Chapter 287: Rules Between Deities

The barbarian social system differed completely from that of humans. In human society, a leader wasn't necessarily a powerhouse. In most cases, human leaders were simply rich in wisdom, often remaining safely in the rear to command their soldiers in battle.

But the barbarians revered martial prowess above all else. Their clan chieftains always charged on the very front lines, and Pomahan was naturally no exception.

The agile, powerful chieftain wielded a gleaming scimitar. While he appeared to be aimlessly slaughtering White Bird City's ordinary soldiers, he was actually carving a deliberate path straight toward Salok.

Surging qi churned within him. Before the ordinary soldiers could even react, Pomahan's blade took their heads. Led by their peerless chieftain, the barbarian squad advanced with irresistible force, rapidly punching through an alleyway.

The barbarians had chosen a cunning route—an alley barely two meters wide, flanked by tall buildings. By the time they pushed to within fifty meters of Salok, White Bird City's Magic Consultant, the High Tier Mage Owen, noticed the anomaly.

"Young Master Salok! Something is wrong! That barbarian squad is coming straight for you. We need to move, now!"

Startled, Salok peered through the gloom with his enhanced darkvision, locking onto the charging chieftain. The blood-drenched barbarian swept his scimitar in a brutal arc, lopping off the heads of several soldiers blocking his path.

Pomahan kicked down a headless corpse that was still spraying like a crimson fountain. Grinning savagely, the chieftain stepped over the body. A squad of elites—clearly far above the standard barbarian warriors—covered his flanks as they advanced. And they were heading directly toward his position.

Salok's eyes flashed as he wrestled with his options. In any war, the leader was a living banner. If that banner fell, it would deal a fatal blow to their army's morale.

Pomahan wanted him dead, but Salok wanted the barbarian chieftain's head just as badly.

Even a Legendary Rank Warrior would drown in a sea of bodies if they didn't retreat, let alone a Master Tier combatant.

Moreover, Salok was the heir to White Bird City, a lineage stretching back hundreds of years. He carried magical items capable of threatening Master Tier powerhouses—this was the true foundation of an ancient noble house.

Salok produced an exquisite rectangular wooden box. When he flipped it open, a unique crossbow bolt rested on a bed of red velvet. The bolt was completely transparent, resembling a work of art sculpted from crystal.

Master Owen's pupils shrank. A Mage's sensitivity to magical energy far surpassed that of any other professional. The instant the bolt was exposed to the air, he sensed dense magic and a razor-sharp aura radiating from it.

Salok handed the bolt to Avalon, the viscount's personal guard captain. Aside from Viscount Namisha and the Master Tier powerhouse Tomaru, this captain was the strongest fighter in the Simir Family.

But none of them noticed the Goshawk circling low overhead. Through its eyes, a barbarian wizard watched their every move.

The crystal bolt was nocked just as Pomahan received a magical warning.

Swish!

The bolt shot forward without a single flash of light. Its sharp tip parted the air in complete silence as it streaked toward the chieftain.

Having received the old wizard's warning, Pomahan was already hyper-aware of his surroundings. The moment the bolt snapped loose, a prickly chill raced down his spine. Tossing aside a chieftain's dignity, he threw himself into a roll and scrambled into a corner of the alley.

The bolt slammed into the elite barbarians behind him. It punched clean through several warriors before burying itself in the ground, leaving behind a pitch-black hole.

Several of the elite barbarians collapsed. Given that they were trusted to guard their chieftain's back, they were naturally no ordinary warriors—they were the very pillars of the tribe.

Watching his lifelong comrades fall sent rage surging through Pomahan. His scimitar blurred to its absolute limit. The soldiers blocking his path saw only a flash of white light before slipping into eternal darkness.

Although the strike claimed several elites, the primary target remained completely unscathed. Salok's ambush had failed.

With no time to curse his luck, Salok drew a scroll and activated it. Crimson magical energy erupted from the parchment, shooting directly into the bodies of his personal guards.

Mass Bloodlust!

The guards instantly felt a Berserk frenzy surge in their chests. Their only desire was to charge into the fray and tear the hateful enemy to shreds.

But these fiercely loyal guards cultivated by the Simir Family possessed the strength of true professionals. Remembering their sacred duty to protect their master, they forcibly suppressed their bloodthirsty impulses. Eyes glowing red, they held their tight formation around Salok.

"Go! Kill them!"

At Salok's command, the guards unleashed their pent-up bloodlust. They leapt straight down from the several-meter-high rooftops and charged the barbarian chieftain.

Salok quickly ran the numbers. Over twenty elite guards buffed by Bloodlust might not be able to defeat the barbarian chieftain, but they could stall him. As long as the Third Prince's reinforcements arrived in time, victory would belong to White Bird City.

It played out exactly as Salok had calculated. The Bloodlust-empowered guards fought completely oblivious to death. Their maddened, suicidal strikes stalled the chieftain's advance, leaving Pomahan roaring in sheer frustration as he was bogged down in the melee.

But the barbarians' true killing blow was never the elite squad. Before the battle even began, the old wizard had anticipated that human commanders would always be surrounded by elite guards and that human nobility would inevitably harbor hidden trump cards.

While Pomahan's elites could threaten a human commander, the chances of actually securing the kill were slim. A true assassination required a dagger thrust from the shadows.

The barbarians' plan was simple: the chieftain would pressure the commander. If the human commander fled in fear, the barbarians would roar that the leader of White Bird City was dead. Once the defending soldiers lost sight of their commander, their morale would instantly collapse.

If the human commander stood his ground, he would be forced to deploy his experts and personal guards to block the chieftain. With his immediate defenses spread thin, the hidden assassin would finally have their opening.

The plan worked flawlessly. Utilizing the Goshawk's aerial advantage, the barbarians rapidly pinpointed White Bird City's command center, and the assassin stalked through the alleys toward Salok under the wizard's precise guidance.

Stripped of his protective vanguard, Salok was left with only Master Owen and Avalon flanking him on the left and right.

Since Master Owen had cast a ward against arrows over Salok, the barbarian assassin could only launch a surprise attack from behind.

The barbarian assassin closed the distance with terrifying, silent speed. Gripping a matte-black dagger, he took long, slow breaths and settled his heartbeat into a lethargic thud. His eyes were locked squarely on his target.

Suddenly, his foot sank into something unseen. The assassin instantly knew he had tripped a snare. Abandoning all stealth, he exploded forward, lunging at the target barely a few feet away. Extending his arm to its absolute limit, he drove the dagger straight toward Salok's kidney.

The magical warning trap—laid out of pure caution—flared to life. Without a second thought, Master Owen activated the magic ring on his finger.

Ring of Repulsion!

An invisible force field erupted from the Mage, blasting outward in all directions. It slammed into the charging assassin and forcefully threw him back.

But the assassin's dagger had already pierced Salok's military attire. Every hair on the viscount heir's body stood on end as his heart seized in his chest.

The blade sheared through cloth and barely pricked Salok's lower back, leaving a single drop of blood before the magical shockwave hurled the assassin away.

Avalon finally reacted just as the Ring of Repulsion flared. Throwing himself in front of Salok, the guard captain glared at the airborne assassin and furiously hurled his longsword.

Twisting in midair, the assassin deflected the incoming blade with his dagger. Though bitterly disappointed, he knew his chance was gone. Without a moment's hesitation, he vanished into the shadows of the alleyway, completely slipping from their sight.

Fearing the assassin might have backup, Avalon drew his reserve short sword and stood on high alert. Master Owen swiftly cast a Magic Shield over Salok.

Salok—the viscount's son and acting lord of White Bird City—finally processed what had just happened. He reached around to touch his lower back and brought his fingers into the light. The stinging crimson on his fingertips drained all the color from his face.

If the assassin had been wielding a short sword instead of a dagger, his kidney would have been ruptured. Had he fallen, White Bird City would have suffered a catastrophic defeat in this battle.

Salok broke out in a cold sweat.

In the distance, the heavily guarded old wizard saw the assassination fail, and his expression darkened terribly. Looking through his Goshawk, he also spotted the approaching White Wolf Army. He immediately sent an urgent message to the chieftain.

"The strike has failed! Retreat immediately!"

Pomahan glared at Salok in the distance. He gritted his teeth in bitter frustration, but he could only accept reality. He let out a low roar.

"Retreat!"

A piercing eagle's cry rang out across the sky—the signal to withdraw. The barbarians immediately began a fighting retreat.

Master Owen finally spotted the Goshawk circling overhead. A single magical water arrow blasted a hole clean through the bird.

Hatim, the Master Tier expert dispatched by the Third Prince, let out a joyful shout. Lacking a proper way to communicate, he had been unable to locate his VIP on the chaotic battlefield. However, the barbarians' retreat proved that White Bird City had won.

"The barbarians have failed!"

Hatim roared and led his men in pursuit, aiming to slaughter as many fleeing barbarians as possible.

The defenders rapidly noticed the retreat, and triumphant shouts rippled across the battlefield.

"Young Master! The barbarians are retreating!"

Snapping out of his shock, Salok instantly decided to press the advantage.

"After them!"

Hunting down routed enemies was a grim pleasure every soldier gladly embraced. White Bird City's morale surged. Leaving three thousand corpses in their wake, the barbarians finally vanished into the woods outside the southern gate.

Never chase an enemy into a forest!

When the barbarians retreated into the woods, the defenders of White Bird City halted their pursuit.

In the battle for White Bird City, the Kingdom of Rowe had suffered even more casualties than the barbarians. It was a Pyrrhic victory at best.

However, one detail delighted both Salok and the Third Prince: Mumuta, a Master Tier expert of the Barbarian Tribe, had died on the City Wall at the western gate.

Weighed down by injuries and bogged down by swarms of soldiers, Mumuta hadn't been able to escape. He had ultimately died at the hands of White Bird City's own Master Tier powerhouse.

As a Master Tier expert, Mumuta was no unknown figure among the barbarians. His death injected fresh vigor into the defending soldiers, and the heroic deeds of Baron Mavi rapidly spread across the city.

The Third Prince seized the moment. He publicly bestowed a posthumous honorary title upon the fallen Baron Mavi, while rewarding the baron's family with great wealth.

Morale skyrocketed. With Baron Mavi hailed as a shining example, the city's defenders sallied out under the Third Prince's command, boldly trading blows with the barbarian invaders.

White Bird City was merely a microcosm of the Northern Province of the Rowe Kingdom. Under the command of the four princes, the Kingdom of Rowe clashed furiously against the barbarians. But overall, the numerically superior invaders still held the upper hand, and the flames of war and slaughter raged across this weather-beaten land every single day.

Meanwhile, across the sea in the Overseas Archipelago, deep within the White Dragon Lord's palace.

Amos, the White Dragon Lord, lounged entirely alone upon his massive throne, silently contemplating the war raging in The North.

To the White Dragon Lord, the barbarians themselves had never been a threat. Their true terror lay in the god they worshipped—Balinor. Arrogant as Amos was, he harbored no delusions about challenging a genuine deity at his current level of power.

But deities had their own ironclad rules. As long as the White Dragon Lord didn't violate divine taboos—such as toppling idols or desecrating the Sacred Mountain—Balinor couldn't blatantly strike out at him.

After all, every major race enjoyed the backing of their own patron deities. If gods wantonly slaughtered mortals or brawled with one another, the multiverse would have devolved into absolute chaos long ago.

Only a god could safely topple another god's temple. That was a universally acknowledged truth across the multiverse.

The White Dragon Lord lacked both the confidence and the interest to challenge this rule. After all, he wasn't some arrogant black dragon protagonist. He was a creature of cautious deliberation, preferring to scheme meticulously before making a single move.

As for annihilating the barbarians and destroying the foundation of Balinor's faith, while it would undoubtedly enrage the god, Balinor would still have no justification to personally strike the White Dragon. Racial warfare and total genocide were, quite frankly, everyday occurrences across the multiverse.

Still, the White Dragon Lord couldn't shake his unease. Balinor was a shameless old thief. He had already proven willing to arm a divine servitor with a Divine Artifact and dispatch them to the lower realm for petty revenge. There was no guarantee he wouldn't resort to another dirty trick.

No! I need to think of a way!

The White Dragon Lord closed his eyes, his thoughts racing like lightning.

Before long, an idea took root.

"Yuir. The Barbarian Tribe possesses a Legendary Priest. I want you to make sure he dies without even knowing what hit him."

A low voice echoed from an unknown shadow.

"As you wish."

Yuir melted away, and the White Dragon Lord relaxed. With Yuir's terrifying assassination skills, catching a newly ascended Legendary Priest completely off guard practically guaranteed a flawless kill.

Once that lone Legendary Priest died, Balinor would lose his vessel for descent. A deity descending into the material plane had strict requirements for a vessel—a legendary powerhouse was the absolute bare minimum. Without one, the descent would violently backfire. It would be just like when Tiamat had possessed Felicia; casting a single minor spell had left Felicia's body utterly riddled with wounds.

Of course, assassinating the Barbarian Tribe's Legendary Priest was mostly just the White Dragon Lord's extreme caution at work.

As long as the White Dragon Lord committed no taboo, if Balinor still dared to descend just to cause him trouble, the racial deity of the Chromatic Dragons—Tiamat herself—would surely pay Balinor a visit to properly "discuss" the matter.

After all, if a racial god couldn't even protect their own followers, news of it spreading would severely threaten their source of faith. No deity in the multiverse would ever tolerate such a thing happening.