Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story Kirill Klevanski (reading books for 6 year olds .TXT) 📖

“Pot calling the kettle black,” Racker snarled. “Aren’t your armsss elbowsss deep in the blood of the innocent? And your legsss knee deep in corpssses? Compared to you, I’m but a mischievousss child.”

All this time, his posse was laughing behind him. Vials of colorful liquid shattered against the floor, bows creaked, and leather creaked as swords were unsheathed. Runes shone on the wooden handles and blades of axes and arrow tips, and barely visible ribbons of poisonous vapor rose from the daggers.

Ash got ready for a fight, but Racker waved his hand, instantly calming down his men.

“I’ll do it on my own,” he said and turned to face the mage. “Look at me. Look!”

Gritting his teeth, Ash did as told. He didn’t look at Racker with his eyes, but with the energy that he had been collecting all this time. What he saw frightened him. A white fire shone in the reptile’s chest, so bring and powerful that Ash had to close his eyes and avert his gaze.

“You’ve absorbed it,” he said. “You’ve absorbed the Dragon’s Essence.”

“I have!” Racker exclaimed. “I did what you didn’t have the gutsss to do! I wasss a fool, I didn’t know what it’d do to me, but I found a way out! SSSoon, I’ll... I’ll get my handsss on true power an—”

Before Racker could finish, Ash, whose rage could eclipse the light of Irmaril, gathered the accumulated energy and hit the ground with his staff, shielding the silent abbot with his body. A roaring stream of fire erupted from the floor and rushed at the intruders. Twenty feet tall, it burned through the high ceiling; forty feet wide, it left scorch marks on the walls. The flames, capable of vaporizing a small pond, hit Racker’s exposed hand. Instead of screaming in agony, he disappeared with a silent pop.

The staff, made of ordinary wood, couldn’t withstand the power, turning into ash in the young mage’s hands. Ash was left unarmed and without anything to confront the enemy with. But he had no intention of retreating. A general, even a former one, didn’t flee from the battlefield — he remained to fight to the very end. Either his, or that of his opponent.

“Weakling.” Racker smirked.

Before, the two were equal in strength, but the Essence clearly tipped the scales in Racker’s favor. And without a staff, Ash was completely helpless.

“Run,” Lin whispered, stepping forward to shield the young mage.

“But—”

“Liao-Feng had once said that a fight is not lost as long as you still draw breath. The herald of your death as not yet risen on the sky. Run, young mage,” he said and pushed off the floor, leaping fifteen yards like a feather picked up by the wind. Landing among the group of assassins, he straightened his bent back. His long robe silently touched the ground and his hands, usually locked behind his back, turned into the deadliest weapons. There was no shouting, no clatter, no thuds, nothing. Ling’s palm touched the breastplate of one of Racker’s men, and the poor bastard was sent flying back as if he had been hit by a battering ram. He flew nearly nine yards and smashed through the wall.

“Run!” he repeated for the third time, breaking Racker’s hand with just one hit.

Obeying the abbot’s order, the young mage ran.

Chapter 46

4th Day of the Month of Krag, 322 A.D., The Plains

A sh swam up to the surface. Greedily swallowing air, he coughed as his lungs burned and ached. Ahead of him, the river continued to rage. Water bullets collided with lead ones, which, although they caused no harm, significantly slowed down the beast.

The water around him was boiling and frothing, as if he had found himself at sea in the middle of a storm. Huge waves would every now and again roll over the shimmering spheres as giant pillars shot into the sky, crashing down on the ferry with all their might.

In the midst of this chaos, Ash looked at the lost boy. His little body had long remained without the strength needed to even float. A couple of more seconds, and the child would’ve sank to the bottom and no one would’ve been able to pull him out of the river’s embrace. Low on energy himself, Ash, choking on both water and air, let the waves carry him where he needed to go.

Sinking under the waves every now and again, Ash felt time, like grains of sand, slipping through his fingers. His physical strength wasn’t enough to deal with the river’s fury. Trapped in this watery cage, his magic was of no use. And yet, he was in a hurry to help.

Finding himself on a few yards from the serpent, he dived under the water. Slowly plunging into the darkness, the only thing that guided him in the right direction were the bubbles that escaped the boy’s mouth.

Spells, arrows, and bullets whizzed past him. Every now and again, a shell, slowed down by the water, passed so close that if he had moved a bit to the side, he would’ve been hit by one of his allies. Despite the dangers, he continued deeper and deeper into the darkness, trying to grab the boy’s hand.

It was getting darker, but calmer at the same time. At the very bottom, the chaos that was happening on the surface couldn’t even be felt. It seemed that Erld’s depths were as indifferent to what was happening as much as were the distant clouds where the sylphs, the spirits of the skies, lived.

There was almost no oxygen left in his lungs. The mage jerked and pushed himself down, grabbing the boy. Already suffocating, Ash almost lost consciousness succumbing to hypoxia, but somehow managed to swim back up to the surface.

The boy coughed as his lungs were