WorldCrafter - Building My Underground Kingdom-Chapter 49: Ashborn Squadron

It didn't take long for boredom to set in. Ben quickly realized he wasn't the type to just sit around doing nothing. His fingers twitched, itching for something to do. With a sigh, he pulled out his Blockify Pickaxe, stretching his arms before swinging it into the rock. As the first hit landed, he started humming to himself.

"The earth hums, the tunnel sings...

Thunk, clink, crack...

Snap, tap, thud...

A digger's what you are...

Strength's what you are..."

Ben took a short pause, then continued, "Time to dig."

As he got immersed in the song, he failed to notice the faint shift around him. The rhythmic sounds of the krell digging began aligning with his beat, their strikes subtly following his tempo. A subconscious connection—faint, yet undeniable—linked them through the hive mind. If this were an anime, this moment would be legendary. Unfortunately, it wasn't. But instead, it was powered by the most powerful graphics in the world—your imagination.

"Dust to stone, and stone to ore,

Through the dark, he carves for more.

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Lantern flickers, pickaxe gleams..."

Time passed as Ben enjoyed his grind, unaware that elsewhere, a storm of conflict was about to explode.

A squadron of five Ashborn and a hundred Nephirid warriors stood in formation, ready for battle. With numbers like that, one might assume their opponent was equally vast—an army, maybe. But no. In reality, they stood against only one. A single figure, clad in tattered robes. His face was obscured. His very species unknown. A low, rugged voice broke the tense silence. "What's the meaning of this?" He didn't shout. He didn't need to. The words slithered through the air, reaching every ear as though whispered directly into their minds.

The lead Ashborn stepped forward, resting a massive warhammer on his shoulder. A slow, crooked grin stretched across his face. "Aren't you magus types supposed to be smart?" His voice oozed mockery. "Take a wild guess. What's it look like? We're throwing a grand ceremony... just for you."

A chuckle rippled through the warriors.

A second Ashborn, leaner and covered in deep scars, snorted. His obsidian skin bore the marks of countless battles, each scar a reminder of what he had survived. One hand rested lazily on the hilt of his black scimitar, its blade so hot the air around it shimmered. "Nah." He scoffed, tilting his head. "He's thinking. Magus-types love thinking, always scheming, always convinced they're ten steps ahead." He spat on the ground. It sizzled. "Too bad thinking won't do him any good this time."

A third Ashborn, , broader and towering over the rest, crossed his arms. He carried no weapon. He didn't need one. His fists, cracked and charred, pulsed with a molten glow, the heat rippling through the air. "Let him dream up whatever escape plan he wants." He clenched one massive fist, the motion alone sending a ripple of heat outward. "Won't change a damn thing. We'll crush him just the same."

The fourth Ashborn stood silent. He was the most unsettling of them all, his body scorched beyond recognition, as if he had walked straight out of an inferno. His features were barely visible beneath the layers of charred flesh. He held a long spear, its shaft carved from the bones of a beast he had personally slain during his Trial. He didn't smirk. He didn't mock. He only watched the Magus, ember-like eyes locked onto him, unblinking..

Then there was the last of them. A woman, her armor clinging to a lean frame that could almost be called beautiful—but beauty wasn't the right word. Not when every movement, every breath, carried the quiet promise of death. Her weapon, the strangest of them all, hung loosely from her grip—a chain, forged from the bones and metal of her first kill, twisting and moving like a living thing. She exhaled, tilting her head slightly. "Maybe he thinks words will save him." Her molten eyes narrowed slightly. "...Or maybe he knows something we don't."

A flicker of hesitation. Small. Almost imperceptible. The warhammer-wielding Ashborn scoffed, stamping his weapon into the dirt with a BAM! The ground trembled. "Doesn't matter." His grin widened, embers flaring in his throat as he spoke. "He could know the secrets of the gods for all I care. He's alone." He jabbed a finger at the Magus. "And we? We are Ashborn. We don't lose."

Silence.

Then, ever so slowly, the Magus tilted his head. "You don't lose?" He didn't sound angry. Or scared. Or even defiant. He sounded... amused. "Tell me again why you're scurrying away here, hidden from those in the upper layer?"

The grin on the warhammer-wielding Ashborn faltered for just a second. A flicker of irritation flashed in his ember-like eyes. He snorted, "You talk a lot for a dead man."

The Magus let out a quiet chuckle, low and amused. "A grand welcome, indeed. It would be rude not to return the favor."

The moment the words left his lips, the air grew heavy—thick, suffocating, charged with something unseen. Instinct kicked in. The five Ashborn tensed, their molten cores flaring as they shifted into combat stances. The Nephirid warriors, drilled for battle, fell into formation without hesitation. Across the battlefield, weapons were raised.

Then, the Magus lifted his hand. Slowly. Casually. A single spark danced at his fingertip, barely noticeable in the flickering torchlight.

And then—CRACK!

Lightning erupted from his finger. It shot forward, too fast for the eye to follow, striking the nearest warrior dead center in the chest. For a split second, nothing happened. Then the Nephirid screamed. His body convulsed, spasming violently—before the bolt jumped. One after another, the lightning chained through the ranks, leaping from soldier to soldier, weaving through armor, through shields, through flesh.

The battlefield became a web of electric carnage. Screams filled the air. Their weapons clattering to the ground as arcs rampage inside their body. Their eyes wide with silent terror as they turn to ashes. Dozens of warriors, reduced to nothing but dust in an instant. The wind carried their remains away before their weapons had even hit the ground.

The surviving Nephirid stumbled back, they have heard how strong the magus is, but not to this extend. The warhammer-wielding Ashborn snarled, "Enough!" His roar shook the battlefield. "Kill him!"