Chapter 112: The Fall of the Black Hawk

Elder Basong nodded knowingly and immediately summoned his most trusted disciple. “Zack,” he commanded, “fly over and assess the defenses within Derlin Town. While you’re at it, take down those two troublesome watchtowers!”

The young lizardfolk shaman was eager to prove himself and deeply grateful for this public opportunity to shine. Beating his chest, he vowed to fulfill the mission. Then, he wove arcane gestures and chanted aloud, his dark green-scaled hands glowing with magical energy as countless tiny blue-and-white serpentine sparks flickered at his fingertips.

Zack held back from unleashing the prepared third-level “Call Lightning” spell, instead drawing the fierce storm energy into himself. He then activated his druidic gift, “Nature’s Transformation,” his body twisting and reshaping until, in an instant, he transformed from a lizardfolk into a black-feathered hawk. With powerful wingbeats, he soared into the sky, swiftly reaching the heights above Derlin Town. From this vantage, he calmly surveyed the troop deployments below.

“Shoot that damned bird down!” Flint Ironanvil shouted in anger, pointing skyward. The nearby militia immediately drew their bows and loosed arrows into the air. But the lizardfolk shaman, now a black hawk, retained his keen intelligence. He veered into the clouds to evade the volley with ease, then reemerged in a bold, taunting dive, skimming the sharp tips of the watchtowers.

The guards stationed in the towers tried to snipe the hawk with heavy crossbows, but before they could adjust the cumbersome weapons, the hawk unfurled its wings and unleashed the stored “Call Lightning.” A thick bolt of lightning, thirty feet long and five feet wide, crashed down directly onto a watchtower.

With a muffled thunderclap, lightning exploded, causing the tower to shake violently as if about to collapse. The guards atop were struck by the fierce electric shock, their bodies going limp as they collapsed unconscious beside their crossbows. The militia around the tower were stunned by the sudden thunderbolt, only snapping back to alertness after harsh rebukes from their captains, hurriedly raising their bows to return fire skyward.

The black hawk that Zack had become was cunning, darting back and forth behind the tower for cover. The dense barrage of bolts was blocked by the tower’s structure, none striking him. After a round of firing, the militia lowered their bows to quickly reload the crossbows. Seizing the thinning arrow storm, the hawk ascended once more and let loose a mocking eagle cry toward the soldiers below.

The militia wasted many bolts without so much as a scratch on Zack’s feathers. They watched helplessly as he circled overhead. Their morale was deeply shaken.

“We can’t let that creature keep acting so arrogantly!” Flint growled.

Roger hurried to the watchtower’s base and swiftly climbed the ladder to the top. Grabbing the magical crystal rifle from his back, he angled its barrel skyward, searching for the hawk.

After transforming, Zack had gained the hawk’s sharp eyesight. From his lofty perch a hundred feet above, he spotted a human youth on the watchtower, holding a strangely shaped tubular weapon aimed directly at him. Zack couldn’t identify the weapon, but his instincts warned him it was far more dangerous than any crossbow. Flapping his wings, he sped toward the clouds just before Roger pulled the trigger.

A sharp crack split the air as the rifle flashed. A lead bullet whizzed past the hawk’s tail feathers, missing by a hair.

“Damn it!” Roger muttered in frustration, lowering the rifle to reload.

Taking advantage of the moment, Zack turned sharply and dove down again, releasing “Call Lightning” once more. A second bolt of lightning struck, tearing open the watchtower’s roof. Roger sensed danger as the electric light flared and rolled on the ground to avoid the direct strike, but the current still coursed through him, numbing one side and nearly causing him to drop the rifle.

The watchtower, already battered by the thunder, wobbled precariously. The militia nearby instinctively retreated, fearing it might collapse at any moment. Joan glanced up at the swaying tower and judged it could hold only briefly. Without hesitation, he sprinted over and, empowered by his enchanted belt granting extraordinary agility, swiftly climbed the twenty-foot tower.

“By the gods, you must be mad!” Roger yelled, both anxious and angry. “The tower’s about to fall—what are you doing climbing up there?”

Joan said nothing. He began chanting a spell, raising his hand toward the sky. His cloak sleeve slid down his arm, revealing pale, slender fingers that pointed at the circling black hawk above. Magical power surged at his fingertips, coalescing into a growing purple orb.

“Vala!” Joan intoned coldly, releasing the orb that hurtled toward the hawk.

Zack saw the glaring purple light closing in and sensed disaster. Instinctively, he repeated his trick, diving into the thick clouds to hide. But Joan’s magical missile was unlike ordinary arrows or bullets—it locked onto its target automatically and would not lose track no matter how far it fled.

The purple missile streaked into the clouds where Zack was concealed. A harrowing scream pierced the mist, followed by droplets of blood scattering like rain.

The black hawk emerged from the clouds, its wing stained with blood and weakened, struggling to flap. It fought to glide away from the watchtower.

Roger seized the chance for revenge, raising his rifle and firing without hesitation. The bullet sped out with a sharp hum.

The hawk, retreating into the distance, seemed suddenly struck by lightning. The moment the bullet hit, a burst of blood and feathers exploded from its body. With a prolonged wail, it plummeted from the sky, crashing hard onto the ground, snapping its neck. The corpse rapidly shifted back into the form of a lizardfolk.

The militia around the watchtower erupted in cheers, their spirits greatly lifted from the earlier gloom. Flint Ironanvil, the dwarf commander of Derlin Town’s militia, felt a surge of satisfaction and gave a thumbs-up from the tower top. “Well done, lads! That was impressive!”

In stark contrast to the jubilant scene in Derlin Town, the lizardfolk camp across the way was silent and tense. Kotal and Basong exchanged grim looks. Basong’s mood was especially foul. From Kohn and Chud to now the fallen Zack, his disciples had been decimated in just over a month. Not only had his faction’s strength suffered grievously, but as a newly appointed elder, his own prestige was at stake.

“Lord Kotal,” Elder Basong said through clenched teeth, gripping his staff tightly, “allow me to personally strike back at those reckless humans and avenge the brave sacrifice of Zack!”