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Chapter 472: Army of DretchesÂ
Savoring the despair emanating from Famir's soul, the Incubus Mammon laughed greedily, relishing the twisted, crushed soul energy around him as he laughed heartily:
"Don't worry. I wouldn't dream of tasting such a delicious fruit before it's ripe."
The voice of her mentor, Jaeger, sent chills down Famir's spine.
She could vaguely see the humanoid figure in the Incubus's abdomen, eerily resembling her mentor.
Suddenly, a tremendous force came from behind Famir, and the Incubus's twisted, terrifying figure blurred in an instant.
As an elite mid-level elven mage, Famir immediately sensed something was off.
"It's an illusion!"
"I've been trapped in the Incubus's illusion this whole time."
"Wait, am I even awake now?"
Just as Famir panicked, a furious roar jolted her back to clarity. She quickly shut her eyes.
She felt herself being grabbed and whisked away at incredible speed, heading far from the camp.
"Kill them!"
"Quickly!!"
The Incubus's enraged roars faded into the distance.
The overwhelming fear that enveloped her body gradually subsided.
"Someone saved me?"
A wave of indescribable relief washed over Famir. Feeling the rush of wind and the evasive movements around her, she began to speculate:
"Was this a backup plan left by my mentor? Or support sent by my organization?"
"Have we been protected this whole time?"
The chaos and noise grew fainter, and the bounding movements slowed to a steadier pace.
Famir could hear the breathing of several figures nearby, but something felt off.
Their speed was astonishing, and the strength she felt from their grip far exceeded her expectations.
This isn't right...
Famir was almost certain now that her rescuers were not elves.
However, she had no choice but to stay still, not daring to make any unnecessary moves or open her eyes.
No matter whose hands she had fallen into, it was better than being caught by the Incubus.
Famir even began formulating excuses and crafting an identity to justify her presence.
As long as she denied everything and left no evidence, she would succeed.
After all, dead men tell no tales.
Yet, a vague sense of unease crept over Famir. Pondering the situation, a crucial question struck her:
Why haven't they interrogated me yet?
The steady motions made Famir nervous. When she was finally engulfed in darkness and heard the sound of a door closing, her heart skipped a beat.
Humans!
People from the Netheril Empire!
"Which identity should I use?"
"It's best to go with a spellcaster identityâŚ"
While Famir carefully contemplated, a calm voice suddenly rang out beside her:
"An elven spy from Cole? I should have known!"
The familiar voice made Famir tremble.
Though it was her first time hearing Matthew's voice in person, she instantly recognized it.
Famir's thoughts grew tangled, understanding the implications behind Matthew's tone.
Slowly opening her eyes, she was met with a young, handsome face that exuded authority and calmness.
Seeing Matthew up close was far more intimidating than viewing his magical image; his presence exerted a palpable psychological pressure.
He knows?
Impossible!
As Famir racked her brain for a response, Matthew calmly observed her reaction and spoke plainly:
"Famir-Koller.
Age: 132.
Profession: Level 10 Elven Mage.
Identity: 12th in line to inherit the Cole Kingdom, Koller family, and a special ops member of the Shadow Council."
Matthew smacked his lips, noting the disbelief on Famir's face. He remarked lightly:
"Did you really create this Abyssal Rift just to deal with me?"
It's over!
He knows everything?
Impossible!
"Our intelligence couldn't have leaked!"
"Am I still trapped in the Incubus's illusion?"
Famir, her heart sinking, stared blankly at Matthew.
Her mouth was bitter, but she stayed silent.
Famir's training taught her the importance of keeping quiet.
No matter how Matthew had obtained his information, she couldn't let any confirmation come from her.
While Famir remained silent, Matthew didn't press her. He tapped his staff lightly on the ground and remarked indifferently:
"I can't tell if you're all stupid or if I'm truly such a big threat."
"But since you've taken so many actions against me, there's no turning back now."
Famir shivered, recalling the many stories of Matthew's methods.
"No! Our existence must not be exposed!"
"Matthew must die!"
Determined, Famir braced herself. But before she could act, a slender hand pressed firmly against the back of her neck.
The slight sting made her realize that any movement would result in instant death.
Matthew raised his hand, halting Sera from taking further action against Famir, and spoke with a stern tone:
"Now, I need to clean up the mess you've made."
"Before I return, think carefully about what information I need to know."
"I won't hand you over to the Netheril Empire, and you know why."
"Sera, she's your responsibility. Tell her what consequences await."
With that, Matthew walked away, leaving a trembling group behind.
Upon reaching the walls, Matthew saw dark creatures crawling out of the rift in the center of the orc camp.
Standing only 1.5 meters tall, they had spindly limbs, bloated bellies, and twisted, hideous faces, greedily surveying their surroundings.
Even without appraising them, Matthew immediately recognized their identity.
Dretches!
These cowardly yet cruel demons were the most numerous and freely moving in the Abyss.
They formed the foundation for many demons to evolve; through constant battle and soul plundering, they could grow rapidly.
Their combat strength wasn't impressive, but their numbers were overwhelming.
Especially under the command of higher demons, they exhibited a terrifying cruelty.
Matthew had dealt with them many times before, though this was his first encounter with them in this life.
Staring at the grayish-purple rift, Matthew finally understood the danger foretold by the power of destinyâit came from this.
Seeing more and more dretches emerge from the Abyssal Rift, Matthew turned to Angela, who seemed stunned, and said:
"Prepare for full firepower. Raise the combat readiness level."
"Also, contact Carlos. They should know how to efficiently deal with demons."
Though tense, Angela nodded resolutely.
Seeing her worried expression, Matthew calmly explained:
"Don't worry. Dretches are weak. Killing them is even easier than killing gnolls."
"They're just cannon fodder."
Ultimately, apart from their numbers being a headache, these dretches were nothing more than a swarm of cockroaches and rats.