< 67. The dead return, but do not falter. >
-You fool. Why are you acting so sentimental? Why aren’t you thinking? What on earth…?
‘Ah, come on. Please shut up, Faijashi. My head hurts.’
Fernandez was contemplating whether to cast a banishment spell on the grumbling Faijashi. Once the Bronze Throne’s function was fully restored, wouldn’t it be better to banish Faijashi first? Could he even banish him? After all, they were beings split from one soul.
The Royal Castle was eerily silent, without a single torch. Fernandez followed the flow of magic revealed by his arcane vision.
-Thud, thud.
His heart was pounding heavily. He had lost too much blood, his head was dizzy, and his body was growing cold. He realized he was dying. It was a familiar feeling, but at the same time, it was terrifying.
As he crossed the Royal Castle, Fernandez was grasping the nature of the magic spread throughout the city centered around this castle and the spells shaping it.
The madness of Parfett. The Necropolis Conclave were all outstanding necromancers. Fernandez sifted through memories of his past life, recalling them.
It was an easy task. Being outstanding meant there were many moments of either conflict or cooperation with them. That meant he was already familiar with their magic shaping and spell characteristics.
‘They’re gathering power.’
-…Yes. It’s a large-scale necromancy. Even prepared for a very long time.
‘Does that mean they executed this long-prepared conspiracy the moment I coincidentally arrived in this city?’
-No way. Moria’s death is likely the biggest reason.
At the end of the direction pointed by his arcane vision, a corridor with dark green magic flowing through it was visible in the distance. Fernandez smiled faintly and gripped his dagger.
‘They’re more clumsy than I remember. For something prepared for so long.’
-It must have been triggered earlier than they originally planned. The spell isn’t complete, so they’re buying time like this.
-Groooan…
At the end of the corridor, corpses were walking out from between the pillars. Fernandez quickly checked his physical condition and loosened his wrist lightly. He missed his right hand, but there was nothing he could do. At least the bleeding had stopped.
It was time to test the blessing Shield had bestowed upon him. He didn’t know why Shield had acted directly, but it wasn’t bad.
Divinity was flowing through his dying body. Fernandez felt strength coursing through his entire being.
“Your Highness! Take care of yourself!”
“Shh! Stop! We can survive. You won’t die here.”
Vicente bit his lip tightly and swung his sword roughly, cutting down the approaching corpse. A heavy weight settled on the tip of Vicente’s sword. The head floated in the air for a moment before falling to the ground and rolling.
-Sssss…
Then, the corpse’s head instantly emitted dark green smoke and melted away. Magic surged from the smoke and seeped back into the old king on the throne. The old king sat on the throne, leaning on his cane, and laughed at them.
-Clang!
-Crunch!
From the massive sphere floating in the center of the Audience Hall, corpses were walking out one by one. The knights and princes in the hall were fighting valiantly against the corpses, but there was no end to them. Moreover.
‘They’re using swordsmanship.’
They weren’t just mindless walkers or ghouls. They wore ancient armor, staggering, but their swordsmanship, though clumsy, was clearly systematic. The knights were almost slaughtering the corpses, but there were just too many of them.
-Screeeech…
Suddenly, a strange scream came from within the sphere. The prince shielded the injured knight behind him and pointed his sword at the sphere. Red eyes flickered inside the sphere. Soon, a massive hand stretched out, tearing the sphere and crushing the surrounding corpses.
“…What!?”
A giant clad in black armor roughly tore through the sphere and walked out. The black armor he wore clattered noisily. The air around them grew heavy. A chilling sense of crisis pierced the prince’s heart.
“…Your Highness. I’ve seen that armor before.”
“I think I know it too.”
The knight, who had been silently swinging his sword beside the prince, whispered during a brief lull in the battle. The prince swallowed hard as he looked at the patterns on the black armor. It was an ancient armor with a clear family crest embedded in it.
“It’s the Church of the Underground Burial.”
[Pay your respects, young mortals. Are you not of that kind? Show proper respect as you look upon your ancestors.]
The knight moved his chained arm and slowly drew a massive greatsword. Red eyes burst from within the knight’s helmet. Vicente’s instincts were signaling death.
“Executioner Pedro…”
[Yes. Your hero. Haha!]
In history books, or in heroic tales and epics, countless heroes were recorded…
