel. A strong, rotten stench permeated the surroundings, and the mycelial surface was covered with maggot-like white larvae, which were constantly gnawing on the mycelial skin to promote its growth.

"That's it." Kaimon whispered.

He looked around. The Throat of Rotten Roots was guarded by over a dozen Bone-Spike Toad-Demons, as well as a large number of mycelial puppets—humanoid monsters stitched together from rotting corpses and mycelium, feeling no pain and knowing no fatigue.

But the number of gnolls was one thousand. And they were not here to fight a frontal battle; they were here to cause destruction.

Kaimon divided the team into three groups. The first group was responsible for clearing the guards, the second group for strapping alchemical explosives to the mycelial trunk lines, and the third group for vigilance and covering the retreat.

"Do it."

The battle lasted only a few dozen breaths.

Kaimon personally led the second group, strapping over thirty pottery jars to the three mycelial trunk lines. He lit the fuses, then led the entire team sprinting back the way they came.

Behind them came an earth-shattering explosion. The Throat of Rotten Roots was torn apart from the inside by the explosion of the mycelial disintegrant, and black juice gushed out like a fountain, reaching dozens of feet high.

The three main mycelial trunk lines snapped simultaneously, and a large amount of white foam emerged from the broken ends—that was the mycelium's stress response after losing its central hub. The ground of the entire swamp began to tremble slightly, like a giant beast whose nerves had been pulled out.

Kaimon looked back. The remains of the Throat of Rotten Roots were still burning, and the air was filled with the stench of charred mycelium and protein.

"Retreat!" He roared, "To the eastern high ground, there are people there to meet us!"

……

On the frontal battlefield, the Rotten Elder's troops indeed fell into chaos after losing central command. The Bone-Spike Toad-Demons no longer fought in coordination; some began firing bone spikes blindly, some turned and fled into the depths of the swamp, and some even spun in circles on the spot.

Lady Tali's frontal feint team took the opportunity to advance half a mile, harvesting dozens of straggling toad-demons with scimitars and spears.

Verna looked at the sky; the mist was beginning to thin, and dawn was approaching.

"Retreat." She ordered.

The Drow troops pulled back in orderly fashion.

When Kaimon's gnolls reached the eastern high ground, Verna's royal guard was already waiting there. Two flat-bottomed boats circled around from the sea and stopped at the reef beach below the high ground.

The gnolls were soaked through, covered in mud and blood, but after Kaimon counted the numbers, he found that they had lost fewer than a hundred brothers.

"Well done." Captain Dilon gave a rare compliment and handed him a waterskin.

Kaimon did not take the water, but squatted on a rock, looking back toward the depths of the swamp. Smoke was still rising from the direction of the Throat of Rotten Roots, the black column of smoke particularly striking in the gray-white mist.