Headed by a Snake

Chapter 933 Curse Of The Ogre King

?Upon Gnaeus' declaration, the various Ogre leaders could not keep their silence.

"Tch," Scipio scoffed, "We can take Charm at any time. The forces of War Princess Cassiopeia are a joke."

--"No, Charm must fall before they stand with the Giants!"

--"We must tread carefully! The allies of Prince Tycondrius number far too many..."

--"You are all fools! We cannot give the Queen of Stone a reason to take action!"

Gnaeus bristled with annoyance. He had already spoken, yet his sons and cousins were not of a single mind.

Elder Zodurob idly preened his beard, "Chaaarm... Yesss... If we were to... *recover* a corpse of one of Rylania's ilk. Then, we can prove their neutrality broken."

Gnaeus couldn't help but loose a chuckle. His uncle's intelligence had proved, time and again, to be a most valuable asset.

It was a shame, though. Once Gnaeus declared himself King, the old Wizard would have to be executed to ensure his reign.

"This discussion is OVER!" He roared-- silencing the war tent.

"Annnnd... what of the messenger?" Warrior Marrowgut gnawed anxiously on his fingers, "They... smelllll... delicious..."

"Get rid of him," Gnaeus waved. "They've heard too much."

"My lord!" Yelped the burnt gnoll, "Please spare my life! C-conscript me if you must, but-- but I have a husband and four pups!"

No ogre spoke to defend the messenger. Instead, they raised their voices to cheer for the oncoming battle.

"Kill the GIANTS!!"

"The Free Nation shall belong to the OGRES!!"

"Together, brothers and sisters, let us end the legend of Sol Invictus."

Gnaeus found it somewhat odd... Usually, Scipio would have something to say.

In modern times, killing a messenger was frowned upon.

After the boy reached Iron-Rank, he had never been afraid to speak his mind-- to openly state how *he* would act, if *he* were General.

The youngest ogre slumped to the side, leaning on Gnaeus' shoulder.

"Grand...father... I don't... feel so good."

Gnaeus resisted the urge to push boy away.

Scipio's voice... was almost unfamiliar...

For the first time in many a year... it was... weak?

Gnaeus he grabbed his grandson's shoulders and turned him, looking into his eyes.

The light in them... was fading.

"HRKKK!!!"

Suddenly, the boy jerked forward. His chest was visibly convulsing and he clawed at his heart with his gauntleted hands.

Gnaeus' eyes widened as a cold sweat assailed his entire body.

The phantasmal image of a javelin appeared in front of him, pierced through the boy's breast.

Magic?

No... DARK magic!

...Only dark magic was capable of cutting through the layered defenses of his war tent.

Only the most powerful of those magics could cut through the physical and mental resistance of a Second-Circle Demonclaw Mage.

"D-defenses!!" Gnaeus screamed, "Reinforce the spell circles!!"

Nauseous with fear... frozen by the inability to comprehend what exactly was killing his people... Gnaeus watched blood spill from Scipio's eyes, ears, and mouth.

That same, red, life-giving blood... transformed into fine, black sand.

Scipio's body collapsed inward, disintegrating into more of the same.

One by one... his people fell... struck by the same, wicked javelin.

His uncle, Zodurob.

His own son, Cornelius-- the sire of Scipio.

Marrowgut roared as he tried to strike down the gnoll messenger... but he, too, disappeared... his murder undone.

The gnoll... the gnoll REMAINED!

Only Gnaeus' kin-- only his tribesmen... the descendants of the King Eater were targeted?!

...Only the most forbidden of god-magics... could wipe out an entire bloodline.

No...

It was impossible.

The mages of Charm... was this their doing?

A single name surfaced in Gnaeus' heart... the name of a venomous ivory-scaled serpent.

Even as he felt his own chest pierce... his mana begin to fade... the blood in his veins slowing its flow and turning to ash... and his skin crumbling to nothingness... he cursed that vile snake.

"TYYYYY CON DRI USSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!"

...

? Tree God's Forest... ?

Krysaos placed his hand over his eyes, reminiscent of a salute, "Did I get him? --Aw, shite. I shouldn't say things like that, huh?"

Tycondrius adjusted his military cap, looking in the same direction... "The javelin struck the ogre, yes."

"Then where'd he go?"

The Thunder God collapsed, exhausted, "Disintegrated into nothingness. God-magic... You... you would not understand."

"I'm a god too, y'know," Krysaos frowned.

Tycon crossed his arms.

The Ancient Ogre had been completely obliterated... but, even at the distance, Tycon could feel its lingering magic.

It exuded... Death.

Their felled enemy was an Ancient Ogre... likely the father (or mother?) of countless progeny.

It was a Sky-Rank creature-- an absolute catastrophe that would take an alliance of the Realm's strongest mortal guilds to defeat.

It was struck down by a single God-Rank attack...

No... perhaps the attack was stronger, still.

The observed effect, however... was far diminished compared to what could be reasonably expected.

Just... where... had the excess mana gone?

? Warning. The host has been afflicted by a Fourth-Circle Curse. ?

Tycon furrowed his brows.

Considering the timing, it was hardly a coincidence.

"Yo, LT..." Krysaos coughed, "You're uh... glowing."

...Was the Captain flirting with him? No. They'd been over that.

Tycon tilted his head nonchalantly, "Is that so strange, considering we're on the field of battle?"

"Well... n0," The Captain frowned. "But uh... you're glowin' kinda... dark? Is that a thing? Purple?"

"Purple is traditionally the color of royalty," Tycon shrugged.

The seated Thunder God looked up in worry, "Friend-Maedar... I feel... darkness... and evil in that magic?"

"Pay it no heed."

Tycon was curious of the caster and their circumstances.

However, he did not have the means to discern them.

Thus... he did not care so much.

Tycon summoned and activated the only defensive amulet he prepared.

"?Heavenly Cleansing?"

? The curse has been removed. ?

...That was simple enough.

A silvery blur of motion appeared in front of Tycon, but thankfully, the bells in Wroe's soft laughter saved him from being cut down.

"Ahh haha~ Good throw, Krysaos!" The angel-blood smiled as he licked at the blood staining his cheek.

"You did the work, keepin' that thing busy," The Captain waved... "I was really hoping that javelin would do more before disappearing, though..."

"Mind your hygiene, Mister Wroe," Tycon scolded.

"Aye aye, Boss," Wroe smirked.

Tycon eyed the Hexblade with suspicion.

Perhaps... Tarquin Wroe was the source of the curse?

Many of his abilities-- his hexes, were functionally identical to curses... and *control* was not his strong suit.

...Perhaps the timing of the Ancient Ogre's death was a coincidence after all.

"What'cha thinkin' about, Boss?" Asked the troublesome Daeva.

"I am thinking about docking your pay."