Chapter 56: Trihana’s Anger

On a high platform at the edge of the city, the deep, resonant voice of a minotaur chanted prayers in a strange tone. The sounds of explosions, screams, and shouts filling the air could not drown out this peculiar singing; instead, they seemed to provide the perfect background music. This was the song of hell, a call to the song of hell.

Shaman Timmah raised his hands high, like a bard performing the lead role in an epic opera, pouring his heart into the song. His deep voice, mixed with sharp tones, rolled out like thunder. Enormous elemental fluctuations gathered in a unique way as his prayers resonated, directing their power toward the ceiling of the massive cavern above. The rock ceiling, unchanged for millennia, began to melt under the intense fluctuations of earth and fire elements, collapsing under its own weight and raining down deadly fire upon the city below.

This was not recorded in any conventional magic tome or historical text. At its core, it seemed like nothing more than using earth and fire magic to slowly heat and soften a section of the ground, which didn't appear to be a particularly effective combat tactic. However, in the underground world, using such magic on the ceiling of a cavern had a completely different effect.

This was not the combined forbidden spell of fire and earth, "Meteor Shower," but in terms of destructive power and range, this spell was no weaker than the legendary spell. The elven city, spanning several miles, was gradually being reduced to ruins under the constant impact of explosions.

Dark elf warriors and archers were charging toward the platform. But around the platform, minotaur warriors were pouring out from nearby passages like a tidal wave. From all directions, evil eyes and harpies were also emerging.

The foremost dark elf warriors had already reached the base of the platform, but none could climb it. Evil eyes floating in mid-air continuously shot beams from their central eyes, incinerating the leading warriors into charcoal. The harpies were in no rush to attack, circling near the platform instead. Whenever a dark elf slipped past the evil eyes' beams, the harpies would swarm like a horde of flies. Even though these warriors were typically strong, under the assault of dozens of harpies, they were torn to pieces.

The sporadic arrows from dark elf archers only brought down a few harpies. Shaman Timmah was surrounded by dozens of minotaur warriors as guards. Their rock-like muscles were more effective than any shield, and the toxins and curses on the arrows were rendered useless under the minotaur priests' purifying magic.

This was a well-planned ambush, with even the terrain arranged in advance. The platform had originally been used by dark elf scouts for reconnaissance, but it had somehow become Shaman Timmah's casting ground. The minotaurs, harpies, and evil eyes emerged in an orderly fashion, their formations clear and efficient, even more so than when facing the armies of Alrasia.

"Damn it, which family's scouts were on patrol? How could they miss so many minotaurs? I'll use them all as sacrifices!" MatriarchTrihana was still screaming. Seeing the endless stream of enemies, she already understood what was happening, but she couldn't bring herself to believe it.

The minotaurs, these barbaric and crude monsters, had always been unwilling to submit to the dark elves. In the minds of these monsters who worshipped the legendary abyssal demons, being dominated by any other race was intolerable. This restless ambition had been ingrained in their beliefs and impoverished culture.

Nigen had no fixed order, but the law of the strong ruling over the weak was universally acknowledged everywhere. Although the dark elves were not powerful enough to completely dominate other races, their faith was far more tangible than the elusive beliefs of the minotaurs.

The Shadow Dragon Malassa, like all other gods and demons, did not exist in the mortal world, nor did she offer any real miracles. However, one of her children, the great Moriel, truly existed in the Nigen and was worshipped by the dark elves. It was through the power of this divine representative that the dark elves had maintained their dominant position in the Nigen.

Minor conflicts between races were common in the Nigen, but no race dared to engage in full-scale war with the dark elves. Only the evil eyes, native monsters of the Nigen like the troglodytes, had once challenged the dark elves' authority. But after the evil eye tyrant was reduced to ashes by Moriel's wrath, the battle between the two monsters expanded the Nigen's space, leaving traces of grand spells and forbidden magic that could still be seen in many places today. In this great battle, the entire evil eye clan was nearly wiped out, with only a few lowly evil eyes surviving to this day.

This was an excellent example. No matter how barbaric or unruly the minotaurs were, they knew their limits in the face of power. Even though, in recent decades, a Shaman Timmah had emerged among the minotaurs, unifying the previously divided tribes and managing them with remarkable efficiency, bringing their strength to a level that rivaled the dark elves, they still dared not make any moves. In fact, they had become even more tolerant of the dark elves.

The dark elf elders did not feel at ease about this. On the contrary, they maintained a cautious vigilance toward this high priest, who was different from other minotaurs. This wariness had only increased after a strange incident over a decade ago.

However, no matter how cautious they were, after more than a decade of peace, their vigilance had inevitably relaxed. Even though they knew in their minds that they should not underestimate this opponent, their senses could no longer maintain a high level of alertness.

A frog thrown into a pot of boiling water would not die immediately, but it could easily be cooked to death in slowly warming water. Shaman Timmah had been heating this pot for over a decade, and only now had he fully revealed the temperature. Matriarch Trihana knew this was no longer boiling water—it was lava.

With a deafening roar, a boulder the size of a small hill, wreathed in flames, crashed down nearby, turning Matriarch Trihana's mansion into a pile of rubble. Flaming rocks and fire scattered in all directions.

A chunk of rock the size of a person struck Matriarch Trihana's magical barrier. Although it didn't break through the fiery shield, it sent her petite body flying. Two or three warrior guards nearby weren't so lucky; they were reduced to charred corpses with agonized screams. Several priests were also left in disarray.

"That bastard! If I get the chance, I swear to Malassa I'll twist his bull head off and hang it on my wall as a decoration!" Matriarch Trihana screamed as she got up, but deep down, she knew she probably wouldn't get the chance. She could only yell at the other priests. "These creatures came prepared! Gather our forces, break through the encirclement, and find a way to Moriel's lair!"

The priests shouted back, trying to make themselves heard over the explosions and chaos, "Matriarch, don't worry! Moriel must already be aware of this disturbance. With the scale of Tima's magic, there's no way Moriel wouldn't sense it. The great Moriel will surely come to our aid!"

"We're not going to ask Moriel to save us—we're going to save Moriel!" Matriarch Trihana, her hair disheveled and her fiery shield flickering, looked like a madwoman.

The priests exchanged glances, their expressions suggesting they thought the matriarch had indeed lost her mind.

Shaman Timmah's chanting finally began to subside. Even if this wasn't a forbidden spell, maintaining such a large-scale effect had drained his magical energy completely. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, but his fiery eyes showed no sign of exhaustion—only excitement.

The stench of corpses and blood, mixed with the smell of fire and lava, was more appetizing to him than the scent of roasted elf flesh. From his vantage point, the once-thriving city of Othello was now a ruined sea of fire. He had waited for this moment for over forty years. Even in the lifespan of a minotaur, forty years was not a short time.

But this was not the end—it was only the beginning. This was just the largest of the dark elf cities. There were others waiting to be destroyed.

And the most important battlefield was not here. This was merely a sideshow. Shaman Timmah smiled as he looked down at the remnants of the dark elf forces gathering below. These were just appetizers.

"The great Moriel is on her way here! We must fight our way out to meet her and exterminate these ugly minotaurs who dared to ambush us!" Standing atop the largest battle lizard, her body surrounded by a fiery shield, Matriarch Trihana screamed.

Though she suspected the truth, to boost morale, she had no choice but to shout these words.

"The Shadow Dragon is with us!" The remaining dark elves, now less than half their original number, rallied with undiminished spirit. Nearly ten thousand dark elves had perished under that single spell, but those who remained were determined. With a battle cry, the lizard cavalry, led by dozens of battle lizards, charged forward.

Meanwhile, a dozen of the most skilled warriors stealthily dispersed in all directions, searching for any possible escape routes. This was Matriarch Trihana's secret order: they were to seek reinforcements. Not from the great Moriel, but from other dark elves and their allies, the medusas.