Chapter Seventy-Five: Summoning the Thunderstorm

The druid cast a sidelong glance at Roya. “The last person who tried to bribe me after destroying nature… let me recall.”

Behind Roya, Lark nearly lost control of his legs and almost tumbled off his horse.

The surrounding attendants, upon hearing the accusation of destroying nature, turned deathly pale.

Looking at the oak treants nearby, none dared challenge the fury of this archdruid.

Roya took a deep breath, gripping the hilt at his waist as though drawing courage from a well-worn habit. He straightened and said solemnly, “Honored Druid Othmaris, what do you mean by destroying nature? We’re merely transporting some supplies to the border.”

Othmaris looked down upon Roya with open disdain. “I have no interest in your shadowy tricks. All I know is that your caravan cannot pass through here.”

“The last batch you sent destroyed nearly half of the Southern Isle Forest. After deliberation, we decided: from now on, any supplies destined for Castle Carso or Butan City are forbidden from passing through the Northern Isle Forest.”

Roya’s face turned ashen at these words, and he hastily protested, “Sir, you know we’ve always been careful to protect the forest, every time—”

“Leave. If not for your leader Ys, the ones standing here would be the merchants of the North Sky Trading League.”

With that, seeing Roya still unwilling to give up, Druid Othmaris began to chant.

[Adventurer performs Spellcraft check on Druid Othmaris: 7 + D20 = 7 + 19 = 26, exceeding DC20. Successfully identified as 5th-level divine spell: Call Lightning Storm.]

Zhao Xu saw this flash across his interface and was stunned.

So this druid truly meant business?

A storm summoning up to fifteen bolts of 5d6 lightning—no one present could possibly survive such devastation.

Faced with a high-level spellcaster chanting, Maple Leaf and his party were so shocked they didn’t know what would happen next.

No one dared move, not wanting to provoke a fatal misunderstanding.

For the oak treants could destroy them all.

When the blade hasn’t yet fallen, one always hopes for a turn of fate.

Zhao Xu looked at the druid in the midst of casting, at the gathering storm clouds above.

None of his 1st-level arcane or divine spells could resolve this crisis.

If it were only a 3rd-level spell, he could estimate and perhaps escape seventy meters to avoid the area.

But this was a 5th-level Call Lightning Storm, covering three hundred meters—Zhao Xu had no hope of running that far in six seconds.

Such is the misery of a 1st-level wizard in Arthur: low health, short legs, weak spells.

If luck favored them, perhaps Maple Leaf the fighter with 12hp could barely endure a strike, but Zhao Xu with his 8hp stood little chance.

The damage curve is nearly a bell, with the greatest probability between 15 and 16 points.

If he were only struck for 5–7 damage, it would mean not only the goddess of magic but also the goddess of luck smiled upon him.

Resisting such foolish hopes, Zhao Xu reached into his pack for the trump card Antinoya had given him—still reluctant to use the ultimate backup branded on his back.

Howard’s Handy Haversack allowed him to instantly retrieve anything he desired. He took it in hand, drawing courage from its presence.

But then, with a deafening roar and swifter than Zhao Xu anticipated, the druid’s spell completed.

A bolt of lightning crashed to earth just three meters away.

The near ten-meter-high arc cut a sheet of white across Zhao Xu’s face, but inwardly he grew calm and pushed his trump card back into the satchel.

None present had ever seen a lightning bolt over a meter thick, and all turned white with terror.

As the flash faded, only the smoking earth testified to the lingering power of the spell.

No one knew that at least ten more bolts would surely follow.

The ground began to tremble, and the surrounding oak treants advanced in unison toward them.

“Retreat! Turn back!” Roya, realizing the druid was deadly serious, shouted. His attendant hurried to sound the agreed whistle.

Zhao Xu, having discerned the druid’s true intent, felt little worry. He glanced around and drew closer to the four other players.

They might not fear death, but the attendants around them were another matter—he had no wish to be trampled by panicked men.

Much of this group consisted of Roya’s handpicked confidants, brothers who had survived life and death with him, and with their help the remaining caravan began to retreat in disarray.

“Stick close. It’s fine. The lightning won’t hit us,” Zhao Xu reassured the four, who, though flustered, still kept to their duty.

No sooner had he spoken than another bolt crashed from the heavens.

But again, it struck no one; the oak treants pressed forward at an unhurried pace.

Only now did the four begin to understand: the druid’s spell was not meant to kill, only to drive them away without further argument.

“How extravagant—using such a spell to chase us off,” Maple Leaf the fighter couldn’t help but exclaim, a trace of longing in his eyes as he gazed at the druid.

Seeing this, Zhao Xu smiled. In his past life, he too had looked up at a mage flying overhead, raining spells mercilessly upon panicked enemy troops.

He had watched in awe and regret, knowing he had missed his chance to ever learn magic.

With their minds made up, the five ran for over a kilometer before slowing.

The original caravan now scattered, several wagons missing, their faces covered with dust.

Roya could only gather his men, too busy to notice Zhao Xu and his group.

“What’s in these wagons?” Rainbow the rogue, face regaining its color, began to inspect the cargo.

“Arms. And materials for making them,” Zhao Xu replied softly.

“Carso and Butan are striving to break from the North Sky Trading League, desperately building their forces,” he added, quoting what he had read on the forum.

They weren’t seeking war, but rather to arm themselves so thoroughly that the Trading League would find conquest too costly.

“Spellcaster, why does delivering arms offend these druids?” Priest Youyou, still breathless, interjected.

Zhao Xu wanted to ask if “brother” was now the standard greeting, but resisted and patiently answered, “Because the two cities are manufacturing arms, frantically logging forests for wood and stone, hunting animals for pelts, all of which enraged the druids. So, any attempt to support them is bound to be cut off.”

“So it’s smuggling to Carso and Butan—I thought we were headed for Mystra,” Maple Leaf the fighter laughed, slapping his forehead.

Zhao Xu glanced at the cargo wagons. From the deliberate waterproofing, the deep wheel ruts, and the recent state of conflict, he had already guessed these were weapons.

He also surmised their destination was Carso and Butan.

As for Mystra, it could manufacture all manner of magical artillery itself—why would a town once destroyed by magic need to import munitions?