The Undead Lich’s Territory

Izaloth rode her warhorse, a long spear held firmly in one hand, in hot pursuit of Moro.

Moro flapped his decaying fleshy wings, soaring through the Undead Realm at breakneck speed. Suddenly, a dizzying sensation overwhelmed his head, leaving him profoundly uncomfortable. ‘She‘s here already? It seems she‘s already devoured Osas,’ Moro mused, his senses sharpening as he frantically accelerated his escape.

“Dark Eye: Nightmare Pupil Art!”

Izaloth’s soul fire began to flicker, deep blue flames swirling with purple ripples that spread outwards. A hallucinatory pupil art burst forth from her obsidian-like eyes, the purple ripples striking Moro. Moro’s soul fire wavered, his entire being growing muddled and disoriented as he gradually succumbed to the illusion.

Capitalizing on Moro’s deep slumber, Izaloth raised her long spear and hurled it forward. However, just as the spear was about to pierce Moro’s skull, an enraged roar tore from his throat. “No! I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die! Aaaah!” In the face of impending death, beings often unleash immense potential. Though Moro was not human, he was capable of fighting with the desperation of a cornered dog, even if that desperation was channeled solely into escape.

Harnessing this surge of power, akin to a final burst of life, Moro narrowly dodged the fatal blow. Nevertheless, the spear struck true, embedding itself firmly in his right shoulder and piercing through the wing behind it.

‘So, he doesn’t want to die?’ Izaloth mused inwardly for a moment.

Ignoring the searing pain, Moro transformed it into a desperate burst of speed, darting into the territory of a nearby Undead Lord. Within his spiritual sense, he suddenly detected a familiar aura. “Moro, why have you run into my Death Graveyard? Are you tired of living?”

Countless shadowy demons surged towards Moro, their arrival heralded by ear-splitting shrieks and wails, like laments echoing from the abyssal depths of hell. Moro clapped his hands over his ears, dropping to one knee as he stammered, “Lord Lance, save me quickly! I am willing to pledge my fealty to you!” Green blood could be seen trickling from all seven orifices of Moro’s face, a testament to the sheer force assailing him.

“Oh? Being hunted by a little runt?” Lance cackled, a chilling, sinister sound. “You truly are a piece of trash!”

A hoarse dragon’s roar erupted, followed by a spray of corrosive dragon breath that unleashed deafening sound waves. Countless vengeful spirits soared skyward, and a raspy chant drifted from the front. This was a chant entirely different from any magical incantation, low and ethereal, imbued with a profound and eerie aura of death.

As the low chant resonated, the surrounding death elements coalesced, forming a swirling black mist that aggressively encroached upon every corner. Within this pervasive black fog, a gaunt, diminutive black figure floated, riding atop a massive shadowy form. From a distance, they appeared like phantoms born of the night.

“A Lich?” Izaloth halted her pursuit, a hint of confusion in her voice. “And riding a bone dragon?”

“No, no, no! I am the great Undead Lich, Lord Lance!”

“Are you going to protect him?” Izaloth questioned, her fingers splaying open. The long spear, still embedded in Moro’s shoulder, seemed to possess a will of its own as it flew back into her hand. With the spear’s abrupt extraction, a fresh gush of blood erupted from Moro’s wound.

“Indeed. He is my s*ave now, so it is only natural that I protect him,” Lance retorted. “Furthermore, you are currently in my territory. Show some respect when you speak! Don’t you know to address me as Lord Lance?” His voice, sharp and grating, sent shivers down Izaloth’s spine.

“Is that so? You insist on shielding him?” Izaloth’s soul fire flickered faintly.

“Of course. The great Lord Lance always keeps his word.”

Izaloth offered no reply. Instead, she adjusted the angle of her fiery warhorse, preparing to depart.

It wasn’t that Izaloth feared the Lich; rather, she simply deemed the endeavor unprofitable. Risking severe injury to slay Moro was truly not worth the cost.

It was crucial to understand that ordinary undead creatures advanced primarily based on the purity of their bloodline, their comprehension of necromancy, and their spiritual enlightenment; soul fire merely served as an auxiliary. Evil Knights, however, were different. Though few in number, each one was exceptionally powerful, possessing their own unique path to advancement. They could ascend by devouring thirty soul fires of the same rank or three soul fires of a higher rank. Yet, even after advancing, they remained Evil Knights, merely progressing from Fifth to Sixth Rank. True evolution into a Death Knight still hinged on bloodline purity and a profound grasp of necromancy.

Even after devouring Moro, Izaloth would remain a Fifth Rank Evil Knight. Moreover, she risked being jointly killed by Lance the Lich and his bone dragon, an outcome that would undoubtedly be a net loss. It would be far better to seek out another target.

With that, Izaloth turned her warhorse and departed.

“Wait! Did the great Lord Lance tell you to leave?” the bone dragon roared, echoing Lance’s sentiments.

Izaloth remained silent.

“Tell me, do you wish to pledge allegiance to the great Lord Lance, or do you wish to be devoured by the great Lord Lance? Choose one!” Lance’s grating shriek resonated in Izaloth’s ears, causing an involuntary shiver to run down her spine.

It was often said that Evil Knights possessed volatile tempers, and this proved true. Many Evil Knights seemed to meet their demise due to their inability to endure provocation. Izaloth had endured Lance’s insolence repeatedly, yet the foolish Lich remained shamelessly audacious. With nothing left to lose, Izaloth unleashed her full might without hesitation.

Pushing off her warhorse’s back with a powerful kick, Izaloth launched herself into the air. Holding her spear with both hands, she plunged it directly into the Lich’s chest. The spear tip, faintly imbued with a black edge, ravaged Lance’s body—the unique aura of slaughter possessed solely by Evil Knights.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Lance sneered, extending a withered hand to grasp the spear and pluck it from his chest. The gaping hole where the spear had pierced him was visibly mending at an astonishing rate.

After extracting the spear, Lance immediately swept it with formidable force. A chilling gust of wind howled, and countless vengeful spirits transformed into pallid specters, swirling around the spear’s shaft. A grayish-black light, interwoven with fierce energy, lashed against Izaloth’s dark armor.

Izaloth plummeted to the ground like a kite with a severed string. As she struggled to her feet, the soul fire within her skull wavered precariously, and a trickle of blood escaped the corner of her mouth. Her once resplendent black armor had lost its luster, and with each passing moment, cracks became visible across its surface.

“Hmm? You survived a blow delivered with sixty percent of my power? It seems you’re a suitable experimental subject!” Lance cackled, tearing at the corners of his mouth with unrestrained glee. “Allow me to transform you into a corpse puppet and shower you with my affection! You truly are a slacker!”

Lance silently chanted a spell. “Forbidden Spell: Soul Annihilation!” With a wave of his right hand, twelve crimson banners unfurled and flapped fiercely without a breeze. A towering malevolent aura condensed into thick smoke, then separated into fine wisps that burrowed into Izaloth’s skull. The soul fire within Izaloth’s skull blazed like a divine flame, burning with intense ferocity.

“Damn it, my soul fire is about to… extinguish…” Izaloth gasped, tumbling from her fiery warhorse.

Her primordial fire seemed to have been ignited, and what burned so fiercely was her very life force.

“Soul Annihilation works wonderfully on undead creatures, doesn’t it?” Lance mused, stroking his chin. “After all, they possess soul fire…”