Chapter 652: Starting a Side Hustle
"Fire!!"
A sharp shout came from the anxious mouth of a drow elf.
The drow elf archers released their bowstrings and fired lethal arrows.
On the bright white metal arrowheads, specks of dark venom flickered.
They struck the charging gnoll slave warriors with precision.
The gnoll warriors hit in the head dropped instantly, dying without any struggle.
The other arrows also hit the gnolls in the chest, showcasing the elven archers' masterful accuracy.
Yet, the gnoll warriors struck in the chest seemed completely unfazed, charging forward with arrows still lodged in them toward the stronghold on the slope.
This bizarre sight made the grinning drow elf instantly widen her eyes.
She couldn't help but exclaim:
"That's impossible, I clearly coated them with poison!"
"So what? These bastards have already taken antidotes, they can shrug off over 50% of the toxin damage!"
"Aim for their heads, you idiots!"
"They're not like the other slaves. The mind flayers enhanced and modified them!"
"Damn those modification techniques..."
"..."
Chaos erupted among the drow atop the stronghold, with shouts and curses flying.
And this scene wasn't limited to the front line—it spread across the entire Suramar Valley.
The massive tide of slave warriors had no intention of first wearing down the forward strongholds or defenses—they simply surged in like a flood.
Every drow stronghold below was engulfed by a sea of slave warriors.
These slaves were huge, powerfully built, wearing heavy metal armor. Without tactics, they were still terrifying engines of destruction.
Interestingly, many of these slave warriors had been captured by the mind flayer army from over a dozen drow cities.
After capture, they underwent crude yet effective mental and physical modifications by the mind flayers, becoming expendable war machines.
And now, these machines turned their blades against their former masters.
They couldn't think—but they remembered.
If they survived the battle and endured the aftereffects of the mind flayer modifications...
They would earn the mind flayers' favor, receiving higher-level modifications and even limited cognitive freedom.
They would become mind flayer slave generals, spreading slaughter and conquest in their master's name.
Mind flayers were few, but they expanded their influence and power through this elite-selection system.
It was a harsh model.
Mind flayers had absolute control over their forces.
They maximized resource utilization with strategic command and ruthless efficiency.
Except for infighting among mind flayers, resources were rarely wasted pointlessly.
As a result, the mind flayer army was impressively efficient.
After all, obedient flesh slaves had no greed or laziness.
But such a model had one massive flaw!
Mind flayers were the irreplaceable core.
If a mind flayer was killed, its army and resources would collapse instantly.
Yet ironically, their heavy-hitting army perfectly countered the fragmented drow society.
The drow, incapable of true unity, were slowly being devoured by the mind flayer tide.
One weakened, the other grew stronger.
Until the balance tipped.
And the former got swallowed whole.
It was almost like mind flayers were born to counter the drow.
Slave warriors charged through the hail of arrows in a frenzy.
They didn't fear pain. They didn't feel fear. They didn't stop.
Some even carried crude siege engines.
The overwhelming pressure crashed down like a tsunami.
The frontline drow commanders frantically directed their own slave forces to retaliate.
Despite inflicting casualties on the mind-controlled slaves, they could only watch them reach the walls and climb like ants.
Swallowing their terror, the drow channeled their fear and fury into the backs of their own slaves.
"Throw stones! Smash hard!"
"Don't stop shooting!"
"Casters, use large-area spells!"
"Ogre combat teams, get ready!"
"..."
Whips cracked as they lashed their slaves, barking relentless commands.
Their task was to hold the line.
Retreat was forbidden until over half the slave warriors had fallen.
After that? Survive however you could.
Boom!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
All sorts of attacks exploded into action.
Massive boulders were rolled down the slope.
Their momentum crushed slaves into paste.
Flesh, armor, and blood painted the ground red.
Even the boulders turned crimson, carving a bloody path.
Spell flashes lit the slope.
The underdark brightened with every blast.
Lighting up the blank stares of the slaves and the vicious grimaces of the drow.
The drow resisted fiercely—every defense point became a deadly trap.
Chaos echoed through the Suramar Valley.
Every second, over a hundred slaves died.
But the tide didn't stop—it surged inward.
And they struck every drow unit at once!
Feeling the war getting closer, Triss gripped her weapon.
Her mind went blank, heart pounding at the incoming wave.
Just as she felt herself break, Famir silently cast "Calm" on her.
The sudden physiological calm dulled her thoughts.
Gasping, she realized she was drenched in sweat.
Famir, curious, picked up an enchanted crossbow and examined it. Then she asked Triss:
"What's wrong? Never been in a war before?"
Triss slowly recovered, surprised as she took the crossbow. Stroking its beautiful etchings, she gave a bitter smile:
"No. I always dodged conscription in Suramar."
"I've fought before, killed enemies—but never seen a battle like this..."
Her gaze drifted—she didn't look like a cunning drow at all.
Famir liked that. With a warm tone, she explained the weapon and smiled:
"To survive alone in the underdark with your sanity intact—that's impressive."
"This is your chance to adapt. Next time will be easier."
Triss's eyes bulged as she shook her head furiously:
"Next time? Hell no! I'm never doing this again!"
Famir smiled cryptically. Then she turned to the quiet Tyrael and said:
"You know what to do. Help her adjust to the battlefield."
Tyrael understood immediately and relaxed. He signaled to Viconia.
Viconia chuckled, sheathed her dagger, and pointed to the group heading to the wall:
"Come on, little princess. I've never seen a drow like you."
Triss frowned at her teasing and huffed:
"I've killed three enemies your level."
Still, she followed.
Famir had spoken—so she obeyed.
And her instincts told her none of them meant her harm.
Just some banter. And she never lost at that.
Viconia, expecting her to falter, was surprised. She handed her a quiver:
"Let's see what you can do."
"Only 45 arrows—use them wisely."
"See your wristband glowing? Tap it to get enemy info. Aim for weak spots."
Under Viconia's guidance, Triss got familiar with her gear.
As she learned to use the wristband, war cries drew near.
Her magical wristband lit up with clear orders.
Triss studied the display, nocked her arrow, raised her crossbow.
"Fire!"
Her clear voice rang out as she pulled the trigger.
The etched lines lit up, instantly empowering the arrow.
The taut string snapped forward.
The glowing bolt spun into the air.
A curtain of light formed as many bolts flew.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
A wave of slave warriors dropped instantly.
Triss's keen eyes caught it.
The bolt pierced through them from above.
Their armor and bulk were useless.
Before she could marvel, another command came.
"Step back. Draw. Ready."
She pulled the long rod, set it, bent it down.
The string tightened easily. She loaded another bolt.
Just then, Viconia grinned—and Triss remembered.
There was no free fire. So no arrow would be wasted.
She'd been tricked!
Normally, she'd sense bad intent—but this prank felt... different.
What was she up to?
"Just for fun!"
Viconia's laugh reached her ears.
Triss snorted. But another command came:
"Step forward. Fire!"
She pulled the trigger and watched the bolt fly. Something clicked.
So this was large-scale war?
Not as scary as she imagined!