Blood Legacy: New World Of Doom - Chapter 93 I’ll Handle It

Cautious by nature, Ikaris walked alone to the cages with bated breath and after making sure the Last Saint female villagers were okay, he finally turned his attention to the Fae’s cage. Malia was keeping watch a little further away, ready to react in case Plume tried anything.

“Hmm? The cautious type, I see…” The petite fairy with green eyes giggled as she demurely covered her lips with her dainty white hands.

Ikaris remained indifferent to the young woman’s sarcasm and took out a dried clay key from his bag. It was the key that Danchun had used to escape. When she laid eyes on it, the Fae’s last doubts vanished.

“My key! Are you from the same side as Danchun?” She exclaimed delightedly, but also with a tinge of distrust. “Is she okay?”

“What do you think?” Ikaris countered bluntly. “With all those scars, it’s a miracle she’s still alive.”

“So she’s alive.” Plume heaved a deep sigh of relief at the news. “I was afraid that…”

“What? That she died ?” The teen snorted icily. “Please, don’t bullshit me. You knew what you were doing.”

The fairy’s pretty oval face clouded as she received his scorn.

“Is it a sin to want to survive? You don’t know what fate awaits a Fae Sorcerer like me.”

Ikaris halted after inserting the key into the lock of her cage.

“You’re a Sorcerer? If you can use magic why not escape on your own?”

In response, Plume held out her cuffed hands, then displayed the shackles around her neck and ankles. They were ordinary iron cuffs, chains, and collar at first glance, but he could sense that there was something wrong with them.

“These are Anti-Spark Shackles.” The Fae whispered as she took notice of his curiosity. “They weaken the psychic link between us and our Sparks by disrupting brain activity. I can still speak and think, but any kind of complex mental exertion is impossible for me. If by some stroke of luck I manage to focus, these items release a Pain Spell at the Lord Sorcerer level.”

According to Magnus, a spell at the Lord Sorcerer Spell usually referred to not only a magical power equivalent to a Lord Sorcerer, but a Secondary Spark of level 3 or higher. The torture inflicted by these restraints was not something many people could endure.

So Plume was telling the truth. Escaping with magic was virtually impossible for her.

“What about that sleeping powder?” Ikaris inquired as he turned the key. The clank of the lock being unlocked resounded and the cage door creaked open.

Plume gracefully spun around to show him her small, membranous, translucent wings covered in glitter and as she wiggled them a few specks of shimmering powder fell from them.

“Fae Powder.” She said matter of factly. It was a racial trait.

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At that moment, Ikaris and Malia’s expression changed abruptly, their ears pricking up in alarm. Plume immediately understood what was going on.

‘Why are they coming here at this time?’ She cursed inwardly.

They usually came to fetch a new victim for the envoy in the late afternoon. The only other reason was when…

“New prisoners.” She whispered bitterly in Ikaris’ ear. “We have to leave now.”

By the distant thump of footsteps they still had a minute to go, but at that moment two Werewolves abruptly barged into the prison before anyone else.

“Shit… They smelled my powder!” Plume panicked, wondering how this could have happened. She knew the shifts and patrol cycles of all the guards and the prison should have been deserted by now except for the usual sleeping guard.

Ikaris didn’t care about her explanation. All he knew was that they had to eliminate these two Werewolves before they alerted the rest of the village.

Alas, he was a little too far away. He had barely taken a step when one of the two creatures, a humanoid brown wolf just under two meters tall, opened its mouth wide.

“Oh shi-”

The Werewolf was brutally clobbered by a savage punch to the temple of its partner. The creature collapsed with all its weight, oblivious to the fact that it had been knocked out cold.

“I’ll handle it.” Kellam’s voice came out of the second Werewolf’s mouth, a humanoid wolf with silvery white fur.

Ikaris, shocked, glanced at the unconscious Werewolf and thought he vaguely recognized Marvin’s figure. He remembered what Taguchi had told him earlier and it suddenly clicked.

“Thanks, Kellam. We’ll come back for you.” The boy mouthed as he placed the malnourished Fae on his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“Hey!” Plume thrashed with a flushed face. Still, as she too heard the other lycans approaching she fell silent and let Ikaris carry her, his hand squeezing her buttocks to keep her firmly in place.

Once Ikaris and Malia were gone, Kellam glanced about and then drawing a sharp breath he smashed his own head with the pommel of his weapon. He was knocked out on the spot. When the squad of lycans and their prisoners arrived a few seconds later they found two Werewolves lying unconscious on the floor and all the prisoners sound asleep.

Moments later, Ikaris, Malia and their new companion crawled out of the burrow they had sneaked into. Taking great care to cover their tracks, they made their way back until they left the forest for good by mid-morning.

“Welcome to Last Saint Village.” Ikaris announced jadedly as he spread his arms in front of a thatched cottage and some decrepit tents.

Plume wasn’t sure if he was joking, but seeing that he was completely serious her face fell. Seeing the handful of ungifted villagers clumsily building a fence, she lost all hope.

“My Lord, you’re back.” Ezrog laughed as he strided heavily toward them, his bulging, sweat-covered muscles glistening in the sunlight. “When is our next sparring match? I asked Danchun and Nardor, they said no.”

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Ikaris was speechless. The mere fact that he had the audacity to ask Danchun revealed either a complete lack of common sense or a gall commensurate with his debility. Conversely, Plume was speechless too, but for other reasons.

At long last, a warrior worthy of the name! She didn’t know how this village had gained the allegiance of an ogre, but it was actually quite reassuring.

“Later.” The teen eventually replied, having neither the time nor the energy to knock some sense into his head.

Nardor put down his hammer as he heard them talking and trotted towards them in turn, also shirtless and covered in sweat.

“My Lord, we’re almost out of wood.” The dwarf reported worriedly.

“I’ll take care of it later. For now just finish using the wood we have left.”

“It shall be done as you wish, my Lord…”

Nardor glanced intriguedly at the Fae, then returned to supervise the construction of the palisade. Plume also scrutinized him and slowly began to relax. This dwarf gave her a strong, reliable impression.

Looking at the other villagers working with a little more interest, she found a few others with decent potential. They were Kayden, the military man recruited this morning, Saalim, the physics and chemistry teacher, and Connor, the UFC fighter also recruited that morning.

She then spotted the huge black bison grazing peacefully at the edge of the village, its torpid eyes taking delight in seeing these humans slaving away at their task.

“This… Demonic Beast?” She queried tentatively.

“A pet.” Ikaris blurted out dismissively.

“MOOO! (Go fuck yourself!)

“Why do I feel like he understands us?” Plume shivered involuntarily.

“I don’t know. It’s probably all in your head.” The boy commented apathetically.

But it wasn’t until they reached the entrance to the cottage that the Fae actually turned aghast.

A giant monster clad in full black plate armor stood in her way with its huge cleaver, towering over her by three times her height. She could not make out the eyes of the abyssal creature, but she could sense an aura of death and malice that she would not mistake for anything in the world.

“T-t-tartarus Enforcer!” She stammered in terror before pulling herself together.

If with Ezrog, Nardor and the bison she had stopped despairing, the appearance of this killing machine gave her hope again. Holding her breath, Plume glanced inside the cottage and finally saw the object of her dreams.

An Elsisn Stele.

After thousands of years of decline and tyranny, Cutthroat Island finally had a second Stele Holder!

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