Scourge of the Undead 02

"But now there are 200,000 orcs outside the city! The slums have fallen!" Vivian cried out, her voice trembling.

At the mention of the "slums," Fang Zhiyi's mind flashed to Lily's face. A wave of panic surged through him, and he stopped listening to their arguments.

Suddenly, his hand was grasped by something soft and lifted into the air: "He can fight for the kingdom!"

Fang Zhiyi looked around in confusion at the important figures surrounding him. The king, his finger shaking, pointed at him and said, "You must swear to disband the undead army immediately after the war."

Fang Zhiyi thought of the little girl who had brought him meat soup, given him flowers, and even brought him hemostatic grass when he was injured. Then he looked at Vivian, her hand tightly gripping his.

"I swear."

At midnight, atop the sacrificial altar, the sound of orc horns outside the city echoed endlessly. The knights had suffered heavy losses, it was said. Standing in the center of the altar, Fang Zhiyi clearly remembered the powerful forbidden spell his teacher had taught him. Though it would cost him a portion of his life force, perhaps this was the moment it was meant for.

The old men of the Mage Association insisted on purifying his magic circle with holy light, causing a stinging pain under his feet, as if they were being sliced by blades. They claimed it was to prevent "the darkness from corrupting the kingdom."

Fang Zhiyi began his incantation. He felt his spiritual energy surging forth: "With my body as the furnace, my blood as the fuel."

A bright light erupted around the altar as dark magic energy swirled upward. The holy light beneath his feet burned his soles. In the distance, he saw the princess biting her lip, her face tense, and beside her, Rhein, his hand resting warily on the hilt of his sword.

The dark magic soared into the sky. Fang Zhiyi felt his spiritual energy and life force draining away. By then, the city gates had been breached. The orcs, who had barely begun to cheer, suddenly sensed something amiss. The undead clawed their way out of corpses, scraps of flesh—human and orc alike—still clinging to their bodies. Their eyes were gone, leaving only empty black sockets.

The orc charge came to an abrupt halt before dawn. When they saw the tide of undead, their terrified screams were sharper than any war horn.

Standing on the altar, Fang Zhiyi felt his heart burning as if scorched by flames. With every undead he summoned, an invisible needle pierced his heart.

He watched as the princess rode forth on her horse, her holy spear carving golden arcs through the air. Rhein guarded her side as they led the knights into battle.

"Are they cheering for me? When the war is over, they’ll know I’m the hero." Fang Zhiyi’s mind was already slipping.

He tried to smile but coughed up black blood. His fingertips were turning transparent, like smoke scattered by the wind.

In the distance, the princess suddenly pointed in a direction, and Rhein immediately led a charge. Amid the cacophony of battle, voices carried on the wind: "Look! Her Highness has repelled the orc vanguard!"

When the first rays of sunlight touched the palace spires, Fang Zhiyi’s vision darkened, and he collapsed.

When he woke again, he was lying on the cold floor of a dungeon. A guard sat outside his cell, staring at him impassively.

After gathering his thoughts, Fang Zhiyi spoke slowly, his lips cracked and dry: "Have the orcs retreated?"

The guard looked at him, his cold eyes tinged with pity. After a moment, he nodded.

Fang Zhiyi exhaled and lifted his hand to examine it. The youthful skin was now withered and peeling. He touched his face and let out a bitter laugh.

So this was the price his teacher had warned him about.

Perhaps because he was no longer seen as a threat, or perhaps because the old king wished to honor his promise, Fang Zhiyi was released from prison. With nowhere to go, he wandered the streets in a daze, listening to the celebrations around him. Fragments of conversation reached his ears: "Princess Vivian saved the kingdom!" "Rhein is a hero too!"

Fang Zhiyi didn’t care that they had taken the glory that should have been his. He was just a decaying necromancer, wasn’t he? Unseen, unwanted.

He walked against the crowd, limping his way back to the slums. The orcs had left them in ruins. Though some people remained, their faces were numb, relieved only to be alive.

To his surprise, his ramshackle house still stood—perhaps too remote to have drawn attention. But not far away, Lily’s home was nothing more than a pile of broken wood.

Fang Zhiyi returned to his house. A part of him still longed to see Vivian one last time—the princess who had once been warmth incarnate in his memories. But the reflection in the mirror, now lined with wrinkles, told him it was impossible.

Yet Vivian came to him anyway. She was still as gentle as ever.

She spoke softly with Fang Zhiyi before leaving, her face alight with joy.

From that day on, shadows of the undead began appearing sporadically across the kingdom. Though they caused no real harm, the fear they instilled was enough. And time and again, Vivian used her holy magic to dispel these dark creatures. Her reputation grew brighter with each passing day.

Not long after, news spread that Vivian had won the election by a landslide, defeating her useless elder brother to become the kingdom’s first queen.

Fang Zhiyi’s emotions were tangled. Something felt off, but he couldn’t pinpoint what. Still, if he had helped Vivian, that was enough.

Soon after, the old king died—quietly, without fanfare.

Rumors quickly followed: the king had been murdered by a necromancer, one of those vile mages who consorted with corpses. The Mage Association claimed to have found a skull pendant infused with necrotic energy in the king’s hand.

Oblivious to the outside world, Fang Zhiyi opened his door only to find a crowd gathered outside. Their eyes burned with fear and fury. At the forefront stood Rhein and his knights, flanked by robed mages.

"What is this...?" Fang Zhiyi didn’t understand, but Rhein began his pronouncement.

As the impassioned accusations rang out, Fang Zhiyi’s heart sank into icy depths. Though he offered no resistance, the crowd closed in cautiously. He thought he was doomed—until Vivian arrived and stopped everything.

"We cannot condemn any citizen without evidence, no matter where they live," Vivian declared, radiant with holy magic, like a saint descended.

Her gentle reasoning won over the crowd—commoners, mages, and knights alike. What a just and compassionate queen, they murmured, so kind even to a dark necromancer.

The kingdom’s knights and mages withdrew.

But the angry mob lingered, their gazes lingering on Fang Zhiyi’s home with malice.