novelODS Chapter 14 Portma Awakens
Chapter 14 Portma Awakens
Chen Mo took out an arrow.
The dark green liquid gleamed eerily on the pale white arrowheads; he had coated each arrow with a thick layer.
He found a secluded spot behind the railing, knelt on one knee, and held his short bow horizontally in front of him. His body was completely hidden by the stone railing and shadows, and he could not be seen from the opposite tower.
He nocked the first arrow and drew the bowstring.
The bowstring felt incredibly real against his fingers. The bow bent slightly in his hand, gathering power. His gaze followed the arrow shaft, across the wide ravine, and landed on the platform opposite—
The enormous sphere of light was spinning. The figure of the woman inside the sphere became clearer and clearer, her outline slowly unfolding within the sphere, like a drowning person awakening in the water.
And those necromancers—
With their backs to Chen Mo, their entire attention was focused on the ritual. Their chanting grew increasingly rapid, carrying a frenzied, almost manic rhythm. The sphere of light spun faster and faster, its surface radiating an increasingly blinding light.
Chen Mo's fingers rested on the bowstring.
He took a deep breath, but did not let go.
"Wait a little longer," he whispered to Benjamin.
Benjamin paused slightly as he conjured a fireball in his right hand, then looked at him. The old man frowned, his eyes filled with doubt—wasn't now the best time?
The necromancers had their backs to them, completely absorbed in the ritual, and the distance was just right.
But Chen Mo shook his head.
His gaze passed over the rift, landing on the group of necromancers in dark red robes, and then on the huge, rotating blue sphere of light.
Inside the sphere of light, the woman's silhouette became clearer and clearer—her arms, her long hair, her slightly upturned face.
He knew about the ritual.
He experienced this ritual in the game.
In the final stage of the "The Boy Who Cried Wolf" quest, the necromancers will summon Potema's soul in an attempt to enslave her.
But if he makes his move before the ritual is complete, the necromancers might immediately abandon the ritual and turn their attention to him and Benjamin.
Eight necromancers, plus any skeleton guards that might be present, were on the tower's platform—without cover, with no way out, only a retracted drawbridge and a twenty-meter-deep chasm.
The risk is slightly high.
But if he waits until the most crucial moment of the ritual—when Potema's soul has been summoned and is vying for control with the necromancers—the necromancers will have no energy left to attend to him.
In the game, timing this is very simple, because you just need to rush in and kill everyone.
But here, he can only rely on his own judgment.
"Wait," he said softly, his tone more resolute than he had anticipated, "wait until they're at their most anxious."
Benjamin looked at him for two seconds, then slowly nodded and withdrew the fireball that had been gathered in his right hand.
The old man leaned against the railing, his spellbook open on his lap, fingers resting on a page, ready to cast a spell at any moment. His gaze lingered on Chen Mo's face for a moment, as if reassessing the young man.
"You're more composed than I thought," Benjamin said in a low voice.
Chen Mo did not answer. His eyes remained fixed on the person opposite him.
The ceremony continued.
The sphere of light is rotating faster and faster.
Those eerie blue threads of light flowed from the necromancers' fingertips, growing thicker and brighter, like eight glowing chains connecting to the sphere of light from all directions.
Cracks began to appear on the surface of the sphere of light—not cracks that caused it to shatter, but rather like an eggshell, as if something was pushing it outward from the inside.
The chanting grew louder.
The necromancers' voices were no longer monotonous—they began to layer, to intertwine, forming a complex, almost musical harmony.
Each syllable carried a strange resonance, causing Chen Mo's chest to vibrate, as if something inside his body was responding to those sounds.
Then he heard it.
Amidst the complex chanting, one phrase kept repeating. At first indistinct, then growing clearer, like bubbles rising from the depths of water, bursting one by one into the air—
"Wolfhearted Queen. Heed our call and awaken! We summon you, Potema!"
His voice was hoarse and fervent, carrying a chilling devotion.
Chen Mo's fingers tightened slightly on the bowstring.
The other necromancers echoed, their voices overlapping like waves:
"We summon you, Potema!"
"We summon you, Potema!"
The sphere of light trembled violently. The cracks widened—from the cracks, a deeper, more intense blue emanated, not light, but something more substantial, like liquid, like blood, like some living, flowing existence.
The figure inside the sphere of light raised its head.
Her face—blurred, translucent, like a face seen underwater—was tilted back, facing the dome. Her lips moved, as if she were saying something, but Chen Mo couldn't hear her. He could only see her silhouette slowly unfolding within the sphere of light, like a flower blooming in the darkness.
"You have long slumbered in dreamless death, Potema," the leading necromancer—the one standing at the north end of the circle, a head taller than the others, and with the loudest voice—shouted, arms outstretched, towards the sphere of light.
"Wake up, Wolf Queen! We summon you!"
Everyone shouted in unison:
"We are summoning you!"
The ball of light exploded.
It wasn't an explosion—it blossomed.
The pale blue threads of light taut instantly, then unfurled outwards like flower petals. The surface of the sphere shattered into countless tiny points of light, scattering in all directions like a reversed meteor shower. And at the center of the sphere—
Portma stood there.
Her figure was taller than Chen Mo had imagined.
Even across the wide chasm, even though she was just a semi-transparent spirit made of light and energy, the oppressive aura emanating from her was like an invisible hand pressing on everyone's chest.
Her long hair swayed in the unseen wind, each strand trailing a pale blue tail.
Her face—angular, with a sharp jaw—possessed a cold beauty that seemed otherworldly. Her lips were a deep purple, slightly parted, as if savoring the air of the world.
She slowly opened her eyes.
Those eyes had no pupils—only two deep blue flames burning in their sockets. The flames flickered, scanning everything around them: stone walls, runes, rifts, suspension bridges, towers.
Then, she lowered her head and looked at the necromancers surrounding her.
The corners of her mouth curled up slightly.
"Okay," she said.
The sound didn't seem to come from a throat—it arose simultaneously from all directions, from the stone walls, from the air. Each word carried a deep, bone-shaking echo.
"Okay. Let me return to this dimension."
Her tone carried a condescending, queenly air of bestowing favors upon her subjects. It was as if she were saying, "You've done a good job, I'm very satisfied."
But Chen Mo noticed that when her gaze swept across the faces of those necromancers, her fiery pupils contracted slightly. It wasn't scrutiny, it wasn't assessment—it was alertness.
She was sizing them up.
Like a wild beast locked in a cage, sizing up those who open the cage door.