The 'Extra' Lord (Unlimited Plunder) - Chapter 62

Rolling to a stop, Owen brandished his sword, ready for an attack. But he paused, eyes locked onto an old, malnourished man. His head was dipped down, displaying his bald head that had black markings that looked eerily similar to a wide smile. If Owen hadn’t noticed a trace of breath, he would have thought the man dead. 

The room was floored with dark grey tiles. Four massive pillars made of the same kind of rock were situated around the room, holding it up.

Owen’s instincts were yelling out at him. The aura the old man exuded was terrifying. The smile on the top of his head was practically begging Owen to attack, to make the wrong move. Run. Don’t look back. Those were the only thoughts rampaging through his mind.

The doors behind Owen slammed shut. Owen quickly glanced around, seeing that everyone was unharmed, he breathed a sigh of relief. But it didn’t last long. 

“What have we got here?” The man said, the black ink mouth on the top of his head doing the talking. “Humans. Hm, only two of them here. Ah. I see. You have a peculiar… scent about you. Something special. Something to… savour.”

“What do we do, my Lord?” Draed asked, bow at the ready.

“I don’t know,” Owen said, his heart thumping. Owen didn’t know who, or what, the old man was. He hadn’t read about him. What did he do, how did he fight? Could they even fight him?

The situation was going from bad to downright horrific. Owen didn’t know what to do. His mind spun. He had to buy time. 

“Great one,” Owen said, voice trembling. “We did not intend to tread upon your domain. I–”

“Tread upon my domain?” The old man asked, voice ancient. “You didn’t just tread upon it. You have bastardised it. Warped it. Slayed my devoted slaves that bred and brought me nutrition. How about this—” he paused, and Owen’s heart sank. “—You may return, but the rest of them will be your sacrifice. And after that, every Consuming Moon that rises, you will offer me two sacrifices.”

Pyris and the others looked at him. Perhaps anyone else would take him up on that offer. To sacrifice them in order to save his life. Perhaps it was the only right move. But what was the point in living if he sacrificed the only thing he cared about? 

Owen sucked in a stale breath, stepped forward, and entered a sword stance. 

“You have made your decision. Now you shall fight.”

Owen tensed as the mana in the air swirled. Gorath seemed to sense it more than him, which was unusual considering the orc’s Magic stat wasn’t that much more than his. Was it all down to talent? 

Placing that to the back of his mind, Owen gathered everyone and entered formation. It wasn’t a compact one, as Owen had no idea what abilities this being had. If he had something with a high area of effect, they’d all be dead in one strike. So, maintaining a little space, Owen readied himself for any attack. 

No attack arrived. Instead, darkness swirled in the centre of the room. When it settled, a confused woman gazed around. She was human, wearing a Fragment armour of high quality. She also held a bat in hand that was lined with razor-sharp obsidian pieces. Judging by the fresh scars on her face, arms, and thighs, the woman had seen a lot of combat. And since she was still alive and kicking, that made her strong. 

Owen frowned. What the hell was happening? 

She tried to speak, yet no words arrived. The old man’s mouth on the top of his head opened up, and dark green smoke shot toward the woman. 

She tried to move, roll, but she was locked in place. 

The dark green smoke entered her mouth. 

Her bones snapped and twisted and then returned back into their place. Her muscles ballooned in size, only to return back to their original state. Whatever had just happened, the woman’s well defined muscles now looked like bundled steel wire. 

The old man had… empowered her? 

Her eyes flashed the same green as the smoke, and they latched onto Owen and his team. 

“My champion,” the old man said, a hint of humour in his voice now. “Fight. Struggle. And then all will come back to me.”

Owen had no idea what the man’s last words meant, but he didn’t have the time to ponder them. The woman rocketed forward, shattering the tiles underfoot, displaying a type of speed Owen had only read about—not seen. She arrived in a moment, smashing her weapon down at Owen.

In a panic, Owen raised his blade to block the strike. The woman’s full might descended upon him. Owen knew it was vital not to get injured. Not here. Not now. He bent with the strike, letting his blade do the work. Stepping to the side, the woman’s club smashed into the tiles below, breaking them.

Not in a position to slash her with his blade, Owen struck her with the pommel. Hard metal meeting unarmoured armpit, the woman screamed out in pain. 

Owen felt something inside him lurch. Killing the drakzun were one thing. But this? The woman’s face was twisted in pain. Eyes, not of her own, dominated her will. 

“Stop,” Owen pleaded. “I don’t want to—”

In a flash, the woman swung her club in a savage arc, striking his blade, sending him hurtling through the air, tumbling on the floor to a rolling stop. Pyris engaged in a heartbeat. Unlike Owen, she held no qualms about ending human life. 

Fist covered in star power, she punched the mind controlled woman straight in the jaw. A sickening snap rang out in the room. The woman took the hit, and returned one of her own. Pyris ducked underneath it, knowing it was coming, and leapt out the range of danger. 

She controlled the range perfectly. Like a trained soldier was born to do.

The woman snapped her jaw back into place, then like an enraged beast, launched forwards again. This time her focus was Lome. But he wasn’t fast enough to endure her assault. In one swift move, Lome was sent hurtling back, bones cracking, splitting, and scattering across the floor.

“Lome!”

“Fuck this. I’m sorry,” Owen muttered and met the woman in a violent melee. Draed and Gorath fired their projectiles whenever they had space. 

While the woman was fighting Pyris, Owen fully merged with his blade. Heartbeat and sword becoming one, he stepped in the beat of his own heart, and slashed her throat with all his strength. There was no hesitation. 

She was pulled into this, and for that, he was sorry. But if it was between his people and her…

It was an easy choice to make. His blade bit deep, halfway severing her throat, but continuing was too tough. Not because he had held back strength, but because whatever the old man had done to her body, had made it far too durable. Blood spurted out like a fountain. Owen didn’t stop there. Neither did Pyris, or Justin, or Mirian.

Justin summoned blackened lances that skewered into her body, finding any unarmoured targets he could. 

Pyris fists, with the weight of stars, battered the mind controlled human senseless. 

Mirian kept on striking from the shadows, boring the woman’s back with quickened jabs of knives. 

Lome was still recovering, his bones mending back together. 

For Draed and Gorath, he had ordered them to not waste time on the woman, and instead attack the old man. It was clear they weren’t getting out of this without a fight. More so, if they could interrupt the old man, and weaken the woman that way, it would be more efficient. But that turned out to be a worthless idea.

Draed had fired an arrow that bore into the old man's heart. Gorath found a moment to strike, lancing his body with crackling tendrils of concentrated lightning. Draed kept firing, turning his body into a hedgehog filled with arrows. Yet the old man only laughed.

So, Owen turned his full attention back onto the woman. She was his champion. Killing her was the only way. He hoped.

And yet despite the severity of her wounds, she still fought on. Owen and Pyris hadn’t escaped unscathed. Owen especially. As a result of blocking her attacks, his left arm was numb. Maybe broken. But he didn’t have time to worry about it. The same was for Pyris. Even with her training and expertise, because she had to press the advantage and not let the woman recover, she had taken on damage as well. 

Owen’s blade whistled through the air as he cleaved her head clean off. His grip tightened on the weapon, knuckles white with restrained fury. There was no satisfying notification—no signal that her life had truly ended.

The woman crumpled to her knees, her head rolling to a stop at Owen’s feet.

From her neck, dark green smoke twisted upwards, filling the air with a sickening stench. Black ink seeped from the stump, reshaping into a grotesque grin as her decapitated body rose once more. 

Owen’s teeth clenched. Fury ignited within him, burning hotter as he glanced at her dismembered head, its features now twisted in sorrow.

Rage consumed him. He dropped to a crouch, seized the severed head in his hand, and with a feral snarl, ripped into it. Her soul, her power, her very essence—he plundered it all. Skills, Stats, and a Lord Emblem surged into his system like a torrent of raw, stolen strength.

"For her, I will have vengeance," he growled.