Dragon King's Harem Chapter 368. Chaos I
Viperax was shocked, his eyes widening in disbelief as he took in the scene before him. It wasn't just the devastation or the terror on his wives' faces that made his blood run cold—it was the sight of the Dreadswarm Reavers, a swarm of them, almost as numerous as the Nightshade Ravagers.
The Dreadswarm Reavers, with their elongated limbs, sharp claws, and glowing eyes, were a nightmare incarnate. Their dark, chitinous armor glinted menacingly in the flickering light of the campfires.
They moved in coordinated waves. It was clear that this was not a random attack; it was a well-coordinated assault designed to break the morale and defenses of his camp.
His mind raced, struggling to comprehend how things had escalated so quickly.
'Argod,' he thought again, his suspicion now a near certainty. This had to be the Dragon King's doing. Only someone with his cunning and resources could orchestrate such a multifaceted attack.
One of his wives, her voice trembling, reached out to him.
"Your Majesty, they came out of nowhere. We were... we were so scared." Her eyes were wide with fear, and she clung to him as if he were her last hope.
Another wife, still bleeding from the scratch on her arm, added, "They attacked so suddenly. We didn't even have time to react."
Viperax's rage flared anew. "Where are the guards? How did they let this happen?" he demanded, his voice a mix of anger and desperation.
A soldier nearby, clearly shaken, tried to explain. "We were caught off guard, Your Majesty. The Nightshade Ravagers were a distraction. We didn't expect another attack so soon, especially from the Reavers."
Viperax clenched his fists. This was no longer just about defending his camp—it was about survival. He needed to act quickly and decisively.
"Get my wives to safety," he ordered, his voice steady despite the chaos around him. "Take them to the secure tent, and double the guard there."
The soldier nodded, gathering a few others to help escort the terrified women to safety. Viperax turned his attention back to the battlefield. The Reavers were advancing, their claws and fangs tearing through anything in their path. His soldiers were fighting valiantly, but they were clearly overwhelmed.
"We need to regroup!" Viperax shouted, rallying his men. "Form a defensive perimeter around the camp!"
His soldiers moved swiftly, carrying out Viperax's orders. They used the Death Boulders spell again and dragged the massive boulders into position, creating a makeshift barrier around the camp.
Shields were locked together, forming a protective wall, while spearmen stood ready behind them. Archers took up positions on higher ground, their arrows trained on the advancing Dreadswarm Reavers but this time they had to be careful since some of their comrades were still fighting with them.
Viperax gritted his teeth, the anger inside him a roiling storm. His wives were different from Argod's, and this difference gnawed at him now more than ever. Each of Argod's wives possessed unique abilities and powers that made them as much warriors as companions. They could defend themselves, and in some cases, even lead their own battles or support Argod in the battle.
In contrast, Viperax had chosen his wives for different reasons. He preferred those who could serve him in the bedchamber, who could entertain him and soothe his ego. They were beautiful and compliant, but in moments like these, their vulnerability was a clear reminder of his choices. It wasn't their fault—they had been selected to fit a role he had desired. But now, their helplessness only fueled his rage.
"Hold the line!" Viperax roared, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Do not let them breach the defenses!"
The Dreadswarm Reavers were relentless, their coordinated attacks testing the limits of the soldiers' resolve. Each wave of the monstrous creatures crashed against the defensive line, their claws scraping against shields, their fangs snapping inches from exposed flesh.
The soldiers fought bravely, but the strain was beginning to show.
A Reaver leapt over the boulder barrier, landing amidst a group of soldiers with a guttural snarl.
Viperax was on it in an instant, his sword slicing through the air with deadly precision. The Reaver fell, but more were already pushing forward to take its place.
"We need reinforcements!" shouted the chief, his voice hoarse from shouting commands. "We can't hold them much longer!"
Viperax knew he had to do something drastic. He couldn't afford to lose this battle—not just for the sake of his camp, but for his own pride. The thought of Argod winning again, of the Dragon King's smug face, was unbearable. He had to turn the tide.
"Prepare the Quicksand Trap!" Viperax commanded, his mind racing to form a new strategy. He knew they needed something more to halt the relentless advance of the Dreadswarm Reavers.
The soldiers, recognizing the urgency in his voice, moved swiftly to comply.
The Quicksand Trap was a spell every soldier was trained to use in emergencies. It was a complex and risky maneuver especially since they used it in their own camp, but it had the potential to turn the tide of battle.
The ground beneath them began to shimmer as the soldiers chanted in unison, their hands moving in practiced motions. The earth responded to their will, softening and shifting until it became a treacherous expanse of quicksand.
"Hold your positions!" Viperax shouted, his eyes fixed on the advancing Reavers. "Wait for my signal!"
The Dreadswarm Reavers, driven by their primal instincts, charged forward, oblivious to the danger that lay ahead.
Viperax's soldiers stood their ground, their hearts pounding as they awaited the moment of truth.
As the first line of Reavers reached the edge of the prepared ground, Viperax raised his sword high. "Now!" he bellowed, the command echoing across the battlefield.
With a synchronized movement, the soldiers activated the spell. The ground beneath the Reavers liquefied, turning into a deadly trap. The front line of the creatures plunged into the quicksand, their momentum carrying them forward into the deadly mire. They thrashed and snarled, their limbs flailing as they tried to escape, but the more they struggled, the deeper they sank.
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