Dracolich

Yaxiu encountered the trial he least wanted to face—a labyrinth. The twelfth floor of the Silent Spiral was an enormous maze. Its walls stretched seamlessly from ground to ceiling without a single gap to fly over. Furthermore, the walls, floor, and ceiling formed an unbroken whole; even if one struck a single point on a wall, the impact would be dispersed across the entire floor. Yet Chikala, their best fighter for outright destruction, had stayed behind on the tenth floor. Yaxiu's specialty was cutting, Igola's hypothetical enemies were always intelligent creatures rather than inanimate walls, and Gwen was merely a two-winged sorcerer who had lost many of her sorcery spirits when the "Concept of the Stars" shattered days ago, leaving her combat strength negligible. If they truly attempted to brute-force their way through the twelfth floor's labyrinth, it would likely demand over an hour of relentless, high-intensity bombardment. By then, their sorcery power would be drained dry. If they ran into Mercury Trojan on the very next floor, it would be delivering themselves up on a silver platter—warm and thoughtful enough to practically open their chests for Mercury Trojan to rip their hearts out. Thus, they had no choice but to navigate the labyrinth the honest way. Fortunately, the maze was not without clues. At every junction, a question would appear—such as "What is the most beautiful music in life?"—followed by three branching paths, each carrying a different sound: the white noise of rain sweeping through a forest, the flowing pure music of instruments, or a silent corridor devoid of any sound. If they took the wrong path, they would only circle back to the same intersection. Evidently, the central theme of this trial was to understand the philosophies of life and tread life's proper path. Yaxiu was notoriously inept at such questions. When faced with "What is the most beautiful music in life?", he would think of poetic lines like "Listen not to the rain beating through the forest leaves" or "A silver jar abruptly shatters, water bursting forth"... It wasn't that he didn't understand the philosophies of life; quite the opposite, he knew far too many life philosophies—he just couldn't manage to live his own life well. In contrast, Igola quickly grasped the answers expected by these prompts. Though they did not know which grand law had designed this floor's trial, once one deciphered the examiner's intent, answering the reading comprehension became a straightforward exercise. Yaxiu had wanted to join the brainstorming, but after several attempts where his answers never matched Igola's, he resigned himself to waiting for the Swindler's solutions. Then, like an eager hound, he would dash to the end of the passage and shout the next prompt back to Igola. As Yaxiu launched into his sixteenth heroic charge down a corridor, Igola caught him by the back of his collar with a finger. "Rushing won't help." "Mr. Yaxiu." Gwen took out a notebook. "Though you can recite the questions clearly, the conditions in the passages are the crucial answer choices, and your descriptions of those choices are slightly distorted. Rushing ahead to scout probably only saves one to three seconds." "And I wasted more than three seconds on the way just trying to hear your recitation clearly," the Swindler said coldly. "I will faithfully recount your performance to Harvey. I'm sure he'll be moved to tears by your acting." Igola expected Yaxiu to retort, but Yaxiu merely walked forward in silence, offering not a word. The Swindler's expression turned slightly unnatural. Gwen said softly, "Mr. Yaxiu, we all know you're just worried..." "He's right. I really was just putting on an act," Yaxiu sighed. "Thinking of Harvey and Chikala fighting a bloody battle back there, I felt like I couldn't just walk slowly. I had to run around looking urgent, even if it was completely pointless... I was only trying to make myself feel better." "Do you regret it?" Igola sneered. "Did you actually think this would be a leisurely, pleasant vacation?" "I'm just waiting," Yaxiu said, his spirits sinking. "Like a ball hitting the top of the net and bouncing up—I don't know which side it will fall on... I can only wait for it to come down. "I still haven't found Tamashi, and I can't help Harvey or Chikala. I'm clearly not the same person I was at Shattered Lake; I've clearly grown so much stronger... But in the end, I'm no different from a death row inmate, utterly helpless in the face of a drifting fate." "Incompetent rage," Igola remarked. "Even back in the Blood Moon, that ranked among the top three psychological ailments." "Do you have medicine for it, then?" Yaxiu asked with a bitter smile. "Not every ailment has a cure. Some are curses you are doomed never to escape," the Swindler said. "If you were just a bit more selfish, many things would resolve themselves. The more you care about, the easier it is to run into moments of sheer powerlessness." Yaxiu couldn't help letting out a laugh. "To be honest, I already consider myself selfish enough. If something isn't mine, I couldn't care less about it." "Which only proves you define far too many things as 'yours,' you idiot." Igola halted and looked up at the prompt carved above the fork in the road: "What is life's most unrealistic fantasy?" Three paths lay ahead. The first was filled with laughter, the fragrance of flowers, birdsong, and the sounds of children playing—'Innocence.' The second path blazed with radiant light, climbing upward along grand flights of stairs. Drawing near, one could hear roaring cheers like crashing ocean waves, as if welcoming a king's coronation or a general's triumphant return—'Success.' He glanced at the third path and walked straight into it, saying, "Still, treating your condition is actually simple. All it requires is a bit more observation. Stop treating your eyes as ornaments and your brain as a water bucket. Look around more, and think more." "Huh?" "We haven't found Black Crow yet, which is actually good news. It means he has most likely already infiltrated the deeper levels—and you know full well how formidable Black Crow's stealth is. He wants Mercury Trojan dead more than anyone, so he won't throw his life away easily. He'll wait for an absolute certainty before making his move. But before that happens, we might already have found him. "By the same token, when have you ever seen Harvey volunteer for anything?" Igola said. "In his eyes, whether he dies, I die, or you die makes little difference. In fact, he'd probably prefer we died first so he could collect our corpses. "You were too tense to notice, but the necromancer was actually excited," the Swindler said calmly. "He has never been one to disguise his thoughts or tell lies. Since he claimed he would conduct a burial for a Legend, it means he believes he can do it. "Just as you believe how perverse he is," Igola added, his voice stripped of mockery and utterly serious, "you should also believe in his capabilities." Yaxiu blinked, startled. A song suddenly drifted into his ears. On the walls flanking the path were carvings of travelers singing in harmonious joy, comrades standing back-to-back against countless foes, and adventurers embracing each other in celebration upon discovering treasure... The third path was 'Trust.' "Still," Yaxiu murmured, "that's Senluo's foremost Legend..." "You may no longer be the cult leader from Shattered Lake, Yaxiu," Igola said, "but Harvey is no longer that same necromancer from Shattered Lake either." *** "As expected, you are no longer among the living." Amidst the howling blizzard, Harvey—transformed into the Nether Knight Ghost King—pinned Olewa to the ground. Two extra ghostly arms sprouted from beneath his armpits, locking Olewa's hands in an iron grip, while his own hands raised the Despair Scythe high and brought it crashing down toward Olewa's head! Facing this fatal blow, the disheveled, maddened Olewa showed a flicker of yearning, blood-red light in his eyes. His parted jaws bared savage gums, letting out a sorrowful, hysterical shriek. Yet his limbs fought frantically, as though boundless agony were tearing through him from within! Clang! With an ear-splitting detonation, the Despair Scythe struck squarely against Olewa's face, its razor-sharp edge mere millimeters from his brow! Sanctuary! At the very brink of demise, the Legend finally enveloped himself in his Sanctuary, halting Harvey's lethal stroke! A Frost Star Ring erupted outward with a deafening blast. Even cloaked in his own Sanctuary, Harvey was flung back more than a dozen meters, but he instantly snapped his wings open and soared away. His reaction proved entirely correct—the shattered Frost Star Ring converged again an instant later; lingering would have meant suffering a second wave of damage! On the other side, Chikala opened his maw with a furious roar, spitting a blazing fire projectile toward Olewa! Once launched, the projectile was empowered by his roar—the louder his voice, the faster and fiercer the flame! Miracle: Blazing Passionate Roar! Yet the converging Frost Star Ring instantly formed a Frost Shield Formation before Olewa, perfectly deflecting Chikala's fiery blast without letting a single spark touch him! "This is absurd!" Chikala shouted, his eyes wide with fury. Dodging Olewa's counterattack, he retreated toward Harvey and yelled, "He's clearly lost his mind and casts purely on instinct... so why are we the ones getting pushed further and further into a corner?!" From the start of the battle until now, Harvey and Chikala had generally held the upper hand. Olewa was a legendary sorcerer, but his attack patterns were currently far too transparent; after a few exchanges, they knew what he would do the moment he shifted his stance. That was the primary reason Chikala had stayed behind: as long as the Damage Chain could be bypassed, Olewa wasn't nearly as terrifying as he appeared. When the beastman saw Harvey walking Olewa around like a dog, he had realized the same truth—had Olewa been in his right mind, Chikala would have fled as far as possible even if the Legend had only half a breath left. But the current Olewa was no longer a legendary sorcerer; he was merely a madman wielding immense power. Soon, however, the beastman's budding ambition of slaying a Legend above his station was thoroughly chilled by the driving gale. Though they appeared to be pummeling Olewa, they had failed to inflict any meaningful damage. Conversely, every miracle Olewa cast pushed their situation closer to disaster! The secret lay in the terrain! This blizzard sweeping across the grasslands, freezing everything in its path, was the true mortal threat! Every miracle Olewa cast, every sorcery spirit he employed, fed into the blizzard. The storm, in turn, amplified his miracles, steadily increasing their power while bogging Harvey and Chikala down in deep, treacherous snow! Although Chikala's flame arts countered Olewa's ice, on the whole, Chikala could only defend; his offensive output barely amounted to scratching the surface. Olewa could summon gusts of wind and snow at will to nullify Chikala's fire miracles, and every one of Chikala's attacks was diminished by more than thirty percent by the environment! This alone demonstrated how terrifying Olewa had been in his prime: he could reshape any battlefield into the ideal domain for frost arts, weakening his foes while bolstering himself. If an enemy tried to flee, frost arts were inherently designed to impede and ensnare; victims were reduced to lost travelers caught in a blizzard, their body heat and stamina sapped until they collapsed dead in the deep drifts. Had Olewa retained his sanity, not one of them would have escaped! "Mr. Harvey, should we retreat to the floor above?" the beastman asked tentatively. "He might not follow us..." "You may reveal your trump card and leave right now," Harvey's voice came from beneath the Nether Knight helmet, flat and chillingly inhuman. "I will not stop you." Chikala's expression did not falter as he shouted, "I would never abandon you, Mr. Harvey—" "Let me guess: a mobility miracle centered around the Firelight sorcery spirit, right?" Chikala froze. For the first time, this beastman—usually all smirks and smooth talk—lost control of his expression, his eyes flashing with shock, wariness, and lethal intent. "It isn't hard to deduce. Since you volunteered to stay behind, you had to have a miracle to preserve your life. And against a legendary sorcerer, only a mobility miracle would suffice. "We are all familiar with your sorcery spirit repertoire. Among them, the one most suited for mobility is the Firelight spirit—it likely allows you to depart as swiftly as light, does it not?" Harvey said calmly, "Once we reached the floor above, you would immediately trigger your mobility miracle to break line of sight. By then, even if I wished to invoke the slave contract to stop you, you wouldn't hear it. Without the restrictions of the Damage Chain, Olewa would unleash the full might of a Legend, and I, left behind, would probably be swatted to death with a single strike." "Mr. Harvey," the beastman said, lowering his gaze. "You truly misunderstand me. I genuinely want to leave Senluo with you." "No sorcerer is willing to be a slave, least of all a Sanctuary sorcerer." Harvey evaded a distant Ice Lance Storm from Olewa. "You truly wish to leave, but even more than that, you truly wish to break free of your contract. "As long as I die and Alice is no more, your contract will naturally vanish into thin air... To think you reasoned all this out and put it into motion in such a short span of time," the necromancer said. "Your intellect is in no way inferior to the Swindler's. The difference is that his brilliance is brazenly sharp, while yours is hidden behind a buffoon's mask. He was right—staying in the Wasteland truly wasted your talents." "You deserve that praise far more, Mr. Harvey. Mr. Bogin's presence has merely overshadowed your brilliance." The smile had entirely vanished from Chikala's face. "Still, if you refuse to leave, I will see this through to the end with you." "No, go," Harvey said faintly. "Once we rescue Black Crow, we will likely leave directly. The world is vast; so long as you never cross paths with us again, your contract is effectively scrap paper." "Why?" the beastman asked, baffled. He couldn't believe Harvey would simply release a Sanctuary slave. "Because I do not care about you. Your corpse is of far greater value to me than you are alive," the necromancer stated. "More importantly, with the attack I am about to unleash, I cannot guarantee you won't be reduced to ash alongside Olewa." Chikala started, beating his wings to dodge another of Olewa's strikes before quickly landing again—the gale in the sky was fierce enough to buffet him off balance. "You have a way to deal with this madman?" "If he were a living Legend, I would have no answers," Harvey said. "But he is no longer among the living." "True, he's already insane." "No, that is not what I mean. He is an undead." Chikala looked at Olewa, bewildered. He couldn't equate this hyperactive, spellcasting lunatic with a necromantic creature like Alice... "His flesh is not yet dead, but his soul is utterly shattered, and his consciousness perished long ago," Harvey explained faintly. "What governs him now is merely a new soul, a new consciousness. "This is the most primitive way necromantic creatures are born—the Deathborn. A creature that should have passed through the Curtain of Death, forcibly bound to the mortal coil by a sorcerer's miracle. Within that decaying husk, a tragic entity caught between life and death is born. "The reason he is mad is that his new soul yearns for eternal rest, yet the residual persona lingering in his corpse's nervous system possesses a ferocious survival instinct. He is torn simultaneously by the craving for death and the instinct for life. That is the root of agony for all primordial undead. "It is why he constantly harms himself, yet instinctively protects himself when death draws near. "The living seek life and loathe death; the dead crave death and loathe life. "A primordial undead born this way despises all living things and yearns to drag them down into the peaceful slumber of the grave. That is why he attacks us. Necromancers first came into being precisely to resolve the disaster that is the primordial undead; only later did we begin to harness the power of death. "So rest assured, I am not bluffing," Harvey said. "I will put an end to Olewa." Chikala stared blankly at Harvey. Black mist churned around the necromancer, revealing only a pair of emerald eyes fixed upon the roaring Olewa. "A primordial undead is the most sorrowful creature in this world. Playing a dirge for them and guiding them back to eternal slumber is the professional ethics of a necromancer," Harvey said calmly. "The undead are a power born of madness; they must remain under a sorcerer's control." Absurd as it sounded, the beastman could tell Harvey meant every word! Shielding Yaxiu and the others was certainly a major reason, but even without that obligation, Harvey would still have buried Olewa! The necromancer's tone was detached, yet the unyielding resolve woven through it was so potent it practically made Chikala bristle—it reminded the beastman of the living saints he had encountered in the past, whose faith was unshakeable. Even to the Chikala of old, saints were incomprehensible madmen. They clung to almost laughable principles, performing utterly meaningless, foolish deeds. And so... "Mr. Harvey, I really wasn't planning to run," Chikala said gingerly. "Don't worry about me. I'll stay clear." After hearing Harvey's words, he dared to flee even less. If Harvey won and the slave contract remained intact, heaven only knew what methods Igola might have to drag him back. "Is that so?" Harvey took to the air in a sudden blur. "Then I won't hold back." Chikala watched as Harvey, cloaked in black mist, surged toward Olewa. Olewa whipped up a storm of crystalline ice, hurtling toward the necromancer like a spiraling drill. "A pair of madmen, the both of them..." the beastman muttered, bracing himself to dodge the impending miracle. The billowing black mist suddenly surged and expanded, rapidly transmuting into a gray miasma dense enough to contend with the howling blizzard! A colossal skeletal dragon of pitch-black bone unleashed a soundless shriek, riding a wave of all-consuming corpse miasma of decay as it crashed down upon Olewa! Ghost King Shackles: Dracolich! Yet before the decaying corpse miasma, the madness on Olewa's face softened. His offensive slowed, his expression turning into one of peaceful serenity, as though returning to a mother's embrace. This was Harvey's trump card—the dracolich's corpse miasma of decay was lethal poison to the living, but the finest wine to the dead! An undead exposed to this miasma was like a foolish woman encountering Igola: utterly charmed, left entirely at the dracolich's mercy! "Rest in peace." The dracolich's flaming green pupils stared down at the smiling Olewa, and its massive skeletal claws came crashing down with thunderous finality!