SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS

Chapter 973: Words Before War!

The two mighty armies—each armed with ancient grudges and the pride of their clans—now faced one another across the craggy battlefield that guarded the entrance to the Forbidden Abyss.

As the shimmering blue light of the sea dimmed under the pressure of combined mana, the once-vast seafloor suddenly felt far too small.

A deep silence fell.

Then came the warning cry.

A long, drawn-out beast howl echoed from the frontline of the Abyssal Shark Clan. It was a monstrous roar, guttural and primal, the sound of a deep-sea predator marking its kill. The sea around them vibrated in tandem, and a low-frequency pressure wave rippled toward the Naga forces.

Almost immediately, the Coral Spirit Clan responded.

Drum-shells, made from the hardened carapace of abyss crabs, were beaten in rhythm. With each strike, shimmering algae burst into radiant green light above their formation—forming a sigil of war high in the water. From reef to reef, these glowing emblems flared to life as war signals spread across their ranks.

The abyss itself seemed to tremble.

Neela’s wyverns tensed, growling low and baring their icicle teeth. Kent, standing tall beside her on the chariot, narrowed his eyes.

Then, like a serpent flicking its tail, the Naga army responded.

Trident Horns—long and curved like sea dragon tusks—sounded from the rear lines. The noise was haunting, ancient, and unrelenting. Accompanying it, deep-sea whales summoned by spirit tamers released low-pitched calls, harmonizing with the war horns.

From above, swarms of manta ray scouts swooped across the formation, leaving behind trails of sparkling blue stardust—guiding markers for the archers and spell formations below.

Kent leaned slightly toward Neela and muttered, “They’re calling for a psychological standoff.”

Neela didn’t take her eyes off the enemy. “It’s more than that. Each wave of sound carries hidden spells. They’re scanning us… testing our formation strength and locating our mages.”

Kent’s grip tightened on his divine bow. “Then it’s only a matter of time.”

Suddenly, a column of red mist shot into the water from the Coral Spirit side. A towering figure stepped out—Elder Kraash, the blood priest of the Coral Clan. His flesh was tattooed with crimson runes, and his staff was crafted from the spine of a sunken dragon turtle.

He raised it high and slammed it against the reef.

BOOM!

A tremor shook the seabed, dislodging small cliffs and cracking ancient bones beneath the sand. The message was clear:

“Submit or bleed.”

Not a second later, a black swirl formed at the Abyssal Shark formation’s edge, and out swam their terrifying general—Lord Turokk, half-shark, half-warlord. His armor was made from hundreds of compressed shark teeth, and his fists carried no weapons—he was the weapon.

The beast-warlord roared, and the waves behind him turned a deep hue of red.

On the Naga side, no one flinched.

Instead, at the front lines of the Nine-Heaven Formation, nine high priests raised their arms in unison and released spiritual seals into the water. Blue dragons formed out of rune-light, weaving themselves across the army like a serpent barrier.

The Patriarch, standing on a rising coral platform behind the frontline, raised his trident high.

“Let the heavens and abyss witness!” he bellowed. “We stand for honor! We march for legacy!”

The Naga army struck their weapons against their shields in a thunderous rhythm. From the backline, the spirit beast divisions let out coordinated battle cries as armored crustacean mounts and electric eels sparked and surged with energy.

Then came the final exchange of intent.

Between the two armies, from both sides, messenger beasts—small sea creatures bound with recording pearls—were sent forward.

They crossed the field slowly. For a moment, both sides watched in anticipation.

The first message came from the Coral Spirit Clan.

The Patriarch’s voice echoed as he read the transmission aloud, “Surrender the scaled one and the claim to the Sea God legacy. Or perish, forgotten.”

The Naga generals hissed in contempt.

The second message, carried by a glowing shellfish from the Naga Clan, was simple:

“Come take him, if you dare.”

–

The deep-sea battlefield was charged with divine tension. Mana crackled, battle formations gleamed with spiritual energy, and the armies on either side had frozen in disciplined silence. All eyes turned toward the center, where the titans of the sea were about to speak.

From the heart of the Coral Spirit Clan’s formation, a ripple of red energy burst upward, and out floated the ancient figure of Ancestor Khagara.

His appearance commanded silence.

A long, flowing robe of living coral wrapped around him like armor. His aged face, carved with coral lines and pulsing veins of spirit energy, bore the stern look of one who had waged a thousand wars. He floated effortlessly above the reef, his staff trailing strands of seaweed enchanted with curse seals.

A second ripple surged beside him.

From the shadows of the Abyssal Shark Clan swam Lord Russ, the current Warlord of the Sharks. His upper body was humanoid, armored in layers of obsidian shark scale, while his lower half bore the sleek, muscular tail of a deep-sea predator. His crimson eyes glowed like twin suns behind his black bone-mask.

The two titans moved slowly toward the open center between the formations, trailing powerful currents behind them.

The Naga Patriarch took one look and knew.

He stepped onto his Throne Chariot, carved from the spine of an ancient sea leviathan. It glowed with golden runes as it hovered forward. His long beard flowed like kelp, and his trident pulsed with divine water essence.

Behind him, the Nine-Heaven Formation opened a path.

The battlefield held its breath.

When the three leaders finally floated across from one another, a perfect-triangle formed—a divine meeting beneath the waves.

Ancestor Khagara spoke first, his voice like the scrape of coral against bone.

“Naga Patriarch… You brought a human. A scaled one, yes—but still an outsider. He now threatens to control the legacy that belongs to the sea.”

The Patriarch did not blink. “You speak of belonging, Khagara, yet you betray the sea’s will with assassination and treachery.”

Lord Russ bared his jagged teeth. “Spare us your high-minded words. We know the truth. You want to use that boy to gain control over all three clans. That legacy was sealed for a reason. No clan shall own it.”

“I agree,” the Patriarch said, his voice calm but fierce. “That’s why we are sending a vessel—Kent—whose only wish is to repay a debt. He is not claiming the legacy. He is retrieving it, for all of us to witness.”

Khagara scoffed. “Enough riddles. You want to install a weapon—a god-forged avatar—under your banner. If you proceed, we will stop-him, and you.”

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