Chapter 735
After all this, Beta finally understood and obediently followed behind Hubert, becoming Hubert's lackey. Leon didn't bother with him—cowards like this need someone to keep them in line.
According to Beta, they were almost at the ruins when something unexpected happened.
Suddenly, the sky echoed with wyvern screeches. In the distance, hundreds of wyverns danced through the air, and the ground trembled faintly—the unmistakable sign of a herd of Kodo Beasts on the move.
Judging by the direction those wyverns were flying, they were headed straight for the group—collision was imminent.
Beta scrambled up a tree for a look, only to shriek and tumble down in terror.
"It's over, it's over—Rodney! Rodney's coming!"
After falling, Beta seemed possessed, his whole body shaking uncontrollably.
"What's going on?"
Leon frowned and asked.
Leon’s brow furrowed, clearly caught off guard. The Dark Elf elders were all formidable—the Second and Third Elders were both ninth-tier Titled Archmages, while the Fourth Elder was at the peak of the eighth tier, and the Fourth Elder had a wider arsenal of ultimate spells than the other two. Not to mention the Grand Elder, who was only a step away from the Heavenly Rank.
For Rodney to be this brazen—to charge all the way to the gates of the Dark Elf Tribe and still escape—his strength must be terrifying.
Beta was getting carried away, but when he glanced at Elsa—clearly a Dark Elf—he realized he’d said too much and quickly changed the subject.
“Rodney’s strength is overwhelming. Even the other two Warlords of the Ashen Orc Tribe avoid direct confrontation with him, and he barely listens to the chieftain’s orders. It’s not just Rodney himself—his subordinates are just as fearsome.
Rodney’s army is full of elites—over a hundred Orc Wind Riders mounted on wyverns, all at least level thirty-three and every one a Sword Saint. He also commands more than a hundred powerful demon warlocks, each a Titled Archmage, all contracted to abyssal creatures.
Even his slaves—the orc slaves under Rodney—are at least level twenty-five. He won’t accept weaker ones. And he owns the tribe’s mightiest Kodo Beast, a level thirty-eight monster said to have devoured magical beasts of its own rank. The war drum it carries is the strongest in the entire tribe…
Beta rambled on, his anxiety mounting—his legs trembling with fear at the thought of Rodney finding them. With Rodney’s brutality, he’d be flayed alive without question. There was no way he’d survive on his own; clinging to Merlin was his only hope.
Leon’s brow twitched. Even if Beta exaggerated, the truth probably wasn’t far off.
Elsa looked uneasy, her voice low: “Merlin, we should avoid them. Each of the Ashen Orc Tribe’s three Warlords rivals our elders in strength, and Rodney is particularly savage. If he’s brought out all one hundred Orc Wind Riders, we’re facing his entire force. There’s no reason for us to fight head-on.”
Andefa nodded in agreement. “There’s no point clashing head-on with those orcs. Fighting them would only waste our strength and time. They’re like mad dogs—see someone, and they bite until one side is dead. We’re better off steering clear.”
Leon looked up at the sky, his brow creasing. “They’ve spotted us.”
No sooner had Leon spoken than the others noticed two wyverns flying toward them from the distance.
“We’re doomed! The Flame Dragon Warlord must’ve found us—this is it, we’re really dead this time… for real…”
Beta collapsed to the ground, terror etched across his face.
Andefa sidled up to Leon, all three of his faces grave.
“Merlin, what do we do? The Ashen Orcs are no pushovers—if we confront them, it’ll be a nightmare…”
Leon’s brow twitched as he glanced at the despairing Beta slumped on the ground, then casually produced a vial and tossed it to Hubert.
“Hubert, make him drink this. Not a drop left.”
Hubert grabbed the glass vial with a wicked grin, hoisted Beta up, and forced the foul-looking potion down his throat.
The inky-black potion reeked so strongly it made you want to retch just from the smell. Beta was utterly terrified, struggling frantically, but Hubert held his jaw firm—there was no escape.
Hubert carefully poured every last drop into Beta’s mouth. When he saw a bit still clinging to the inside of the bottle, he simply crushed the glass and forced Beta to swallow the shards too.
Beta’s face twisted in disgust, eyes wide with terror—he couldn’t even cry out, Hubert’s hand clamped tight over his mouth.
After a long moment, Beta finally looked at Leon, trembling. “Great Merlin, what… what did you make me drink?”
Leon said nothing. Andefa drifted over, all three faces looming in front of Beta, their expressions mocking—like a lamb before the slaughter.
“Idiot, Merlin is a powerful Alchemist. Haven’t you heard never to drink an alchemist’s concoction lightly? And he’s a Worldshaper, too—what do you think you just swallowed?”
Beta almost pissed himself. The Ashen Orc Tribe didn’t have real potions—just the prophets’ low-grade brews, loaded with nasty side effects. But legends of alchemists had spread for ages.
They said the strongest alchemists were Worldshapers, whose potions could multiply a person’s power—or even turn them into a Sword Saint. Some brews could change your talent entirely. Anything you could imagine, an alchemist could do.
Some alchemists could set up arrays so powerful that one person could hold off an entire army. Beta hadn’t believed it—until his team was wiped out by those very arrays. Now he was a convert.
He’d known Merlin was a powerful alchemist, but hadn’t expected him to be a Worldshaper as well—and a master of potions, no less.
“Great Merlin, Beta is your most loyal servant—I would never betray you! Please, I beg you, don’t kill me…”
Beta’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest. That potion, foul as Kodo Beast dung, had to be some kind of vicious, deadly poison!
Leon glanced coolly at the sobbing, wailing Beta on the ground.
“Keep screaming, and you’ll be the first one dead when the Ashen Orcs notice something’s wrong.”
Beta clapped his hands over his mouth, eyes pleading, bowing repeatedly to Leon in frantic desperation.
“That potion took me ages to brew. It’s called Gutbreaker. Consider yourself lucky. Swallow a mouthful and your intestines will slowly rot and snap apart over three days. Your body will decay from the inside out. With orc stamina, you’ll last at least a month—until your guts are mush and your belly bursts. Only then will you die.”
You drank the whole bottle. If you don’t take the antidote within half a day, your intestines will rot away in three days, and in a week your organs will be gone. You’ll die in agony.
Not just Beta—even Hubert, standing nearby, turned pale at Leon’s words.
Beta was terrified, but his mind was sharper than Hubert’s. He dropped to his knees, pledging his loyalty.
“Great Merlin, you have my word—your loyal servant Beta will never betray you. Whatever you command, I’ll obey.”
Leon nodded.
“Go distract those Ashen Orcs. Don’t let them find us. If we’re discovered, you won’t be the first to die—but you’ll die the worst. I’ll be honest: no one in the God-Demon Dominion can cure this poison. Before you die, no one will brew an antidote. Even I needed five days to concoct one last time.”