Chapter 397 – Abyss Energy

The Shaman class actually emerged much earlier than other professions. However, due to its stringent entry requirements, highly unstable power levels, and numerous significant weaknesses, Shamans have become a relatively disadvantaged group in modern times. Generally, more developed races like humans, elves, and dwarves no longer have practitioners who follow the Shaman path. In the current Faerûn Plane, traces of Shamans can only be found in uncivilized tribes located in remote areas such as the “Raging Wave Sand Sea.”

Today, whether it counts as luck or not, Punk encountered a Shaman—a rarer sight than mages—and one who could be considered as scarce as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns: a Master-Level Shaman.

However, Punk never underestimates his enemies. Although everyone knows Shamans are relatively weak, this profession has endured since ancient times for good reasons. For instance… Shamans can fuse the souls of deceased tribesmen into totem poles to create “Ancestral Spirits.” Over time, as more souls are integrated into a tribe’s totem pole, its Ancestral Spirit grows stronger. While these spirits rarely achieve a qualitative breakthrough to the Legendary level, they are often far more powerful than ordinary golems.

In combat, a Shaman can summon the Ancestral Spirit from the totem pole to fight. The massive, fearless Ancestral Spirit, combined with the Shaman’s cunning and bizarre spells, becomes a nightmare for enemies. Moreover, as long as they are close enough to their tribe, these seemingly dull-witted Ancestral Spirits can draw upon the souls of tribesmen to rapidly regenerate. An Ancestral Spirit from a populous tribe is the very definition of a super tank.

As a crucial part of the battle, the Minotaur Shaman had already summoned his tribe’s Ancestral Spirit. Towering over three meters tall, the muscular, shadowy figure of a minotaur standing behind the Shaman was clearly this Ancestral Spirit.

“Be careful. This big guy has a fire-breathing spell-like attack. Combined with the toxic gases released by the Shaman behind him, it’s particularly troublesome. Moreover, this Shaman can use some strange witchcraft to summon wraiths. If those wraiths touch you, they’ll drain your life force.”

Seeing that the battle was imminent, Kane lost all interest in idle chatter. The knight, now fully exhilarated, glared with a sinister grin at the equally smirking Shaman. Their murderous intents clashed and intertwined in the air between them.

“Look, look! Such delectable souls. Why won’t you offer them up willingly? Haven’t you realized the irresistible might of my master? Don’t you wish to conquer this insignificant world alongside the invincible Demon God? Ah! My master was right—deluded, foolish souls can never comprehend the beauty of darkness. You deserve only to fall into the Abyss and become the lowliest of lemures…”

With an expression of near-frantic zeal, the Minotaur Shaman muttered eerie threats while unfastening a grotesque and unsightly wooden carving from his belt. As he carefully cradled the carving in his arms, copious amounts of crimson energy began flowing from the Shaman into the Ancestral Spirit.The Minotaur Shaman made no attempt to conceal his energy, allowing Punk to immediately recognize the nature of the power flowing from the statue in the goat-headed creature’s hands. Having once crafted golems from demon flesh, Punk was intimately familiar with this energy. With just a single glance—no second look needed—he identified it as belonging to the evil chaotic abyss. That such power could be transmitted from the Abyss through a statue made the identity of the “Demon God Master” mentioned by the shaman glaringly obvious.

“Abyssal energy? Kane, I never imagined you’d have the audacity to provoke an Abyssal Sub-Lord.”

Punk shot Kane a penetrating glare, his tone growing increasingly frigid.

Yet Kane remained as nonchalant as ever, even finding the leisure to taunt the increasingly furious ancestral spirits with a series of insulting gestures.

“Hey now, Punk, don’t tell me you’ve grown timid after a few centuries apart. What’s there to fear from an Abyssal Sub-Lord? Some freshly-advanced Legendary Sub-Lord—what could it possibly do to us here on the Faerûn Plane? Chances are, this ‘Lord’ will be dead in the Blood War within days! All we’re dealing with now is a delusional shaman. Any Master-Level could take on ten of these clowns single-handedly”…………

Facing Punk’s icy interrogation, Kane continued his characteristic flamboyant rambling. Then, the knight who’d resolved to drag his “old friend” into the fray gave Punk no further chance to retort. Before his words fully faded, Kane—beaming with radiant glee—exploded with Battle Aura and charged toward the Minotaur Shaman.

“Damned goat-headed monstrosity! With all due disrespect, your kind and your mighty warrior Bugda reek worse than kobolds!”

Kane’s combat style remained quintessentially his own. Encased in golden Battle Aura, the warrior hurled loud insults at the shaman while viciously thrusting his Lance forward.

Mockery is an essential skill for any competent combat professional, and Kane’s taunting prowess was peerless. In one brief sentence, he’d insulted Bugda—the ancient warrior most revered by goat-headed beings—while comparing them to their most despised rivals, the kobolds. In a tribe that values ancestors and vengeance above all, either offense alone could ignite an entire clan’s fury. The instant Kane’s brazen shout echoed through the air, the Minotaur Shaman’s eyes darkened to crimson-black.

“Blind fools… By the evil blazing flames, these wretched vermin know not the taste of impending death! Old Kulong shall imprison their souls within this statue and scorch them with eternal flames!”

As expected, the enraged shaman glared venomously at Punk and Kane while immediately commanding the towering ancestral spirit to surge forward and engage.Following the Shaman’s command, the Ancestral Spirit—already driven to frenzy by the massive infusion of Abyssal energy—immediately charged toward Kane. One had to admit that these semi-magical beings truly exerted overwhelming pressure when enraged. With each thunderous step of the crimson Minotaur phantom, shockwaves rippled across the land, while the corrupting Abyssal energy spread blood-red chaotic patterns across every surface it touched.

“The combination of Abyssal energy and Ancestral Spirits is, in a way, a bold innovation. But dealing with this innovation shall be Kane’s responsibility—I’ve no time to entertain their games.”

Noticing the Minotaur Shaman’s hostility was almost entirely focused on Kane, Punk immediately planned to make a swift exit. By conventional logic, a Shaman already struggling against a powerful opponent shouldn’t dare provoke Punk further.

However… since when do demon-worshippers abide by “conventional logic”?

Almost simultaneously with Punk’s rapid retreat, the Minotaur Shaman—who had been watching him from the corner of his eye—let out a hysterical shriek. The piercing voice truly resembled the ear-splitting screech of a demon clawing its way out of the Abyss:

“No!” None of you shall escape!”

(End of Chapter)