Chapter 3095: Shadow over the Steepe

The journey resumed, this time on Emery’s terms.

Stealth first. Speed second.

The dwarves had little to offer in that regard—but Ilvorn, the High Elf, proved to be a master of Wind Law in his own right. He cast a high-tier wind spell that transformed the air around the ark, creating a vast, natural-looking cloud formation thick enough to completely conceal the Floating Tortoise from the ground.

The spell was powerful enough to mask the ark’s presence from ordinary perception, but maintaining such a large-scale concealment while moving at full speed would make the cloud appear unnatural. To keep the illusion convincing, they had to slow the ark to nearly one third its normal speed, allowing the cloud to drift naturally across the sky rather than appearing to race unnaturally over the grasslands.

They also gave every known settlement a wide, deliberate berth, avoiding populated areas even when doing so added several detours to their route.

Altogether, the detours would likely triple their travel time, perhaps even more. The passengers felt the strain almost immediately. Restless glances and quiet complaints spread through the lower decks as the journey stretched on, but when Bragnir put the matter to a vote, the answer was unanimous.

Slow and alive was better than flying into a quick death.

Hours later, they finally spotted them—a group of Parasite Hounds. Tension immediately spread across the deck.

The cloud cover remained intact, drifting naturally across the sky while concealing the massive metal ark within its depths. Whether it was the altitude, the thickness of the cloud, or simply Ilvorn’s exceptional control, nothing below seemed to notice their presence.

Several more hours passed before Emery’s Divine Sense detected something else.

A pack of giant creatures tore across the grassland below, moving in a straight line that seemed to intersect directly with the ark’s path.

Its head slowly tilted upward.

For a moment, the enormous tiger seemed to stare directly toward the cloud bank concealing the Floating Tortoise, as though it could somehow sense the presence of something hidden above.

Emery immediately tensed. Ready to strike the moment the creature exposed their position.

The Ridgeback narrowed its eyes.

It sniffed the air once.

After a few tense seconds, the beast suddenly blinked and shook its massive head, apparently losing whatever strange sensation had caught its attention. It lowered its gaze and quickly loped back into formation with the rest of the pack.

Only after the creatures had disappeared into the distance did Emery slowly relax his hand.

A collective breath escaped from the dwarves across the deck.

One day passed.

Then another.

The cloud strategy, however maddeningly slow it was, was proving to be the right choice. Their progress was painfully inefficient, but the Floating Tortoise continued south without attracting any serious attention.

The third day finally broke that streak.

Despite every effort to skirt known settlements, the Floating Tortoise eventually crossed paths with a band of riders, nearly a hundred strong, moving across the grassland below. They were humanoid steppe-folk, each mounted on a large, horned beast resembling a horse. Their mounts thundered across the grass, kicking up clouds of dust as the riders moved together in a tight formation.

As the gap closed, Emery’s Divine Sense swept across them.

He caught the telltale signs crawling beneath their skin—thin purplish veins spreading from their necks and disappearing beneath their clothing.

They were infected.

Unlike the beasts, these cultivator possessed a much sharper level of awareness.

Emery’s senses quickly picked out three distinct Grand Magus auras among them.

At the head of the group rode a broad-shouldered man with dark hair bound into tight braids.

He looked toward the sky.

Then his arm shot upward as he barked a series of rapid commands in a language none of the dwarves or elves recognized.

The reaction was immediate.

Within seconds, every rider had turned their attention toward the same seemingly empty patch of sky.

Then, instead of charging toward the ark, they scattered.

Dozens of riders broke formation simultaneously, racing in every direction across the grassland. Some turned east, others west, while the rest split into smaller groups and fled southward.

Emery’s expression darkened.

"Finish them fast!" He roared.

The dwarves immediately responded.

Crossbows along the ark’s sides fired in overlapping volleys, sending bolts of condensed energy streaking toward the fleeing riders. Above them, the two elven holy knights unleashed arcs of lightning that tore through the sky, illuminating the grassland with brilliant flashes.

The steppe-folk reacted quickly.

Their mounts surged forward at full speed while the riders twisted in their saddles, dodging incoming attacks with practiced skill.

One of the three Grand Magus riders suddenly peeled away from the others, he turned back toward the ark.

He was covering the retreat.

Durnok Deepforge immediately stepped off the deck.

His massive body dropped toward the grassland before earth energy erupted beneath his feet, slowing his descent. He landed heavily in the path of the Grand Magus rider.

"That one is mine," Durnok growled.

At almost the same moment, Soltz locked onto another Grand Magus.His figure disappearing beneath the cloud cover as he pursued his target across the plains.

That left the third.

Emery’s Divine Sense immediately locked onto him.

This rider had abandoned all pretense of fighting and was pushing his mount to its absolute limit, desperately trying to put as much distance between himself and the ark as possible.

With a surge of spatial energy, Emery shot forward. The chase lasted only moments.

Within a short time, the entire group had been run down and destroyed.

Small comfort.

The damage had already been done. These infected riders had almost certainly managed to send word back before the last rider fell.

This time, Emery wasn’t going to wait and find out the hard way.

Eight Khaos Legion clones split away from him at once. Four were sent ahead to scout the path, while the remaining four stayed behind the ark, watching their flanks and creating deliberate misdirections to confuse anyone attempting to track them.

Emery had previously avoided using so many clones for scouting because there was always a risk of them encountering a powerful infected creature capable of sensing through their concealment. But this time, intelligence was more important than caution.

They needed to know what was coming before it reached them.

"Full throttle," Bragnir ordered.

The Floating Tortoise immediately surged forward.

Its engine core roared as the ark accelerated, leaving the carefully maintained cloud formation behind. The concealment spell could no longer be maintained at that speed, but there was little point in hiding if the enemy already knew they were there.

Within the hour, one of Emery’s clones detected a fresh band of riders sweeping in from the east.

They were moving quickly and deliberately, clearly searching the surrounding grasslands.

Not long after, another group appeared from the west.

Then another.

The enemy was already spreading out across the region, sending scouts in different directions to locate the ark. Emery’s clones guided the Floating Tortoise around some groups, while others were intercepted and eliminated before they could get close enough to send back any useful information.

More groups were discovered throughout the day.

Some were avoided entirely.

Others were cut down.

One group was unlucky enough to cross directly into the ark’s path and was destroyed before it could react.

They were all scouts.

But there were too many of them.

The next several hours became a constant game of pursuit and evasion. Emery’s clones raced ahead and along the flanks, continuously feeding information back to the main body while the Floating Tortoise changed direction whenever necessary. The dwarves maintained maximum speed, while the elven holy knights remained ready to strike.

After another full day of feints, detours, and running skirmishes, one of Emery’s clones finally spotted something waiting ahead.

A horde.

Thousands strong.

They were steppe warriors—the genuine, once-proud kind. Their bodies still carried the tribal tattoos of their people, but those markings were now partially obscured by dark purple veins spreading beneath their skin. Their eyes were dull and lifeless, and their movements carried the unnatural coordination Emery had already come to associate with the infected.

Emery’s Divine Sense swept across the horde.

His expression immediately turned grim.

At least two dozen Grand Magus signatures.

Each rode massive striped tigers, each beast were fast enough to actually give chase to the Floating Tortoise.

There would be no slipping past this one.