CHAPTER 170: CHAPTER 169: HER CHOSEN, HER CURSE

The air cracked with tension as the clash began.

Lumberling surged forward, his boots digging into the earth as his aura flared. Across from him, the Lizardman High Priest raised his twin swords, curved blades inscribed with ancient sigils. Their eyes locked. Neither hesitated.

Steel met steel.

Clang!

The sound echoed like thunder as Lumberling’s spear slammed into one of the twin blades. Sparks flew. The force of impact pushed both men back half a step.

Then they moved again.

A flurry of strikes followed, Lumberling thrusting, spinning, pivoting low with disciplined efficiency, while the High Priest answered with savage, fluid counters. His movements were wild yet precise, dancing on the edge of chaos. Each slash from the lizardman threatened to cleave armor and bone alike.

Lumberling parried a diagonal strike, twisted his body to avoid a follow-up slash, and countered with a feint to the leg, then a stab toward the neck. The High Priest ducked under, hissing through sharp fangs as his tail lashed out, Lumberling leapt back just in time to avoid being swept.

They circled each other briefly, both breathing heavily.

Equal.

Lumberling’s thoughts sharpened.

’In terms of raw swordplay... he’s more dangerous than Aurelya. If she fought without spells, just with Knight skills, this lizard would still edge her out.’

The realization didn’t shake him, but it did raise his guard.

The lizardman darted in again, twin swords whirling in a savage rhythm. Lumberling deflected the first with his spear haft, slid under the second, then spun behind for a quick riposte. The High Priest pivoted unnaturally fast, meeting the strike head-on, sending a shockwave of force through both weapons.

Neither gained ground. Neither faltered.

They were locked in a battle of equals, both too seasoned and too dangerous to be taken lightly.

Then...

The High Priest’s sword began to change.

A dark, shimmering energy began to creep along the blade, twisting like smoke, pulsing with raw, chaotic power.

Lumberling’s eyes narrowed. ’The same energy Skitz used... when he absorbed Aurelya’s spell.’

Too late.

His next strike landed true, but the moment his spear touched the corrupted sword, the tip of his weapon sizzled, warped... and melted.

Lumberling immediately let go before it could burn through the shaft. He didn’t flinch. With practiced calm, he slung his shield off his back and drew the sword from his waist.

He wouldn’t win by clashing head-on anymore.

The Lizardman High Priest lunged with a snarl, twin blades glowing with unstable power. Lumberling shifted into a defensive stance, parrying only when necessary, sidestepping and weaving between strikes. One brush from those corrupted weapons could prove fatal.

A slash grazed his shoulder, his armor hissed as the fabric scorched. He gritted his teeth and rolled beneath the next swing, retaliating with a shield bash that knocked the High Priest back a step.

But the lizardman came again, relentless.

Lumberling ducked, dodged, and spun. The corrupted swords sang death in every arc, slicing through rocks and earth like paper. He couldn’t keep dodging forever.

Then, from the shadows...

Clang!

One of the High Priest’s twin blades came down in a lethal arc, only to be stopped mid-swing.

Clang.

Skitz stood between them, arms trembling as he blocked the blow with his dagger. The goblin’s knees buckled slightly under the force, but he held firm.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Even the High Priest’s breath hitched, recognizing something... familiar.

"You!" the High Priest hissed, eyes widening. "How... how could you use her blessing?"

Skitz smirked, though sweat beaded at his brow. "That’s exactly what I want to ask you."

They clashed in a flurry of quick strikes, steel against cursed steel, chaotic energy flaring between every blow. Sparks flew. The earth hissed with each step Skitz took, as if the ground itself rejected the strange power he carried.

"Who is this Naxxiriss?" Skitz growled, ducking under a blade and countering with a thrust. "Why do I feel some twisted connection to her?"

"Impudent wretch!" the High Priest roared. "You walk with her mark and know nothing of her will? Then I shall become her instrument, and you shall bleed for your ignorance!"

"You sound jealous. Was she your lover before she cursed me?" Skitz taunted with a grin, ducking just as a vicious slash sliced through the air above him.

"Blasphemer! You defile her sacred gift just by existing!" the High Priest growled. "You flaunt her mark like a child playing with fire. You don’t even know what you are."

"The curse... did she give it to me?" Skitz asked, his voice even. He meant the dark, chaotic energy he wielded, and the strange talent that marked him as different.

The High Priest ignored his question, his voice laced with disdainful authority. "So this is what you’ve become, her chosen, reduced to a pawn of lesser beings. Every step you take beside that human is a stain upon her blessing."

Skitz’s eyes narrowed. "My Lord," he called over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off the priest. "There’s no point dragging this out. He won’t talk. His memories will give us what we need."

He didn’t need to say more, Lumberling was already in motion, lunging from behind the priest with his sword drawn.

Steel flashed.

Then Lumberling’s voice cut through the chaos, calm but edged with urgency.

"Captains," he barked through clenched teeth, "if you’re done cleaning up the mobs, get as far from here as you can. Return to the surface if possible."

The Lizardman High Priest whirled to parry, barely catching Lumberling’s blade in time, but that brief distraction was enough. Skitz dove in low, his cursed dagger stabbing toward exposed ribs.

Lumberling and Skitz pressed the attack together, synchronized not by training, but by instinct and shared resolve. Where the High Priest blocked one, the other struck. Where he struck back, they moved like wolves, harrying, probing, feinting. Power surged and clashed, the air thick with the stench of magic and blood.

The air shimmered with violent power. Sparks flew as their weapons clashed, and the coppery tang of blood mixed with the sour stench of dark mana. Each blow the High Priest parried came closer to drawing real blood, and though he was still composed, cracks were beginning to show in his calm. His breathing deepened. His movements sharpened.

He didn’t take his eyes off the High Priest. The pressure he felt, it wasn’t just bloodlust. Something was wrong. That aura... it was coiling tighter by the second. Like a storm waiting to break.

"I’ve got a bad feeling," he muttered. "This bastard’s not done yet."