Necromancer

"Stop hitting him! You can't beat someone to death like that!" "Can't you two hurry it up? Dozens of us are waiting! Wasting one minute wastes half an hour of everyone's time!" "That's enough already!" When Yaxiu and his companions stepped into the Death Match Club, what reached their ears wasn't the scream of an adrenaline rush, a beastly roar, or malicious jeering, but deeply disgusted grumbling. If the chips hadn't restricted these death row convicts from letting profanities fly, Yaxiu was certain he would have rapidly mastered the signature curses of every race in the Blood Moon Country. Their group pushed to the front. The inmates whose backsides were bumped turned around with irritated scowls, but the moment they saw notorious prison villains like the 'Evil Demon', the 'Fair Beast', and the 'Gourmet', they hurriedly cleared a path, some even offering obsequious smiles. In truth, there was no hierarchy of rank among the death row convicts. No matter how powerful a convict was, they could not harm even the weakest inmate—not by plucking a single hair, nor even by scratching someone's freshly manicured nails. Absolutely nothing was allowed. As long as one did not voluntarily step into the death match ring, they would never suffer bullying from others. Yet venerating the strong was biological instinct, and among these convicts whose moral baseline was as porous as an elder's diaper, that worship of power was displayed to the fullest. Even if Yaxiu's group couldn't harm an iota of their interests, they still refused to cross such ruthless figures. Yaxiu secretly struck every one of those who gave way from his candidate list. *I'm the most kind and innocent soul in this entire prison. If you're afraid even of me, how could you possibly serve as bait! Every single one failed!* Reaching the front, Yaxiu saw two figures on the lowest death match ring. One was a dark-green snakeliz, while the other was one of the few cellmates Yaxiu could actually converse with—Harvey, whose first name he had forgotten, remembering only his surname. After watching for a moment, Yaxiu understood why the crowd was complaining: Harvey and his opponent were fixing the match. The snakeliz didn't fight back in the slightest, letting Harvey pummel his face punch after punch. Even when the leathery scales on his skin split and his fine, tight teeth were knocked loose, he remained on his knees without moving, gazing calmly at Harvey. Only when Harvey's fists were dripping with thick, smeared blood did the snakeliz slowly speak: "Archibald, feel any better?" "Not yet!" Harvey suddenly dropped to his knees, ripped open his shirt to reveal an emaciated chest covered in hideous scars, and snarled ferociously, "Habolen, come at me!" The snakeliz shook his head, but still went to the edge of the ring and picked up a thorn whip. A single glance made Yaxiu's hairs stand on end—the whip was lined with dense, tiny barbs. One could easily imagine how excruciating a single lash would feel; add a splash of brine, and a person's soul might ascend straight to heaven. *Crack! Crack! Crack!* As the dull cracks of the whip rang out, the complaints across the Death Match Club noticeably dwindled. Though a few people occasionally sneered, wondering if Harvey had lost his mind, far more paid him their respect through silence. To earn the respect of death row convicts, there were only two paths: be ruthless to others, or be ruthless to yourself. Yaxiu asked under his breath, "What do you think?" "Not bad," Igola said. "I'll dig into his 'story' later. Maybe there's something we can exploit." "Archibald Harvey's death match record is seven wins and one loss," Langna said. "Because of his scrawny build, he's occasionally targeted as easy prey, but his opponents usually lose consciousness before they even realize what's happening. He isn't weak." "This is exactly the kind of hot-blooded man we need! Just watching him fires me up!" Ronald said, pumping his fist. "Let's go find him right after the match!" Igola shook his head. "No rush. We still have time and can screen other candidates. Even if we do recruit him, I need to secure some leverage first so we can manipulate him with ease." "Ugh, you're so vile!" "What, you have an objection?" "Yes. Look at that snakeliz; he has a good relationship with Harvey. If we can't find a breakthrough with Harvey, maybe we can use the snakeliz instead. After all, he hasn't been in prison long, so he hasn't forgotten the sweet scent of freedom." Igola gave an appreciative nod. "Rare indeed, Yaxiu. That's actually a decent suggestion." "It's nothing. I learned it all from you, Igola." Watching the pair exchange wicked, partner-in-crime smirks, Langna kept a neutral face, though he was deeply astonished inside. He had observed Igola Bogin before and knew this Swindler was a cold, selfish thrill-seeker. He perpetually wore a practiced, professional smile, yet disdained everyone to his core, regarding all people as tools to be used. Langna wasn't suggesting that Igola viewed Yaxiu as a friend; had he dared voice such a claim, Igola and Yaxiu would probably have thought he had lost his mind. Yet according to Langna's observations, Igola's attitude toward Yaxiu was completely different from how he treated any other inmate. It wasn't calculating flattery, nor was it the disgust reserved for an enemy. It was closer to... sincerity. Yes, sincerity. Though using such an adjective on a swindler seemed laughably naive, that was Langna's conclusion. Perhaps even Igola hadn't realized that before Yaxiu, he had unconsciously lowered the defensive mask he had built around himself. He did not conceal his disdain, nor did he hide his approval. He treated Yaxiu Heath as an equal, conversing normally, bickering normally—Igola had experienced more emotional fluctuation in the past few days than in the entire preceding year and a half. Was this due to Yaxiu Heath's personal charisma? No, Langna didn't think so. Not that young Yaxiu lacked charm, but Igola was not someone easily swayed. Anyone who was a Two-Winged Sorcerer specializing in the mind faction possessed a worldview and willpower far firmer than other sorcerers, to say nothing of the fact that Igola was a swindler adept at playing with human hearts. How could he possibly undergo a mental shift akin to 'love at first sight'? In the world of sorcerers, there were no coincidences. There were only 'miracles'. Though Ronald's involvement played a part, the moment Langna learned that Yaxiu was the mastermind behind the prison-break plan, he strongly sensed that this escape was bound to succeed. Unlike Igola and Ronald, Langna had once been a servant of the church, a servant of God. He had bathed in divine glory and knew intimately the boundless reach of divine authority. God's will would surely be enacted. To the Blood Moon Sovereign, the seemingly flawless, heavily guarded Shattered Lake Prison was nothing more than a fragile, near-transparent bubble that would burst at the lightest touch. And to the Four Pillar Gods, it was no different. Suddenly, the lights throughout the Death Match Club flared to full brightness. The barriers around the ring retracted, the side door opened, and crow healers emerged to carry the snakeliz away on a stretcher. However, when they attempted to take Harvey, he refused—Harvey did not want to be healed. When Harvey stepped out, battered and his clothes soaked in blood, the convicts instinctively parted to give him a wide berth. Since they still had to wait for Igola to dig up leverage, Yaxiu's group did not immediately move to recruit him. Yet Harvey approached them on his own initiative. "I was just looking for you, Yaxiu," Harvey said. "I want to discuss something with you." "I don't have any money." "There are too many people here. Let's go to—" Harvey reached out, intending to pull Yaxiu away. Igola caught Harvey by the wrist and smiled. "Sounds rather interesting. Mind if I listen in?" Harvey swept his gaze across Igola, Langna, and Ronald, then gave a slow nod. "Of course." The five great villains swiftly departed the Death Match Club and headed for the men's restroom. There was no other choice; it was the closest private space available. Besides, the men's restroom was cleaned regularly, smelled pleasant, and turning on the faucets could mask their voices—it was practically the ideal breeding ground for conspiracies. "I hear you've been planning a prison break lately?" Harvey wiped the blood from his skin with a damp towel, looking at Yaxiu through the mirror. "We are." Igola had no intention of denying it. He had spent the last few days visiting prominent figures across the prison; the news could hardly be concealed. However, because Yaxiu's Severing Self miracle had not been revealed, and because Igola had once used his role as president of the Prison Break Research Club to manipulate newcomers, everyone assumed Igola was either fooling around or cooking up another scheme. Furthermore, the death row convicts had been thoroughly domesticated by the prison, so none were willing to join—which had forced Yaxiu to drag Ronald and Langna on board. "I want to join you." Harvey stuck his head under the running faucet, letting the water soak his curly hair. As he lifted his dripping head, Yaxiu was surprised to find that without the curls, Harvey's features were actually quite refined, lacking the perverted, sleazy look his curly hair gave him. "I want to break out." Yaxiu was overjoyed, but before he could speak, Igola cut in ahead of him: "If you want to join, you must make a contribution and prove your worth to us. We aren't short on people right now. Unless you can play a definitive role, we have no reason to let you in." "Actually, even without a contribution, we could—" "Shut up!" Igola glared fiercely at Yaxiu, who shrank back to the side with an aggrieved pout. It was supposed to be Igola and the others begging Harvey to join, but now that Harvey had stepped forward on his own, how could Igola pass up this opportunity to impose terms? After countless negotiations and deals, Igola had long understood that people inherently placed more value on what was harder to obtain. Granting Harvey entry immediately would only make him doubt their professionalism and even foster the illusion that 'I am indispensable', which would make him difficult to manage later on. By raising the barrier as high as possible and 'reluctantly permitting' Harvey to join only after squeezing every ounce of utility out of him, not only would Harvey be filled with gratitude, but he would also recognize his place, ensuring he wouldn't resist too much even if commanded to act as bait later. "A reasonable demand." Harvey looked into the mirror and nodded. "I'm confident my ability will satisfy you. I can operate the prison's processor." "Hmm, that sounds fine... wait, what?" Igola froze. "The processor? You can operate the prison's chip processor? How is that possible!" "Why wouldn't it be?" Harvey turned around to face the four of them, his wet hair plastered against his face, unable to hide the sharp gleam in his eyes. "If anyone among the death row convicts can operate the chip processor, it has to be me." "Because I am a necromancer." "And the chip processor is a corpse."