Scourge of the Undead 013

Fortunately, the arrival of the Church of Light saved her, as they intended to use her as leverage in negotiations with the necromancer.

Since Fang Zhiyi claimed to be Vivian’s subordinate, he had a weakness—the core of a necromancer’s power lay in the caster themselves. If he died, the undead army would dissipate on its own.

The expedition consisted of the knight order, the Church of Light, and the last two archmages and five high-ranking mages from the Magic Association. Vivian remained in the royal capital, imprisoned. As long as she was held there, their safety was guaranteed.

After they all left, the eldest prince pulled out a piece of paper from his sleeve, his face twisting with greed. "This necromancer is quite the generous one—he even told me Vivian’s entire plan. Good thing I kept my wits about me, or I’d have ended up like my old man."

He might indulge in pleasures, but he wasn’t stupid.

That was why he had demanded Vivian swear an oath. If she dared, it would prove the necromancer was lying to him. Otherwise...

In return, he agreed to the Church of Light’s request for negotiations and sent the knight commander and Rhein along as well. He had no desire for war—if the necromancer killed them, he could peacefully ascend the throne.

The thought made him so giddy that he uncorked a bottle of wine for a celebratory drink.

From lush greenery to decay, the kingdom’s negotiation party grew increasingly tense as they ventured deeper. They had witnessed the might of the undead legion firsthand—it could even withstand holy magic.

As if expecting their arrival, the wandering undead along the road paid them no mind.

The further they went, the heavier their unease grew.

"Look—is that farmland?" someone pointed into the distance, where the vibrant hues stood in stark contrast to the desolation around them. But as soon as the question left his lips, the laborer turned around—revealing a skeletal face beneath a straw hat.

The man instantly withdrew his hand.

Dozens of meters ahead, the outline of a town emerged, and at its far end loomed a massive, sinister castle—Fang Zhiyi’s expansion upon the original fat lord’s fortress.

Along the way, vast stretches of farmland and thriving crops lay tucked away from the main road, all tended by undead laborers. Entering the town, the group was startled by the sound of children’s laughter.

"This has to be a joke—how are there children here?!" a knight exclaimed.

But soon, he spotted seven or eight kids, dressed neatly, playing games. At the sight of the strangers, they shrank back warily.

"You..." Rhein stepped forward to question them, only for two towering green-eyed zombies in heavy iron armor to suddenly block his path. Their protruding fangs marked them as former orcs.

"Honored guests, please refrain from harassing our residents," a pale, bald man with bowlegs approached, reeking of blood.

"The stench of heresy..." The knight commander’s hand went to his sword.

The man hastily waved his hands. "As you can see, I’m just an ordinary vampire. The master sent me to greet you. Though if you insist on violence..." He pointed upward.

The group looked up to see bone dragons soaring past. Then he gestured to the side, where rows of black-armored death knights stood in eerie silence, watching.

The commander released his grip on his sword.

As the vampire walked away, he playfully stuck out his tongue at the children, who giggled without fear.

"Mr. Qi, your hair’s gone again!"

"Mr. Qi, my mom wants to know if you like beef!"

The vampire chuckled, answering their questions while the group trailed behind, utterly baffled by the surreal scene unfolding in this land.

"Perhaps those humans are kept as livestock," someone ventured, a grim theory that others reluctantly agreed with.

When they finally stood before the necromancer seated on his bone throne, discomfort prickled through them. His smile was nothing short of mocking.

"Honorable... Fang Zhiyi, we’ve come to negotiate terms," the high priest of the Church of Light spoke, the highest-ranking among them.

Fang Zhiyi barely glanced at him. "Negotiation? That implies parity in strength. What you’re doing is called begging for mercy."

"You—!" A mage’s fury ignited, lightning gathering at his staff’s tip. Fang Zhiyi smirked. "Ah, my dear teacher. Still alive, I see?"

The old man choked on his retort, while the archmage beside him restrained him. Necromancers were fragile but cunning—for all they knew, the entire place was a death trap.

"Your master, Vivian, is in our custody," the priest pressed on.

Fang Zhiyi scoffed. "You’d believe anything I say?"

"Huh?"

He rose from his throne. "You might think I wouldn’t orchestrate such an elaborate scheme to frame a princess. But the truth is, I do have a twisted sense of humor."

The realization struck—their so-called insurance was worthless. In that instant, the knight commander lunged, his holy blade piercing Fang Zhiyi’s chest.

The necromancer looked down at the glowing sword impaling him and sighed. "Your negotiation tactics are... creative."

Then his body melted away, leaving only a skeleton dangling from the sacred blade.

"Now, enjoy the show."

"A puppet!" The archmage scanned their surroundings warily. Their assembled forces—the Church’s light, the knights, the Magic Association’s elite—could even challenge a demon. Yet unease gnawed at him.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

An odd sound cut through the tension.

"What the—?" Someone spotted a small square device stuck to a pillar, emitting the rhythmic noise.

"What is this? There’s faint magic emanating from it," a mage muttered.

"Over here too!"

The archmage’s eyes widened in horror. He threw up a barrier just as—

BOOM.

Fire erupted, swallowing the hall. The castle collapsed in the blast.

When the dust settled, the group emerged battered but alive—except for the archmage, whose face was drained of color. The explosion, the flames, and holding back the rubble had drained his mana to the brink.

In the distance, Fang Zhiyi was explaining to the children, "See? This is the flaw of magic. You must remember this—magic has its limits, but technology is boundless. By sealing magical energy into explosives, we achieve a dual strike. One may seem insignificant, ten are equivalent to a fireball, a hundred rival the spellcasting of a high-tier mage, and a thousand or ten thousand?"

A child raised their hand. "Would that match the power of forbidden arts?"