Mighty Power

Within the City of Alchemy, a fierce battle was underway. The paladin legion adopted a wedge formation like the edge of a blade, weaving back and forth through the undead army and tearing the Rose of Decay's forces to the brink of utter collapse. The Holy Light's suppressing effect against the undead was simply too devastating, and the paladins' powers converged seamlessly, rendering the entire legion virtually impregnable. Holy Light turned into razor-sharp blades, carving the undead host into disjointed fragments that could mount no effective resistance. James Watson did not join the charge. For a legendary powerhouse like him, charging alongside subordinates would have been an utter waste. As a cleric of light, James Watson commanded over a hundred divine spells. What he needed to do right now was hover above the battlefield, continually showering his forces with divine enchantments. Mass Courage, Healing Word, Death Ward, Warding Bond... Under layer upon layer of divine magic, the paladin unit's combat prowess multiplied more than tenfold. From the onset of the battle until now, not a single one among them had been injured, yet they had already cut down undead by the hundreds. Were it not for the considerable number of formidable Death Knights and an almost absurd quantity of golem puppets within the enemy ranks, the paladins would have claimed victory long ago. Even so, it was only a matter of time. The undead force looked cobbled together, its unit composition wildly disjointed. Suddenly, a dark green ray lanced in from the flank, striking James Watson with pinpoint precision. Finger of Death—a high-tier necromantic spell reputed to have the potential to fell even a dragon in a single strike. If it slew its target, it would immediately reanimate them as a zombie bound to the caster's will. Yet the destructive necrotic energy failed to pierce James Watson's magical shield, merely shattering an enchanted ring on his hand. James Watson sneered, "I've been waiting for you." A brilliant radiance ignited above James Watson's head, spreading outward as a blazing halo. Midair, the figure of the Rose of Decay was blasted out of concealment by the halo. Raging holy fire spread across her form, relentlessly searing her undead flesh. This was a divine spell exclusive to clerics of light: Dawn's First Light. Channeling the power of the Lord of the Dawn, it generated a halo capable of banishing all darkness—not merely the surrounding gloom, but any creature of darkness lurking nearby. The Rose of Decay had remained concealed using Greater Invisibility, only just risking a Finger of Death in an attempt to dispatch James Watson. She had not expected him to withstand such a potent necromantic spell and immediately counterattack. The power of the Holy Light gnawed relentlessly into her body, feeding on her dark mana and burning with wild fury until it enveloped her entirely. Any other undead would have long since been writhing on the ground in agony. Yet the Rose of Decay seemed entirely unfazed. She let the Holy Light crawl across her body, her crimson eyes staring unblinkingly at James Watson through the glare of the flames. James Watson felt a sudden numbness creep through his body. He keenly sensed dark mana invading his flesh, as if a gaping hole had been gouged into his chest and flooded with foul, putrid corpse water. The pain was faint; what dominated was a creeping paralysis, locking his limbs into rigidity. James Watson was forced to cast Greater Restoration on himself, a divine spell capable of breaking the vast majority of curses. It was not entirely ineffective; the moment the spell went off, the numbness truly subsided. But as soon as the magic faded, the sensation resurfaced. It was an ongoing, continuous curse. The dark mana was steadily corroding his body, seeking to convert him into an undead. Such a terrifying curse dredged up a dreadful name in James Watson's memory. "So it's you! You are the Undead Queen who invaded Ryan two hundred years ago!" The Rose of Decay broke into mad laughter. "Hahaha! The moment your shield broke, I locked onto you with my soul fire. Struggle no more—become my puppet! I will turn you into the lowliest zombie and hang you from the city gates of Ryan's capital!" "Arrogant undead." Even when facing a legendary figure from history, James Watson did not panic in the least. He cast a spell upon himself that could be called utterly mundane: Gaseous Form. It was a very common spell, transforming the caster's body into a mist that was completely immune to physical attacks and the vast majority of magical assaults. It was typically used to bypass difficult terrain, such as slipping beneath door cracks or navigating through pipes. Anbaixiu had once used this very spell to slip through a narrow sewer opening. Formidable as the Rose of Decay's Death Gaze was—able to steadily inject dark mana once locked onto a target and forcibly convert them into undead—it had one prerequisite: the target had to be a living creature. Gaseous Form converted the physical body entirely into vapor. It was no illusion, but tangible mist. In such a state, no amount of dark mana could alter James Watson's body, effectively neutralizing the Rose of Decay's greatest technique. Yet this did not come without a price. While in gaseous form, James Watson lost most of his spellcasting abilities, and a large portion of the divine buffs he had bestowed upon the paladin legion expired. The paladin legion, which had been cutting unimpeded swaths through the undead and golem puppets, abruptly slowed. Once cavalry lost their momentum, relying on formations to secure victory became vastly more difficult. Even so, James Watson remained confident; the inherent strength of the paladins alone was enough to purge all their foes. Sure enough, the moment their speed flagged, the paladins fanned out, swinging longswords gleaming with Holy Light. Divine Smites flared one after another, their lethal efficiency hardly falling short of the earlier coordinated charge. Nor was James Watson worried that the Rose of Decay would turn her attention to the paladins below. He knew that maintaining her Death Gaze required absolute concentration; the moment her focus drifted, he could instantly return to his true form and resume bolstering his troops. And when it came to support capabilities, an Undead Queen like the Rose of Decay could never hold a candle to a cleric of light like James Watson. James Watson thought to himself, 'Fortune favors me this time. The forces led by this Undead Queen are far too fragile. Once victory is secured on the ground below, the paladin legion can gather its might to strike down this Undead Queen. Even if we can only purify her physical form, it will still be a worthy harvest.' Just as James Watson felt that victory was well within his grasp, a deafening roar erupted, like the impact of a falling meteor. Mounted atop an eight-legged giant steed, the Headless Horseman burst into view, charging directly at the paladin legion. Together, the colossal rider and steed stood over ten meters tall—a veritable monster. Dense dark mana swirled around him, turning him into a literal billowing meteor as he hurtled madly toward the paladins. The Headless Horseman Gareth—the man who had once brought humiliation to the empire. Back then, he had been nothing more than a solitary, minor undead, carving an escape route with only a rusted longsword. His feat of surviving the encirclement and pursuit of over a thousand paladins had looked impressive on paper, but the reality had been fraught with desperation. Gareth had survived solely through ambushes and traps, escaping death on multiple occasions purely by luck. Now, things were different. Gareth wore top-tier enchanted armor forged for him by dragons and rode an undead steed bred specifically for his mount. United as one, they became an unstoppable torrent of darkness. The all-metal golem puppets were mere bugs blocking his path, trampled to scrap under the hooves or sent flying by the impact. As for the far flimsier undead, they were scattered like dry autumn leaves in the violent wake of Gareth's charge. Indifferent to friend or foe, the charging knight cared nothing for his own allies, bearing down solely upon the scattered paladins. Shock painted James Watson's face. Where had this Headless Horseman come from? What the poor cleric of light did not know was that the captured paladins had spent time being conditioned under Anbaixiu's Confusion spell. Every memory of Gareth had been locked away; they knew only that they had fallen into Anbaixiu's trap and been taken prisoner, unable to recount the details. Consequently, James Watson had no inkling that Gareth even existed. And the City of Alchemy, ever intent on undermining Watson, certainly had not volunteered detailed intelligence, leaving the Supreme Arbiter completely in the dark. Time had been too short. Had James Watson not launched straight into battle the moment he entered the city, he might have detected the tampering in their memories and prepared in advance. Now, he could only swallow the bitter fruit of faulty intelligence. The scattered paladins stood no chance of halting Gareth. One after another, they were crushed to paste under the behemoth's iron hooves or sent hurtling through the air. Gareth employed no flashy spells; it was a pure, unadorned charge, yet its sheer, overwhelming force shattered every defense the paladins possessed. Hovering above, James Watson watched a thick streak of black mist plow across the battlefield, carving a harrowing trench in its wake. At least thirty paladins died in that single charge, and many more who had been flung aside suffered grievous wounds. James Watson could no longer afford to be a bystander. He canceled the Gaseous Form spell of his own accord. The instant he regained his human form, the numbing sensation rushed back; the Rose of Decay had no intention of letting him off. James Watson knew there was no retreat. If he did not wish to be refined into a zombie, he had to bring forth his greatest power. Ignoring the creeping changes in his flesh, James Watson assumed an attitude of supreme piety and began chanting hymns to the Lord of the Dawn. From the sky, countless streams of platinum light poured down, shrouding him completely like a celestial canopy. A cleric of light's power came from divine grace, and the greatest power at a cleric's disposal was naturally summoning their deity's advent. Divine Intervention—a mighty divine spell that even a legendary cleric of light could invoke only once a year. Praying with devout reverence in the depths of despair, he implored the deity to cast down even the briefest glance. As the Holy Light descended, a majestic figure faintly coalesced in the heavens. The Lord of the Dawn had answered James Watson's plea, gazing down upon the city from his divine realm. A rumbling roar echoed as the entire City of Alchemy shuddered. The earth began to crack, throwing plumes of dust into the sky. James Watson had just begun to feel relieved, marveling at the sheer greatness of divine power, when he realized something was wrong. The Divine Intervention spell had not yet unleashed its full might; the earthquake shaking the City of Alchemy had nothing to do with divine magic. Something seemed to be lurking beneath the city—and it was tearing the City of Alchemy apart!