The lich knelt prostrate on the ground, the ghostly fire in his eye sockets flickering wildly as his emaciated frame, wrapped in a tattered robe, trembled violently.
"Your Majesty, but I..."
"There are no 'buts.'"
Cassius cut him off once more, tightening his claw slightly.
The wooden box groaned, slightly deforming under the pressure with a sharp creak. The sound sent a shudder straight through the lich's soul, making his body quake all the more violently.
"Submit, or die. You have no other choice."
"To tell the truth, I would be more than happy to kill you."
Cassius's flat, aloof voice echoed through the ruined hall. With every word he spoke, the air in the chamber grew heavier.
"Just imagine it: that rotted soul of yours, sustained for centuries by necromantic arts—what emotions will surge through it the moment I crush it? What a pathetic spectacle you will make."
The red dragon abruptly clenched his free left claw.
Crash!
A cascade of crisp shattering rang out as crystal chandeliers throughout Soulweep Castle burst one after another, and the vengeful souls imprisoned within them fled weeping into the air.
"No!"
"I—I submit!"
"Do not kill me!"
The lich recoiled violently, cowering into a comical ball. He truly believed his phylactery had been shattered—gone was any trace of the calm composure he had shown when victory seemed certain moments ago.
Those who seek immortality fear death above all else.
The last time Orestes had felt such terror was three hundred years ago, when he realized he was about to die of old age.
Back then, he had pursued every possible means to prolong his life at any cost, ultimately discovering the path to transforming himself into a lich within the mausoleum of a Doom Elder of Myrkul.
He had succeeded.
To endure in this world, he had cast aside his mortal life and embraced the path of undeath, becoming a lich.
Yet this was not true eternity. A lich's phylactery was their greatest weakness; once destroyed, the lich's decayed soul would perish along with it—a lingering dread that had tormented Orestes incessantly.
Thus, over these past centuries, he had poured nearly all his energy into protecting his phylactery while tirelessly collecting souls to fulfill Myrkul's tasks.
Yet now, all of it lay in ruins.
The dragon emperor who ruled the Northlands had arrived with unstoppable might, effortlessly shattering everything he built and holding his most precious life in his talons.
Kneeling on the ground and curled into a tight ball, the lich mumbled incessantly, "I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die..."
"Please, I don't want to die..."
Images of the past surfaced in his soul: the soaring ambition when he first became a wizard, the debauched days spent in his castle, the terror when he realized death was looming, and the paranoid vigilance after turning into a lich...
To him—
Existence was meaning itself.
Being alive was everything.
If one could not exist in this world, then all things were devoid of meaning.
In pursuit of immortality, he could transform a beautiful, kind elf into a banshee; he could sacrifice his most loyal servants to an evil god; he could even cast away his own flesh and blood to embrace the undead state of a lich.
If so...
Then... submitting to a dragon and dedicating everything to him did not seem like an unacceptable choice.
Before existence itself, freedom was insignificant—at least, so it was for the lich Orestes.
He raised his head, the ghostly green fire flickering in his hollow sockets filled with boundless pleading. He raised the Scepter of Myrkul's Bones high before him with both hands, offering it up like a devout worshiper presenting a tribute to a god.
"Your Majesty, I am willing to submit to you."
"So long as... you allow me to remain in this world, I am willing to offer the Valley of Bewilderment, Soulweep Castle, and everything I possess to you."
Cassius smiled. Taking a step forward, he spread his wings slightly, casting a colossal shadow that completely engulfed the lich.
"Very good, Orestes."
"You have made the right choice."
The scepter floated into the air and landed in Cassius's claw.
Against the red dragon's gargantuan frame, the staff looked practically like a toothpick.
This was the "artifact" the players in his past life had nearly obtained; after the lich was slain by the players back then, Myrkul's skeletal hand had reached through the void and reclaimed the scepter.
Now, however, Anzeta was Cassius's empire, and not even the gods could easily meddle here.
He examined the scepter closely. It was entirely a ghastly white, fashioned from vertebrae pieced together end to end.
At the scepter's crown sat a skull representing Myrkul's holy symbol, its cranium carved open to house an embedded stone of pitch-black negative magical energy.
Scepter of Myrkul's Bones
Quality: Legendary
Creator: Feroz Bradford
"Know me and fear me. My embrace is open to all, patient yet sure. Death will always find you. My hand is everywhere—there is no door I cannot enter, nor guard who can withstand me. —Myrkul, Lord of Bones"
Effects:
Animate Dead Legion
Create Greater Undead
Animate Dead Legion
9th-Circle Necromancy
Unleashes potent necromantic power, animating all skeletons within range under your control.
Create Greater Undead
8th-Circle Necromancy
An advanced version of Create Undead, capable of creating undead of varying ranks such as shadows, wraiths, specters, and revenants.
Cassius toyed with the scepter. He knew little of necromancy, but he could feel the negative energy surging within it—this item was unquestionably priceless.
"Orestes, I have seen your sincerity."
The lich breathed a sigh of relief, then asked cautiously, "Then, Your Majesty... now that I have become your vassal..."
"What about... my phylactery?"
Cassius glanced at him and chuckled softly. "Since you are dedicating everything to me, does 'everything' not include your phylactery?"
"Or could it be..."
His voice instantly turned frigid.
"You intend to break our covenant?"
Frightened out of his wits once more, the lich knocked his head against the ground in haste. "A misunderstanding! Your Majesty! I meant nothing of the sort!"
"Good."
"Heh, you should feel honored. If not for me, that ridiculous tomb of yours would have been breached sooner or later, and your phylactery destroyed."
"Rest assured, I have placed your phylactery in an absolutely safe place under my personal control. No one will ever be able to destroy it—"
Cassius deliberately drew out his words.
"—unless you disobey my commands and provoke me into doing it myself."
The threat dripped from every syllable, yet the lich dared not show even the slightest resistance.
Orestes could only force a fawning smile onto his sunken face—one uglier than weeping—and hurried to reply:
"I thank Your Majesty."
"Your benevolence... I shall never forget it."
Having his tomb unearthed, his phylactery seized, and his stronghold invaded, only to end up profusely thanking the perpetrator—and with the "victim" being an intensely wicked lich, no less.
—One could only say that this truly was a wondrously bizarre world.
Chapter 401