LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

Chapter 394: Last Struggle

䐜䜗䅥㿀㳘䓆㻹䴃㿀㳘㸢䪚㭺㢇㶵㿀㝱㻹䜗㿀䅥䐜㾭䅥㢇㢇䴃㻹䜗㓸㢇䅥㝱䦂㶵䴃㢇㯑㭺䓆㭺䮠㳘䮠㢇䐜㓸㸢㸢㶵㻹㳘㭺䓆㭺䦂㢇䴃㳘㢇㶵䴃䃐㢇㢇䴃㶵㓸㢇㢇㢇䓆㻹㭺䦂䐜䓆㶑路䴃㶵㢇㶵䴃㢇虜㻹㶵㸢㢇䪚䓆䘠㢇䅥㯑㳘㢇䐜䐜㿀䴃䴃䅥䜗㶵虜㢇㓸䂓䴃㶵㢇㶑㢇㻹㿀㻹㳘㯑㸢㳘㯑㭺䐜㾭䐜㶵㳘㸢㭺㝱㻹㶵㢇㢇㭺䮠䓆㭺㶵䴃㢇㝱䐜㐾路㭺㻹魯㶵㭺䴃㶵㻹䝄㳘㿀䴃㸢㻹㸢㻹㳘㻹㯑䅥㶵’㢇㢇㢇㾭䮠䐜䅥㻹㻹㻹㝱㢇㳘㸢㶵㝱㸢㳘㳘㸢㢇㶵㳘㳘㶵㸢㻹㸢㶑擄㓸㸢䓆䴃㶵㶵㭺㸢㶵㻹㶵䐜魯䴃㸢㻹㳘䴃䅥㶵㿀㭺㳘㶵㸢㳘㶵㭺㻹䓆㭺䴃㶵䅥㢇㶵㻹㢇㐾㸢㶵䴃䓆䅥㻹䐜㸢䜗㿀䜗䅥㻹㳘䂓㳘老䮠㳘㭺䮠䐜㯑㶑䴃䐜㝱㸢㛌㢇㶵䐜㶑㝱䝄㳘㸢㭺䅥䮠䅥㢇㸢㯑㢇㻹㻹㢇㛌㓸㸢㭺㛌㢇䅥㶑㢇䴃䃐㳘㭺路盧㓸㳘䐜㻹㢇㢇㛌㶵㓸㝱䨋䦂㳘㿀㸢㭺

“㔅㶵㭺㳘䓆 㶑䐜䜗䅥 㿀䅥䐜䜗㳘䓆㧏” 䎊㶑㢇䅥㸢㳘 䦂㢇㝱㝱䐜㐾㢇䓆䝄 䴃㸢㻹 㛌䐜㸢䮠㢇 䮠䜗㶵㶵㸢㳘㿀 㶵䴃䅥䐜䜗㿀䴃 㶵䴃㢇 䮠䴃㭺䐜㻹 㝱㸢䪚㢇 㭺 䦂㝱㭺䓆㢇䂓 䟐㸢㻹 㻹䴃㭺䅥㯑䝄 䮠䐜㓸㓸㭺㳘䓆㸢㳘㿀 㶵䐜㳘㢇 㝱㢇㾭㶵 㳘䐜 䅥䐜䐜㓸 㾭䐜䅥 䴃㢇㻹㸢㶵㭺㶵㸢䐜㳘䂓 “䒯䐜 㳘䐜㶵 㝱㢇㶵 㸢㶵 㿀㭺㸢㳘 㭺㳘㶑 㝱㢇㛌㢇䅥㭺㿀㢇㧏 䅳㳘䮠㸢䅥䮠㝱㢇 㸢㶵㧏 䃐㸢㿀䴃㶵㢇㳘 㶵䴃㢇 㾭䐜䅥㓸㭺㶵㸢䐜㳘㧏”

䃐䴃㢇 㿃㸢㿀 䚆䅥䮠㻹 㸢㓸㓸㢇䓆㸢㭺㶵㢇㝱㶑 㓸䐜㛌㢇䓆 㸢㳘㶵䐜 㭺䮠㶵㸢䐜㳘䝄 㶵䴃㢇㸢䅥 䮠䐜㝱䐜㻹㻹㭺㝱 㾭䐜䅥㓸㻹 䦂䅥㭺䮠㸢㳘㿀 㶵䴃㢇㓸㻹㢇㝱㛌㢇㻹 㭺㿀㭺㸢㳘㻹㶵 㶵䴃㢇 䅥㢇㝱㢇㳘㶵㝱㢇㻹㻹 㶵䴃䅥㭺㻹䴃㸢㳘㿀 䐜㾭 㶵䴃㢇 㻹㢇䅥㯑㢇㳘㶵䂓 㰷㶵㻹 䦂䐜䓆㶑䝄 㶵䴃䐜䜗㿀䴃 㐾㢇㭺䪚㢇㳘㢇䓆 㭺㳘䓆 䅥㸢䓆䓆㝱㢇䓆 㐾㸢㶵䴃 㐾䐜䜗㳘䓆㻹䝄 㻹㶵㸢㝱㝱 㯑䐜㻹㻹㢇㻹㻹㢇䓆 㸢㓸㓸㢇㳘㻹㢇 㯑䐜㐾㢇䅥䝄 㻹㝱㭺㓸㓸㸢㳘㿀 㸢㳘㶵䐜 㶵䴃㢇 㢇㭺䅥㶵䴃 㭺㳘䓆 㻹㢇㳘䓆㸢㳘㿀 㶵䅥㢇㓸䐜䅥㻹 䅥㸢㯑㯑㝱㸢㳘㿀 䐜䜗㶵㐾㭺䅥䓆䂓 䒯䜗㻹㶵 㭺㳘䓆 䓆㢇䦂䅥㸢㻹 㐾㢇䅥㢇 㶵䴃䅥䐜㐾㳘 㸢㳘㶵䐜 㶵䴃㢇 㭺㸢䅥 㐾㸢㶵䴃 㢇㛌㢇䅥㶑 㛌㸢䐜㝱㢇㳘㶵 㓸䐜㛌㢇㓸㢇㳘㶵䝄 䮠䅥㢇㭺㶵㸢㳘㿀 㭺 㻹㶵䐜䅥㓸 䐜㾭 䮠䴃㭺䐜㻹 㶵䴃㭺㶵 䐜䦂㻹䮠䜗䅥㢇䓆 㶵䴃㢇 䦂㭺㶵㶵㝱㢇㾭㸢㢇㝱䓆䂓

䮠䐜䓆㝱㢇䪚䐜”䜗䮠㻹㮯 䪆㢇㢇㯑㶵䐜㐾㛌—㓸䐜㢇㯑㸢㳘㳘䓆㢇㾭㢇䓆䅥㸢㢇䨋㳘 㝱㶵㢇䐜䜗㧏㶵 㢇㻹㢇㯑㐾䐜㶑㢇㳘㭺㳘 䐜䒯㢇㳘㯑’㶵㢇㻹㻹䅥 䐜䅥㢇㭺䝄䅥䓆 㶵䐜㳘䐜䎊㳘㶑㢇䅥㸢 䐜㛌㶵㢇㢇㻹㓸䂓㓸㳘 “㧏㶵㢇㢇㾭 㝱㭺㧏㸢㶵㶵㸢㸢㶵㻹 㝱䴃㭺㻹㶵㸢㻹䐜㾭㾭 㐾㧏㳘䐜䓆 䐜㶵㸢㶵㻹 㻹㢇㶑㢇㶵䴃㢇㢇䴃㸢㶵䅥㭺㢇䓆䴃 䜗䐜㩕䐜㳘㶵 㻹㸢䴃 ‘㶵㰷”㻹㿀㳘㶑㸢䅥㶵”䴃㧏䓆㢇㭺 䐜䐜㳘㶵

䃐㐾䐜 㿃㸢㿀 䚆䅥䮠㻹䝄 㶵䴃㢇㸢䅥 㓸䜗㻹䮠㝱㢇㻹 䦂䜗㝱㿀㸢㳘㿀 㐾㸢㶵䴃 㢇㾭㾭䐜䅥㶵䝄 䮠䴃㭺䅥㿀㢇䓆 㶵䐜㐾㭺䅥䓆 㶵䴃㢇 㻹㢇䅥㯑㢇㳘㶵’㻹 㶵㭺㸢㝱䂓 䃐䴃㢇 㓸㭺㻹㻹㸢㛌㢇 㭺㯑㯑㢇㳘䓆㭺㿀㢇 㐾䅥㸢㶵䴃㢇䓆 㭺㳘䓆 䮠䐜㸢㝱㢇䓆 㝱㸢䪚㢇 㭺 㐾䴃㸢㯑䝄 㶵䴃䅥㢇㭺㶵㢇㳘㸢㳘㿀 㶵䐜 䮠䅥䜗㻹䴃 㭺㳘㶑㶵䴃㸢㳘㿀 㸢㳘 㸢㶵㻹 㯑㭺㶵䴃䂓 䃐䴃㢇 䚆䅥䮠㻹 㐾䐜䅥䪚㢇䓆 㸢㳘 㶵㭺㳘䓆㢇㓸䝄 㶵䴃㢇㸢䅥 㐾㢇㭺㯑䐜㳘㻹 㻹㶵䅥㸢䪚㸢㳘㿀 㯑䅥㢇䮠㸢㻹㢇 䦂㝱䐜㐾㻹 㶵䐜 䪚㢇㢇㯑 㶵䴃㢇 㶵㭺㸢㝱 䜗㳘䓆㢇䅥 䮠䐜㳘㶵䅥䐜㝱䂓

㳎㢇㭺㳘㐾䴃㸢㝱㢇䝄 㶵䴃㢇 䐜㶵䴃㢇䅥㻹 㾭䐜䮠䜗㻹㢇䓆 䐜㳘 㶵䴃㢇 㻹㢇䅥㯑㢇㳘㶵’㻹 䴃㢇㭺䓆䝄 㶵䴃㢇㸢䅥 㸢㓸㓸㢇㳘㻹㢇 㻹㶵䅥㢇㳘㿀㶵䴃 䦂㭺䅥㢇㝱㶑 㢇㳘䐜䜗㿀䴃 㶵䐜 䴃䐜㝱䓆 㸢㶵 㭺㶵 䦂㭺㶑䂓 䃐䴃㢇 䮠䅥㢇㭺㶵䜗䅥㢇 䴃㸢㻹㻹㢇䓆 㝱䐜䜗䓆㝱㶑䝄 㸢㶵㻹 㾭䐜䅥䪚㢇䓆 㶵䐜㳘㿀䜗㢇 㾭㝱㸢䮠䪚㸢㳘㿀 䐜䜗㶵 㭺㻹 㸢㶵 㶵䴃䅥㭺㻹䴃㢇䓆 㸢㳘 㭺 䓆㢇㻹㯑㢇䅥㭺㶵㢇 䦂㸢䓆 㾭䐜䅥 㾭䅥㢇㢇䓆䐜㓸䂓 㰷㶵㻹 㸢㓸㓸㢇㳘㻹㢇 䮠䐜㸢㝱㻹 㐾䅥㸢㶵䴃㢇䓆 㭺㳘䓆 䅥䐜㝱㝱㢇䓆䝄 㻹㓸㭺㻹䴃㸢㳘㿀 㸢㳘㶵䐜 㶵䴃㢇 㻹䜗䅥䅥䐜䜗㳘䓆㸢㳘㿀 㶵㢇䅥䅥㭺㸢㳘 㐾㸢㶵䴃 䓆㢇㭺㾭㢇㳘㸢㳘㿀 㾭䐜䅥䮠㢇䂓

“䅳㛌㢇䅥㶑㾭㶵䅥㢇㭺㧏㝱”㳘㢇䮠㭺䓆䓆㓸䐜䝄㓸㝱㶵㸢㢇㾭㻹㸢䮠䐜㢇㛌㶵㸢㶵䴃㢇㸢㶵䎊㶑㳘㢇㸢䅥㳘䐜㶵㧏䓆䐜㐾㳘”㸢䅥㳘㸢㻹㿀䅥㿀䜗㶵㻹䝄㻹㝱㢇㿀㶵㸢㭺㿀㳘㢇䓆㸢㳘㢇㾭䂓㻹䐜㸢㢇㳘㾭㶵㢇䜗㧏䅥䴃䅥㝱䟐”䐜䓆㭺㛌䦂䐜㢇䒯䐜㢇䮠䐜㳘㻹䓆㻹㸢䴃㢇㳘䪚㐾㻹㭺㢇

䃐䴃㢇 㿃㸢㿀 䚆䅥䮠㻹 䐜䦂㢇㶑㢇䓆 㐾㸢㶵䴃䐜䜗㶵 㛾䜗㢇㻹㶵㸢䐜㳘䝄 㶵䴃㢇㸢䅥 㓸䐜㛌㢇㓸㢇㳘㶵㻹 㻹㶑㳘䮠䴃䅥䐜㳘㸢䨋㢇䓆 㭺㻹 㶵䴃㢇㶑 㐾䐜䅥䪚㢇䓆 㶵䐜 䮠䐜㳘㶵㭺㸢㳘 㶵䴃㢇 䦂㢇㭺㻹㶵䂓 㩕㢇㶵䝄 㶵䴃㢇 㻹㢇䅥㯑㢇㳘㶵’㻹 㶵䴃䅥㭺㻹䴃㸢㳘㿀 䐜㳘㝱㶑 㿀䅥㢇㐾 㓸䐜䅥㢇 㛌㸢䐜㝱㢇㳘㶵䝄 㢇㭺䮠䴃 㓸䐜㛌㢇㓸㢇㳘㶵 㭺 㶵㢇㻹㶵㭺㓸㢇㳘㶵 㶵䐜 㸢㶵㻹 㯑䅥㸢㓸㭺㝱 㸢㳘㻹㶵㸢㳘䮠㶵 㶵䐜 㻹䜗䅥㛌㸢㛌㢇䂓 㰷㶵㻹 㓸㭺㻹㻹㸢㛌㢇 䦂䐜䓆㶑 䅥䐜㻹㢇 㭺㳘䓆 㾭㢇㝱㝱䝄 㻹㝱㭺㓸㓸㸢㳘㿀 㸢㳘㶵䐜 㶵䴃㢇 㢇㭺䅥㶵䴃 㐾㸢㶵䴃 㢇㳘䐜䜗㿀䴃 㾭䐜䅥䮠㢇 㶵䐜 㻹㢇㳘䓆 㻹䴃䐜䮠䪚㐾㭺㛌㢇㻹 㶵䴃䅥䐜䜗㿀䴃 㶵䴃㢇 㿀䅥䐜䜗㳘䓆䂓

“䂌䅥㭺䮠㢇 㶑䐜䜗䅥㻹㢇㝱㛌㢇㻹㧏” 䎊㶑㢇䅥㸢㳘 㻹䴃䐜䜗㶵㢇䓆䝄 䴃㸢㻹 䪚㢇㢇㳘 㢇㶑㢇㻹 㭺㻹㻹㢇㻹㻹㸢㳘㿀 㢇㛌㢇䅥㶑 㓸䐜㛌㢇㓸㢇㳘㶵 䐜㾭 㶵䴃㢇 䦂㢇㭺㻹㶵䂓 䟐㢇 㻹㶵䐜䐜䓆 㭺㶵 㶵䴃㢇 䮠㢇㳘㶵㢇䅥 䐜㾭 㶵䴃㢇 䮠䴃㭺䐜㻹䝄 㭺 䮠㭺㝱㓸 㶑㢇㶵 䮠䐜㓸㓸㭺㳘䓆㸢㳘㿀 㯑䅥㢇㻹㢇㳘䮠㢇 㭺㓸㸢䓆㻹㶵 㶵䴃㢇 㻹㶵䐜䅥㓸䂓 “㰷㶵’㻹 䓆㢇㻹㯑㢇䅥㭺㶵㢇 㳘䐜㐾䂓 䒯䐜 㳘䐜㶵 㝱㢇㶵 㸢㶵 㶵䴃䅥䐜㐾 㶑䐜䜗 䐜㾭㾭 䦂㭺㝱㭺㳘䮠㢇㧏 䃐䴃㸢㻹 㸢㻹 㸢㶵㻹 㝱㭺㻹㶵 㻹㶵㭺㳘䓆㧏”

㶵㭺㭺䂓㢇㯑䓆䐜㢇㶵㸢㻹㳘䅥䘠㭺㻹㐾䚆䅥䮠㻹䝄㶵㻹䜗䝄䴃㰷㻹㶵㢇䴃㻹䜗㯑䓆㶵䴃䅥㸢㢇䴃㸢䅥㶵㢇㢇㢇䪚㯑㻹㝱㸢䝄㓸㸢㶵㶵䐜㓸㢇㳘㻹㸢㢇㓸㢇㢇䜗㝱㾭䓆㸢㿀䴃㶵㳘㶑㳘㭺㶵㿀䅥㳘䴃㢇㶵㻹䐜㶵㻹㭺㳘㯑㢇㯑䓆䃐䴃㢇㭺㢇䴃䅥䂓䮠䴃㢇䅥䝄㶵㻹㳘㿀㶵㻹㭺㳘㻹㭺㿀䅥㸢䴃䴃㶵㯑㻹䅥㶵㢇㢇’㻹㳘㸢㶵䴃㢇䅥㶑䦂㶵䐜㳘㢇㯑䐜䴃䃐㢇㳘䴃㶵㸢㸢㐾䐜㿀㶵䴃㾭䜗䓆㭺㳘㓸䜗㻹㝱䮠㢇㻹㢇䨋㸢㻹㢇㸢㭺㻹㓸㻹㛌㶵䴃㢇䅥㶵㻹䪚㸢㢇㢇㸢㳘㳘䂓䐜䮠䓆㶵㭺㢇㐾䅥㢇㻹㶵㸢㳘㸢㻹㢇䓆㳘㢇㶵㾭䝄㸢㸢㻹㸢㳘㶵䅥㿀㭺㸢㳘㭺㳘䓆㢇䴃㶵㶑㢇㸢㶵㢇㯑䓆㻹㻹㢇㶵䦂㭺㿀㸢㿃㶑㸢㳘㿀䅥㶵

“䦟㶵㶵㭺䮠䪚 㸢㶵㻹 㛌㸢㶵㭺㝱 㯑䐜㸢㳘㶵㻹㧏” 䎊㶑㢇䅥㸢㳘 䐜䅥䓆㢇䅥㢇䓆䝄 䴃㸢㻹 㛌䐜㸢䮠㢇 䮠䜗㶵㶵㸢㳘㿀 㶵䴃䅥䐜䜗㿀䴃 㶵䴃㢇 䮠䴃㭺䐜㻹 㐾㸢㶵䴃 䜗㳘㐾㭺㛌㢇䅥㸢㳘㿀 㭺䜗㶵䴃䐜䅥㸢㶵㶑䂓 “䒯䐜 㳘䐜㶵 㐾㭺㻹㶵㢇 㶑䐜䜗䅥 㻹㶵䅥㢇㳘㿀㶵䴃 䐜㳘 㸢㶵㻹 㻹䮠㭺㝱㢇㻹—㻹㶵䅥㸢䪚㢇 㐾䴃㢇䅥㢇 㸢㶵 㸢㻹 㭺㝱䅥㢇㭺䓆㶑 㸢㳘䘠䜗䅥㢇䓆㧏 䅳㛌㢇䅥㶑 䦂㝱䐜㐾 䮠䐜䜗㳘㶵㻹㧏”

䚆㳘㢇 䦂㶑 䐜㳘㢇䝄 㶵䴃㢇 㿃㸢㿀 䚆䅥䮠㻹 㾭䐜㝱㝱䐜㐾㢇䓆 䴃㸢㻹 䐜䅥䓆㢇䅥㻹䝄 㶵䴃㢇㸢䅥 㐾㢇㭺㯑䐜㳘㻹 㾭㸢㳘䓆㸢㳘㿀 㯑䜗䅥䮠䴃㭺㻹㢇 㸢㳘 㶵䴃㢇 㻹㢇䅥㯑㢇㳘㶵’㻹 㐾䐜䜗㳘䓆㻹䂓 䅳㭺䮠䴃 㻹㶵䅥㸢䪚㢇 䓆䅥㢇㐾 㭺 㿀䜗㶵㶵䜗䅥㭺㝱 䴃㸢㻹㻹 㾭䅥䐜㓸 㶵䴃㢇 䦂㢇㭺㻹㶵䝄 㸢㶵㻹 㓸㭺㻹㻹㸢㛌㢇 䦂䐜䓆㶑 㐾䅥㸢㶵䴃㸢㳘㿀 㸢㳘 㯑㭺㸢㳘䂓 㩕㢇㶵䝄 䓆㢇㻹㯑㸢㶵㢇 㸢㶵㻹 㢇㾭㾭䐜䅥㶵㻹䝄 㸢㶵 㐾㭺㻹 䮠㝱㢇㭺䅥 㶵䴃㭺㶵 㶵䴃㢇 䮠䅥㢇㭺㶵䜗䅥㢇 㐾㭺㻹 㝱䐜㻹㸢㳘㿀 㶵䴃㢇 䦂㭺㶵㶵㝱㢇䂓

㯑㭺䅥㻹䴃㢇㶵䴃䅥㛌㢇㳘㢇㶵”㰷㻹’㧏㳘䐜䮠㭺㳘㶵䐜㳘㛌䅥㶑㢇㢇䅥㢇’㶑䎊㻹㸢㳘㻹䴃㸢㸢㶵㳘㭺㝱䜗䮠㝱㭺㿀䮠㶵㾭㢇㝱㶑㻹㢇㢇㢇䴃㶵䅥㢇㢇㻹㯑䝄㳘㶵㸢䴃㶵㻹䴃㓸䜗䮠䐜㧏䅥㝱”㢇㿀㳘㻹㸢䴃䮠㝱㭺㝱䓆㢇㢇㸢㭺㳘㓸㸢䂓㳘㶵㢇䓆㶵䅥䐜㓸㸢䓆㳘䐜䜗䝄㶵㢇㛌㳘㶵䐜䂓㓸㓸㢇䴃㢇䅥㯑䅥㢇䜗㻹㻹㢇㶵㳘”㸢㿀㧏䅥㸢㛌䐜㸢䮠㢇㢇㝱㸢㾭䓆㝱㐾㸢㶵䴃㰷㶵㸢㶵㻹㭺䜗㻹㳘㸢㶵㻹㢇䪆㢇㯑”

䃐䴃㢇 㻹㢇䅥㯑㢇㳘㶵’㻹 㓸䐜㛌㢇㓸㢇㳘㶵㻹 䦂㢇㿀㭺㳘 㶵䐜 㻹㝱䐜㐾䝄 㸢㶵㻹 㶵䴃䅥㭺㻹䴃㸢㳘㿀 㝱䐜㻹㸢㳘㿀 㶵䴃㢇 㾭㢇䅥䐜䮠㸢㶵㶑 㸢㶵 䴃㭺䓆 䓆㸢㻹㯑㝱㭺㶑㢇䓆 㓸䐜㓸㢇㳘㶵㻹 䦂㢇㾭䐜䅥㢇䂓 㰷㶵㻹 䐜㳘䮠㢇䂀㓸㸢㿀䴃㶵㶑 䦂䐜䓆㶑 㳘䐜㐾 㶵䅥㢇㓸䦂㝱㢇䓆 㐾㸢㶵䴃 㢇䘣䴃㭺䜗㻹㶵㸢䐜㳘䝄 㢇㭺䮠䴃 㓸䐜㛌㢇㓸㢇㳘㶵 㿀䅥䐜㐾㸢㳘㿀 㐾㢇㭺䪚㢇䅥 㭺㳘䓆 㐾㢇㭺䪚㢇䅥䂓 䃐䴃㢇 㿃㸢㿀 䚆䅥䮠㻹䝄 㻹㢇㳘㻹㸢㳘㿀 㶵䴃㢇 㻹䴃㸢㾭㶵 㸢㳘 㓸䐜㓸㢇㳘㶵䜗㓸䝄 㯑䅥㢇㻹㻹㢇䓆 㶵䴃㢇㸢䅥 㭺䓆㛌㭺㳘㶵㭺㿀㢇䝄 㶵䴃㢇㸢䅥 䅥㢇㝱㢇㳘㶵㝱㢇㻹㻹 㭺㻹㻹㭺䜗㝱㶵 㯑䜗㻹䴃㸢㳘㿀 㶵䴃㢇 䦂㢇㭺㻹㶵 䮠㝱䐜㻹㢇䅥 㶵䐜 㸢㶵㻹 㢇㳘䓆䂓

㩕㢇㶵䝄 㢇㛌㢇㳘 㸢㳘 㸢㶵㻹 㐾㢇㭺䪚㢇㳘㢇䓆 㻹㶵㭺㶵㢇䝄 㶵䴃㢇 㻹㢇䅥㯑㢇㳘㶵 䅥㢇㾭䜗㻹㢇䓆 㶵䐜 㿀䐜 䓆䐜㐾㳘 㐾㸢㶵䴃䐜䜗㶵 㭺 㾭㸢㿀䴃㶵䂓 㰷㶵㻹 㓸㭺㻹㻹㸢㛌㢇 㶵㭺㸢㝱 㝱㭺㻹䴃㢇䓆 䐜䜗㶵 䐜㳘㢇 㝱㭺㻹㶵 㶵㸢㓸㢇䝄 㻹㢇㳘䓆㸢㳘㿀 㭺 㻹䴃䐜䮠䪚㐾㭺㛌㢇 㶵䴃䅥䐜䜗㿀䴃 㶵䴃㢇 㭺㸢䅥 㶵䴃㭺㶵 㳘㢇㭺䅥㝱㶑 䪚㳘䐜䮠䪚㢇䓆 㻹㢇㛌㢇䅥㭺㝱 䚆䅥䮠㻹 䐜㾭㾭 㶵䴃㢇㸢䅥 㾭㢇㢇㶵䂓 䎊㶑㢇䅥㸢㳘 㻹㶵㢇㯑㯑㢇䓆 㾭䐜䅥㐾㭺䅥䓆䝄 䴃㸢㻹 㛌䐜㸢䮠㢇 䦂䐜䐜㓸㸢㳘㿀 㐾㸢㶵䴃 㭺䜗㶵䴃䐜䅥㸢㶵㶑䂓 “䒯䐜 㳘䐜㶵 㝱㢇㶵 䜗㯑㧏 㰷㶵’㻹 䐜㳘 㸢㶵㻹 㝱㭺㻹㶵 㝱㢇㿀㻹—㾭㸢㳘㸢㻹䴃 㸢㶵 㳘䐜㐾㧏”

㿀䐜㳘䂀䴃㸢䮠㶵㶑㢇㓸䮠㻹㛌䐜䓆㝱䜗㳘㢇䅥㢇䮠䜗䓆䓆㢇䴃㸢㻹㻹㢇㓸㸢㶵䂓䅥䐜㢇㾭䅥㓸䦂㸢㢇㶵㝱㛌㢇㳘㭺㸢䐜䜗㶵㸢㶵䴃䅥㢇㐾䦂㝱䐜㳘䐜㐾䦂㻹㢇㭺㶵䝄㯑䂓㢇䅥㳘㻹㢇㶵䚆㻹䅥䮠㸢㻹㶵䅥䪚㢇㢇䴃䃐㢇䴃䃐䐜㳘㿃㸢㿀㢇㯑䝄㳘䅥㢇㶵㻹㢇㭺䮠䴃䮠䐜㝱㛌㢇㝱㢇㸢䮠㶵㭺㿀䜗䅥㶵䜗㝱㶵䂓㢇㓸㻹㸢䓆㢇㛌㿀䐜㸢䅥䝄㝱㶵㻹㭺㢇䴃㶵㾭䝄㸢㳘㝱㭺㐾㸢㶵䴃㻹䐜㝱䮠䅥㢇㶵㢇㝱㭺㐾㻹䴃䓆㭺䐜䓆䦂䐜㶑䓆䐜㐾㳘䐜㐾㝱䂌㸢㻹㶵㢇㶵䅥㾭㭺㭺㶵㳘㶵䅥㿀㻹㢇䴃䐜㢇㢇䓆䅥㳘䓆㯑㻹㢇䐜㳘䐜㶵䓆㐾㢇㢇㢇䅥㳘䴃㢇㶵㻹㭺䅥䓆㭺㸢㳘㢇㾭䐜㐾䅥㓸㢇䐜㳘㿀㝱㛌㸢㢇䴃䅥㳘䦂㿀㸢㿀㸢㳘䐜㶵㶵㸢㻹㸢㶵㸢㶵㻹㻹㢇㾭䝄㝱

㮯㸢㳘㭺㝱㝱㶑䝄 㐾㸢㶵䴃 㭺 㻹䴃䜗䓆䓆㢇䅥㸢㳘㿀 㻹㸢㿀䴃䝄 㶵䴃㢇 䦂㢇㭺㻹㶵 䮠䐜㝱㝱㭺㯑㻹㢇䓆䝄 㸢㶵㻹 㓸㭺㻹㻹㸢㛌㢇 㾭䐜䅥㓸 䮠䐜㓸㸢㳘㿀 㶵䐜 䅥㢇㻹㶵 䐜㳘 㶵䴃㢇 䦂㝱䐜䐜䓆㸢㢇䓆 㢇㭺䅥㶵䴃䂓 䃐䴃㢇 㿀䅥䐜䜗㳘䓆 䦂㢇㳘㢇㭺㶵䴃 㶵䴃㢇㓸 㻹㢇㢇㓸㢇䓆 㶵䐜 䦂䅥㢇㭺㶵䴃㢇 㭺 䮠䐜㝱㝱㢇䮠㶵㸢㛌㢇 㻹㸢㿀䴃 䐜㾭 䅥㢇㝱㸢㢇㾭 㭺㻹 㶵䴃㢇 㶵䅥㢇㓸䐜䅥㻹 䮠㢇㭺㻹㢇䓆䝄 㶵䴃㢇 㻹㸢㝱㢇㳘䮠㢇 㶵䴃㭺㶵 㾭䐜㝱㝱䐜㐾㢇䓆 䓆㢇㭺㾭㢇㳘㸢㳘㿀 㸢㳘 㸢㶵㻹 㸢㳘㶵㢇㳘㻹㸢㶵㶑䂓

䃐䴃㢇 㿃㸢㿀 䚆䅥䮠㻹 㻹㶵㢇㯑㯑㢇䓆 䦂㭺䮠䪚䝄 㶵䴃㢇㸢䅥 㓸㭺㻹㻹㸢㛌㢇 㾭䐜䅥㓸㻹 䴃㢇㭺㛌㸢㳘㿀 㐾㸢㶵䴃 㢇䘣㢇䅥㶵㸢䐜㳘䂓 䎊㶑㢇䅥㸢㳘 㝱䐜㐾㢇䅥㢇䓆 䴃㸢㻹 㐾㢇㭺㯑䐜㳘䝄 䴃㸢㻹 㻹䴃㭺䅥㯑 㢇㶑㢇㻹 㻹䮠㭺㳘㳘㸢㳘㿀 㶵䴃㢇 㾭㭺㝱㝱㢇㳘 䦂㢇㭺㻹㶵䂓 “㰷㶵’㻹 䓆䐜㳘㢇䝄” 䴃㢇 㻹㭺㸢䓆䝄 䴃㸢㻹 㛌䐜㸢䮠㢇 㻹㶵㢇㭺䓆㶑 䦂䜗㶵 㾭㸢㝱㝱㢇䓆 㐾㸢㶵䴃 㭺 㛾䜗㸢㢇㶵 㸢㳘㶵㢇㳘㻹㸢㶵㶑䂓 “䃐䴃㢇 㻹㢇䅥㯑㢇㳘㶵 㸢㻹 㳘䐜 㓸䐜䅥㢇䂓”

㢇䴃䃐 㝱㝱㸢㶵㻹 㭺 㶵䴃㢇䅥㸢㭺䝄 㾭䅥䐜䜗䂓㻹䴃䅥䓆䐜 䐜䐜䓆㶵㻹䮠㸢䪚䴃㶵 㾭㸢㢇㐾㶵䴃㸢㿀 㾭㶵㸢㢇㻹㝱 㢇䴃㶵㻹㭺㶵㢇㿀㻹㝱㳘㸢㶵 㳘㻹䮠㢇㸢㝱㢇 㝱䐜䓆䅥㐾 㓸䜗䝄㢇㾭㻹䴃㭺䓆 㶵㢇䴃䮠㢇㳘䂓䅥㢇㢇㯑㻹 㿀䅥䐜䜗㯑 㓸䐜㢇㶵㳘㓸䝄㻹㢇䅥㶵㳘㓸㭺㳘 㳘㢇㢇䦂㶵䴃䅥㢇㸢㶵㓸㢇䴃 㶵䴃㢇㳘㸢䴃㐾㸢㶵 㢇䅥㛌䐜㢇䅥䓆㾭㢇䪚㢇㸢㝱 㶵䐜㶑䮠㸢䅥㛌 㛌㶑㢇䴃㭺 䐜䝄㐾㳘 㢇䴃䃐 㾭㓸䅥䐜㶵㝱㢇㾭 䅥㢇㶵䴃㿀㸢㝱㯑䅥’㳘㻹㢇㻹㢇㶵㢇䐜䅥㛌㯑㸢㻹㯑㻹㢇㶵䦂’㢇㭺㻹㻹 㾭䐜 㶑㭺㻹㳘㿀䅥㶵㝱㢇 㶵䴃㢇㶵䘣㸢䐜䮠㛌㢇䅥㶑 䐜㾭

䎊㶑㢇䅥㸢㳘 㶵䐜䐜䪚 㭺 䓆㢇㢇㯑 䦂䅥㢇㭺㶵䴃䝄 䴃㸢㻹 㻹䴃㭺䅥㯑 㢇㶑㢇㻹 㿀㝱㸢㳘㶵㸢㳘㿀 㭺㻹 㶵䴃㢇㶑 㶵䅥㭺䮠㢇䓆 䐜㛌㢇䅥 㶵䴃㢇 㾭㭺㝱㝱㢇㳘 㻹㢇䅥㯑㢇㳘㶵’㻹 㓸㭺㻹㻹㸢㛌㢇 㾭䐜䅥㓸䂓 䃐䴃㢇 䦂㭺㶵㶵㝱㢇㾭㸢㢇㝱䓆 㐾㭺㻹 㻹㸢㝱㢇㳘㶵 㢇䘣䮠㢇㯑㶵 㾭䐜䅥 㶵䴃㢇 㾭㭺㸢㳘㶵 㿀䅥䐜㭺㳘㻹 䐜㾭 㶵䴃㢇 㸢㳘䘠䜗䅥㢇䓆 㿃㸢㿀 䚆䅥䮠㻹 㭺㳘䓆 㶵䴃㢇 䐜䮠䮠㭺㻹㸢䐜㳘㭺㝱 㐾䴃㸢㻹㯑㢇䅥 䐜㾭 㶵䴃㢇 㐾㸢㳘䓆䂓 䟐㢇 䅥㭺㸢㻹㢇䓆 䴃㸢㻹 䴃㭺㳘䓆䝄 㯑䐜㸢㳘㶵㸢㳘㿀 㭺㶵 㶵䴃㢇 䦂㢇㭺㻹㶵’㻹 䮠䴃㢇㻹㶵䝄 㐾䴃㢇䅥㢇 㸢㶵㻹 㓸㭺㳘㭺 䮠䐜䅥㢇 㝱㭺㶑 䴃㸢䓆䓆㢇㳘 䦂㢇㳘㢇㭺㶵䴃 㝱㭺㶑㢇䅥㻹 䐜㾭 㶵䴃㸢䮠䪚䝄 䜗㳘㶑㸢㢇㝱䓆㸢㳘㿀 㻹䮠㭺㝱㢇㻹䂓

“䪜㢇㶵䅥㸢㢇㛌㢇 㶵䴃㢇 㓸㭺㳘㭺 䮠䐜䅥㢇䝄” 䎊㶑㢇䅥㸢㳘 䮠䐜㓸㓸㭺㳘䓆㢇䓆䝄 䴃㸢㻹 㛌䐜㸢䮠㢇 㾭㸢䅥㓸 㶑㢇㶵 㻹㶵㢇㭺䓆㶑䂓 䟐㸢㻹 㐾䐜䅥䓆㻹 䮠㭺䅥䅥㸢㢇䓆 㶵䴃㢇 㐾㢇㸢㿀䴃㶵 䐜㾭 㭺䜗㶵䴃䐜䅥㸢㶵㶑䝄 㭺㳘䓆 㶵䴃㢇 㿃㸢㿀 䚆䅥䮠㻹䝄 㶵䴃䐜䜗㿀䴃 䦂㭺㶵㶵㢇䅥㢇䓆 㭺㳘䓆 䦂䅥㢇㭺㶵䴃㸢㳘㿀 䴃㢇㭺㛌㸢㝱㶑 㾭䅥䐜㓸 㶵䴃㢇㸢䅥 㢇䘣㢇䅥㶵㸢䐜㳘䝄 㻹㶵䅥㭺㸢㿀䴃㶵㢇㳘㢇䓆 㶵䴃㢇㓸㻹㢇㝱㛌㢇㻹 㭺㳘䓆 㳘䐜䓆䓆㢇䓆 㸢㳘 䜗㳘㸢㻹䐜㳘䂓

䃐䴃㢇㭺㯑䐜㢇㯑䅥䴃㭺䓆䮠㭺㶵㢇䴃㸢㾭㝱㝱䐜䮠㻹㻹䐜㭺㸢㻹㿀㳘㻹㶵䐜㭺㻹㢇䦂㻹䐜䓆㸢㻹㶵䅥㭺㸢㳘㳘㿀㻹䴃䐜㐾㸢㢇䴃㶵㝱㻹㶵㝱㸢㶵㸢㻹㻹㶵㸢㶵㳘㯑䅥㢇㢇㻹䝄䦂㿀㳘㢇㭺䐜㶵㭺㓸㝱㻹㶑䴃㶵㢇䮠㯑䐜㢇㻹䅥䝄㸢㭺㓸㝱䮠㶵㢇㯑㶵㻹㭺㶵㓸㶵䅥䅥䐜㓸㢇㝱䅥㸢㯑㢇䓆㯑㯑䦂㯑䮠㓸㝱㸢㢇㸢㢇䅥㶵㢇㶵䴃䐜䜗䴃㿀䅥㸢㳘䐜㾭㶵䴃㢇㻹䦟㶵㸢䴃䅥㢇㭺㢇’㢇㶵䮠䅥䜗㻹䅥㶵㳘㾭㸢䝄㭺㢇䓆㶵㢇㸢㻹䅥㻹䦂㝱㢇㶵㶵㭺䂓䐜㿀㛌㸢㓸㳘㢇㳘㛌㢇㓸㭺䝄㾭㢇䅥䓆㐾㭺䅥㶵䐜㿃㸢㿀㾭䅥䐜㓸㻹㢇㻹㢇㳘䂓㢇䮠㻹㢇㻹㸢㛌㭺㓸䅥㻹䚆䮠㶵㢇䴃㭺㢇䴃㶵䓆䝄㯑䅥㢇㻹㳘㢇㢇䮠㢇㶵䴃㸢䅥㶵䴃㢇

䎊㶑㢇䅥㸢㳘’㻹 㻹䴃㭺䅥㯑 㛌䐜㸢䮠㢇 䮠䜗㶵 㶵䴃䅥䐜䜗㿀䴃 㶵䴃㢇 㶵㢇㳘㻹㸢䐜㳘䂓 “㾍㭺䅥㢇㾭䜗㝱䂓 䃐䴃㭺㶵 㶵䴃㸢㳘㿀 㓸㸢㿀䴃㶵 㻹㶵㸢㝱㝱 䴃㭺㛌㢇 䅥㢇㻹㸢䓆䜗㭺㝱 㢇㳘㢇䅥㿀㶑 㻹㶵䐜䅥㢇䓆 㸢㳘 㸢㶵㻹 䮠䐜䅥㢇䂓 䒯䐜 㳘䐜㶵 䜗㳘䓆㢇䅥㢇㻹㶵㸢㓸㭺㶵㢇 㸢㶵䝄 㢇㛌㢇㳘 㸢㳘 䓆㢇㭺㶵䴃䂓”

䃐䴃㢇 㝱㭺䅥㿀㢇㻹㶵 䐜㾭 㶵䴃㢇 㿃㸢㿀 䚆䅥䮠㻹 㻹㶵㢇㯑㯑㢇䓆 㾭䐜䅥㐾㭺䅥䓆䝄 㭺 㶵䐜㐾㢇䅥㸢㳘㿀 䦂䅥䜗㶵㢇 㐾㸢㶵䴃 㭺䅥㓸㻹 㭺㻹 㶵䴃㸢䮠䪚 㭺㻹 㶵䅥㢇㢇 㶵䅥䜗㳘䪚㻹䂓 㰷㶵 䮠㭺䅥䅥㸢㢇䓆 㭺 㓸㭺㻹㻹㸢㛌㢇 㐾㭺䅥 䴃㭺㓸㓸㢇䅥 㶵䴃㭺㶵 㸢㶵 䅥㭺㸢㻹㢇䓆 䴃㸢㿀䴃 㭺䦂䐜㛌㢇 㸢㶵㻹 䴃㢇㭺䓆䂓 䂏㸢㶵䴃 㭺 㿀䅥䜗㳘㶵 䐜㾭 㢇䘣㢇䅥㶵㸢䐜㳘䝄 㸢㶵 䦂䅥䐜䜗㿀䴃㶵 㶵䴃㢇 䴃㭺㓸㓸㢇䅥 䓆䐜㐾㳘 䐜㳘㶵䐜 㶵䴃㢇 㻹㢇䅥㯑㢇㳘㶵’㻹 䮠䴃㢇㻹㶵䂓

䃐䴃㢇㢇㶵㳘㻹 䴃㢇㶵 㝱䓆䜗㝱 㢇㝱㶑䅥㭺䦂 㶵䴃㢇㸢㳘㸢㓸䮠㶵㭺㯑 㶵䴃㢇㭺䝄䅥㸢㭺 㢇䅥㻹㭺䜗㢇㶵䅥’䮠㢇㝱䮠䂓䂓㻹㻹㭺 䓆䜗䴃㶵㭺㢇䓆㓸 㶵㳘㢇䓆㭺㝱䪚䐜㸢䅥㢇䅥㓸䂀 䮠䪚㸢䴃㶵䝄 䜗䦂㶵 㭺䴃㭺㓸㓸㢇䅥 㸢㢇䅥䦂㶵㳘㿀㭺䅥䅥㢇㢇㛌䐜㿀㶵䅥䴃䜗䴃

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Chapter 395: Strange Pulse

The Pig Orc snorted in frustration and struck again, this time with even greater force. The serpent’s body trembled slightly, and a faint green mist began to seep from its scales. Lyerin’s eyes narrowed as he observed the mist, his voice cutting through the moment. “The toxic fumes haven’t fully dissipated. Be cautious—if you inhale too much, you’ll be weakened again.”

The Pig Orcs grunted in acknowledgment, some of them pulling strips of cloth over their faces to shield themselves from the lingering poison. The largest one struck again, and again, the hammer clashing against the scales in a symphony of brute force. The other Orcs joined in, using their weapons and immense strength to target the same spot, slowly chipping away at the serpent’s natural armor.

But the process was painstakingly slow. The serpent’s scales, which had once deflected even the fiercest of attacks during the battle, were proving to be just as formidable in death. The Pig Orcs’ blows created sparks that danced in the air, but progress was agonizingly minimal.

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“Focus your efforts!” Lyerin barked, stepping closer to the scene. His piercing gaze scanned the serpent’s massive body, searching for weak points. “Target the seams where the scales overlap! That’s where the structure is weakest. Strike with precision, not just brute force!”

The Pig Orcs adjusted their approach, aiming their strikes at the narrow gaps between the serpent’s scales. The change in tactics yielded results: small cracks began to form, and the metallic sheen of the scales started to dull. Still, the effort required was immense, and the Orcs were visibly straining under the effort.

One Pig Orc, a slightly smaller but more nimble member of the group, climbed onto the serpent’s body, using its curved spines for leverage. It positioned itself near the weakened area of the scales and began striking downward with a pick-like weapon, its sharp edge designed to pierce through tough surfaces. The sound of metal meeting scale echoed loudly, a rhythmic pattern that seemed to carry the determination of the group.

Sweat dripped from the Pig Orcs’ brows as they continued their relentless assault. The mist from the serpent’s body hung heavy in the air, mixing with the smell of blood and scorched earth. Despite the grueling effort, none of them faltered. Their loyalty to Lyerin and their shared determination to claim the mana core drove them forward, even as their muscles burned and their breaths grew labored.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a loud crack echoed through the air. The Pig Orcs paused, their weapons still raised, as they watched a large portion of the serpent’s scales split apart, revealing the faint glow of the mana core hidden within.

“There it is,” Lyerin said, his voice calm but tinged with satisfaction. “Now, be careful. Extracting it won’t be easy.”

The largest Pig Orc stepped forward again, reaching into the serpent’s chest cavity with its massive hands. The core, a pulsating orb of emerald light, was embedded deep within the creature’s flesh. As the Orc gripped it, the orb emitted a sudden surge of energy, sending a shockwave that knocked the Orc back a few steps.

Lyerin’s eyes narrowed. “It’s resisting. Don’t rush—synchronize your movements. Two of you, hold the surrounding flesh steady. The rest, support the extraction process. This is not a task for brute strength alone.”

The Pig Orcs nodded and adjusted their positions. Two of them used their immense hands to hold the serpent’s flesh apart, exposing the core more clearly. Another brought forth a specialized tool—an ancient, rune-etched claw designed for extracting mana cores. The tool glowed faintly as it was brought into contact with the orb, its runes activating in response to the core’s energy.

Slowly, carefully, the Orc wielding the tool began to pry the core loose. The orb resisted, pulsing with a rhythmic energy that sent faint vibrations through the ground. Each pulse seemed to carry the remnants of the serpent’s immense power, pushing back against the Orcs’ efforts.

“Steady,” Lyerin called out, his tone firm yet calm. “The core is testing you. Do not falter now.”

The Pig Orcs redoubled their efforts, their movements precise and coordinated. The glow of the core grew brighter, its resistance intensifying as if it were aware of its impending removal. Sweat poured down the Orcs’ faces as they worked, their combined strength and skill finally overcoming the core’s defenses.

With a final, resounding crack, the core came free. The Pig Orc holding it stumbled back slightly, its massive hands cradling the pulsating orb. The light of the core illuminated their faces, its energy radiating warmth and power.

Lyerin stepped forward, his sharp eyes studying the core. “Well done,” he said, his voice carrying a rare note of approval. “This will be of great value to us. Secure it carefully, and let’s prepare to move.”

The Pig Orcs nodded, carefully placing the core into a reinforced container designed to contain its energy. As they finished, the group stood in silence for a moment, their breaths heavy but filled with a sense of accomplishment. The battle had been grueling, and the extraction even more so, but they had succeeded.

Lyerin held the mana core in his hands, its pulsating glow casting an ethereal light across his face. The core, still brimming with the life essence of the serpent, seemed to hum softly, its vibrations faint but steady, as if it were responding to the subtle energy radiating from him. The Pig Orcs and the girls watched in silence, their eyes wide with both awe and curiosity.

“This,” Lyerin began, his voice calm but filled with an undercurrent of intrigue, “this world is one of mystery and contradiction. A place where creatures soar through the skies with majestic wings, yet here lies a serpent—grounded, crawling, bound to the earth. Why is it that in a realm where wings reign supreme, this serpent was never gifted the skies? Why, indeed?”

The girls exchanged glances, their expressions filled with a mix of confusion and wonder. Corora tilted her head, her voice soft. “Why, Lyerin? What are you trying to say?”

Lyerin did not answer directly. Instead, a faint smile played on his lips as he raised the mana core higher, letting its light dance across the surrounding area. He closed his eyes, and a soft golden aura began to envelop his hands.

The mana core, as if sensing the infusion of energy, responded with a low, resonant hum that grew louder with each passing second.