WorldCrafter - Building My Underground Kingdom
Chapter 239 - 239: Royal Guard

The explosion was laced with unholy energy, so potent it pierced even Brelgor's fire resistance.

"Hahahahaha…" The Nephirid Prince let out a euphoric laugh. "What an entertaining match. Now, perhaps we can continue our discussion regarding your support."

The three hooded figures rose to their feet. The other two turned to the hunched one, Zarnak, their gazes dripping with disdain.

The slim one hissed in a croaking whisper, "Losing like this? Pathetic, Zarnak."

But Zarnak didn't acknowledge the insult. His jaw clenched in anger. He had lost the Hydra specimen, a rare and nearly irreplaceable asset. Despite all the destruction it had caused, he had only begun to unlock its full potential.

Dark mana laced with aether began leaking from his body, warping the air around him. The Nephirid Prince's eyes narrowed, and his guards instinctively drew their weapons.

"What's the meaning of this?" the prince demanded coldly. "Are you planning to violate the contract?"

Zarnak sneered. "Don't worry, Prince. I'm not foolish enough to break a blood pact. But that doesn't mean I can't do this."

His crimson gaze snapped toward the arena floor, toward Craze and Brelgor, who were barely clinging to life.

"Die."

With a snap of his palm, a concentrated beam of dark green energy fired from his hand like a lance. The magical barrier, one that had survived even the Hydra's explosion, was pierced like cutting trough butter.

BOOM!

An implosion rocked the arena, engulfing both warriors in a searing flash of corrupted power.

"Kekekeke!! Serves them right." Zarnak chuckled darkly, turning his back without even glancing at the bodies. "Now then… let's talk business."

The prince sighed. He didn't care much for Craze, but Brelgor... he had shown promise. The Ashborn warrior had proven his worth in that arena. A pity.

"Clean it up," he ordered, gesturing to one of his guards. Then he descended the stairs, heading toward Zarnak and the other two cloaked figures.

Meanwhile, on the scorched arena floor…

A single scimitar still stood upright, buried in the cracked stone. Dust swirled around it, then began to shimmer. Brelgor had no body left, yet his essence clung to his living weapon.

Rage surged through the molten scimitar. His focus locked on the departing hooded men.

'Those bastards… I'll remember this.'

As an Ashborn warrior, Brelgor was no stranger to cruelty. But this?

This mockery of honor? This was something else entirely.

'Lose and die. Win… and still die? What a f*cking bastard?'

And worse, that unholy energy was still clinging to him. 'It's halting my regeneration…'

But he refused to give in. Focusing every fragment of his strength, he began to resist the side effects, willing his body to rebuild itself, cell by cell, ember by ember.

As for Craze… his fate was sealed. Even with Nephirid regenerative abilities, this level of destruction was far beyond what he could recover from.

Unless he had been on Ashborn level, He would not survive. With this his life ended.

Time passed. The next day, at midnight, a carriage moved silently through the city gates, slipping into the night without a sound.

Ben watched from his vantage point, observing the vehicle through the eyes of one of his Krell ants.

"Good. He's not using teleportation," he muttered. "Would've made tracking him a pain. But he's traveling light… and the three hooded men are nowhere in sight."

He stayed crouched near the ambush site.

Taleth stood beside him, arms crossed. "Maybe they sent the other ahead to ensure the deal is honored?"

"Maybe," Ben replied. "Or they're just using them as errand boys."

Given their power, Ben doubted they needed an escort. The other two cloaked figures remained a mystery, but he was sure, they wouldn't lose to Zarnak.

Ben's eyes narrowed as the Krell's vision zoomed in.

"So it's just one crippled Ashborn warrior, two royal guards, one Velmora princess, and the Nephirid prince himself..."

Taleth swallowed hard. Even if the group was small, it was nothing to take lightly.

"Master," he whispered, "each royal guard is said to be stronger than an Ashborn warrior. They don't wield living weapons like them… but they wear living armor."

Ben glanced at him. "Living armor? That's new. Are you sure about that intel?"

"Yes," Taleth nodded. "Unlike Ashborn, who grow their molten core outside the body, the royal guards cultivate it within. Their armor grows with them, impossibly tough. Practically unbreakable."

Ben let out a smirk. "I see…"

If it were any other type of power, he might be concerned.

But defense?

That meant nothing in front of his Empyrean Pickaxe. Even without the system's buffs, he hadn't found a material it couldn't destroy in a single strike.

His eyes glinted as the carriage neared the ambush zone.

"They're close." He turned to Taleth. "You take the princess. Get her out safely. Leave the rest to me."

The carriage slowed as it entered the narrow pass. Then, with a snap of Ben finger. A Krell ant detonated. Light flared for a split second beneath the earth.

BOOM!

The ground beneath the carriage exploded. The transport lurched sideways, shattering into splinters. The Velmora princess screamed as Taleth surged from the treeline, grabbing her and vanishing into the woods like a shadow.

Ben dropped from a high cliff, his Empyrean Pickaxe already in hand.

CLANG!

He landed hard, cracking the stone beneath him. The air shook.

From the smoke, two figures stepped out. The royal guards.

They clad in black obsidian armor, One held a massive glaive. The other wielded twin curved blades,.

Ben eyes narrowing.

"Let's see how strong you are."

The glaive-bearer struck first, dashing forward with terrifying speed. His weapon came down in a blur.

CLAAANG!!

Ben blocked it with the haft of his pickaxe. The shockwave shattered fungal tree in a thirty-foot radius, sending dirt and embers flying. Sparks exploded as the blades clashed.

Then the twin-blade guard was behind him.

Slash!

Two glowing arcs slashed across Ben's back, but the cuts sealed instantly, steam rising from the wounds.

Ben twisted and smashed the ground with the pickaxe.

BOOOM!

A pulse of force tore outward, knocking both guards back. One rolled to his feet, the other skidded across the grass, armor sparking.

Ben throw his pickaxe to the ground, than raised his fist. He want to test how strong their armor were.

The glaive-wielding guard moved again, sweeping his weapon low. Ben leapt over it, flipping forward mid-air, his foot came down like a hammer.

BAM!

The armored shoulder dented beneath the blow, but the guard grunted and spun, driving the shaft of the glaive into Ben's side like a battering ram.

Ben skidded backward, boots tearing trenches through moss and soil. He grinned.

"This is enough to be called unbreakeble?"

The twin-blade guard was already upon him, slashing down with twin crimson arcs. Ben leaned back just enough, the blades whistled past his face, then snapped forward with a elbow to the man's helmet.

BAM!

The impact echoed. The obsidian helm cracked at the temple. The guard stumbled, but retaliated instantly, slashing upward in a cross pattern.

Ben crossed his arms, blocked with forearms glowing faintly with inner light. Sparks burst off his skin.

The ground beneath them cratered from the impact. Then the glaive came again, from behind.

Ben spun and caught it barehanded. The heat was immense, but he didn't flinch.

"My turn."

He pulled the glaive toward him, dragging the guard off balance, then drove his knee into the man's stomach with thunderous force. The obsidian chestplate buckled. The guard reeled, breath catching in his throat.

Ben didn't stop. He grabbed the glaive-wielder by the helmet, lifted him off the ground like a sack of grain, and slammed him into the dirt, hard enough to crack the pass's stone path beneath.

The twin-blade guard charged again, his blades igniting with volatile flame now. He slashed in a whirlwind, each blow faster, sharper, tracing deadly patterns of heat and crimson.

Ben ducked, weaved, dodged, then caught both wrists mid-swing. He planted his foot into the guard's chest and tore the swords from his hands, flinging them across the pass like throwing stars.

Then he began punching.

BAM! A straight to the visor.

BAM! A hook to the ribs.

BAM! An uppercut under the chin that sent the armored guard flying five meters into the air before crashing down in a shower of dust and sparks.

The glaive-wielder was recovering, grabbing his weapon again, but Ben was already there.

He drove both palms into the man's chest, lifting him off his feet, then flipped and roundhouse kicked him in mid-air, sending the body spiraling into a boulder, which exploded on impact.

Both Royal Guards were down. Their obsidian armor was cracked, and dented.

Ben tilted his head, breathing calmly.

His fists were glowing faintly now in dark aether.

The guards rose, slower this time, blood trickling from the gaps in their helms. They looked at each other, and activated their molten cores.

Suddenly, their bodies flared with internal light, crimson veins glowing under their armor, like living lava circuits.

Ben's eyes narrowed.

"Now we're talking."

They came together, both roaring now, one slashing with bare fists, the other swinging the glaive like a flaming whip.