<div> “So this is the infamous Ride-or-Die Village.”
Th𝗲 most uptodate novels are published on ƒгeewёbnovel.com. In the late evening of Mid Summer, Prince Omar Windstorm tapped his two fingers in code on the hard shell of his mount. As they travelled along a well-paved road, the giant scorpion beast he sat on made loud hisses, which sounded threatening to most foreigners.
 But to Prince Omar and his brethren of the United Nomad Empire, his mount was responding in affirmation. She braced herself subtly in case the villains of Ride-or-Die sprung an ambush.
 It was better to be safe than sorry as Prince Omar and his company drew closer to the most controversial evil civilization to rise in the last year.
 Why are their walls so tall? How are they able to keep so many patrolling skeletons functional? Why does each skeleton have advanced enchantments and powerful auras? Who built that massive tower that scrapes at the sky as if it’s an affront to the Ascended Heavens? Are those arcane cannons on the walls and the tower? How powerful are they?
 Despite his whirlwind thoughts, Prince Omar held a strict and aloof expression on his face. Royal Concubine Windstorm and his tutors had drilled etiquette among many other princely lessons with him from the moment he was born eighteen years ago.
 Apparently, he’d been a serious and solemn child straight from the womb, and his concubine mother and the tutors of their tribe ensured he grew even more serious.
 There was no room for letting one’s true feelings show while part of an empire made of thirty-three tribes. Especially when said empire had one central tribe that held the most power since the start of the Dark Era.
 “It’s quite the sight, isn’t it, Prince Omar?” asked a friendly but deceptive old man.
 The prince spoke carefully, eloquently, and with royal pedigree. “Those who boast about themselves from afar lack much to be desired from within.”
 “Ho ho ho! Now that’s quite the statement. I wonder how that young but reckless lad will respond to that,” the old man said cheerily, his hands folded behind his back as he walked beside Prince Omar’s giant scorpion.
 “You keep mentioning this young, reckless lad of yours. Unless you have more orphans hiding somewhere under your coattails, you have me at a loss to whom you refer, unless you play me the fool,” Prince Omar said with a small amount of bite.
 He’d wanted to know about this particular ‘young, reckless lad’ for quite some time.
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 </div> “I’m sure you’ll realize the truth on your own. It’s more interesting that way. I’d be quite embarrassed having to explain it myself.”
 Grimacing inwardly, the prince thought of accusing the old man of disrespecting a royal figure. But Prince Omar quickly recalled how the old man acted with precise killing intent weeks ago when he and his gardener orphans saved the nomads.
 The prince and his brethren had lost their better judgment after a long journey across the Man Hunter Sands. Hoping to find trustworthy shelter, they’d gone to the nearest frontier town on the western edges of the Eternal Garden Kingdom.
 It was there that Prince Omar had nearly met his demise, where a magic disease was being spread by a cult in fellowship with Evil Goddess Sickspread.
 The old man – Arnold of Ambrose – had interjected with a liquid sword in hand and silver flowers following his surefooted and killer steps. Where Prince Omar and his brethren have failed, Arnold of Ambrose succeeded, eliminating the evil cult.
 Ever since then, Prince Omar and Arnold of Ambrose, and their unique parties, have become traveling companions. It was an arrangement out of necessity, really, with some begrudging respect from Prince Omar’s side aimed toward the gardeners.
 But that respect had its limits.
 The gardeners are having their civil war and there is nothing unique I can find from them, Prince Omar thought grumpily.
 There were certain opportunities to be had in a kingdom in civil war, but that was not the business of the Windstorm Tribe. Windstorms moved to seek greater advancements and uncover long hidden secrets that could change a society.
 He didn’t come here to stir the pot of their squabbling and make some extra gold to throw at the Nomad Emperor’s feet. Prince Omar had come for a great secret or magic power that could finally put to rest the limping and stagnant beast that his empire had become.
 Can the secret power I seek come from Ride-or-Die Village? Prince Omar tried not get his hopes up.
 “Are we there yet? Are we there yet?!” shouted an unruly girl who everyone called Boots.
 She had the Level 20 class called Boot Dasher Child, which gave her magic boots and some abilities surrounding that.
 Prince Omar held a straight face as Boots dashed in circles around his giant scorpion mount. Then she dashed into the side of Arnold, the old man laughing the whole time.
 He plucked the child up and carried her on his shoulders. Boots cheered and thrust her arms up into the air.
 Prince Omar found the unruliness of gardener children to be unsatisfactory. But there were a hundred of them, and they were all above Level 10. They all had classes.
 Despite the harsh environment Prince Omar called home, even he and his men found it unusual to see this many pre-teens with classes. Looking back, he saw a menagerie of orphans playing with their basic skills, elemental magic, and uncommon traits.
 A few among them even had rare traits. Such a force could slaughter a town of adult peasants in the weakest regions, which didn’t seem like much, but it was still troubling.
 Prince Omar was a Level 51 Wind Wizard himself. The thirty men of his entourage were in the Level 30s. They had a long caravan of scorpion beasts, two hundred in all, with only a few carrying some items.
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 The giant scorpions, Level 30 Caravan Pincher Starters, were the prize that Prince Omar offered as his best foot in the door. Despite their massive pincers, large venomous stingers, and hard shells, the creatures were docile beasts and slow eaters.
 Many nomads prized them for their reliability and ease of domesticating.
 But then Prince Omar looked about at various patrols of high-level skeletons hauling giant monsters on their own with no necromancer in sight.
 He watched unruly adventurers joke and jeer as they moved past them. Some made rude comments toward the giant scorpions.
 They acted without fear, which gave Prince Omar some sign that the rude simpletons were striders from the far eastern parts of the Walled Continent.
 It made sense that striders would come to such a place. Prince Omar had never met them before, but he’d read about how they acted as undisciplined heathens who had no morals outside of what they would do to earn coins.
 Then, to Prince Omar’s growing surprise, they passed a unit of paladins. Arnold spoke aloud a phrase of blessing toward the stalwart men and women dressed in bronze armor and brown robes.
 They replied with a blessing of their own and a humble nod, which was a disturbing sight that Prince Omar kept to himself. How could paladins be in a place that was an affront to their strict morals?
 He’d seen the paladins come all the way to the United Nomad Empire on some minor crusade for the sake of goodness itself. Yet they were here at the heart of new evil as adventurers?
 Prince Omar grew curiouser and curiouser as they drew closer to the gate. Then another interesting occurrence appeared on the road.
 A darkly dressed woman with a crooked hat waited with arms crossed. Prince Omar was good +1, so he felt the evil alignment radiate sharply off the woman after some examination.
 He tapped his fingers in code on the hard shell of his loyal and intelligent mount, who tensed in preparation. Before Prince Omar could speak aloud in warning, Arnold of Ambrose and Boots raced ahead.
 “Evelyn, dear, how are you?!” Arnold asked in greeting.
 “Hey, you, witch!” Boots chirped.
 “You bastards took too long. Left me waiting out here for days after getting your letter,” the witch, Evelyn, grumbled.
 Boots replied the fastest. “Aw! You waited for us. It’s okay. Big Sister Boots will help you get comfortable with our new home.”
 “You little toad of a brat!” Evelyn hissed.
 Arnold laughed heartily.
 Shaking her head, the witch looked up with dark eyes that met the stoic gaze Prince Omar kept on his face. She sneered. “Nomads, huh? Did you come to meet the reason for the apocalypse, the darkness that came and went like a nightmare? Or are you here to prostrate yourselves and lick his boots?”
 Prince Omar’s fellow nomads showed some anger, and rightfully so, since nobody should suffer the tongue lashing of an evil witch. Especially not a prince of the United Nomad Empire.
 But Prince Omar waved his hand in a gesture for his brethren to calm down. The nomads watched as hundred orphans came rushing forward, hopping off the backs of the giant scorpions, to crowd around the witch.
 “Ah, excuse me, Prince Omar,” Arnold said. “Despite dear Evelyn’s dark views–”
 “I’m not your granddaughter, you old fart, so don’t treat me like one,” Evelyn hissed.
 Arnold carried on unbothered. “She was a great help to us in the early days of the civil war when we had to escape from Bramblevale. We split apart later, she and the adults going out to lead away certain men of unreputable nature. I had to take care of these one hundred youngsters on my own.”
 “We’re the strongest kids in the Walled Continent now!” shouted Boots. The other children cheered.
 Prince Omar found such a story strange and unlikely. There were uses for those in the evil alignment, but only small and rare uses.
 Most humans lived as neutral, and those who sought great power joined the good alignment. The witch Evelyn exuded nothing worthy of trust.
 Of course, Prince Omar kept his skepticism to himself.
 “You all are seeking refuge at Ride-or-Die together, I see,” the prince said.
 “There aren’t better options,” Arnold said.
 “I want to see a dragon,” Evelyn said.
 “And that big blond healer man, right?” Boots giggled. The other orphans laughed and jeered.
 The witch hissed at them and drove them away.
 After introductions finished, the group continued toward the gate.
 Prince Omar sensed a heightened activity that few cities had outside of grand capitals. He saw bright lights beaming into the darkening sky, unlike any lights he’d ever seen before.
 Then more bright lights flashed into existence around the massive and sophisticated gate entrance as night settled in full with three moons sharing space with the stars. Prince Omar sensed complex and intricate magic at work, all competently woven into the gate and surrounding wall. The magical craftsmanship far succeeded anything the Windstorms had ever experienced.
 Prince Omar tried to hide his awe, shifting his attention to the others who replied in astonishment around him. Curious of Arnold’s reaction, the prince looked and saw the old man’s cheerful nature recede. The same slick and silver killer roused to the surface under the guise of a peaceful old man, and the prince felt goosebumps all over his flesh.
 What could stir the anger of the deadly old man?
 Before Prince Omar could prepare, something massive crashed down in front of their group. The scorpions stopped and jerked back in unison, pincers and tails raised in warning.
 The orphans scurried back. The witch lit her hands with bloody flames. And Arnold of Ambrose strode forward alone with his liver-spotted hand on the hilt of his sword.
 The dark and monstrous creature shifted forms before Prince Omar had a solid look. The creature laughed like a hyena beast, the bright lights of Ride-or-Die Village casting a silhouette on its body that looked vaguely like a ten-foot tall humanoid.
 “What is that?” Prince Omar asked. “Is this a threat from Ride-or-Die?”
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 </div> “Ezda,” Arnold growled with hate in his voice.
 “Arnold,” said the creature, which the prince finally recognized to be a gnoll.
 Prince Omar felt breathless. He’d heard of Ezda, the strongest gnoll of the Walled Continent, maybe even in the entire world.
 Prince Omar couldn’t stop himself from finally showing shock. If that was truly Ezda, the Devouring Blood Beast, then they had to sacrifice the scorpion beasts to give them time to flee!
 But Arnold seemed to have gone senile with his old age as he drew his liquid silver sword.
 “Serveserf, oh Downtrodden Servant, grant me boon or witness as I redress what is owed to this foul creature for the tortured deaths of my brothers!” Arnold shouted gallantly. “I will breathe my last, if it means I leave a wound that will follow her for the rest of her days! This I swear as the Silver Guardian!”
 “Silver Guardian?” Prince Omar wheezed.
 Finally, something clicked, an obscure fact from an old reading material. The Eternal Garden Kingdom once had seven White Roses, who were grand protectors of the Gold Roses, the royal family.
 Prince Omar recalled reading about one mysterious White Rose who had used silver magic in combat.
 This whole time, his traveling companion, a babysitter to orphans, was the former grand protector of the garden!
 With that known, Prince Omar lost all sense of bearing as a great clash sparked off before him.
 Ezda, the Voracious Blood Beast, versus Arnold of Ambrose, the Silver Guardian and former White Rose. All while under the witness of the Dark Lord’s growing capital of power, Ride-or-Die Village.</div>
 
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Chapter 227: B3: C17: Nomad Prince

“So this is the infamous Ride-or-Die Village.” Th𝗲 most uptodate novels are published on ƒгeewёbnovel.com. In the late evening of Mid Summer, Prince Omar Windstorm tapped his two fingers in code on the hard shell of his mount. As they travelled along a well-paved road, the giant scorpion beast he sat on made loud hisses, which sounded threatening to most foreigners. But to Prince Omar and his brethren of the United Nomad Empire, his mount was responding in affirmation. She braced herself...

Overpowered Wizard

Chapter 227: B3: C17: Nomad Prince

Overpowered Wizard - Chapter 227: B3: C17: Nomad Prince