Becoming Legend - Chapter 390: Elf: Prince Aesril, VI

Flashes of lightning with touches of blue light engulfed the cavern as the elves were pushed deeper inside.

Prince Aesril and the rest rushed towards the elves as they defended themselves against the rank of undead elves. It was their first time seeing an undead elf. Numbering for a dozen, while the elves’ rank was slowly withering.

“I’d rather die saving them.” Jack broke the silence in the

group to which he received strong glances between the elves. They do not die. Not that they could not, but the Prince of Elves wouldn’t let that happen to them. And Jack, being Jack as the merchant, slaver, and mercenary, took it to his advantage. He rushed enemies. Even though he does not want to, especially elves, he has no choice. Yet, he could say anything he wanted to them. Perhaps it was his way to ease himself of the torment by the prince.

Prince Aesril pumped more of his lifeforce to Jack, and the humans. Now being their vanguard, the three rushed towards the battle.

Gadsi summoned her dagger, it reverberated as soon as her mana was infused into it. She sprung to the encircle of elves. Wind whistling of her approach, it was befitting to her being an elf.

Gelethorn remained on the prince’s side. He stood, towering the prince by an inch or two, while his sword-hand rested on the pommel of the blade suspended on his waist.

From the distance, Prince Aesril outlined the cavern. Its mouth was as big as a hill. The humans and Gadsi rushed to the hind side of the undead. Not that they were flanked, the dead simply did not care whether they get wounded or not.

Inside of the cavern was cold; colder than the island O’rriadt. Although pitch blacked, the elves’ innate sight to see at dark was an advantage for them. Their shields glittered with light from their spells. They were High-elves and a handful of wood-elves that were positioned behind them while they cast magic spells. High elves were elite in light magic. Wood elves focus on nature spells while maneuvering their other spells like air, and water to work to their advantage.

The undead, as far as Prince Aesril could remember, lost their abilities once turned. This includes the elemental magic they were proficient at. Lost, but not to their disadvantage. In return for them losing their mind and magical capabilities was the ability to not feel pain or emotions, and be mindless. What drove them to their mindless tirade was the loss of their lifeforce. It was their innate ability to replace their lost lifeforce by killing and eating their prey’s flesh smeared with the remaining lifeforce.

But for them to move, the necromancer must be close. Even if he or she was an elite of necromancy, they needed a certain range to control their summons or turned undead.

Prince Aesril sent a mental command to his human captives. Then he vanished along with Gelethorn.

Even though Prince Aesril was nowhere to be seen, his connection to the humans made him omniscient to their movements and feelings.

Jack spat on the ground as soon as he received the command.

Captain Creft hissed, still unwilling to bid for the elf’s command, but dashed forward.

Edok remained silent, impassive, and somewhat cool which made Prince Aesril worry after they appeared in thick sand. What could that human do to break the lifeforce he attached to them. No. Anyone but none could release them of his control but him.

Thin boots probing the red sand. It was a desert and it must be hot. No. Prince Aesril raised a hand to let the air touch his skin. It was rather cold, very cold. Cold seeped through his black robe. The robe was rather thin and not imbued by any magic. Instead, Prince Aesril circulated the mana in his body and used it to warm himself. Gelethorn did the same as he started to search the desert for any living thing that could potentially be their necromancer.

Prince Aesril could not extend his senses that would cover the whole Limbo, instead, he focused only on what he could manage. His thoughts were divided in searching for the necromancer while following the fight between his captives and the elves.

Jack leaped and landed before the four elves lined in front of him. Across the undead elves were the surprised looks of the High-elves. They must be after a human helped them. But if only they remained calm and focused, they would sense the lifeforce of their prince. But as Jack got closer and closer, more undead was surrounding him.

The burn on his face hissed as he evaded an undead’s grab. He spun and wildly cut the undead that tried to flank him by the corner of the cavern wall. He was almost close to the elves. But the damn beasts wouldn’t let him.

Clearing the file of undead elves was Captain Creft. Just as how warriors should be, full of strength, yet slow. A pair of undead elves was biting a chunk of his muscles on his shoulder. The warrior grabbed their heads just as he planted the iron rod on the clay ground. Dark and oozy blood dripping on the end of his iron rod. He then slammed the pair’s heads and pushed them against the approaching undead. More undead.

Edok nimbly slashed the undead’s limbs, tendons, and joints or to whatever parts of their body that holds them together. If only he was more experienced in battles, it would be much easier to deal consistent damage to the undead. He might slow them down and the rest of his group would finish them. After passing a couple of undead elves, he reached the far end wall of the cavern, his back pressing against the cold, and muddy wall. Although undying for the moment, the fear of death still lingers in him, seeing the white eyes of the undead intensified it. He grunted, hands shaking as he conjured a wind spell or any spell that would aid him to his current predicament. He wouldn’t make it. His eyes shook as his hands trembled. White light flickering out of existence between his fingers. His other hand was blindly scrambling the daggers he thought he had in his hands, or his pockets, or under his cloak, or his belt. None.

Just as he was about to give up, a green light (strong yet soothing) wrapped his chest, then his body and his arms. His hands soon stopped shaking. The spell he was conjuring was flawlessly conjured: tiny balls floated in front of him. Six balls of wind, as big as his fist, and another, and another, until it reaches a dozen then the conjuration stopped. His eyes went wide. But seeing the rushing undead, his focus was regained and he shot the balls of wind in a short sequence but over a wide area.

The attack was so precisely controlled that the limbs of the undead, connected from their shoulders, torso, even their neck, were torn apart as if non-existent. The cavern echoed air from the wind spell and the undead fell, more dead, in front of him.

Before he revered the victory of his enhanced air bullet spell, he took advantage of the focus the green light was giving him. His mind immediately cleared and he remembered the daggers were tucked under his cloak. He conjured another spell under his feet (although normally he couldn’t with his limited amount of mana) and leaped whilst slashing the undead preventing his progress towards the high-elves. It was the command Prince Aesril gave them mentally: protect the elves. Edok moved forward like he was an elf (physically, mentally, and heartly). He flashed against the horde of the undead elf while wrapped in green light. He grinned at the newly found power.

But the prince’s grin was wider. So wide, Gelethorn took a step back from him.

“My Prince—”

Prince Aesril raised a hand that stopped Gelethorn from speaking.

“I’m very much fine,” Prince Aesril said, leaving Gelethorn as he walked towards a wide hole in the sand.