The Scourge 011

Vivian regretted Fang Zhiyi's withdrawal, but she had her own plans to carry out. Such chaotic opportunities were rare.

The royal capital was inexplicably swept up in an investigation frenzy. Anyone discovered to possess items related to dark magic would have their entire family arrested and put on trial. The situation escalated rapidly. With the threat of other races gone, humans had turned to purging their own kind. Rumors about necromancers grew even more terrifying—some reported their neighbors for allegedly colluding with necromancers over trivial disputes, like a small flower garden being encroached upon, leading to public hangings.

Meanwhile, the mastermind behind it all stood obediently before her father, feigning innocence.

Vivian had everything planned. Once the ignorant masses reached the peak of panic, she would emerge as their savior, eliminate a few pre-selected scapegoats, and then—with the backing of the Holy Church—negotiate with the necromancers entrenched in the western territories. After that, she and Fang Zhiyi could scheme to secure her ascension to the throne.

Just like in her past life, she was certain he would support her.

For now, all she had to do was wait patiently for her father to succumb to the poison.

The old king was indecisive and weak—utterly unfit to rule. As for Fang Zhiyi, she had already consulted her mentor, the leader of the Holy Church, the natural nemesis of necromancers.

Two days later, the old king died, plunging the kingdom into further chaos.

Rumors spread that the king had fallen victim to dark magic, while others whispered that he might be resurrected through necromancy. The common folk were terrified, and even some mages began to fear what the necromancers might do with the king’s body, given how little they understood of such forbidden arts.

Under mounting pressure, Vivian’s eldest brother agreed to cremate the king—a decision that suited Vivian perfectly, since she knew full well her father had died of poisoning.

The incident reignited a wave of public denunciations. Neighbors who once lived in harmony now eyed each other with suspicion, fearing that necromancers had infiltrated the capital.

Vivian was surprised. While she had planted the initial rumors, the later ones had spread organically among the people.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that things were spiraling out of control. Watching her brother try on the crown, Vivian praised him outwardly while already plotting her next move.

Due to the capital’s defensive war, even half-trained fighters like Ross had been sent to the frontlines. Fortunately, he had learned much from Fang Zhiyi and managed to survive. But no sooner had the war ended than he was arrested by the knights.

Vivian, radiant with holy light, declared his crimes: harboring a necromancer, even dabbling in necromancy himself. She implied that without her intervention, he would have continued to endanger the people. To appear just, she summoned surviving academy classmates as witnesses—revealing to all that the infamous necromancer was none other than Fang Zhiyi.

The frenzied crowd clamored for Ross to be burned at the stake, pelting him and his parents with stones while guards stood by indifferently.

Ross laughed bitterly. Now he understood why Fang Zhiyi had sneered whenever Vivian’s name was mentioned in private.

Beneath her saintly facade, this woman was as venomous as a serpent.

The mob roared for the execution of the dark magic apprentice, but Vivian, ever the paragon of mercy, declared burning too cruel. Instead, she sentenced Ross to imprisonment and exiled his parents, who were deemed ignorant of his crimes.

At dawn, a drowsy guard on duty blinked as he spotted something moving slowly beyond the city walls. Squinting, he realized a large group was advancing toward the capital.

"Orcs?" He tensed, then scoffed. "No, impossible. The orcs fled long ago."

As the figures drew closer, a massive shadow suddenly passed overhead. The guard gaped, frozen for a moment before frantically ringing the alarm bell.

"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"

Neither the Holy Church nor the Mage Association had anticipated this—the undead from that territory were marching on the capital. A sea of skeletal soldiers stretched across the land. Mages rushed to the walls, chanting spells, only for the skeletons below to part ranks, revealing hundreds of ragged-cloaked lichs. Without incantations, the lichs raised their staffs, unleashing torrents of ice and fire magic upon the defenders.

"How?!" A spectacled elder mage gasped. "So many lichs!"

Fang Zhiyi emerged from the skeletal horde, looking as nonchalant as ever. "Of course. I dug up your graveyard."

The mages’ burial grounds, once belonging to the former Neke family’s domain, had been plundered.

His words sent a shockwave through the mages, stirring fury and dread.

"What did you say?"

Fang Zhiyi grinned. "It’s nice not having to do the dirty work yourself... Attack."

A deafening dragon’s roar echoed from above as three bone dragons circled the skies. The skeletons surged forward, scaling the walls effortlessly—arrows useless against them. At the gates, a zombie battering ram, strapped with clay-like explosives, slammed into the doors, detonating with earth-shaking force.

"Using bombs in a magic world. Classic you," Little Hei remarked.

Fang Zhiyi gave a mock bow. "Too kind." Had time allowed, he’d have armed every skeleton with firearms. Undead labor was unbeatable—no need for food, rest, or complaints.

The bone dragons harried the defenders while the breached gates disgorged the knights’ charge, their momentum bowling over even the sturdy zombies.

"Heretic!" their leader bellowed.

Fang Zhiyi merely glanced at him. The skeletal ranks split, revealing a cavalry of death knights astride skeletal steeds.

"Death knights?!" A archmage gritted his teeth, eyeing Fang Zhiyi’s relaxed demeanor. "How many forces does this necromancer command?"

Had Fang Zhiyi heard, he might have wept—assembling this army had required scavenging graves and begging Little Hei for help.

"Numbers won’t save him," a Holy Church priest intoned, stepping forward with arms outstretched. "Once the caster falls, these abominations return to hell." He began chanting a purification spell.