Overpowered Wizard-Chapter 287: B3: C77: I Chose You

Wallen snapped awake, screaming, his arms swinging about, hands balled into tight fists and landing on something solid, both soft and unyielding. He could still see the ten-foot kobold barreling through the front lines and thrusting a spear wreathed in black and green flames straight through a troll female.

He remembered how the troll female screamed as she fell with an earth-shaking thump while the juggernaut wolf kobold closed the distance on Wallen specifically, the weakest member of the Ride-or-Die Guild. He remembered feeling the heat and raw destructive power of the flames before they even touched him, then his vision went white with pain before becoming black with finality.

Wallen had long expected to end up in Hidden Hell, which was a destined destination for most evil-aligned humans and creatures. He had no idea what awaited him as someone who was free evil +3 in the freedom alignment.

He hadn’t expected his fists to connect on the green and heart-shaped cheeks of his Ride-or-Die Princess, Foodie Darkrun. He landed one more punch that he was too slow and dumbfounded to stop.

Foodie took it on the chin with no visible effect since the difference in toughness between them was vast like the difference between hills and mountains.

Yet, she was down here in hell with him, wasn’t she?

Everything around Wallen sounded like hell. He heard the painful cries and shouts of many Ride-or-Die Guilders he’d gotten to know the past two seasons. He’d felt the bitter chill of a magic winter and its knife-like winds that blew harder while in a higher level area.

Beneath him, an enchanted cart rolled with minimum vibrations while hauled by various beasts. Some of those beasts were born and bred to be pack animals, and some were taken from the wilds by a few of the Ride-or-Die Guilders who had taming abilities.

They rarely relied on carts to move people from place to place, since all the guild members and their fellow adventurers were high enough in levels to go without. With their natural physical capabilities and magic abilities, they could run up and down the hilly lands of castles, wild gardens, and stone structures interspersed with forests just fine.

Wallen himself was Level 75, in fact, nearly twice the levels he had before meeting the Floridians.

And he was still the weakest member. Plenty more were in the high Level 80s. A few had broken into the low Level 90s! Such growth, such success, such domineering power, it all should’ve led to an outright victory at the Wolf Dragon Dungeon.

Yet, as Wallen looked past the goblin princess and around himself, he saw many of his fellow guild members looking weary, distraught, and covered in wounds that weren’t healing as fast as they should’ve.

The cart they were riding in was covered with canvas around the frame, so he had to look beyond the princess and out the opening in the back to see a long caravan of carts being led by their strongest beasts that could rush through the snow – mostly dire wolves and great spirit stags from what he could see.

Narrowing his eyes, he saw distant figures all the way in the back of the caravan that had the outlines of trolls. He heard the clash of weapons and magic back there, which meant they were currently in a fighting retreat, and whoever was at the back of the caravan was sacrificing life and limb for everyone else.

“Did I die?” Wallen asked.

Foodie reached down gently and gripped his shoulder. Even in the dire situation they were in, it always surprised him with how gentle she could be.

She didn’t even care about the punches he’d thrown in his panic, which would’ve filled him with shame if their situation wasn’t so drastic, and if he wasn’t still shaking with fear and horror from his last moments before a painful death.

“Yes,” Foodie answered.

“How am I alive?” Wallen asked.

“I used the Scroll of Friendship Revival.” Foodie’s large ears were already down. Now they sunk even further behind her shoulders. “I used up everything I could. The Scroll of Mountainous Castle Fusion. The Scroll of Horrific Battlefield Mayhem. Even the Scroll of Evil Disruption and The Scroll of Hell Orc Pack Summon.”

The more she talked, the more Wallen felt himself falling deeper into despair. Before this final battle, they hadn’t needed to use many of their legendary scrolls, which Foodie had the most of.

From the sound of things, all of those scrolls had done nothing more than grant them some scant time until the forces of the wolf dragons caught up to them fully.

Wallen was still shaking while laying on his back, glancing left and right at his injured and weary comrades in the cart with him. Then he glanced down at Foodie’s hand and marveled how it was surprisingly soft when he’d witnessed that same hand splatter many foes with her unyielding Strength.

A lot had changed for everyone, especially after Wallen and Foodie had figured out ways to make easy-to-digest moon rock concoctions for the other guild members to drink along with Foodie. The growth in stats that everyone had experienced was another reason they should’ve won the battle at the Wolf Dragon Dungeon for certain. The growth in Foodie alone should’ve been enough, honestly.

“The Dragon,” Wallen moaned. “The Dragon turned in their sleep and did this to us.”

Foodie shook her head slowly, her yellow cat-like eyes looking down at him with a half-lidded gaze. “Not The Dragon. It was The Dragoness. There is much to explain about that if we survive after this day, but I need to get going. Ezda and Arnold are lost again, and that might be for the final time. Hoodah, Loner, and Slip are doing their best to hold the defense at the back with the others. But without Roland–”

“Roland?”

Foodie shivered, showing a crack in her stoic nature that Wallen had rarely seen. Even as the two had grown closer the past couple of months, even after Wallen had witnessed Foodie grow from a short goblin girl to a lovely and battle-tested goblin woman, there was still a lot about Foodie that Wallen had yet to figure out. She rarely showed fear or sadness or many emotions, especially around the guild members and their conscripted adventurers.

Wallen grasped her hand in his and squeezed with all his Strength so she could feel it. In return, Foodie released a shuddering breath.

“We lost many humans, trolls, gnolls, skeletons, and even goblins. But out of the two hundred and ninety members of the Ride-or-Die Guild, we’ve lost one so far. That’s the reason Ezda and Arnold are lost again … a wolf dragon took Roland’s corpse, and they went to get it back.”

Wallen could hardly believe it. Roland of Wood was dead? The leader of the Ride-or-Die Guild? The gallant, brave, dashing, and epic Rose Knight? The one who wouldn’t let anything bring him down?

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

That guy was dead?

Roland had fallen while Wallen, only a rare Bug Alchemist, should’ve been dead and stayed dead.

“You should’ve saved the Scroll of Friendship Revival for Roland,” Wallen said.

“That’s not something Roland would’ve wanted,” muttered a despaired young man to Wallen’s right.

“Roland would’ve put you first,” moaned a weeping young woman to Wallen’s left.

“To be honest, we would’ve preferred Roland of Wood over you evil Huntsmen boy, but we know our Roland, so here you are instead,” said another young man, who didn’t hold back on his barbed choice of words.

Who would you have preferred, princess? Wallen wondered, looking up at Foodie.

He didn’t have it in him to ask her so directly. They’d gotten close in the past couple of months, haven’t they? He couldn’t say they were anything more than friends, but the Scroll of Friendship Revival had to work on someone with a decent connection, right?

Visit freёnovelkiss.com for the 𝑏est n𝘰vel reading experience.

But Wallen imagined if she could choose between the epic leader of the Ride-or-Die Guild and some lowly bug of an alchemist who could barely keep up with the others, she would’ve done the right thing as a princess. Then again, Foodie wasn’t so easy to predict.

“I chose you, Wallen. Here and now. There’s no second guessing that.” The stoic nature of their princess was back in full force with a hint of disapproval pointed at the others. The rest of the cart riders looked away sullenly.

“I need to go.” Foodie’s hand slipped away from Wallen’s grip.

A split-second later, she was a green streak, dashing down the caravan line, heading straight for the savage fighting at the rear of their full scale retreat.

Wallen propped himself up on his elbows as he looked out through the opening at the back of the cart. He saw eruptions of magic and heard roaring clashes between desperate combatants. He saw lines of green destruction beams coming down from the sky, but there were far fewer than they should’ve been.

So many golems and spiders had fallen to the wolf dragons and wolf kobolds because of the dastardly boon of the so-called Dragoness.

After a few seconds of staring, Wallen twisted onto his hands and knees and pushed up. He shifted past splayed legs and lying bodies to reach the trunks of gear set against the front of the cart.

He popped them open and rifled through, hoping his supplies would be here since he was placed in this cart – there they were, spare bombs and alchemies made of high quality bugs and other unique ingredients.

“Are you going out there again?” asked a young woman. “What if you get yourself killed again? The Dark Lord and the Floridians prefer us to survive more than anything.”

“They killed Roland,” Wallen muttered, putting on a new belt. The last one had fallen to ruins from destructive flames. “And we were almost about to win. That leaves a bad taste in my mouth, so I’m going to go back out there and try to do things more carefully.”

Wallen loaded up on stink bombs, flash bombs, sticky bombs, and plenty of rejuvenating potions. He loaded up on physical buff potions and magic buffing potions, too.

He found a small cask of troll beer, popped the cork free, and drained the foul stuff for a vigorous boost at the sacrifice of a small amount of vitality. The stuff was still as awful as ever, but he felt more energetic with the troll drink burning in his stomach, his abilities, old and new, making use of the stuff instead of getting drunk.

Then he grabbed another belt and tossed it around his torso, forming a crossing pattern on his chest and back.

He loaded up more and more than he’d normally carried in one time because of the risk of self-eruption when having all these alchemies bound on his own person. He supposed he could throw himself forward against the wolf kobolds and wolf dragons while in a deadly pinch as long as he was clear of everyone on the side of the Ride-or-Die Army.

“We’re all tapped out on your alchemies,” muttered a young man.

There were limits to how much one person could drink before building immunities or poisoning themselves. That was the reason healers were usually more prized than alchemists, but an alchemist had more range in what they could produce other than potions for recovering health or stamina or overall vitality.

“And I’m guessing the healers are tapped out, too?” Wallen asked, standing at the exit with one boot on the edge. “So any human who goes forth to fight is risking life and limb for sure, huh?”

They didn’t answer. They didn’t have to.

“I’m sorry it was Roland and not me,” Wallen said. “I’m not as strong as the rest of you, and I’m from an evil city, while you’re all from a good city. But I still appreciate being part of the guild and belonging somewhere. So, let me make up for the unfairness of it all.”

“You don’t have to,” a girl said. “You’ve done enough.”

Wallen looked back with a fierce smile. “No, I haven’t.”

He jumped out and landed with a crunch in the snow before dodging aside a running cart pulled by dire wolves. He took to the edge of the road and ran straight toward the sounds and flashes of a fierce battle that was growing fiercer and fiercer. He saw heads from various guild members peeking out from the back of their carts as they watched him go.

He could hear his heart thumping in his chest, his body light and capable, the harsh cold having little effect with all his vitality and aura topped off from the revival and the myriad concoctions running through his body. He was fresh, ready for another round against the creatures who’d killed him.

He came across retreating adventurer conscripts who were running faster than the carts that were overburdened with their injured and dead. At some point, he saw striders tossing their dead into the snow to be left behind while placing injured men and women inside a cart who’d just come back from the fighting in the back.

Wallen kept going toward the sounds of death and destruction, ignoring the forlorn and horrified looks of the adventurers. He had to push a few of them aside or dodge around them quickly, no longer surprised by his own greater Strength and Agility compared to the average adventurer outside of the Ride-or-Die Guild.

Every physical stat point helped him reach the back line where the mages fought, squeezing magic out of their dwindling aura for their skills and spells.

He crunched to a stop behind Prince Omar Windstorm, who was wearing gear that wasn’t usually suitable for someone from the United Nomad Empire. The prince wore a mix of gear from paladins, striders, and gardeners.

Wallen didn’t blame the prince for sourcing whatever armor, coats, and pelts he could get. There was plenty to go around as a mage to Wallen’s right took a large arrow covered in black and green flames straight to the chest. The mage ended up pinned to the snow, his face contorted in a silent scream as the destructive flames destroyed his flesh from the chest outward.

“When was your last aura potion?” Wallen asked from beside the prince.

“Over an hour ago,” Prince Omar grunted, casting another torrent of icy wind that was far thinner and weaker than normal.

“Open your mouth, head back. Don’t stop casting.”

Wallen popped open a vial and poured its contents down the nomad prince’s mouth while the man continued to cast his wind spells. Immediately, Wallen saw the potency in Prince Omar’s spells thicken and strike with more ferocity.

“I’m going to prioritize the mages. Any recommendations?” Wallen asked.

Before Prince Omar answered, the Wind Wizard waved one free hand while the other held his advanced grimoire, casting a wind wall that deflected more burning arrows that nearly skewered Wallen and some other mages.

The Wind Wizard shot back a condensed ball of stormy air that flew over the heads of the Ride-or-Die Army and landed among the rushing kobolds, disrupting some, but not many.

“Prioritize any mage who has strong defensive magic,” Prince Omar snarled. “We need that more than offensive magic.”

“Makes sense.”

Wallen was turning away when the nomad prince reached out with a grip that would’ve been crushing if Wallen was weaker. The Bug Alchemist waited a heartbeat as the prince seemed to mull something over.

“Prioritize defense over offense, yes, and make sure the Ride-or-Die Princess lives,” the nomad prince said. “She’s risking too much. Her position is too important compared to all of us. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” Wallen said, pulling away. “It’ll be a scary day if something bad happens to the Daughter of the Dark Lord and Shadowfell Goddess.”

“Exactly,” was the last thing heard from Prince Omar before Wallen dove fully into his work.