Chapter 984: Act 157 – The War Slate: Dragon Skin III
Under the beam of sunlight that penetrated the ground, a square slate was suspended atop a pile of rubble, slowly rotating as its twisting patterns emitted a metallic sheen. This was undoubtedly the War Slate, and it was likely the fantasy-grade slate that recorded the Dragon Skin skill in “Amber Sword.” Without a second thought, Brendel stepped forward into the round hall, intending to retrieve the slate. Just then, a dull thud sounded, and he noticed that a stone door at the opposite end of the hall was also creaking open, revealing five or six figures cloaked in black, their faces hidden in the shadows of their hoods.
Though it was unclear if they were human or monsters, their intentions were clearly hostile. Brendel immediately reacted, activating his Charge skill and shooting towards the tip of the rubble pile like a remnant shadow. However, Medephis reacted even faster. The moment the stone door opened, he extended his hand, and a black energy long strand shot out, wrapping around the slate suspended in mid-air.
This was the Abyssal Touch, a skill of the Black Knight profession, which formed energy tentacles from chaotic, unrefined magic to restrain the actions of opponents, as well as pull objects or creatures closer.
The black energy tentacle zipped past Brendel and seemed poised to grasp the War Slate. Unbeknownst to him, one of the cloaked individuals at the other end also raised their hand, summoning a black energy tentacle that moved even faster than Medephis’s Abyssal Touch—the individual was also a Death Moon Knight and of a higher level. Panic surged in Medephis’s heart as he grasped his hand, curling the energy tentacle inward, trying to reclaim the War Slate before his opponent could. However, the other person anticipated this move, redirecting their Abyssal Touch not toward the slate, but toward Medephis’s summoned tentacle.
With a soft clap, the two tentacles collided in mid-air, as if they truly had substance, then retreated in an instant. The mysterious Death Moon Knight had successfully thwarted Medephis’s attempt to seize the War Slate.
Medephis said nothing. His left hand extended again, and three more tentacles shot out from his grasp. This time, however, his target was not the slate in the center of the hall; instead, four tentacles surged across the entire hall towards the six figures opposite them. At Medephis’s side, the vampire princess Andrigraphis stepped forward, her hands weaving together as four more tentacles flew out from behind her, also aiming for the stone door across the hall.
The previously acting Death Moon Knight was slightly taken aback, clearly not expecting to encounter not one, but two of its kind here. Each Death Moon Knight could control an additional Abyssal Tentacle in battle for every five levels, meaning they could summon four tentacles, indicating that the two Death Moon Knights faced each other were at least of the gold tier. One gold-tier opponent was manageable, but two were problematic.
“Stop dawdling! Attack!” he growled, his voice raspy and hollow.
“Undead!” Brendel immediately realized upon hearing this voice. Only intelligent undead could produce such a sound—those with consciousness as opposed to those awakened and transformed by cold magical energy, lacking their own will. They resembled the skeletons, mummies, and ghouls they had encountered before—no matter how powerful, they could only act on instinct, and when faced with a higher-tier undead, they would have to submit.
Following the Knight’s command, his comrades revealed their weapons from beneath their cloaks. The sight of four burning soul fires—orange-red, deep purple, and pearly white—flickering within their hollow chests was a shocking spectacle. “So they are undead! How did so many high-level undead end up in this place?” Brendel thought, feeling a chill. In Vaunte, most intelligent undead concentrated in Madara, which was shrouded by the special law of the Death Moon and known as the land of the dead—a pale kingdom. Only a few liches transformed by wizards and vampires resided in the human world. Such solitary undead rarely appeared in civilized societies, let alone gather together.
In an instant of clarity, the four undead had drawn their weapons: two black swords and two bone staffs, while the last figure shrouded in a long cloak stood motionless at the back, not drawing any weapon, merely coldly observing, seemingly unwilling to intervene. Realizing this, Brendel understood that the Death Moon Knight who had issued the command might not be the leader of this group; rather, the one standing still at the back was their center. The earlier Death Moon Knight could easily suppress Medephis, indicating a peak gold tier or even higher, meaning the one who commanded him must also possess similar, if not greater, strength.
Fully aware of the situation, Brendel kept his focus on that final figure, observing closely.
The Death Moon Knight clashed with Medephis momentarily, their tentacles retracting before Andrigraphis and Medephis simultaneously launched attacks, while Brendel, who had initiated his movement the earliest, was already approaching the War Slate on the rubble in the center of the hall. Although his gaze was trained on the final cloaked figure among the six undead, his hands unconsciously grasped the floating slate.
At this moment, only two of the undead had the opportunity to hinder Brendel—those two undead sorcerers wielding bone staffs. The undead sorcerers, clearly experienced spellcasters, immediately began chanting a spell to conjure a white bone spear aimed at Brendel, while the other gripped their staff, waiting for an opportunity to counter any spell cast against the spear.
But to their surprise, the bone spear shot directly towards Brendel without any obstruction, disintegrating into the most basic particles just half a foot before him, dissipating into the air as chaotic magic. The casting undead raised its head, shock visible on its bone-white face; the purple flames within its dark eye sockets faltered, clearly bewildered by the unexpected turn of events.
At this moment, Bai Jia finally made her move.
Her actions were astonishingly swift, the spellcasting gestures appearing as a blur of afterimages, almost instantaneously forming a spell—Dispel. This simple second-tier spell from the arcane realm was a type of dispelling magic; Bai Jia pointed, and in that instant, the undead sorcerer who had been poised to retaliate felt a green beam strike it. The guiding magical power it had been manipulating instantly dissipated without a trace, freezing the space around it so that it could no longer sense the flow of magic.
In that moment, a gray shadow shot through the hall, accurately striking the undead sorcerer who had cast the bone spear on the head. With a crack, the sorcerer’s skull shattered like fine porcelain, and the tremendous impact sent its body crashing against a pillar at the back of the door, causing its skeletal form to scatter completely, the flames of its soul dimming.
Himelam withdrew her arm from the throwing position, while the gray shadow had transformed from the staff she hurled, turning into a stone spear.
The follower of the Earth Goddess turned back, surprised to glance at Bai Jia—impressed, as she’d not expected this knight to be a spellcaster. But Bai Jia seemed not to plan on offering any explanations, merely smiling mysteriously at the young girl.
In swift and decisive moments, three undead knights drew their swords to counter the flurry of black tentacles unleashed by Medephis and Andrigraphis. Meanwhile, Brendel calmly maneuvered past the bone spear, finally gripping the War Slate suspended in the air. He intended to quickly store the slate in his dimensional pocket to avoid drawing out the confrontation, but suddenly he sensed a chilling presence that made him instinctively turn to the side—discovering, amidst the darkness, two glimmering red orbs of light approach.
“The hall actually hides something!” Brendel realized, seeing the two red lights move, unleashing a black line toward him at a terrifying speed. Without having to think, he instinctively understood that as long as he held onto the slate, this attack would sever his right hand. Distinguishing between the weight of his right hand and the War Slate, Brendel withdrew without hesitation, and with a swish, a black light swept horizontally through the center of the hall, cleaving through the towering pile of rubble where he had just stood.
It continued on, as if it had substance, severing the black tentacles of Andrigraphis, Medephis, and that Death Moon Knight before it vanished into the wall on the opposite side of the hall, causing a dull crash. Everyone felt the ground beneath them subtly shift, as if half the hall sank slightly from the impact.
Brendel tumbled down the pile of rubble, clearly sensing the power of the strike and breaking into a cold sweat; thankfully, he had withdrawn earlier, or else this blow would have been far more severe than merely losing an arm.
This sudden strike completely disrupted the confrontation, halting everyone in their tracks as they turned to observe the source, collectively gasping. Emerging from one side of the hall was a towering skeleton, approximately four feet tall, adorned with a crown, wielding a heavy sword, and draped in a tattered cloak. Its grim black armor covered the jagged white bones, showcasing its former identity as a knight commander. It approached the crowd with its sword lowered, standing majestically with its black eye sockets, where faint golden soul flames flickered.
“Saintly Undead,” even Bai Jia could not help but exclaim, “It is Sir Roslin. Roslin was born in the Empire one hundred sixty years ago, the most renowned great swordmaster of that era—he was a great swordsaint in his lifetime.”
Saintly Undead refers to those whose souls linger on in the mortal realm due to oaths or promises, akin to the Emerald Knights and Sibers. Though their souls may have been dragged into the dark realm, they are not monsters, as the oaths and promises laid down in life bind them against being completely consumed by dark magic, retaining their sanity. These undead resemble heroic spirits, but endure greater suffering than ancient phantoms, as they simultaneously grapple with the pain of being submerged in darkness while striving to uphold their noble ideals and beliefs. Anyone who becomes a Saintly Undead was remarkable in life.
Sir Roslin was one of those individuals. Though he was a political loser, he undeniably deserved the title of hero as the first commander and founder of the Silver Horse Knights.
Once Sir Roslin’s undead slowly emerged into sight, it did not take any further action, neither attacking Brendel nor commanding the intruding outsiders to leave. It merely stood statuesquely, seemingly motionless. Meanwhile, the undead opposite Brendel reacted; the Death Moon Knight recognized this undead’s identity, its soul fire flickering in its eyes, before it spoke hollowly:
“Honorable Sir, we are guests from the Sea of the Death Moon, old friends of yours. We know what you seek. Please, come with us.”
Upon hearing these words, Brendel’s heart surged with tumultuous waves—undead from Madara! How could these undead, part of the dark nobility from Madara, appear here!?
Yet Sir Roslin’s undead remained unresponsive to the statement, standing still with its sword, appearing almost lifeless, as if the flickering golden soul flames within its eye sockets were the last signs of its existence. Brendel was perplexed by the situation, hesitating to take action. Bai Jia also frowned slightly; without their orders, Medephis, Andrigraphis, and Himelam would not engage either, and the hall fell momentarily silent.
The group of undead seemed not to be surprised. The person who had remained silent at the back finally nodded, and at his signal, the Death Moon Knight stepped forward, producing a scroll from beneath its cloak. It raised the scroll towards Sir Roslin, murmuring incantations, and in a moment, the scroll lit up with a faint blue glow.
Brendel finally recognized what the scroll was—Soul Awakening. This was a high-tier undead spell, but one of the few non-lethal black magics, primarily used to grant intelligence to lesser undead. Realizing this, Brendel understood their intention; he could not allow them to succeed. Soul Awakening was a high-tier black magic employed by undead lords in Madara to develop their high-level subordinates. Undead awakened by this spell would naturally obey the caster, and if they managed to control Sir Roslin’s undead here, it would undoubtedly spell trouble.
Understanding this, and being more attuned to magic, Bai Jia had evidently grasped the situation as well. Without hesitation, she retrieved something from her bag—an item that looked like a gray crystal, appearing dull and not as transparent as actual crystal; it was Antinna’s exclusive concoction—a magic bomb.
With a wave of her hand, the gray crystal arced through the air toward the undead.
