Fang Zhiyi clapped his hands: "Exactly! So having low magical power isn’t the issue—what matters is your way of thinking. Among you, some will become mages, others knights, and some may even become inventors, right?" He glanced at Lily.
Lily smiled, finding Fang Zhiyi’s teaching style incredibly engaging.
"But teacher, isn’t it a problem that your castle collapsed?" a tall boy asked.
Fang Zhiyi shook his head: "That relic of the old era? Let it crumble. Besides, I know a thing or two about architecture. Maybe I’ll give you a lesson on it next time."
The negotiation delegation had severely underestimated Fang Zhiyi’s power—or rather, his research. As a necromancer, one would expect him to delve into dark alchemy, but his skill tree had clearly branched in unexpected directions.
"Host, I think I finally understand why you insisted on studying at that academy."
Fang Zhiyi grinned: "Learning never ends. Hey, you!"
A vampire scurried over: "My lord."
"Prepare the next experiment."
"Right away!" The vampire looked thrilled.
Just as the group caught their breath, they saw a cart slowly rolling toward them, pushed by two zombies. On it lay a crude black cylinder.
"What is that?" Rhein’s eyes widened. He had expected to face off against undead today—even bringing his sword imbued with holy magic—but reality had taken a different turn.
The next moment, the black cylinder roared to life, launching a massive iron ball straight at them. The knight captain stepped forward to block it, only to be sent flying, blood spraying from his mouth upon impact.
"This is the force of ordinary black powder, something alchemy can produce—though most mages refuse to acknowledge it," Fang Zhiyi explained. "Now, imagine if we infused it with magical elements. The damage could be far greater."
"Teacher, does that mean even ordinary people can harm powerful beings?"
Fang Zhiyi nodded. More carts were wheeled forward.
This time, the group was wiser, setting up defensive barriers in advance. Yet their magic shields shattered like paper against the enchanted cannons. One after another, they fell injured or unconscious.
The archmage finally lost his composure, stepping forward to chant a spell.
"Ah, perfect timing," Fang Zhiyi commented swiftly. "Even an archmage needs time to cast high-level spells. So..."
He waved his hand. A dragon soared overhead, dropping a pointed object. Fang Zhiyi motioned for the children to cover their ears.
The archmage’s incantation was nearly complete when the strange object reached them. Another archmage, already drained, instinctively raised a magic barrier.
The explosion was deafening, leaving ears ringing. The entire delegation lay sprawled on the ground. The first archmage’s spell fizzled out, while the second vomited blood.
"What was inside that bomb?" Fang Zhiyi quizzed. The children, still covering their ears, didn’t hear him. He gestured for them to lower their hands and repeated the question.
"An ignition rune!" a child shouted, raising his hand.
Fang Zhiyi nodded.
Lily hesitated. "There must’ve been something to counter magic too, right?" She’d noticed the mage’s barrier breaking instantly.
"Correct. The explosive was laced with anti-magic powder." A serendipitous discovery—tweaking a mana-enhancing potion’s formula backward had yielded a temporary magic-nullifying effect.
Seeing the delegation incapacitated, Fang Zhiyi ended the lesson.
The envoys never returned. They became his primary test subjects.
A skeletal dragon dropped a parcel over the royal capital—containing the high priest’s tome, the archmage’s staff, and the knight captain’s holy sword.
Panic consumed the citizens. Escape was impossible now, with undead lurking beyond the city walls.
In this chaos, the crown prince ascended the throne. With the knights disbanded, the mage guild neutralized, and the Holy Church backing the monarchy, his ambitions were fulfilled—even prompting him to gloat before his sister, Vivian.
She merely scoffed: "Idiot."
If Fang Zhiyi had also been reborn, his goal was singular: vengeance.
No one in this kingdom would survive.
Fortunately, the new king was the only fool. The Holy Church remained, sending pleas for aid to neighboring realms. To all living beings, necromancers were abominations to be eradicated.
News of the necromancer’s resurgence drew military support. History warned of the last one who’d slaughtered half the continent—until he died of old age.
An alliance formed: dwarves, elves, and humans, led by veterans of past undead wars. Their forces marched toward Fang Zhiyi’s domain, only to be halted en route. Skeletal dragons circled above; undead hordes blanketed the hills. When strange contraptions rolled out from the ranks of corpses, the alliance’s humans led the charge.
But the skeletons barely moved—only raising dark, rod-like weapons. A sharp crack rang out, and soldiers fell wounded.
Zombies clumsily hurled square paper packets. The troops dodged, only for explosions and firestorms to engulf the battlefield.
Overhead, the skeletal dragons rained down more explosives, indifferent to collateral damage—death meant nothing to the already deceased.
The alliance crumbled swiftly. The undead’s weapons outpaced a mage battalion’s spells. As they retreated, the skeletons didn’t pursue.
Discussions of strategy were cut short by the arrival of bone chariots—impervious to arrows and spells, yet capable of firing magical projectiles.
With them came true despair. Fallen soldiers rose under necromantic chants, joining the undead ranks. Fang Zhiyi’s vampire envoy delivered a blunt ultimatum: withdraw, or face war.
After brief deliberation, the nations sent emissaries to negotiate peace.