Overpowered Wizard

Chapter 250: B3: C40: Ride-or-Die Siege

Prince Omar Windstorm had never read of such a siege like the one that Ride-or-Die Village endured for the past two months. He’d never faced such challenges himself, nor have the Windstorm Tribe of the United Nomad Empire.

As a people who moved regularly based on the generational wisdom needed to survive in the arid and harsh lands in western parts of the Walled Continent, intense sieges weren’t the norm.

Granted, he was experiencing abnormal times.

There was the Darkrun Apocalypse that wiped out the universe and gave it a second chance during a period of darkness. Then there was the Dark Quarrel of Mountains and Moons that left the blue Sea Strider and orange Cavern Hellion damaged and conjoined, with Grimrock wiped out.

Such abnormal times would make most nomad princes and princesses run back to their tribes and stay with their concubine mothers.

Yet, here he was, on the northern wall, his Advanced Grimoire of the Windstorm Adept in his hand. With his other hand, he sent forth another epic spell, Cutting Wind Blast, while preparing another spell in his mind’s eye.

The Cutting Wind Blast sliced through armor, scales, and fur that covered the attacking kobolds. A dozen fell, but more jumped off the grotesque constructions of their own brethren’s corpses and scrambled onto the ramparts.

Omar and his fellow defenders cried out in defiance as the kobold menace cried in bloody rage and hunger. The kobolds sounded louder.

“Die fleshy things! Die, die, die!”

“You will be food for the wolf dragons!”

“Death to the Dark Lord! Death to everyone!”

“Wolf Dragons forever!”

No matter how many kobolds Omar cut down with his sharp and windy spells, the kobolds kept coming. No matter how many levels Omar had accrued in such a ridiculously short time, he still felt the weariness of two months of battle weighing him down.

His vitality was short. His movements were slower. His aches hurt more. He was barely casting his wizard spells fast enough.

Yet, he was on the wall, using wind magic to slide out of the way of a kobold spearing at him. After the dodge, he shot a smaller, quicker wind spell that slashed out the throat of the kobold.

Then the blood-slick stone under his feet sent him into a stumble. He knocked shoulders against an advanced gnoll skeleton with charcoal bones – this one he recognized as Flamer.

Flamer’s scalding grasp pulled Omar up by the arm. With his other burnt and bony hand, Flamer shot a torrent of fire at a kobold’s face and melted the helmet along with the flesh off his head.

Once Omar was stable on his feet, Flamer stepped forward to smash his burning fist into another kobold’s face. Just like many advanced skeletons, Flamer fought tirelessly, covering for the weakness of his fleshy companions, such as the nomad prince.

Then Flamer disappeared, the gaping maw of a wolf dragon flashing over the edge of the rampart and catching the mighty skeleton.

Omar’s heart sank at seeing the disappearance of one of the most battle-tested skeletons. And with Flamer’s loss, more kobolds scrambled onto the wall, screaming threats and insults at the defenders.

The last thing Omar heard of Flamer was an explosion of flames. No doubt, that was Flamer’s surefire act of defiance against the horde before the skeleton met his true end.

“Make them pay! Make the kobolds hurt! KILL ALL KOBOLDS!” roared a living gnoll who was defending the wall along with the humans and skeletons.

Omar hadn’t yet grown accustomed to the savage gnolls compared to the advanced skeletons. Yet, he fought beside them, for they had sacrificed much to help Ride-or-Die Village in their time of need.

Their own elder, the great and terrible Ezda, had even thrown herself down there among the stacking mounds in her bestial form. She’d made the sacrifice to hold back the wolf dragons despite her being obscenely outnumbered.

She hadn’t gone down alone. The Silver Guardian, Arnold of Ambrose, had gone with her.

Omar had heard little else from them now. And he could see the snapping jaws of the wolf dragons taking defenders that drew too close to the frontal edge, freeing up space for kobolds to clamber up to the rampart and push the defenders back. ṛáΝǒＢЁŜ

Is this where we meet our end?

He shouldn’t be fighting this fight. He could’ve retreated to a room at a building near the Central Library Artillery Tower.

He’d done his duty by sacrificing his scorpions as extra meat for the villagers when the corpses of their enemies had remained out of reach. Unfortunately, hunger was the least of their troubles.

There were no more rounds for the siege weapons on the walls or the artillery tower to shoot. There were no more worthy adventurers they could pull into their ranks. There were no more bombs, arrows, or surplus of fighting supplies they could use. Their demands had exhausted the epic Level 85 Dancing Librarian Dungeon.

Everything was looking bad while teetering on the brink of ruin. And from what Prince Omar could see, they were leaning more and more toward ruin.

Yet, the fight hadn’t left the spirits of the two hundred and ninety members of the Ride-or-Die Guild. Somehow, every member remained alive. Somehow, every member responded fast to where they were needed most. Somehow, no matter what wound they suffered, they found a way to recover and get back to the fight.

None of what they did was secret or only spared to them. They had a prized alchemist among their ranks – a Wallen Huntsmen – and he did his best to create brews for the guild and for everyone else defending the walls, regardless of them being foreign adventurers or gnolls.

The guild risked much, too much even, as the honored pupils of the great Sorceress Queen and the Dark Lord’s Floridian Party.

“Look at them,” said a familiar voice next to Omar.

It came from Bernard Bonfils, one of several hundred paladins who remained in the village to assist in the siege efforts. The old Battle Priest looked as worn out as Omar felt.

They had skeletons in front of them, giving them a break from the savage fighting. But the pressure from the kobolds was pushing them back, human, skeleton, gnolls, and all.

Yet, the guild members found ways to get back into the fight and make a difference, no matter how small.

“By the grace of the Good Gods, the children of Ride-or-Die still fight even when every other human tires,” Bernard said, straightening with a groan.

His bronze armor and robes were soaked in blood. Some of it might be even his. Bernad didn’t seem to care. “I dislike the Dark Lord. I fear for our universe with a creature like him remaining unsealed. But I must say this. No creature has brought together such a fighting force like this.”

“This is why I’m here. To see how our world will change because of the Dark Lord.” Omar groaned as he straightened up. “If I survive this day, that is.”

He walked over to a waist-high and round golem that gave off aura recharging magic. The prince was so tired, the act of recovering aura felt terrible.

He must’ve run out of vitality by now. Any severe injury could be the end of him.

Still, Omar prepared himself to return to the fight. He saw that the old Battle Priest was making preparations as well.

Bernard nodded at him as both the pious paladin and princely nomad joined with mercenary striders and some free gardeners. They rejoined the line to help the skeletons, the gnolls, and the guild of Ride-or-Die.

Omar fought from the midrange for the sake of accuracy and speed. He saw where he was needed, casting his rare spell, Wind Wall.

He helped defend against powerful magic attacks from the kobolds that crashed upon them like bombs. But some of the powerful dragon magic broke through, hurling men, skeletons, and gnolls backward.

The large and ferocious heads of wolf dragons lunged over their kobolds with fiendish, slavering maws gaping wide open. Omar looked up to see a wolf dragon chomping down upon him, his life flashing before his eyes, only to get shoved out of the way.

The wolf dragon snapped its jaws. Splatters of blood covered Omar’s back before the horrid monster slunk out of view below the rampart line, leaving Omar alive.

Omar looked back and saw the remaining legs of a man who had suffered the bite of a wolf dragon after pushing the prince to safety. Omar recognized the boots. Bernard Bonfils, the old Battle Priest, was no more.

Omar was too tired to let that affect him as skeletons and gnolls surged back to fill the hole in their defenses.

There wasn’t much of a defense left, however. The entire defensive line along the northern rampart had found themselves pressed back to the edge.

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Omar could look over to the side and see into the streets of Ride-or-Die. He saw brave villagers running back and forth to provide aid, either by carting to the wall the last dregs of supplies they could scrounge up or to haul off grievously injured defenders to the dungeon where Dungeon Boss Reiki could take care of them.

If their defense broke here at the rampart, the cost of life would be horrendous. Yet, it looked like that was a fate the village would suffer along with the nomad prince.

“Mother,” Omar said, “I don’t think I’ll be returning home.”

The nearest defenders, poor striders, paladins, and gardeners, overhead him. Omar was too tired to feel ashamed as they all shared the burden of feeling defeated.

Then, finally, a miracle arrived.

“Hello, everyone.”

A feminine voice spoke across the entire village using the tower’s magic speakers. Omar recognized the voice belonging to the Head Admin, Lady Rhea Hemlock.

While she was not one for fighting on the walls, the village remained functional as an impromptu society under siege because of her impeccable organizational prowess. She was also known to use the speakers for spreading joyous news, so Prince Omar felt his hopes rising against his better judgment.

“I have just been informed by our friendly spectral spiders that our reinforcements have arrived. I repeat. Our reinforcements have arrived. Please welcome the army brought forth by the daughter of the Dark Lord and Shadowfell Goddess, our Ride-or-Die Princess, Foodie Darkrun.”

Just like that, a battle that was falling toward ruin flipped into something greater, something more glorious, something beyond Omar’s princely nomad teachings.

The kobolds on the ramparts lost their fervor as they turned more of their concern toward what was happening behind them. The wolf dragons stopped snapping up wall defenders, because they, too, had to turn their attention toward what was happening behind them.

“Push, god dammit! Push and give them fucking lizards a taste of their Hidden Hell!” yelled a girl with an enormous axe, one of the former flowers of the Eternal Garden Kingdom, now a savage killer.

Her name was Clotilda, Omar believed. Many of the former flowers had similar attitudes, even if they weren’t as brusque as Clotilda.

Omar’s fellow nomads had quickly learned not to mess with the savage girls of Ride-or-Die, for they weren’t afraid of speaking and fighting for themselves. Who could blame them? They fought just as hard next to the former young soldiers of the Eternal Garden Kingdom.

“This is our moment! This is what we’ve trained for! We are no longer sacrifices and flowers! It is here where we make our stand as children of the Dark Lord, of the Floridians, and of the Sorceress Queen!” yelled the gallant Roland of Wood, the Rose Knight.

Every time Omar had seen or heard of the young man, he was at the front of Ride-or-Die, risking life and limb. Omar had to admit there was no perfect representation of the Dark Lord’s empire than the one Roland seemed to embody.

Brazen. Bold. Brave. Brash. And battle hardened.

“I just want to sleep you ride-or-die crazies!” shouted Wallen, the alchemist.

Everyone ignored him, because he often complained, but he fell in with the others anyway. So did Prince Omar, even though he agreed with Wallen with wanting to sleep like the dead.

Nonetheless, the nomad prince, the paladins, the striders, the gardeners, the skeletons, and the gnolls fought and pushed, slinging rare and epic magic attacks while wielding epic and legendary weapons.

They pushed, shoved, killed, and slaughtered the kobolds on the ramparts, sending many of the mongrel horde spilling back whence they came until the defenders cleared the ramparts of all attackers.

Omar couldn’t believe that they’d achieved such a feat. More importantly, he couldn’t believe what was happening outside of the walls.

“Are those … trolls?” asked a young strider man.

“And goblins!” said the Ride-or-Die Lightning Amazon, Eleanor.

“And more skeletons! More, more skeletons!” shouted a gnoll, who threw his long arm around a skeleton that was a former gnoll.

All the other skeletons rattled.

Omar couldn’t pay them much mind as he watched the army of the so-called Ride-or-Die Princess brutalize the remaining siege attackers.

Omar watched mighty trolls catapult themselves and smash down their metal clubs on the faces of wolf dragons. He watched thousands of skeletons mob the kobold back lines.

Omar felt a shockwave of strange and eerie purple magic. Then a few thousand kobolds found themselves ensnared by increased gravity, crushing them into the ground.

Such magic came from a little green goblin with a giant butcher’s blade in one hand and a legendary scroll that was fading away from the other. The goblin was riding on the back of a majestic eight-legged horse with a black skeleton wearing a dark coat, the strange trio galloping through the mad battle.

Behind the trio, strange golem crawlers that were three times bigger than Omar’s scorpions followed while having cannons on their backs. The golem crawlers fired their weapons into the bodies of the wolf dragons, and to Omar’s surprise, the crawlers replicated the power of the much larger artillery guns of the tower, knocking the terrible monsters off their feet.

Then Omar looked up as buzzing orbs flew through the skies and rain green-tinted magic of the utmost destruction. Nothing could stop the green-beaming orbs as they rampaged above the wolf kobolds and wolf dragons.

“So, which one is the princess?” said a young man, Obert, of the Ride-or-Die Guild.

“Is that Loner down there? He’s all black now!” said the Shadow Saboteur, Amabel, the creepiest of the Ride-or-Die Guild. “Hm, I guess what my goddess said about her child is true.”

“What is true?” asked Wallen, as humans, skeletons, and gnolls gathered around Amabel.

Omar drew closer, too.

The girl held back the secret and kept them in suspense. She had a nasty knack for doing that as one who could survive the taint of Shadowfell Tears.

Finally, Amabel uttered the truth. “See that green one with the big, big knife. See how she’s chopping off a wolf dragon’s head. That’s the daughter of the Dark Lord and Shadowfell Goddess. That’s our new princess of Ride-or-Die.”

“Is she more of a princess than Princess Bianca?” asked Wallen.

“I think she’s the direct princess of our village. So, maybe yes.”

“I see now,” Wallen said strangely.

Everyone turned to look at Wallen in confusion. Of course, Omar didn’t look directly at the young man, because he understood the implications of this.

Princess Foodie Darkrun was the most precious princess in the entire world. What would it take to win her heart and have more access to the abundant offerings and immense powers of the Dark Lord?

Omar looked over the edge as Foodie Darkrun exploded with an extraordinary power – Aura Ignition. She quickly killed two wolf dragons back-to-back as her trolls cheered for her.

The blue flames of her aura snuffed away, but she kept fighting to clear out the remaining enemy forces.@@novelbin@@

“Well, what are we doing? Having a garden tea party? We got fucking kobolds to kill. Let’s go!” Clotilda raised her axe and roared.

“I like that human! She’s like a gnoll, but human!” said one of the gnolls. The others laughed with their high-pitched and disturbing laughter. “Let’s kill more kobolds. Let’s go find Elder Ezda.”

Omar had his doubts that Ezda was still alive. But they went down from the walls and out of the gate anyway.

They had to fight the rush of kobolds trying to break into the village once the gate opened, but they had the good fortune of many wizardly spectral spiders helping them.

Complex and intricate webbed magic struck with a force that launched the kobolds backward, clearing the way out. Then the two hundred and ninety members of the Ride-or-Die Guild along with their enlisted allies ran out and joined the army of Princess Foodie Darkrun.

Together, they finished what remained of the attackers.

Then a series of golden notifications appeared in the sky for everyone to see.

<Congrats! You’ve survived two months of a dragon and kobold siege! That is incredible, especially when the powers of Evil God Killall, Evil Goddess Sickspread, and Evil God Sinfeast had conspired against you.>

<Part 1 of the re-continued Wolf Dragon Invasion is complete. You have one week to rest before moving on to Part 2, attacking the main forward base of the wolf dragons and wolf kobolds. If you succeed there, this mythical event may end at Part 3, the invasion of the Wolf Dragon’s Den.>

<Do your best. Much has been poured into you by powers as grand as the gods, such as those from the Dark Lord and Sorceress Queen.>

Prince Omar nodded. The first notification cleared up why some of their boons had failed during Part 1 of the Mythical Wolf Dragon Invasion. Three Evil Gods had conspired against them.

Thankfully, they had two Good Gods and two Evil Gods that were on their side. The boons of their fourth godly patron gave them enough of an edge.

Despite the nebulous nature of the freedom alignment, it was still possible for the gods outside of freedom to lend their support. That would come at a cost, but that was not a concern for the defenders of the village.

Everyone was cheering.

Dozens crowded around the Ride-or-Die Princess.

Then the jubilee hushed down when a mutilated giant dragged itself free from under a pile of dead wolf dragons. Prince Omar gaped up at the horrid thing, realizing it was Ezda herself.

She was immense, bigger than ever before. But her entire form looked as chewed apart as a dog toy.

The gnolls crowded close to the giant paws of their elder as Ezda stumbled slowly toward the party around the princess. Then Ezda dipped her colossal head down and vomited.

From her own gullet and up her throat, a barely recognized human form dropped free in a pile of bloody ooze and bile.

“Arnold? Is that you?” Omar called.

“Yes, Prince of Windstorm … it is I,” Arnold said miserably. “Even as old as I am, I still live, saved from a proper death by the most improper of means. And if I’m to be honest, death would’ve served me better than to have been saved by Ezda of all creatures.”

“Ha ha ha! Elder Ezda ate you and spat you back like bad food, Silver Guardian!” a random gnoll pointed and laughed.

Ezda laughed hoarsely as she sat on her haunches. All of her remaining gnolls laughed together, which seemed to make Arnold even more miserable.

Omar didn’t blame the man. A proper death would’ve been more dignified than what Arnold had just gone through.

“Well, it’s great you’re alive, old man. We have another princess of the Dark Lord, but with a bigger claim to the village. Better shape up and be presentable,” Clotilda said, some of the guild members doing their best not to laugh.

“Oh, heavens, no. Not when I’m like this.” Arnold tried to stand, only to trip over haphazardly.

Princess Foodie Darkrun, whose presence was both small and somehow intimidating, dashed from her position among many who would like to rub elbows with her.

She stopped next to Arnold and supported him with her own hands despite the unseemly bile covering his person.

“My father spoke of you. He said you’re the best good aligned person he has ever met. It is nice to meet you as well. I’m Princess Foodie Darkrun.”

“Oh, hm, well. This is not a meeting I’ve expected, nor have I prepared for. But you are quite the good child, regardless of alignments. I much appreciate the assistance, princess, although you shouldn’t dirty yourself for me.”

The princess waved off the faux pas. She ensured Arnold could stand. Then she turned about to look at everyone with her fists on her hips.

Again, Omar couldn’t help but think she was both an interesting and intimidating creature. The way her eyes and ears moved reminded him of desert panthers. And the stoic way she spoke had its own powerful charm.

“You all worked hard. And you look very hungry. Let me cook a tasty meal for you.”

It was on that night, when many hungry mouths had the pleasure of tasting the princess’s cooking, that they truly fell in love with her. It was also on that night Omar noticed he along with others became more interested in finding time to speak with the Ride-or-Die Princess personally.

Perhaps this was the real reason he came here.

***

Far away from the mythical event at Ride-or-Die, Zarian snapped awake for the first time in two months. His heart thumped hard in his chest. Shifting nightmares, uncanny dreams, wild memories, and painfully beautiful moments with a playful and dangerous Naomi whirled in his frayed mind.

Out of all that, he could only focus on one dreadful thing.

“Foodie, no, you’re too young! Don’t let those boys steal your precious heart!”