novelraw Chapter 28 : [Setika’s Hunters and the Reddish-Brown Sage]
Chapter 28 : [Setika’s Hunters and the Reddish-Brown Sage]
Chapter 28: [Setika’s Hunters and the Reddish-Brown Sage]
Kanna Plains, Varak Dungeon.
White stone pillars surrounded a black stone temple, and leather war banners painted with the image of outstretched demonic ravens fluttered atop tall poles.
Only seven or eight tumbleweeds rolled across the empty ground.
Caw! Caw-caw!
Seven or eight Demonic Ravens perched on the flagpoles, gazing down upon the scene below.
At the gate of the charred Igneous Rock Temple, only the last three adventurers were still loading their spoils onto a wagon, preparing to bring them back to Thornfall Outpost.
“Phew! Finally done moving everything!” The swordsman, who seemed to be the squad leader, wiped his sweat and clapped the dust from his hands.
“Damn it, we’re behind. Most of the others must’ve already returned to Thornfall Outpost.”
“We’re not the last ones out. Half the people are still here! Lord Flame Lance, that level-eleven powerhouse, is still holding off the rear for us—what’s the rush?” the bearded mage chuckled.
A gust of wind swept by.
The horses at the front of the wagon suddenly neighed in panic, staring in terror at two figures emerging from the dust on the horizon, as if they had seen something utterly horrifying.
“What’s going on…” The shield-crossbowman hurried forward to calm the frightened horses.
The two figures flickered in and out of view like ghosts—one step later, they abruptly appeared out of the dust.
They were two strange figures clad in blood-red studded leather armor beneath black robes.
Beneath their black hoods, half their faces were visible—just enough to reveal that one was male, the other female.
Their waxen, dark-brown skin glowed faintly, and their amber eyes gleamed like those of leopards.
The man’s face was wrapped in a blood-red scarf, while the woman wore a deep violet veil flecked with gold.
The black-robed man carried an ornate and luxurious ebony chest large enough to fit two people inside.
Its corners were gilded with gold, more like luggage—but far too lavish for mere baggage.
“Yo! You two... planning to join the assault late?” The swordsman captain looked up, pausing his work.
“You’re late! The Demon King Varak ambushed the grain convoy—the food’s running short, and half the force has already withdrawn.”
“How long ago?” the black-robed man asked hoarsely.
“What?” the swordsman captain blinked.
“The siege of Kanna Dungeon,” the black-robed woman clarified.
“About... nearly a month, I think?” The captain tried to recall and looked toward his teammates for confirmation.
“Yeah, a month,” one nodded.
“Oh.” The black-robed man responded casually—and raised his right hand.
The captain’s mouth fell open as he slowly lowered his gaze—only to see the black, chitin-covered claw of the stranger buried deep into his chest.
Splurt.
The claw, slick with blood, withdrew slowly, pinching a still-twitching red heart between its fingers.
The captain sank to his knees, then forward, crashing heavily to the ground—prostrated as though worshiping the Kanna Plains itself, his soul submitting to an undying power.
The blood hadn’t even begun to pool before the dust drank it all away.
“Captain!?” the crossbowman and the mage shouted, instinctively reaching for their weapons—but before their fingers could touch bowstring or staff, a black gleam flashed past their throats.
Half a second later, both collapsed, clutching their necks, choking in silence.
Their voice boxes, windpipes, and arteries were severed—blood sprayed like flames around them.
The black-robed woman flicked the blood from her claws.
“One month,” the black-robed man said, tossing the heart aside.
He flicked his talons clean and watched as the absorbed blood seeped into the dry earth of Kanna Plains.
“How could the Lord of Kanna allow them to live for a month? Would he need famine to kill them?”
“The King of Ravens wants them alive,” the woman replied.
“Starvation dulls their strength—makes it easier to capture them.”
“For what? To torture them for fun?”
“Perhaps.” The woman nodded slightly.
“Or perhaps the Lord of Kanna has his own designs. After all, he is also known as the Reddish-Brown Sage.”
The terrified horses neighed and bolted, dragging the empty wagon into the wasteland.
But without adventurers to protect them, ordinary horses were nothing but moving meat in the Kanna Wasteland.
A shadow passed overhead—a Dragon-Gryphon circling from the skies above.
Its descending shape grew larger until it blotted out the horse completely.
Whoosh!
With a crimson gust, the beast tore away half the horse’s ribs.
Horse and cart flipped violently, its legs broken, entrails exposed, writhing pitifully in the dust.
Huff!
The reddish-brown predator folded its wings and landed atop the horse, tearing into the still-warm viscera with its fanged beak.
Caw-caw! Caw-caw-caw!
The ravens on the flagpoles swooped down like ruffians, fighting to snatch at the scattered meat.
A few even perched upon the adventurers’ corpses, pecking at wounds and gouging out eyes.
The two strangers ignored the carnage behind them, lifting their gilded ebony chest and stepping into the Igneous Rock Temple.
At the temple’s front stood a massive white stone.
Offerings from adventurers seeking luck were scattered before it.
A large, crested Demonic Raven stood upon the stone, its head held high in arrogance, eyes glinting blood-red like rubies.
Unlike the lesser ravens outside feasting on corpses, this one merely stared coldly down at the two intruders.
“Lord of Kanna.” The two black-robed figures knelt on one knee, bowing deeply to the great raven.
“Our master, Setika, sends you greetings from the distant eastern desert.”
“Sending two demonized ones to meet me?” the raven asked coldly.
“Is this mockery?”
“We wouldn’t dare…” the woman replied.
“Were this an official audience, high-ranking demons and dozens of demonized envoys would attend in honor. But this is a hunt—our mission is to track down a fugitive, led by a high demon commander. We did not wish to disturb you, but the fugitive fled near your domain. It was a sudden matter—we had no choice but to cross the Kanna Plains.”
“Thus, the commander sent us ahead to pay respects to you, and to deliver our master Setika’s sincere greetings,” said the man, lifting the ebony chest.
“We’ve also brought you a small gift from the eastern desert—not precious, but a token of goodwill.”
“Come in,” the raven said, spreading its wings and gliding into the underground passage.
The two followed behind.
As they passed through the fifth ring’s worm-tunnel maze, beasts and carnivorous flora alike recoiled slightly at their presence.
Though not as terrified as when faced with true demons, they still dared not attack under the raven’s gaze.
The crude fourth ring resembled a vast insect hive.
Countless earthen towers riddled with holes housed pale, wormlike dwellers, crawling through with pickaxes and chisels to dig and carve.
Rootrot Spheres could not survive the heat here, and since the burrowers fed upon them, only the pale dwellers remained.
Dozens of child-sized ones clumsily carried raw ore chunks larger than their heads, filing past the two demonized beings to sort them by metal type—pushing some into storerooms, others into furnaces.
Scouts with sticky limbs crawled along the ceiling, while pale magical fire burned within the forges, consuming demonic materials and the corpses of adventurers.
Larger armored burrowers hammered molten iron into shape with their rocky fists.
Thud-thud! Thud-thud-thud!
The pale flames roared as crude but sturdy enchanted blades took form—red-hot, dented from endless hammering, glowing faintly blue once cooled in the dark armory.
Compared to a normal hive, the number of burrower warriors and shamans in Kanna’s fourth ring was far fewer—it would take time to replenish their brood.
The two demonized beings exchanged a glance but said nothing.
As the crested raven passed, the burrowers all bowed low.
“Master. God,” they hissed wetly.
“Lord of Kanna. Lurka, kakara.”
“Lurka! Kakara!” they chanted in a beastlike hymn of devotion.
“Get back to work.” The raven croaked impatiently and led its guests onward.
Beyond the fourth ring, the third ring opened into the true underworld of the demons—a cavernous dome upheld by dozens of black stone towers, draped in the eerie bioluminescence of green-blue flora.
Glowing fungi and luminescent beasts shimmered upon the dome.
Fireflies gnawed on starlit mushrooms, only to be caught by Moonlight Spiders, which were then hunted by strange, gliding serpentine beasts below.
In the distance stood a blackstone fortress littered with torn tents—remnants of human adventurers.
Inside, however, it was deserted, save for several Rootrot Spheres rolling and brawling over broken, bloodstained swords.
One victorious sphere proudly hoisted a sword far too large for its body and scampered away into the shrubbery.
The dark-skinned duo glanced at the broken camp, then at the raven leading them.
From the high towers, Varak’s demonized soldiers peered out through windows, whispering and chuckling among themselves like specters of the abyss.
Creaaak—clang!
The gate to the second ring dropped heavily—the inner sanctum of the dungeon opened before them.
Burrower heavy knights, towering thrice the height of a man, patrolled with massive greatblades.
Trusted demonized elites of Varak wandered freely, conversing.
They all bowed upon seeing the raven pass.
From below came the shifting sounds of a brood hive—the cracking of eggshells.
The Queen Burrower resided there, surrounded by a hatching army ready to awaken at any moment.
In the city streets, a dozen high demons lounged in elegance—some with horns, some with tails, some with scaled faces.
They read, played complex instruments, danced, painted the underground scenery, or played strategy games with carved figurines.
These demons, clearly of rank, likely Varak’s close subordinates, merely nodded politely rather than bowing.
The raven nodded back and continued.
At the dungeon’s core stood a magnificent tower piercing the dome.
Eight demon warriors guarded the entrance, clad in reddish-brown armor and cloaks marked with the sigil of the outstretched raven.
From beneath their helms, their shadowed eyes fixed on the guests.
The grand hall and corridors were lined with paintings—scenes of the reddish-brown majesty of Kanna Plains, lush cavern gardens, portraits of demon heroes, and animal studies—most of them ravens.
Four armored guards threw open the great doors of the throne chamber.
Inside the vast hall reclined a man with reddish-brown hair, draped in a half-armor robe, lounging lazily across a deep-blue throne.
His head rested on one armrest, his legs on the other, as he reached for a berry from the fruit platter before him.
He looked twenty—or thirty—or perhaps fifty, or even a hundred.
Time left little mark upon powerful demons, especially lords in their prime.
Beside the throne lay a raven-beaked helm and rust-red armor; on a nearby rack hung two leaf-shaped blades.
Flap-flap.
The crested raven flew to the perch beside the throne and cawed loudly.
Varak tossed it a berry.
The raven caught it neatly and swallowed it whole.
“To the Lord of Kanna, the Reddish-Brown Sage, King of the Bloodrust Ravens!” The two demonized ones knelt on one knee, heads bowed.
“This was a sudden visit,” said the man.
“We couldn’t prepare a finer gift, only a few specialties from the Gavana Desert. We beg your pardon. Next time we will bring something worthy.” He opened the ebony chest.
A chill mist drifted out, revealing platters of grapes, bright berries, and large golden fruits.
“Fruits from the eastern oases,” the woman explained.
“We heard you favor fruits, Lord Varak—these may suit your taste. The desert’s wide temperature range makes them especially sweet.”
“Oh, thoughtful of you.” Varak gestured, and a fully armored demon warrior stepped from the shadows, lifting the gilded ebony chest to present before him.
Runes etched into the box maintained cooling and cushioning arrays to preserve the delicate fruits.
Varak plucked a few berries, popped them into his mouth, and licked the crimson juice from his fingers.
The crested raven cawed once.
“You want some too, my pet?” Varak tossed it a berry and gazed lazily at the two before him.
“I doubt you came all this way just to deliver gifts.”
“Yes.” The black-robed man nodded.
“We’re on a hunt—and our target, the fugitive, has fled into your lands. Perhaps... you’ve heard of her.”
“Who?” Varak licked the berry juice from his fingers, glancing sideways at the two demonized ones below.
“The exiled princess of the northern Demon Kingdom in the Londoran Mountains—Thaleia Ronowe,” the black-robed woman said.
“Hm? When did Londoran fall?” Varak scratched his head.
The two black-robed demonized ones fell silent for a moment.
“You haven’t seen her before?” the man asked.
“No.” Varak reclined lazily upon his throne, raising his arm covered in crimson scales and feathers.
He tore open the thick rind of a bright yellow fruit from the chest with his bare claws, peeled out a chunk of sweet flesh, and stuffed it into his mouth.
“I’m not like other lords. I don’t meddle in things that aren’t my concern. Whatever happens outside has nothing to do with me. If that Ronowe girl had entered my lands, I’d have killed her.”
“You jest, my lord. Even a single ant on the Kanna Plains cannot escape your notice for two days,” the woman replied.
“We saw the fugitive with our own eyes—she escaped into your territory.”
“Are you accusing me of lying, servants of Setika?” Varak chewed his fruit slowly.
“Never!” The two demonized ones shuddered and prostrated themselves.
“Forgive us! We were foolish and ignorant! Our careless words led to your misunderstanding!”
“This is my domain,” Varak said lazily, tossing a piece of fruit to the crested raven.
“Even if your master himself came here, he’d do well to watch his tongue before speaking. So—you intend to cross my land?”
“Yes…” they answered softly.
“We beg your permission to pass through the Kanna Plains toward the Edric Empire’s border. According to the tracks, Thaleia Ronowe seems to have met another person—they are traveling together, crossing the Kanna Plains toward the Guild outpost and the Empire’s border.”
“Hm? And who is this other person?” Varak leaned forward against the armrest, slowly sitting upright.
“We don’t yet know,” the woman replied.
“She appeared to meet her companion somewhere at the border between the Kanna Plains and the Hills of Jawara—in some abandoned ruins from the Divine Era.”
“I see…” Varak stroked his chin.
“Since you’ve brought me such agreeable gifts, I’ll permit you to pass through the Kanna Plains. And—since the fruits were good—I’ll give you an extra piece of advice. Don’t stray too close to the Empire’s border.”
“Yes! We thank the Lord of Kanna for his grace!” The two demonized ones bowed deeply.
Suddenly, a piercing scream echoed from the depths below, as though someone were enduring unspeakable torment.
The two exchanged uneasy looks, realizing they might have stumbled upon Varak’s… peculiar tastes.
Torturing prisoners was hardly rare among demons, but usually not done in front of guests.
To share in the torture of captives was something reserved for close friends among demon nobility—and they were certainly not so close to Varak.
“Enough. If that’s all, you may leave.” Varak waved a hand.
“Marin, see them out.”
A demon warrior nodded and led the two out.
The heavy doors slammed shut behind them with a loud clang.
Varak rose from his throne, casually closed the chest of fruits, and walked toward the chambers behind the hall.
Caw! The crested raven, seeing its master depart, spread its wings and followed.
…
Inner ring of Varak’s Dungeon—deep underground, within the dim dungeons.
Pale witch-flames flickered in the hallway torches, casting shadows of iron bars upon the walls.
Augusta—or rather, what remained of Augusta—hung within a dark cell.
His limbs had been severed.
Rusty iron hooks pierced the rough, bloody stumps, and chains hung him from the wall in a savage display.
He was still alive, still faintly breathing—but no longer resembled a man.
Screams echoed through the corridor.
Varak’s burrower jailers wielded crude greatblades, hacking the limbs from captured adventurers and hanging them in the same gruesome fashion.
Several demonized sorcerers assisted, forcing unrefined Healing Potions down the captives’ throats to stop the bleeding and stabilize their bodies.
These potions did not restore their limbs—they simply kept the victims alive as limbless stumps.
The lord had given no particular instructions—such as “Don’t eat the severed parts.”
The burrowers were not intelligent creatures; they were beasts.
Some simply opened their fanged maws and gnawed off the adventurers’ arms and legs alive.
Clang!
From the corridor’s far end came the sound of a metal lift hitting the floor, followed by respectful greetings—and the gleeful cawing of a raven.
Augusta trembled, gasping, struggling to move his stumps—but it was useless.
Clang!
The cell door opened.
Flap-flap! Something landed on his head—talons pressed down, pacing playfully—then suddenly—
“Ahhh!” Augusta screamed as blood streamed from his empty right eye socket.
Caw!
The crested raven flapped its wings, holding Augusta’s right eyeball in its beak, and flew back to perch on its master’s shoulder.
“Oh? You found yourself a little treat, my pet?” The figure at the doorway stroked the raven’s feathers.
“So clever—you knew this one was prepared just for you?”
Augusta trembled violently.
“Kill me…” he gasped.
“Like you killed my parents.”
“Your parents?” Varak tilted his head, examining the mangled figure on the wall with interest.
“David and Elisa Augusta,” he forced out between breaths.
“Never heard of them. Probably trash who died in the fifth ring.” Varak toyed with the raven on his shoulder.
“You people came into the dungeon on your own. I even hung skulls at the entrance as a warning. Who’s to blame but your own greed? I was just napping at home, and somehow I’m the villain?”
Augusta gasped for breath.
“You’re just as foolish and greedy as your parents. If you’d fled when you still had the chance, like the others, I might not have caught you alive. Arrogant fool.” Varak sneered.
“A level-eleven adventurer challenging me? Come back when you reach level seventeen—if you ever could.”
Two burrower jailers scuttled in, unhooked the chains, and dropped Augusta’s mutilated body to the floor.
He hit the ground with a heavy thud, writhing like a maggot, dragged along the bloody filth of the dungeon floor.
“What… what are you going to do?” His face scraped against the grime, the stench of blood filling his nostrils.
“My fellow demons call me the Reddish-Brown Sage because I study certain… magnificent technologies from the Ruins of the Divine Era,” Varak said leisurely, walking ahead.
Augusta, dragged by the burrowers, could just barely lift his head to see that elegant silhouette moving through the darkness.
“Demons possess unique Spiritual Energy. Through sacrificial rituals involving beasts, it can grant humans traits and powers of those creatures. This process is called demonization.”
“Kill me. I won’t accept your demonization. I’ll never serve you,” Augusta growled hoarsely.
“Reward you with demonization? Ha! Dream on!” Varak laughed.
“Ever since that demonized assassin betrayed me twenty years ago, I no longer bestow such gifts so carelessly.”
“The principle of demonization,” he continued, “is to extract the Spiritual Energy form from a living beast and infuse it into a human body. Spiritual Energy is fascinating—it can store and remember shape. When properly extracted, a beast’s energy records its form, its nature—I call this the Spiritual Record.”
“Ordinary humans, however, have Spiritual Energy far too thin to form a complete Human Spiritual Record.” Varak mused.
“But high-level adventurers—level seven and above—after modifying their bodies with potions and fortifying them through arrays, are brimming with energy. Enough to form a perfect record.”
“In other words, extracting the Spiritual Record from a living high-level adventurer and infusing it into a beast’s body can create intelligent humanoid servants.”
“I suspect that the Burrowers were once creations of the gods—ordinary subterranean worms infused with human Spiritual Records to make them miners and builders in the Age of the Gods.” Varak waved proudly into the darkness like a conductor before an orchestra.
“It took years of effort, so much pretense, to finally capture a batch of high-level adventurers. Worth sacrificing half of the ecology of the third ring—well, I’ll rebuild it later.”
Fwoosh!
The pale torches flared to life, revealing a vast underground chamber with a colossal ritual array.
“The Edric Empire has begun mass-producing Bloodsteel weapons. They intend to forge an army of blood and immortality—a legion that devours life itself—to crush the Demon Domain, slay every Demon King, reclaim the Ancient Empire’s lands, and conquer the continent.”
“To face that threat, I can no longer remain idle.” Varak clasped his hands behind his back, pacing around the glowing array.
“I must forge a power equal to their immortal army—a Nightmare Legion! A race born of humanity’s darkest nightmares—just like the gods once did!”
He lifted the crested raven from his shoulder and gently placed it on the ritual’s central sigil.
“My biological affinity with ravens is exceptional,” he said.
“I can command flocks far beyond a normal Dominator’s reach—as though they were my own hands, eyes, claws, and wings.” His grin twisted.
“What creature could be more fitting as the foundation of my legion?”
“Stay still, my pet.” He smiled softly.
“You will be the world’s first Ravenkin. I’ve already built the aviary for your army—you’ll be their leader. You’ll kill for me, plunder for me, conquer and rule the skies for me—crushing the Empire’s immortal blood legion!”
“The gods are gone. The ancient demons are the new divinity!” He spread his arms wide, seized the chains, and with a harsh metallic crack, hurled Augusta’s mangled body into the groove at the opposite end of the ritual!
“I’ve always wondered how to use this power source,” Varak muttered, drawing from his robe a bright Aether Crystal.
“Years of studying the Ruins of the Divine Era weren’t in vain. I’ve recreated the array once used to forge artificial intelligent races. All I need now is the right energy source—”
He caressed the precious Aether Crystal, his only one, before pressing it into the center of the array.
Whoosh! Light blazed violently!
Augusta’s broken body was torn apart, fragments of glowing essence spiraling through the array’s runes before channeling into the raven’s form!
The burrower jailers shrieked, bowing to the ground, their pale heads buried in the corners, armored backsides trembling in fear.
As Varak’s manic laughter echoed, the light slowly faded—revealing a strange, humanoid creature where the raven had been.
It was draped in rigid black feathers, half-man, half-raven, limping on ironlike talons, a sharp beak drooping low as its blood-red eyes flickered open.
“Caw… ah… ra… waaah…” It babbled like a newborn, slowly kneeling before Varak.
“Master…” it croaked, clumsily imitating the words it had once heard from the two demonized ones.
“To… pay… respects to the Lord of Kanna… the Reddish-Brown Sage… the King of the Bloodrust Ravens.”