Chapter 1010: Act 181 – The Battle of the White Lion IV
After the death of the necromancer, Chen Xiu’s decayed and withered body suddenly ignited spontaneously due to the loss of the nourishing fire of the soul, turning into a pile of ashes that floated down to the ground. Brendel withdrew his sword and searched through the belongings of the latter, discovering that there was nothing of value. This was probably due to the fact that they were a distorted existence in the world; Vaunte’s magical backlash was fully exhibited on the undead. Many players in a previous life were unwilling to engage with the undead for this very reason.
He slightly furrowed his brows, contemplating the details about the treasure that controls the undead described by Bai earlier, and then recalled something. Turning his gaze, he indeed saw the necromancer’s bone staff lying quietly to one side.
Most of the so-called necromancers in Madara were not true masters of black sorcery or spiritualism but rather corporeal necromancers. The previous person, neither human nor ghost, fell into the same category. For those unfamiliar with Madara, it was hard to distinguish the difference, but for him, it was not difficult at all. Corporeal necromancers were lower-tier entities within Madara’s undead army, with limited power, while true necromancers were rare even in the land of the Undying Moon, mostly belonging to noble backgrounds – either direct subordinates of the necromancer lord wielding the mercury staff or favored disciples of some master. The “craft” of the necromancers had been passed down over generations, forming a strict organization to maintain their own interests, known as the infamous Necromancer Order.
A necromancer from the Necromancer Order, even if they didn’t appear in the mortal realm easily, would generally be surrounded by undead armies and black knights. Their rarity elevated their status—their lives were not expendable like crushing an insect.
He recalled having encountered a necromancer during his time in Buche and the Fir Castle; that was a genuine necromancer and a standout of the younger generation in the current Necromancer Order. The former was surrounded by many powerful beings, whether they were corporeal necromancers or black knights, and even Kors, who were well-known in Madara.
Of course, there were also some high-ranking corporeal necromancer lords in the realm of the Undying Moon, but these undead couldn’t hide their repugnant odor of decay, much like the sneaky fellow who had just perished by his sword.
Brendel raised his hand, and the bone staff lying on the ground seemed to be drawn by an invisible force, flying into his grasp. A cold and sinister energy immediately spread from the staff, as if trying to seep into his heart through his hand. This was dark soul power, also described as a form of negative energy. He immediately discerned that if he were an ordinary person or only possessed the strength of black iron at that moment, this power would instantly erode his sanity, turning him into a mindless zombie. Once his life’s fire was completely extinguished, he would transform into a new corporeal necromancer.
This was the power that the corporeal necromancer’s staff possessed.
Thus, the essence of a corporeal necromancer was essentially this staff; all its magical power originated from it, while its physical remains were merely a normal skeleton manipulated by it.
However, there was one difference—the staff of a typical corporeal necromancer was symbiotic with its body. When the fire of the soul within the body extinguished, the staff would also fade away. Scholars dedicated to studying the undead believed this was a form of magical feedback—yet the staff in Brendel’s hand evidently differed.
He noticed that not only had it not lost its power, but it also possessed a certain autonomous will, evident from the chilling aura it emanated and its hostility towards him.
This was definitely not a simple staff.
In his previous life, having encountered many of these skeletal tricks in battle against Madara, one aspect was creating this upgraded staff using dark treasures. Such staffs would allow ordinary corporeal necromancers to command more undead armies. Moreover, if the necromancer were slain and the staff remained undamaged, it could easily pass on to another necromancer for continued use, and they were even a type of pseudo-undeath artifact that ceaselessly produced corporeal necromancers.
The only drawback of such a staff was that making them consumed genuine dark treasures. From ancient history to the present, the dark treasures of the undead had always been limited. Consuming one meant one less, and if this staff were damaged, it would be an immeasurable loss for the undead. Thus, once humanity became aware of their secrets, such staffs quickly vanished from sight.
He had known this secret beforehand, thus paying attention when Bai described that dark treasure to him, and now he had indeed discovered this staff.
At some point in the future, the undead had made the wind elves and Crusian suffer grievously with such items, but this time, it had fallen into his hands, meaning they would be the ones to face the consequences. Holding the ivory-glowing, slightly cold staff in his hand, Brendel quickly calculated in his mind that this object would erode the fire of life and that any living being could not wield it; only the undead could command it. Thus, the necromancer who met his end beneath his sword was so shocked—it probably guessed his intent but failed to foresee the outcome.
As Brendel turned around, at that moment, another figure timidly emerged from the dark shadows of the forest behind, appearing somewhat bent and fearful. This figure was not trembling due to the power Brendel displayed earlier; it had already witnessed this young man’s strength. Even the ‘Black Knight’ Bai, who wielded a counterfeit copy of the Book of Mawrecht, had been utterly defeated by him. Dealing with a mere dozen or so knights from the Crusian was hardly surprising.
The knights of the White Legion were frontline forces of this human empire, yet they were far from elite. At least, they were not on the same level as the Fire Chosen Knights and the Temple Knights. At best, they represented the backbone of ordinary battle, but they were still far from surpassing ordinary combat on an elemental level.
However, what truly instilled fear in it was the sentence Brendel had spoken previously.
“Her name is Kehua, the daughter of Echis. Even if I do not kill you, you cannot escape here alive—”
Few in the world still remembered the name Kehua, but the title of Echis’s daughter would not fade with the passage of time. Moreover, as a child of the Undying Moon, the people of Madara understood better than others the buried histories within the darkness.
Dim Kehua, one of the strongest existences at dusk.
Had she actually become his subordinate?
This speculation made the decayed knight Crote feel as if he were walking on thin ice. It wasn’t clear if Brendel had intentionally let him overhear that phrase, because revealing such a secret to a dead man seemed unnecessary. Even if the slumbering would keep their mouths tightly shut and guard secrets, who could guarantee that there would not be ears to the walls in the forest? Moreover, as an undead, Crote understood that the notion of a dead person keeping secrets was baseless; there were many ways to make the dead speak, some of which were not complicated.
To put it frankly, the simplest way would be to put a sword to one’s own throat, as he himself was a “dead being”—he thought to himself with a bit of self-deprecation.
To him, Brendel certainly didn’t seem like a reckless or frivolous person, so the meaning contained in his words became worthy of contemplation, especially when he saw the bone staff in Brendel’s hand. In an instant, he grasped the other’s intent.
Crote cautiously approached, trying his best to maintain an air of humility—not having learned how to keep humble before the living, he could only focus on recalling how he had appeared before the emperor—though that was merely from a distance.
“My lord, thanks to that poison… I mean, the Water of Life, your subordinates’ injuries are stabilizing quickly. However, their commander is severely injured and, according to human terms, it may take some time for him to awaken. But there are a few who have completely lost their life force. Should we convert them into undead? Your subordinates have high quality, and although their power might be lacking, the conversion of the undead focuses on potential, not strength. I assure you they will become black knights, and the very best sort—” he replied cautiously, nearly misstepping, as for the undead, holy water rich in positive energy was like poison. Before cleansing the undead, Temple knights often splashed holy water onto their swords, and any undead struck would feel as if they were butter sliced by a hot knife. Even if they did not die, their soul fire would be difficult to avoid suffering damage.
Brendel looked at him, replying seriously: “No, Crote, that’s unnecessary! According to human customs, the dead should be buried, and besides, they are valiant warriors—heroes of Erluin. Their souls will return to Martha, and their bodies will not be defiled!”
“Undead will also return to Martha,” Crote muttered in its heart but dared not voice it. It actually understood this human custom, though it found it somewhat perplexing and was merely making a subconscious suggestion. In Madara, if such excellent corpses were not converted into undead, it would be regarded as disrespectful to the Month of the Undead.
So, these humans seemed quite odd to it, including Brendel.
Brendel seemed to grasp what this fellow was thinking and said, “Mr. Crote, I know you are undead, and your faith is dedicated to the Month of the Undead. The world of the living is incompatible for you; you are neither my subordinate nor do you belong to Erluin.”
Crote paused, the soul fire in its eyes flickering, confused about what this young man meant by these words.
Brendel, however, did not care whether he understood or not and continued: “The Black Prophecy states that the one who wields the mercury staff shall represent the will of the Undying Moon. It shall descend upon this world and surely unify the dark realm. It is the sovereign of the undead, your majesty to whom you must submit—so I am not asking you to betray your lord, merely requesting a small favor that concerns your life. I believe you will not oppose.”
Crote cautiously nodded. It certainly knew that its life was in the hands of the young man across from it; otherwise, the previous necromancer would have been the best example. Even without considering that necromancer, it did not believe its life was worth more than that of Black Knight White. Since the latter could be disregarded and slain, it, of course, was of little significance.
However, it somewhat misunderstood Brendel’s words. To it, what it was currently doing—or preparing to do—was indeed betraying the emperor. Although it hoped the other man would not mind this tiny betrayal, after all, not even the wielder of the mercury staff could be all-knowing and omnipotent; the last it knew, that was the authority pertaining to the Dark Dragon.
“You might be somewhat puzzled,” Brendel observed the flickering soul fire in its eyes and said, “You only need to know one thing: your emperor is not truly in alliance with the queen of Cruz. Creating some trouble for the latter will not hinder your loyalty to the former; it may even bring some benefits. After all, who can allow others to sleep soundly beside their own bed? A powerful Cruz Empire is not a good thing for Madara. Your emperor may very well have a mindset of reaping benefits while others contend.”
Brendel certainly did not know what the being wielding the mercury staff was thinking; that mystical being had always remained a mystery to him, both in the previous life and the present. Very few players had encountered the presence of this undead lord. Even among Madara players, they shared little knowledge of it, yet its authority was indisputable, surpassing any worldly sovereign of this era.
However, this strength and mystery did not deter him from persuading Crote to believe him; or rather, he understood that this decayed knight would definitely prefer to trust him. It might have already convinced itself of this internally, as the latter was inherently risk-averse.
He said all this merely hoping that the fellow would not have too many concerns because in the upcoming actions, he would have to rely on its help. In contrast, he did not trust the less intelligent corporeal necromancers who had blind loyalty to the mercury staff. However, higher-level undead like Crote—those with a degree of wisdom capable of judging pros and cons—were far more susceptible to manipulation.
He just needed to make them believe they were all on the same side.
Seeing the flickering soul fire in Crote’s eyes, he realized his words had had the desired effect and immediately handed over the staff in his hand: “We are heading to the Silver Valley Coast. You will command this undead army; I trust you know what to do, Mr. Crote—”
Crote shivered slightly and then respectfully bowed: “At your service, respected lord.”
