Chapter 115

Translator, Editor and Proofread: theunfetteredsalmon

[2064 words]

Amon and Metatro passed through the jungle in the night, quiet as mice. They quickly reached King Lucier’s camp, where the fire could be seen on a hilly, gentle slope. They stopped for a rest and caught a whiff of cooking meat in the air. Metatro sniffed and whispered, “This is the meat fragrance of the scorpion-tailed lizard. They must have gone hunting in the marsh during the day and returned to camp to feast on the meat. It must have been a pleasant day for them. This doesn’t look like war at all. It’s just a fun expedition.”

Amon suddenly turned his head and asked solemnly, “In your heart, you have always been full of the impulse to take risks and the desire to create unknown miracles. What do you think of out absolute adventure so far?”

Metatro patted his chest. “Amon, you know me too well! This task is a perfect match with the recklessness and desire of my heart. My blood bubbles with enthusiasm and excitement, but my heart remains calm, waiting for your next instruction.”

Amon nodded at Metatro’s answer. “Before you begin, think of the possibility of failure and prepare yourself adequately for it. Once you do that, all you will have in your mind is the steps to success. If we succeed this time, it will have been the most incredible, adventurous miracle. You would have witnessed, experienced and accomplished all of this, and perhaps you will find a window of opportunity to break through to the seventh level of power. As I said earlier, this is a sublimation of power, which can be meaningful though unspeakable.”

Metatro nodded back. “According to the results of your investigation from the other day, of the eighty guards surrounding the king. How many of them are veterans?” He asked.

Amon thought aloud, “To become the king’s warrior guard, you would have to be at least an advanced warrior. Weapons and equipment have strict regulation and uniformity to meet the requirements of the honour guard. They must at least be somewhat good at combat, though they will certainly more than look the part.”

“How many do you think are supreme mages or warriors?”

“That’d be difficult to tell if they were in the kingdom during peacetime, but now, the situation is extraordinary. As far as I know, on the other side of the main battlefield, there are four ninth-level supreme mages on either side of the war. The veterans or experts must be in the front. Too many people can’t accompany the king at the safety zone in the Hittite’s rear. The main force of the Enlil brigade is also occupied. In a war, there is no possibility that there are no masters in a battle. The guard captain responsible for the king’s protective detail must be a supreme warrior. There will most likely be another supreme warrior keeping close to Lucier. As for the supreme mage, there can’t be more than one. These forces are already intimidatingly strong.”

Metatro subconsciously shrugged his shoulders and whispered, “Amon, can we do this?”

“We have come this far, we will have to face it. Maybe we can’t win in a fight against them, but my goal is to hold the king hostage. The King of Hittite will be our ticket to continue living.”

When he finished speaking, Amon placed his staff on the ground, reached out and unsheathed his bow before asking in a deep voice, “Are you ready?”

Metatro murmured, “Ready. We can go.” He pulled out his sword and came out from the shadows of the trees onto a prominent spot on a hillside underneath the stars. He looked up at the stars and said to himself with his hands on his chest, “God Amon, bless you!”

Amon couldn’t help but smile at Metatro. “What are you doing looking at the sky and saying my name? I’ll be right behind you!”

Metatro laughed. “Sorry, I’m used to it!”

Amon nocked his bow with an arrow while he chuckled along. His hand plucked the bowstring and pulled it like a flying wheel spinning mid-air. Arrows rained upon the king’s camp one after another. The trembling bowstring and arrows made barely any sound when they went loose. Nobody could describe the odd pattern of the shooting. The first arrow was not moving very fast, but the arrows that followed seemed to move faster and faster. It was a long flight from the hillside to the camp. Amon was able to shoot fifteen arrows in one breath with stunning accuracy.

The king’s guards fear had arrived, much to their surprise. Who would have dreamed that someone would sneak across the battle lines to such a distant position and launch a silent attack on His Majesty’s camp? Who would have even the courage to do so?

Though the king’s small garrison was packed with guards, their mentality seemed to be rather lax. They only kept routine vigilance, not more than what they thought was necessary. Night security tasks were strictly set while the position of the outposts would have to meet stringent requirements. Each guard had to be in the sight of at least two other guards, forming a cross-monitoring status to prevent any sneaky attacks from taking advantage of the element of surprise. In this way, anything untoward happening could cause the entire camp to be alerted within a tiny timeframe.

Those strict rules also needed to be enforced. If someone was to occasionally wander, look at ants on the ground, the stars and constellations in the sky or even turns his head to sneeze, it would open a window of opportunity for enemies lying in wait. A guard was in a daze. He looked like he had overeaten at the barbecue. He couldn’t help burping and belching. He held his weapon and shield in one hand while rubbing his belly with the other.

At that moment, he felt a sudden chill in his chest. An arrow flew out of the darkness and penetrated his chest. He could feel the tremble of the shaft and feathers of the arrow stuck in him. His eyes shot wide open as if he had seen the most incredible thing in the world. He stared at the feathers of the arrow and felt an overwhelming urge to shout, but when he opened his mouth, no sound came out.

Amon’s full-fledged effort caught Aruka off-guard, causing him to take a significant loss. Amon’s figure then disappeared back into the darkness, leaving only the prestigious Metatro on the prominent hillside. After Aruka’s impact with the arrow, more soldiers flooded out from the camp and ran in formation towards the hill. Before anyone could reach their destination, more than a dozen arrows were fired at Metatro.

Metatro didn’t even dodge. With his sword, he rushed down the hillside and cried, “I am Metatro!”

The arrows stopped dead in their tracks upon hitting Metatro’s scorpion shell armour. They fell to the ground, still trembling from the flight. The ordinary arrow shot by the ordinary soldier was not strong enough to penetrate the armour Metatro was wearing. The force of the impact was also not large enough to stagger Metatro as the armour absorbed it.

With such a stunned effort, Metatro hastened down the hillside. It was too late for the guards facing him to react with range, so they jumped straight to melee and began preparing to fight in close combat. The guards were horrified. The assassin was absolutely mad. He dared to attack the king’s camp alone. With how powerful he seemed, the guards reckoned there was no way he would succeed. Was this an assassination or a suicide attempt?

Metatro did not seem to care as much as they did. He wanted to make as much noise as possible. The best thing would be for him to attract and lure out the supreme mage and the other supreme warrior close to the king, to conceal Amon’s actions. He waved the long-handled heavy sword in his right hand, its slashes seemingly twisting space behind it. There were scattering cracks and bursting energy in his sword arm. His left hand pulled out the dagger of the serpent’s fang. What followed sounded like the screams of fear roaring within a soul.

As soon as Metatro clashed with the enemy, he cut down seven or eight opponents. He had never seemed so fearsome. These men were all at the very least fourth-level advanced warriors and were very well-equipped, but Metatro’s lethality with his weapon and the protection of his scorpion shell armour proved to be far better than theirs. On top of that, Metatro was also at the peak of the sixth-level in magic.

Metatro almost forgot to rush into the camp, but the king’s guard were not pacifists. They wanted blood and they were determined to get it. Once the seven or eight guards fell, a loud crack was heard and a slingshot from distance was let loose. Metatro stepped back half-way to the side through incoming attacks. The supreme warrior Aruka, who had just been hit, was now charging up with an axe.