chsdbacks Page 130
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To him, this new threat from the south was nothing more than another speck of dust about to be obliterated in the desert, but also a new source of energy. The defensive barrier of the city-state of Agmar required a continuous supply of life force; this was the only way to prevent the city-state from being corrupted and eroded by the external environment. In the world bathed in the setting sun, the environment itself was the most terrifying killer of life; only under the protection of the Witch King's barrier could humans and other creatures barely survive.
In return, all protected life forms must periodically contribute a portion of their life force—the so-called life force tax. It's a cruel yet fair trade: the Witch-King provides protection, and the inhabitants provide energy. Those unable or unwilling to pay the tax are reduced to slavery, toiling in mines and factories until their lives are exhausted—their life force is also drained by the barrier; while those who consistently pay the tax maintain a relatively decent life and even have the opportunity to rise to the rank of Templar Knight or Shaman.
Agmar pondered the possible conspiracy behind this disturbance in the south. If another Witch-King was indeed probing his territory, he wouldn't easily confront them head-on. No, in this world, betrayal and deception were the only laws of survival. The wisest course of action was to direct the threat towards other Witch-Kings, letting them wear each other down.
Agmar was all too familiar with this; he knew perfectly well that there were at least dozens of spies from other Witch-kings within his city-state. For instance, his envoy, Yarva, had secret contact with Karak, the Witch-king of Tyre. Furthermore, he was relaying messages from Atama to two more distant city-states, just as he had planted spies in other cities.
There is no true loyalty in this world anymore. People follow the strong only for survival, and once a stronger power appears, they will not hesitate to betray their former masters.
This wasn't something to be angry about; it was the norm in this world. Agmar allowed this to happen because it also gave him the opportunity to infiltrate other city-states. More importantly, the "culpability" of passing on messages paled in comparison to the "contribution" these "spies" made to the normal functioning of their own city-state.
The Witch King's rule was inseparable from the messengers and the Knights Templar.
Agmar chuckled self-deprecatingly, pondering how to exploit this disturbance in the south. Perhaps this was a good opportunity to lure the other Witch Kings into a trap. If he could create a sufficiently large illusion of threat, the other Witch Kings might be distracted, or even personally involved. At that point, Agmar could seize the opportunity to expand his sphere of influence.
He opened a hidden drawer and took out a detailed map. The map marked the locations and spheres of influence of the seven city-states—compared to the vast uninhabited lands and the Sea of Death in the world of Atas, the areas occupied by the seven city-states were actually quite narrow. The dead world and the shroud of the setting sun had severely limited the range within which the Witch-Kings could effectively use desecrating spells in combat. Under these circumstances, the buffer zones between the city-states were exceptionally narrow. The anomaly in the south was precisely located on the border between the territory of Agmar and the territory of another Witch-King, Zorak. If handled properly, this could easily become a trap, luring Zorak into making a mistake.
Agmar closed the map and decided to strengthen the forces for this operation. Sandworms were the most powerful fighting force in the city-state of Agmar. These enormous monsters, often over a hundred meters long, were a product of mutation after the War of Purification and were tamed by Agmar through special control magic. They could move swiftly through the sand sea, like fish swimming in water; their sheer size endowed them with unparalleled strength and physique.
Ordinary Templar Knights are unable to control these terrifying creatures; only elite knights who have undergone special training are qualified to become Sandworm Riders. These riders are usually Agmar's most loyal subordinates, because establishing a connection with the Sandworms requires the direct involvement of the Witch King. Once this connection is established, the Witch King gains control of the knight's mind.
"Three sandworms might not be enough, but five should be more than enough," Agmar muttered to himself. "If it's a test from other witch kings, this will be enough to intimidate them; if it's just ordinary desert dwellers, it'll just be a routine harvest."
However, the instant Agmar turned around, a small crack suddenly appeared in the windowpane, spreading silently to form a strange pattern—the outline of a complete dragon, not a half-dragon. This phenomenon lasted only a moment before disappearing, but its meaning sent a chill down Agmar's spine.
Was it a coincidence? Or an omen? Agmar's gaze turned south again. The image of the dragon was a dangerous omen, touching upon a taboo subject that all the Witch Kings avoided contemplating. The Great Witch King's secret must remain buried forever, for it concerned the very foundation of the seven Witch Kings' rule.
Agmar shook his head, banishing the ominous premonition from his mind; he now had to focus on the immediate threat. Whatever happened in the south, he would ensure his rule remained unchallenged. If necessary, he would protect his power at all costs—even if it meant igniting a new war between the Witch-kings.
Meanwhile, in the military region of the city-state of Agmar, Yarva had begun organizing the troops for this operation. Five sandworm knights, receiving a telepathic command from the Witch King, stepped outside the city-state's elemental barrier, rhythmically pounding the sands to summon their mounts. With a deafening roar, enormous worms covered in thick carapaces burst forth from the sand dunes like whales leaping from the sea. They possessed a massive mouth almost the same diameter as their bodies, with four gleaming metallic mandibles arranged in a cross shape. Countless tiny tentacles grew around their circular mouthparts—the sandworms' sensitive sensors for detecting vibrations. Sharp teeth, several meters long, were arranged in a spiral within their mouths, capable of pulverizing anything they swallowed, whether prey, rocks, or minerals.
The sandworms feed on strange minerals in the sand sea that can enhance psionic energy, and excrete "spices" that shimmer with blue-purple fluorescence. Consuming these spices can stimulate and develop psionic energy more deeply.
Similarly, both the Sandworm Rider and the Sandworm itself are psionic masters.
The elite Templar Knights stood ready, clad in heavy bone armor and wielding special weapons capable of dispelling magic. Most of these knights had undergone some form of genetic modification, possessing a dual defense of chitinous carapace and scales; some had insect-like compound eyes, while others exhibited reptilian characteristics. Each displayed distinct adaptations, but they all shared one common trait: absolute obedience controlled by a mind-shackle.
Assassins, on the other hand, are entirely different. Their modifications are more focused on agility and stealth. On the surface, they appear almost identical to ordinary people, except for being somewhat "thin," but when necessary, they can unleash astonishing explosive power and lethality. Most assassins can generate deadly toxins under their skin, some have grown discolored skin that allows them to temporarily blend into their surroundings, and others can control small-scale elemental effects with innate abilities.
Ordinary soldiers constitute the most basic military force. Most of them are city-state residents who have been forcibly conscripted and sent to the front lines after simple training. In Agmar's army, these ordinary soldiers are often used as cannon fodder, using their not-so-strong awakened psionic energy and psionic-enhanced bodies to wear down the enemy and create opportunities for the truly elite troops.
As Yalva inspected the troops' preparations, he pondered something else entirely: how to maximize his own gain while completing the mission. He had served Agmar for nearly fifty years, but also for the other three Witch-Kings for decades. In his eyes, this wasn't betrayal, but merely a means of survival. In this cruel world, only those who stood between multiple factions could possibly live longer and more comfortably.
Those who are completely loyal to the Witch King Agma are likely to die in the plots of other Witch Kings against Agma, while those who completely side with other Witch Kings will be crushed by Agma—these are lessons learned from the past.
"Are you ready?" Yalva asked, watching the army walk into the gaping maws of the sandworms, crawl into the pre-emptied cheek pouches, and secure themselves within the folds of the pouches.
"Everything is ready, sir," the chief rider replied. "The insecticide is working properly, and the energy is plentiful. We can travel continuously for seven days through the desert."
"Very good, but this time we won't need a long journey." Yalva nodded in satisfaction. "The Great Witch-King Agmar will open the Elemental Path for our expedition. We will travel directly through the Elemental Path to the outpost, and then launch our operation from there. Remember the Witch-King's orders—we need prisoners, especially those who may have mastered blasphemous magic!"
22. war
As night fell, the central spire of the city-state of Agmar glowed with a blinding green light. The Witch King began to cast the Path of Elements, not a teleportation spell, but a passage created by harnessing the power of the elements through his ability to unite spirit and magic, allowing "travelers" immersed within it to traverse at high speed using elemental power.
In the city-state's plaza, hundreds upon hundreds of residents were forcibly brought in, forming a massive circle. They were the fuel for the Elemental Path. When the Witch King cast his dragon magic, it would generate a wide-ranging corrupting light wave, forcibly drawing upon the life force within its reach to become the energy source for his magic.
Without sufficient "fuel," this malevolent magical power will directly drain the life from the land itself, causing plants to wither and become barren—this is how the vast desert of Atas came to be.
However, if a sufficient number of active life forms are provided as fuel, it can not only greatly increase the power of magic but also "protect" the land from corruption. Therefore, unless there is an emergency, the Witch King always prepares fuel for himself.
The Witch King Atama held a jet-black obsidian magic bead in his hand, chanting increasingly powerful incantations in sync with his gestures. Waves of invisible decaying power swept over the residents lined up in a circle in the form of light waves, and the intense pain caused by the forced extraction of their life force assaulted them.
Under the threat of the Templars' obsidian weapons, the "fuel" wailed, cried, screamed, twisted, and trembled, but dared not resist.
Their already malnourished and emaciated bodies became even more withered, brownish-yellow spots creeping onto their grayish-white skin, which then cracked. Hair fell out in decay, the pitiful screams weakened into weeping, the grieving fell into semi-conscious panting, and those weak whimpers gradually faded away.
More than half of the "fuel" were drained of their last drop of life, falling onto the yellow sand and becoming withered corpses—but this was not the end. Their decaying flesh and blood would be stripped off and used as real fuel to ignite firewood, while their bones would be collected to serve as structural materials for making weapons and buildings.
A translucent, orange-yellow halo appeared in the center of the square, half buried under the yellow sand and half stretching across the sky.
Five enormous sandworm fish passed through it, their unique orange aura staining them, and the sand they touched seemed to turn into slippery oil without any resistance.
Moreover, the orange aura grew stronger and stronger, accumulating forward thrust and propelling the giant sandworm faster and faster. When it left the city-state's elemental barrier, the sandworm's body was no longer visible, and it became five streams of light heading towards the horizon.
Agmar stood atop the tower, watching the Templars disperse the surviving residents and summon slaves to clean up the dried corpses scattered on the ground, his heart unmoved.
In this dead world, power is everything. Any kindness and mercy will only become one's own grave—this has nothing to do with morality or humanity, it is simply the cruelest law of this world.
The light trail ended at the central square of the outpost, where five sandworms, half-buried in the sand, raised their heads, opened their mouths, and then crawled down. Yalva's troops poured out of the sandworms' mouths, and the outpost's guards were already lined up to greet them. Knight Commander Grimm stood at the forefront, flanked by his adjutant and a squad of elite guards.
"Your Excellency, the great envoy," Grimm knelt on one knee, "the outpost is ready for you and your army. The habitat for the five insecticides has been excavated to standard."
Yalva nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping over the outpost's facilities. This outpost also maintained Agmar's distinctive architectural style—a combination of skeletons and chitin, symbolizing the cycle of death and rebirth.
"What new developments are there in the unusual activity in the south?" Yalva asked directly.
Grimm stood up and led Yalva to the watchtower's observation room: "Since the last report, their activity has become more frequent. According to our reconnaissance, at least three permanent structures have been built there, one of which closely resembles an altar. More notably, we have observed a peculiar phenomenon—at night, brief green lights appear there, very similar to the Witch King's elemental light, but with subtle differences in frequency."
Yalva frowned. "How many people?"
"At least three hundred, maybe more. They seem to be divided into several different groups; there are some, but more are those despicable bandits from the desert, and even some... pterosaurs."
Yalva went to the window of the observation room and looked towards the southern horizon. Although the darkness and the horizon obscured all prying views, his special eyes could still see the shimmering light beyond the horizon—just like the Witch King's magic.
"I need to see the map," Yalva commanded.
Grimm quickly unrolled a map made of animal hide, marking the terrain and resource points within a hundred miles of the outpost. Yalva studied the map carefully, paying particular attention to the location and surrounding environment of the southern disturbance point.
"Right on the border," Yalva murmured to himself, "a coincidence? Or intentional?"
He pointed to a point on the map and asked, "What's this?"
"An ancient ruin, my lord," Grimm replied. "The kind you see everywhere in the desert, some kind of facility from before the War of Purification. We sent people to investigate, but found nothing of value." (The last sentence appears to be a separate, unrelated thought: "Mei has thought of Merlin Yongkong, is Lin Zai Zai there...?")
After a moment's thought, Yalva made his decision: "The entire army will rest for an hour before we set off, reaching the point of disturbance before dawn. Five Insect Killers and twenty Knights will lead the vanguard, assassins will infiltrate in scattered groups, and ordinary soldiers will cover the rear. I want to capture their leader alive and find out their purpose and the possible forces behind them."
Grimm nodded in agreement and immediately went to arrange the action plan. Yalva remained in the observation room, continuing to study the corrupting light waves beyond the horizon. The pattern of the fluctuations was all too familiar, yet it gave him a strong sense of estrangement. Yalva struggled alone for a long time, then walked alone to the sand dunes outside the outpost, away from potential spying, and took out a special obsidian crystal ball from his robes—not a gift from the Witch-King Agmar, but from another Witch-King.
The envoy carefully activated the device and sent an encrypted message: "Border anomaly confirmed, suspected traces of high corruption spell. Agmar has dispatched troops, including two sandworms, and the operation has begun."
After sending the message, the obsidian crystal ball turned into gray dust and scattered, merging into the yellow sand without leaving a trace.
Back at the outpost, Yalva gave the five Sandworm Knights a final check on their condition. These behemoths were the most fearsome fighting force in the city-state of Agmar, and a vital tool for maintaining its rule. Each Sandworm possessed a subtle difference in personality, and only riders who shared a mental bond with them through the Witch King's construct could fully control them.
The sandworm named "Rockbreaker" has a black carapace and its mandibles are covered with molars. It is adept at using psionic energy to create sonic waves that can shatter rocks. The second one, named "Venom Fang," is slightly smaller but more agile. Several grooves on its mandibles connect to venom glands that have developed later in life, allowing it to spray a deadly poison that corrupts the mind hundreds of meters away. The third one, named "Wind Slicer," is the largest of the five sandworms. Its barrel-shaped body has fin-like structures growing from grooves on its sidewalls. When it leaps out of the sand sea, it can extend these fins to glide at high speed across the sand surface…
Yalva gently stroked the "Rock Shatter's" carapace, feeling the energy flowing within the behemoth. The sandworms seemed to sense the tension before the battle as well, excitedly rubbing their mandibles together, making a knocking sound, eager to devour fresh flesh and blood—sandworms that feed on psionic ores also have a special fondness for flesh and blood that are closely related to psionic energy.
"Will it be a fierce battle?" Yalva muttered to himself, "or just another massacre?"
Border conflicts among the seven Witch Kings occur frequently, but have never escalated into a full-scale war. Each Witch King understands that a true all-out conflict would lead to far more terrible consequences—there are few lands left to sustain their thirst for life. Perhaps a direct confrontation between two Witch Kings would be enough to extinguish the last vestige of life in this world.
Therefore, they preferred to use espionage, assassination, and instigating rebellions in other city-states to protect their own interests. If they could kill one of the witch kings in this way, the survival pressure on the other witch kings would be greatly reduced.
If the unrest in the south is indeed related to other witch kings, then Yalva must proceed with caution. He must complete the task assigned to him by Agma, maintain his secret connections with other witch kings, and ensure that he is not used by any witch king as a weak point to weaken Agma's city-state. In the witch kings' game, powerful pawns like Envoy Yalva are often the first to be sacrificed.
With the operation imminent, Yalva summoned all the knights and warriors involved for a final pre-battle mobilization.
"Remember the Witch King's orders," he said solemnly. "We need intelligence and prisoners. Do not kill any seemingly valuable targets lightly. The sandworms will clear the way and eliminate the main resistance. The assassins will infiltrate and find the leader. The knights will launch a frontal assault to cover the assassins' actions. Warriors, the time has come to show your bravery—whether you die on the battlefield or are promoted to new Templar Knights depends on your performance on the battlefield."
Great Agmar watches over you, Agmar the Witch-King forever!
"Eternal is the Witch King Agmar!" With this final cry, the army marched south in a mighty procession.
The three-headed sandworm led the way, with the other two spreading out to the sides. The soldiers no longer cowered in the sandworm's cheek pouches; the Templar Knights rode on the backs of red-scaled birds, mounts with the stamina and adaptability of camels, but much larger, covered in ruby-like scales, with serrated teeth lining the edges of their beaks.
The assassins hid inside the wagons pulled by the Megirot lizards, while ordinary soldiers marched in neat square formations, following the elite troops ahead on foot.
Yalva rode at the very front of the procession, second only to the Sandworm. As a special envoy, he did not need to command operations; that was not his forte. His mission was to act as the eyes of the overseer and the Witch King, which was the purpose for which the Witch King had bestowed upon him extraordinary senses, and also the meaning behind the name "special envoy."
As the distance shortened, the aura of the corrupting light waves from the south became increasingly clear, as if tearing open the darkest curtain before dawn.
"Slow down, remain vigilant." Grimm, who had already taken over command from Yalva, gave the order, signaling the three-headed sandworm to reduce its speed and keep in sync with the flanks and the main force.
On the other side of the dunes, a rudimentary but well-organized camp came into view. At the center of the camp stood an altar built of obsidian blocks, above which floated a green orb of light—the source of the corrupting energy. Various humanoid creatures roamed the camp: Goliathian half-giants and man-eating halflings walked side-by-side, mantis-men and pterosaur-men worked together, and humans and Mur dwarves toiled side-by-side. These races, which should have been brutally killing each other, were gathered in an orderly fashion. They had clear divisions of labor, yet cooperated seamlessly, even possessing a complete defense system.
The eerie sight sent chills down Yalva's spine. This was not a group of wanderers or refugees, nor even a scout vanguard of some Witch King—only a Witch King's own psionic spell could bring these races together in such a tight-knit organization!
"Spread out, surround the camp, attack!" Yalva barked the order past Grimm. "I need to know what that orb of light is, and who's controlling it!"
Grimm glanced at the envoy, then broke down the somewhat contradictory order into a understandable and executable plan and relayed it. The sandworms, who were supposed to charge directly into the camp, dispersed, forming a semi-circular encirclement. The knights followed closely behind, while the ordinary soldiers shouted as they pushed past the knights and sandworms, resolutely fulfilling their cannon fodder mission in the face of an uncertain future. The assassins jumped off the chariots and disappeared like ghosts into the dunes, infiltrating the camp.
A low yet high-pitched alarm suddenly sounded within the camp. The green orb on the altar suddenly enlarged, its light intensifying, and then the entire camp was covered by a red protective barrier.
"Attack!" Yalva continued to overstep his authority, issuing orders completely out of tactical sense. "Insect-killing knights, break through that energy shield!"
Under the knight's control, the five sandworms roared as they charged toward the barrier. Their massive bodies stirred up towering sand waves in the sea of sand, but it was like waves crashing against rocks—if the Atas had ever seen the sea, this would be the most apt description—they burst open with a deafening roar, large chunks of flesh and blood, fluids flowing with psionic energy like stars, and the contents of their digestive tracts splattering across the entire visible sea of sand.
Grimm's heart clenched. Five sandworms, the most powerful assault force of the Atama city-state in this operation, had been annihilated by the envoy, Yalva, in a fierce attack on a defensive barrier. However, the orders of the envoy, who to some extent represented the Witch King, were not to be disobeyed. The Templar Commander could only raise his weapon, pull the reins of his mount, and, shouting, lead the Templar Knights in a final charge against the rain of blood and flesh falling from the sandworms—charging might mean death, not charging would certainly mean death.
23. Unexpected
Whether in the prime material world filled with endless sandstorms or in other chaotic and ever-changing alternate dimensions, the essence of battle has never changed.
The moment the first sandworm crashed into the barrier, the entire earth trembled. Its massive body, like a giant flesh bomb, carried the immense kinetic energy accumulated under the knight's control as it slammed into the elemental barrier, only to be torn to shreds by the recoil upon contact, blood and flesh flying everywhere.
Flesh and blood are ultimately no match for a hard barrier. Even with roars, passion, and reckless courage, crashing into it will only be like a fragile pebble hitting a hammer, shattering in vain.
Roaring Casalos lay atop his newly constructed pyramid, his massive wings spread wide, shielding the planet from the unfriendly night. Peeking out from beneath his wings, he watched as a force bearing a unified banner launched a futile charge against his barrier on the distant sand dunes. It resembled a one-sided massacre; the Agmar city-state's extermination forces surged relentlessly towards the elemental barrier, wave after wave, seemingly endless.
The five sandworms had been reduced to fragments of flesh and blood, scattered across the sea of sand, forming a dark red muddy mess. But this did not stop the subsequent attack. The Templar Knights spurred their mounts into neat formation and charged directly towards the barrier; behind them, ordinary warriors raised their weapons, shouting unknown slogans, and followed closely.
Each impact sent a ripple of shockwave through the barrier, tearing anything that came into contact with it to shreds. Yet they continued to rush forward, like moths to a flame.
"This is really strange." The old roar frowned, its thick, blunt thorns creaking at its brow, its voice filled with bewilderment, finding the situation rather perplexing. It had expected to witness a grand clash of elemental magic, but instead, it was seeing this primitive charging tactic.
"What are they doing, committing suicide?"
The ancient red dragon's puzzled voice reached Serendella's ears. The crystal dragon's crystalline scales shimmered with subtle iridescent light under the elemental barrier. She gently shook her head, and her transparent, crystal-like claws unconsciously rubbed against each other, producing a crisp sound like wind chimes.
"They're...fighting." Even after a few days of rest, her voice still betrayed extreme exhaustion. (The last two lines appear to be random characters and are not translated.)
"You call this a fight?"
Old Roar couldn't help but recall all the preparations he had made over the past two weeks. Otherwise, the outcome of today's battle would likely have been very different.
Forced to flee Faerûn by the Knights of the Claws of Justice, it was merely a calculated move. Grommash's primary purpose in traveling to different worlds was ultimately to find a viable source of manpower to address Dragonlord's severe population shortage. From the very first day he established himself in this strange world, he realized he had found a useful target. Atarth was a world on the verge of death, where brutality and ruthlessness were the "laws of survival," and the seven Witch-Kings were the embodiment of this non-physical, distorted law.
Under their rule for thousands of years, the people of this world have come to regard enslavement as a matter of course, and have completely lost the motivation to resist the ruling class.
They are the best source of labor during the capital accumulation stage, and Lao Hou can control and shape them without restraint using any means.
Thus, after conquering the Uduru tribe, the Roar began a full-scale expansion plan. It personally led the Crystal Dragons on reconnaissance missions, marking the locations of all feral humanoid populations within a thirty-kilometer radius of the small oasis. In a very short time, they discovered seventeen tribal settlements, each with a population ranging from twenty to over a hundred people.
The expansion was efficient and direct. Whenever a new tribe was discovered, the Old Howler would lead his elite forces to descend, and under the dragon's might, most feral tribes didn't even have the courage to resist. Those tribes that tried to resist became horrific examples—more than half of their population was slaughtered, leaving only women, children, and a few terrified young adults, who were forced to submit to the dragon's tyranny.
In less than a week, Grommash's territory had expanded to three times its original size. Thirteen of the seventeen feral tribes had been conquered, while the remaining four were completely wiped out due to their fierce resistance. To control these newly conquered tribes, Grommash began to implement mind imprinting.
The Mind Imprinting ceremony took place in the central plaza of the oasis, its atmosphere solemn yet strangely dignified. The chosen tribal members knelt in the center of the plaza, surrounded by shamans. The Old Howler stood atop the pyramid, with Serendella flanking him; her assistance ensured the Mind Imprinting technique, a fusion of spiritual and magical power, would be more efficient and have a higher success rate.
"Seredok, are you willing to accept the mark of the great Klaus and become his loyal follower?" Zoka, the witch of the halfling tribe, asked the kneeling Sriklin warrior.
"I am willing," Seredok replied in a low voice, a hint of expectation in his tone. "I am willing to accept the inscription and serve my great master."
Zoka nodded and began the ritual. Her hands traced intricate runes in the air as she chanted the dragon language incantations Old Roar had taught her. As the incantation continued, a pale red light shot from her fingertips, enveloping Seredok's head.
The light gradually penetrated the body of the Sriklin warrior, finally disappearing. Throughout the process, Seredok was filled with anticipation and joy. As the last syllable fell, an unusual glint flashed in his eyes, then returned to normal.
"How are you feeling?" Zoka asked.
"Unprecedented clarity," Seredok replied, filled with awe. "I can feel the presence of my Lord, hear His thoughts and His will. It is an honor, a privilege."
In this world, power is one of the fundamentals of survival. And what Roar gave them was precisely the power they had always dreamed of. Those warriors who were branded did not resist; instead, they regarded it as an honor, a mark of being chosen. Unlike other Witch-kings, the power Roar gave was tangible and real, not an empty promise.
Serendella observed all of this with a cold eye. As a kind crystal dragon, she instinctively abhorred such acts of twisting the will of others. However, she had to admit that, under the cruel laws of this world, Grommash Hellscream's methods were perhaps the most efficient. Compared to the Witch Kings' rule, which drained their subjects of their last ounce of life force, Grommash Hellscream at least gave these people some tangible reward.
With the widespread adoption of mind imprinting, Roar's control was greatly enhanced. He no longer needed to constantly monitor every tribe; he could manage them indirectly through the imprinted core members. This gave him more time and energy to prepare strategies to counter the Witch King.
But loyalty alone is not enough. Old Roar needs more powerful weapons.
Serendella's "spiritual awakening" became the key. The Crystal Dragon studied the psionic laws of this world and applied her psionic knowledge from Faerûn. After several attempts, she finally developed a technique that could directly stimulate the psionic potential within a chosen one.
Each day, ten chosen warriors are brought to the center of the plaza to undergo Serendella's spiritual awakening. Unlike mind imprinting, the awakening process is accompanied by intense pain. The screams and wails of the chosen ones fill the entire plaza, and some even die from the torment originating from their souls. But those who survive quickly acquire psychic powers far exceeding those of ordinary people.
"Most people can't handle the sudden awakening of psychic powers," Serendella explained to Old Howl, "especially adults. Psychic awakening reshapes their mental structure, and this process is inevitably painful."
Casalos roughly understood the principle behind it, but Old Roar didn't care: "Continue your work. Pain means nothing to them; they only care about the final result."
Celine Della fell silent and turned to continue her mission. She knew that survival in this world was paramount. The warriors who underwent awakening understood this as well—even the painful process was far better than being drained of life by the Witch King or struggling to survive in the desolate desert.
These awakened warriors quickly displayed astonishing talent. They rapidly progressed from their initial, rudimentary use of psychic energy—instinctively enhancing their bodies, improving their senses, or manipulating elements to a limited extent—to a more sophisticated psychic profession. Under Old Roar's arrangement, these psionicists, psionic warriors, soulbladers, and psychic wielders were organized into squads and underwent systematic, militarized combat training to prepare them for various future battles.
Meanwhile, Grommash Hellscream was also searching among the halfling tribes for those with innate arcane spellcasting talent. He granted them elemental authority, making them shamans, and instilled in them knowledge of runic dragon language and high elf magic, guiding them on how to combine psionic and elemental power to master blasphemous spells and create unique magical effects.