The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 83 Not Dead

The ground beneath the pit began to crack and quake, the tremors growing stronger with each passing second.

Jolthar wasted no time. He turned and leaped onto Maelruth, his drake; it was ready to leap forward.

As the cavern threatened to collapse, Jolthar urged Maelruth forward. The drake sprinted toward the cave entrance, its claws finding purchase even on the unstable ground. Behind him, the roar of crumbling stone and the dying shrieks of the abominations filled the air.

They burst out of the cave just as the ground gave way, the entrance collapsing in a cloud of dust and rubble. Jolthar didn't stop, pushing Maelruth to carry him further from the site.

The others had gathered a short distance away, their faces pale and etched with exhaustion and fear.

-

The explosion in the canyon was nothing short of catastrophic.

A deafening roar echoed through the air, shaking the very ground beneath their feet. Dust erupted in thick clouds, engulfing the entire area and blotting out the moonlight. The sound of the collapsing cave reverberated like the groan of a dying titan, shaking loose rocks from the canyon walls and sending them tumbling down in an unstoppable cascade.

For a moment, everything was in utter chaos.

The group stared in stunned silence, shielding their eyes and covering their mouths as the dust choked the air around them. Visibility was reduced to almost nothing, the once-mighty cave now a ruined pit hidden under the shroud of destruction.

The collapse seemed absolute, final, leaving behind nothing but silence as the dust began to settle.

Then, cutting through the haze like a phoenix emerging from the ashes, Jolthar appeared.

Riding his drake Maelruth, he moved through the settling dust, unscathed and unshaken. The eerie glow of his sword now dimmed but still resonating with faint traces of the void's energy, caught everyone's attention.

The sight of him, unharmed after unleashing such destructive power, left the others in awe.

Eran broke the silence first, his voice trembling slightly as he said, "By the gods… what did he just do?"

The rest of the group exchanged uncertain glances, their expressions a mix of fear and admiration. It was clear that the young man who had fought alongside them was no ordinary warrior.

The sheer scale of the destruction he had wrought raised a question that none dared voice but all thought: Just how powerful is Jolthar?

Daus, who had been tending to one of the rescued women, turned to look at Jolthar with a heavy frown. His lips tightened, and for the first time, a flicker of unease crossed his face. It was clear that Jolthar's strength both impressed and unsettled him.

Eran, who had been watching the collapse closely, finally asked the question on everyone's mind. "Daus, do you think Daurgien is dead? There's no way anyone could survive that. Right?"

Daus hesitated, his brows furrowed as he stared at the mountain of rubble. "It's hard to say… but if he's what I think he is now, it might not be that simple."

Eran scoffed, trying to mask his unease. "After that explosion? Not even a demon could survive being buried alive in that mess."

The tribesmen shifted their focus back to the rescued women, who were huddled together, trembling in fear and exhaustion. The warriors busied themselves with tending to the wounded and offering comfort where they could.

The atmosphere, however, was far from calm.

The ground beneath them began to tremble faintly, the vibrations so subtle at first that they almost dismissed them as aftershocks from the collapse. But then the shaking grew stronger, the ground quaking with an ominous intensity that froze everyone in place.

"What's happening now?" Sgard muttered, his hand instinctively gripping his weapon. He was standing beside his mother, holding her. She had become too frail and weak.

Before anyone could answer, a loud crack split the air, and the rubble from the collapsed cave shifted violently.

A jagged boulder rolled down the heap of debris, revealing a shadowy movement beneath the rubble. Dust plumes erupted once more as something began to claw its way out of the ruins.

All eyes were fixed on the pile of wreckage as grotesque shapes emerged from the darkness.

The creatures were unlike anything they had ever seen—twisted, humanoid forms with pale, mucus-slicked skin. Their slit eyes glowed with an unnatural light, and their elongated, clawed hands scraped against the rock as they pulled themselves free. They moved with unsettling fluidity, their bodies contorting in ways that defied logic.

There weren't dead or even harmed in any sense. They even seemed more fierce now than before, and their features glistening in the moonlight.

A guttural, piercing roar tore through the night, making the warriors' blood run cold. The creatures let out a sound that was part scream, part growl, and entirely inhuman. They rose from the rubble like nightmares given flesh, their sheer number more terrifying than any foe they had faced before.

"By the gods…" Eran whispered, his voice barely audible over the din.

The warriors instinctively formed a protective circle around the women, their weapons drawn and their faces pale. The air had become heavy, suffused with the foul stench of death and decay.

The atmosphere itself seemed alive with malevolence.

And then he appeared.

Daurgien emerged from the rubble with a sickening elegance, his form unscathed by the destruction. His dark, twisted aura seemed even more potent now, the black veins on his pale skin pulsing with an unnatural rhythm. He stood atop the pile of debris, his crimson eyes gleaming with sadistic triumph.

"That was dangerous," Daurgien said, his voice carrying an eerie calmness that belied the chaos around him. He extended his arms, gesturing to the horrors he had unleashed. "but it would take a lot more than that to kill me, boy."

He tilted his head toward the rubble where the creatures were still emerging, his lips curling into a sinister smile. "Behold. My creation."

Jolthar's gaze darted to the creatures and the rubble and to the women present behind him. The situation didn't seem to be in their favour.

Though it seemed like this wasn't just a battle anymore—it was a nightmare brought to life.

The creatures roared again, this time locking their glowing eyes on the group. Jolthar felt his instincts scream at him to act, but the sheer number of the abominations made him hesitate. He tightened his grip on his sword, his knuckles white with the effort.

The group was now standing before the army of nightmare creatures that seemed like they were born out of darkness. Even Lysandra and Eran were contemplating whether to stay or just make a run for it.

Daurgien's laugh rang out, a chilling sound that seemed to mock their every move.

"You can run," Daurgien taunted, his voice dripping with malice. "But you'll never escape what's coming. You'll never escape me."

As the grotesque figures kept on emerging from the rubble, the atmosphere grew heavy with dread. The warriors stood frozen, their eyes wide with disbelief as they watched the abominations crawl out of the devastation unscathed. Despite the catastrophic explosion that should have annihilated everything in the cave, these creatures had survived.

The first few to rise from the debris were enough to unsettle even the bravest among them—twisted humanoid forms with clawed hands, mucus-coated skin, and slit eyes glowing with an eerie luminescence.

But as more and more clawed their way free, the situation turned from terrifying to hopeless.

Jolthar's expression was hard to read.

His lips pressed into a grim line, his piercing gaze locked on the growing horde. His fingers flexed instinctively around the hilt of his sword, but his mind was already racing ahead. He wasn't one to act recklessly; he always calculated, always planned.

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And this time, the odds were grim.

Their numbers were increasing, and they were increasing fast. Dozens turned into scores, and scores into hundreds. The creatures seemed to pour out of the rubble like a plague, their movements quick and unnatural, their collective roars sending shivers down every spine.

"They just keep coming..." Eran whispered, his voice barely audible as he clutched his weapon tighter.

The others shared his sentiment, their faces pale and their confidence shaken. The thought of fighting such a swarm was daunting, even for seasoned warriors like them.

Jolthar's jaw tightened, his mind weighing every possible option.

It wasn't just about survival—it was about protecting the women they had just rescued. They were injured, weak, and completely defenceless.

Fighting these creatures with their current numbers would be a monumental task, but doing so while ensuring the safety of the women made it nearly impossible.

"We can't hold this line," Jolthar said finally, his voice calm but firm. It carried the weight of authority, drawing everyone's attention. "Not with their numbers. If we stay here, we'll all die—and they'll get to the women."

Daus looked at him sharply, his expression grim but resolute. "Then what do you suggest? We can't leave them here to fend for themselves."

Jolthar nodded, already calculating the best course of action. "We won't. We'll retreat, but strategically. I'll stay at the rear and buy us time. You and Eran lead the women to safety."

"No," Eran protested, stepping closer to Jolthar. "You can't fight them alone. That's suicide."