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The Innkeeper – Chapter 269: The legend of Lex Bahasa Indonesia

The expedition camp was filled with an eerie silence, as everyone who was able, stood guard with their weapons drawn. At first, when Ptolemy and the rest set out, all was normal. But when the war began, Goli’s first target was the humans.

They faced an assault the likes of which could fit in with the greatest legends in human history. Beasts, trees, flames, all assaulted them with passion hitherto unseen. But against all odds, with the fury of the world against them, the humans banded together and proved their resilience. There was no fear of death in their eyes as they battled the horde that had no end, no reluctance, only the one core value all humans in this realm had ingrained in them from birth. If they were going to die, then the enemy would die with them.

In history, it is said that humans fought their greatest battle in the darkness, abandoned by the graceful light of the Sol birds, abandoned by hope, abandoned by any notion of tomorrow. It was in the darkness that they forged the greatest of their legends, and it was from the darkness that the humans had clawed their way to becoming one of the seven great races. But these students fought under the light of their enemies burning leaves, under the glare of senseless hate, so that when their end came, they would see it coming.

Hours later, when the strength of their limbs was leaving them, and the last of their swords were breaking, it was not the abyss that came for them, but Ptolemy and his group.

Lizard astride, bloodied warriors tore through the enemy ranks behind the charge of their leader, shrouded in green flames. And when they finally reached the camp, Ptolemy made good on his promise of starting a forest fire.

A flame so greedy it absorbed the yellow color of life itself engulfed the forest that surrounded them, and the wails of beasts filled the skies. Unable to counter such a sinister villain, Goli abandoned the area around the human camp and focused solely on Karom – for now. But even abandoned, the flames roared for hours until every last shred of life surrounding the camp was erased from existence.

In the end, the humans finally had their rest. Many of them fell onto their knees, and then onto the ground. How many of them would ever get back up was a question no one had an answer to. No one asked about Lex and Barry, for in the chaos, who knew how many of them had gone missing?

No, they only rested, as the camp doctors made their rounds, doing whatever their failing strength allowed. For who knew when the next battle would come down upon them? The once green and lush camp was now carpeted in ash, with tendrils of smoke rising up into the air all around.

“Movement from the front!” a yell from a watchtower broke the silence, rousing all to their feet. They had come to the expedition as specialists in their fields, as geologists, doctors, cartographers and more, but none would regret ending the expedition as warriors dead on the field of battle.

Ptolemy stood at the forefront of the camp, looking out towards‌ the trees in the distance. Normally his vision would allow him to see unabated even at a greater distance, but through the gray smoke he could only see vague figures.

Slowly, a crowd gathered behind him, swords and spears drawn, arrows knocked, shields at the ready. At the moment, no one blamed the expedition for being a failure. The truth was, if expanding to regions where entire human settlements had withdrawn from was easy, then it would never have been their turn to complete this task. Everything that happened, to some extent, was already expected.

With the ever present threat of the Kraven hanging over their heads, the human race needed brave men and women to face the dangers of the unknown, and carve out the path to their survival.

Just as Ptolemy tightened his grip on his sword, thinking about the fact that he had not yet recovered enough strength from the previous battle, a dark shape was outlined in the smoke.

All the warriors turned their eyes to that approaching shape, as the scouts on the watchtower looked elsewhere to ensure they were not ambushed from another side. The dark figure in the smoke looked too alien to identify what creature it belonged to, but if it was following up after the previous attack, there was no doubt that it must be the forest’s champion.

Yet just as they harden themselves to face whatever monstrosity emerged, from the smoke emerged a thin, charred creature that stumbled more than it walked. It seemed to be carrying something on its shoulder.

But it only took a moment before the confusion was swept away and Ptolemy recognized that damned figure. More of a walking charcoal than a person, he would have never recognized the figure if it wasn’t for those damned, determined eyes!

Suddenly he recalled the rumors he had been hearing in camp, the stories that made him spit on the ground and somehow hate Lex even more. No, not rumors… legends.

Legends of a lone human who walked through the carnage of Gristol and gathered a group of survivors, fighting an endless horde of enemies until they were saved by the representatives of the academy. Legends of how, when they faced an ambush, the human stood tall and strong against the flesh of an Immortal Kraven, teeth barred as if ready to bite, his knees unwilling to bend even in the face of death.

He recalled the legend of the human thrown in the path of the Kalter Flug, to a village destined to be erased from memory, which, ironically, became a village whose name people would never forget. It was the village where that human stood his ground against a calamity of nature and even dared to attack the strongest Kalter Flug that caused a Vice Dean of the academy some trouble, all to protect his fellow humans.

Ptolemy recalled legends of the man so distraught with his weakness, he worked all day and all night to grow stronger, so he would never fail again. He recalled the legend of the human that had forsaken his surname so as not to rely on the prestige of his forefathers. He recalled the legend of Lex, noble son of Gristol… suspected heir of Cornelius II.

Despite all the frustration he had felt towards the man, as he watched the charred body of the irritating plebeian that refused to die, carrying on his back a cultivator much stronger than himself, he couldn’t help but believe the legends for a moment.

“Call the doctors,” Ptolemy told the crowd that was still ready to fight. “They’re with us.”


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