Chapter 539: Ambush (II)
The riders moved with well-honed discipline, swiftly traversing the two mountain ranges that framed the narrow pass. Hooves pounded against the rocky terrain in a relentless rhythm, and the soldiers perched atop their steeds and scanned every crevice and cavern. Nothing escaped their vigilant gaze. Within minutes, they had combed every recess of the mountains. Then, in a practiced maneuver, they regrouped near their leader.
"Lord Zalasar," one of the scouts reported, "we searched the entire mountain range. There is nothing there."
Zalasar narrowed his eyes as he considered their findings. He trusted these men implicitly; they had served under him for many years, proving their loyalty and demonstrating a singular combination of skill and efficiency, so if they say there was nothing, then even if he went himself, there would be no trace of enemies.
Yet the heaviness in his gaze did not dissipate. He glanced at the long caravan behind him—a collection of wagons and armored vehicles carrying precious cargo. Given the incredible value of what he was transporting, he dared not disregard the reaction of his instincts.
A steely resolve gathered in Zalasar’s expression as he reached for his sword. Set into the hilt was a brilliant gem, fiery red in hue, which pulsed faintly with arcane energy.
The soldiers’ eyes widened; they knew exactly what their Lord was about to do. Almost at once, they galloped back several hundreds of meters, giving him a clear radius. Zalasar lifted his blade high, letting out a steady exhale, and then brought the sword down in a decisive arc.
For a moment, silence reigned. Then, the jewel in the hilt flared with scorching brilliance, releasing a raging torrent of destructive energy that burrowed into the ground. A heartbeat later, the entire road ahead and both mountain flanks trembled violently, crimson cracks racing across the rocky surface.
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM!"
An immense eruption tore through the pass. Fire, molten stone, and compressed shockwaves flung boulders the size of houses into the sky.
The caravan behind Zalasar rocked under the force of the blast; even experienced soldiers had to brace themselves as debris rained down. Yet amid the inferno of flame and ash, something else drew every eye: thousands of twisted bodies were catapulted skyward, their limbs flailing in grotesque arcs. They crashed back to the earth, mangled and lifeless.
Soldiers stared in awe at the carnage, then turned to their commander with pure respect. Had the convoy proceeded further into the pass, they would have marched directly into a perfectly staged ambush—and been annihilated.