Shadow Slave novel Chapter 3140

In the heart of the vast encampment, a grand tent stood, surrounded by an open space. Tall mounds of human skulls, which had once belonged to the enemy soldiers, surrounded it like morbid decorations. Inside, the tent was adorned with horns and antlers of terrifying beasts the King of Kings had slain, and a grave silence suffused the air.

Azarax the Mighty, the Plague of Steel, was seated on an imposing throne cut from rough stone. Below him were the commanders of the numerous legions of the Steel Horde — those who still lived, at least. Dozens of Transcendent champions and a scattering of Ascended stood along the walls of the tent, their expressions grim and reserved.

Usually, there would scarcely be any Ascended invited to the war council, but with so many generals having died in the siege or contracted the plague, those who were below them had to assume command over the battered troops.

The positions closest to the King of Kings, where the seven Dread Generals had usually stood, were conspicuously empty.

In fact, this gathering was different from the previous ones, because there was a wide open space between Azarax and his officers, isolating him like a hollow moat.

That space was there because Azarax, too, was infected by the plague.

The merciless conqueror was still fearsome and mighty, his imposing figure instilling terror in the hearts of his subordinates, but he was also diminished. His posture was crooked, his complexion was deathly pale, and there were traces of black blood left in the corners of his mouth, under his fingernails, and below his nostrils.

In fact, blood continued to seep, filling the tent with the smell of iron.

The Plague of Steel, being consumed by the plague of blood... there was something both frightening and ironically poetic about that, making the gathered commanders feel a hint of sacred fear. It was as if the gods themselves were punishing their king. There were whispers across the camp, in fact, saying that the King of Kings had angered one god in particular — War God, the god of life, as well as of victory and conquest.

That was why a seemingly insignificant city had managed to resist Azarax for so long, and that was why the unstoppable conquest of the Steel Horde had come to a crushing halt.

That was why the soldiers of the horde had been punished by a deadly plague, and so many of them had perished in the jaws of war.

Of course, no one dared to say these things loudly, since doing so would get them killed. However, the fact that people dared to whisper was already telling. Before, the soldiers would have never been bold enough to voice their discontent, knowing to keep it to themselves.

But how could they remain silent now?

The Stone Castle still stood, the King of Kings was stricken by the plague, and more and more of them were dying every day. More than that, those most loyal to Azarax — his thralls — were all dead. The Dread Generals were gone, and their legion was gone with them. Other core forces of the Steel Horde had been wiped out or were severely diminished, as well.

Although their numbers had not been great enough to put a dent in the endless ranks of the Steel Horde, the horde itself was changed in their absence. That was because the Dread Warriors and other elite legions that had perished the day the city burned represented the core of the Steel Empire — the lands Azarax inherited from the father he had killed, and which therefore were his first conquest.

Most of the soldiers that remained hailed from the realms he had conquered later. Some realms had been a part of the Steel Empire for a few generations, while some had been swallowed by it only recently. The greatest champions of the fallen kingdoms had been chosen by the King of Kings, defeated by him in personal combat, and became his thralls... they were all dead now.

But not all talented warriors had been enthralled. Some had been judged too weak to receive the recognition of the King of Kings, while some had been born or risen to prominence after the conquest. Some simply did not strike his fancy due to their background or character.

They were the ones who eventually came to lead the lesser legions of the Steel Horde, and they were the ones who stood today in the great tent, having outlived their supposed betters.

Needless to say, their loyalty to Azarax was not as indomitable as that of the thralls and those elites who hailed from the core of the Steel Empire.

For many, it was simply predicated on the fact that his power was insurmountable, and going against him meant death for them, their families, and their people. Many were loyal due to a sense of honor and the weight of given oaths, but their devotion was not absolute.

And just like everything else about the Steel Horde, that devotion had been slowly eroding under the weight of mounting casualties, the plague, and their king's wrathful folly.

"My king..."

One of the generals spoke, his voice low and full of resigned caution.

“The soldiers are tired. The provisions delivered by the minor caravans are not enough to feed everyone... our people are hungry, and hunger has stolen their strength away. Many have perished to the plague, and more still are dying in battle."

He paused for a moment and threw a brief glance at a tall Transcendent man who stood silently among the generals, leaning on a spear. That man was younger than most people in the tent, with a reserved expression and a calm, heavy gaze. He was one of the strongest warriors left in the Steel Horde, as well as a descendant of a royal family from one of the conquered realms.

While not known for his martial feats, the man was steady and astute, famous among the lesser legions for having the lowest number of casualties among his soldiers. He spoke rarely, but his words were always measured. Therefore, they carried weight. The general sighed and added, turning his gaze back to the bent figure of Azarax.

"This cannot continue, my king. It must not. We must return home and replenish our forces. Most of all, we must find a cure for the plague... the siege cannot continue until we do."

Azarax, who was leaning on the handrest of his throne, threw a dark gaze at him and remained silent for a while. The force of his oppressive presence grew even more unbearable, making the Transcendent generals pale and those who were Ascended struggle to breathe.

Eventually, Azarax spoke in a low, chilling tone:

“Since when do I rule cowards?"

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