"They always said you were dignified, harmonious, and liked to stay in the background, but it's very hard to use those same terms for the thing that came out of you!"
The Sixth Apostle did not even blink when a subordinate he summoned died, but the words spoken afterward touched his lower limit. His face was turned toward Bookworm; he did not address the King Cobra. Although this move reeked of humiliation, the hidden subject of his sentence was not affected by it.
"What happened? Are you unable to attack yourself? Then take another servant out of your saddlebag; after all, you're in no position to do anything else. Am I wrong?"
The phrase "Am I wrong" sounded more like a curse than perhaps ever before; it was said in such a way that the giant snake with small wings appeared above the King Cobra in a single breath. Following the last words spoken, the Sixth Apostle went on the offensive, a move met with a smile by his enemy.
"Did you get angry? Well, what if every part of you were made of nerves? After what you're about to see, you'll be fuming with rage anyway!"
The King Cobra's eyes glowed gold and remained that way. While Bookworm had purple eyes, the eyes of the Power Animal's Second Level transformation were gold. The King Cobra raised his two arms to gather the sands of the same color before him; the golden sands rose with him, united in the direction the enemy was coming from, and exploded when the distance between them and the winged snake was only a hand-span.
Yes, they exploded toward the direction the enemy was coming from. Before the giant snake could understand what was happening, it was tossed backward; its balance was completely ruined, and a few seconds later, its silver blood was wetting the battlefield.
One might think the injuries were due to the explosion, but the truth was different. Before the tossed creature could regain its balance, ten golden chakrams began to rotate around its body. The dimensions of the weapons formed by the golden sands taking shape were different from standard chakrams; they were at least three times larger.
"Are you surprised? Won't you answer? But it's no fun this way; at least give a response once in a while so I can enjoy hearing your trembling voice. Sixth Apostle!"
The King Cobra continued to speak, but he did not neglect to attack as well. He was determined to give the wounded giant snake no quarter; golden arrows as long as an adult orc's arm added new ones to the existing wounds.
The snake with small wings could not endure; it fell to the ground under the impact of the blows, and it was at this exact time that the golden sands turned into three-step-long whips and tore it apart. While all this was happening, the Sixth Apostle preferred to stay at a safe distance; he did not make a single move indicating an intention to get involved in what was occurring.
Like him, there was another group watching the events. The Elite Ten members followed the death of the giant snake without blinking. It was hard even for them to believe what they saw; after all, the King Cobra was destroying the enemy using the skills that had brought them to this point.
When the Sonic Explosion technique was applied—a technique the Elite Ten member warrior had taken great risks to learn and for which thousands of orcs had given their lives—he did not know what to say. Then, as golden chakrams, archery skills, and finally another version of the iron whips appeared, the nine conscious orcs turned into mute puppets.
"If it's any consolation to you, you're not the only fool on the battlefield, Sixth Apostle. Look at these nine orcs, how all nine of those clowns who call themselves the Elite Ten have turned into simpletons.
It's hard to understand why; hey, you might not know, but how can these idiots not know? Who did they think adapted the techniques they practiced, worked on, gained fame from, and risked death to win?
Did they not know that I was the one who adapted the skills meant for humans for the orc body and orc mind? Now that I think about it, the man you call 'Master' is clearly a bit smarter than the simpleton who thinks he is my Master. At least, while giving you each one of his skills, he didn't forget to tell you who your owner is!"
The King Cobra's tongue was boneless; this was natural since he was a snake at his core, but the things he said after taking on the orc form were at least as effective as Bookworm's poison. The Sixth Apostle listened to him calmly up to a point, appearing unaffected except for small muscle reactions on his face, but when those few words mixed into the air, his entire aura changed.
"Low-level being; with what courage, by what right can you utter my Master's name?"
The Sixth Apostle was biting his lips in anger, and the flowing blood was the first stain to fall upon his pristine clothes. Unlike the man with bright hair and a silk shirt who showed a side he had never revealed—what happens when he gets angry—the King Cobra was not eager to lower the bar from the level he had raised it to.
"I suppose having no one to stop me makes me this daring. What's with that look? Or do you think you'll silence me? Go on then, don't stop, I'm very curious how you'll do it!"
The heat of the mutual conversation was increasing moment by moment. It was uncertain what would happen a breath later, but a voice with that same uncertainty—a noise carrying vague words within screams—would determine the direction of the struggle.
"You cannot die, you cannot die while carrying a piece of my Master! I cannot allow this!"
The Sixth Apostle opened his two arms to the sides, and something else emerged from his torso amidst glimmers. A small creature, the size of an orc's head, was glowing—but what a glow! The battlefield, where night reigned, lit up as if it were daytime.
So much so that even the King Cobra, who had been shredding the limits of insolence until then, had to gather all his golden sands around him. The newly summoned creature remained miniature compared to its predecessors, but the feeling it gave was deadly.
It had a long tail, wings, sharp claws, and snow-white scales covering all of it. Its eyes were sky blue; it was as if two stars had descended from the sky, shrunk, shrunk, shrunk, and become its eyes.
The Sixth Apostle leaned forward, his waist doubling over and his head looking at the ground. The orc front could not make sense of the man bowing before the entity he summoned, just as they would not understand what was about to happen shortly.
They could guess what the summoned thing was; this must have been the point the small-winged snake torn apart by the King Cobra wanted to reach, but why was the creature with snow-white scales so tiny?
The question was bound to remain in the air because a greater one was mounting upon it. The summoned creature in dragon form was preparing to attack; everyone could see energy gathering in its right claw.
The orc front moved into a full defensive position; the green-skinned warriors wanting to survive would unite and try to stand against the incoming attack, but today, unexpected events were coming one after another.
The Sixth Apostle was being clawed by the creature he summoned; receiving a right and then a left claw strike, the bright-haired man collapsed to his knees. When the blood leaking from his torso fell to the ground, the Sixth Apostle's head followed the red droplets.
The man whose insolence reached the heavens was in a state of prostration before the entity he summoned and seemed to have no desire to lift his head. He remained that way; as his blood bypassed his silk shirt and flowed to the ground, only words of gratitude were heard coming from his mouth.
Ten breaths later, the entity lighting up the battlefield with its light disappeared; it vanished as if it had never existed, as if what had just happened had not occurred. The orcs did not break their defensive stances; they were alert against the possibility of a surprise attack, and their eyes were on the enemy on the ground.
They could hear each other's heartbeats; it was also possible to hear the Sixth Apostle's ragged breaths. Bookworm was especially focused on him; he looked as if he were about to die, but to guarantee the job, the purple poison cloud slipped into the Sixth Apostle's nostrils to cut his breath.
"Run, run immediately without even looking back!"