Chapter 401: Lich's Diary (II)
“Boom——”
A thunderous crack split the air.
From the man’s palm, an overwhelming torrent of fire erupted—scorching, blinding, devouring. The once-dark Tomb Chamber was instantly transformed into an endless Sea of Flames, every shadow swallowed by the roaring inferno. The flickering Flame Light carved sharp contours across his face, revealing, even to the Lich’s ghostly gaze, a cruel smirk twisting the edges of his lips.
Air distortion rippled. Ember sparks flew like dying stars. Flame Tongues danced wildly through the chamber.
“Gah—!”
“No, no—!”
“Human! How dare you—!”
The chamber echoed with a cacophony of screams—wails, roars, shrieks of terror from the undead. To the untrained eye, they were monstrous horrors, yet now they scattered in panic, fleeing the Sea of Flames, their last hope crushed beneath the merciless blaze.
No matter how desperately they tried to escape, the Flame Tongues devoured them all—burning, consuming, reducing them to ash.
The fire raged for three minutes.
Hundreds of undead were annihilated. Yet even after the flames died down, embers still smoldered across the chamber floor, spreading like creeping shadows.
Snap!
The man snapped his fingers.
The fire vanished—extinguished as if it had never been.
In just minutes, the once-bustling Tomb Chamber lay utterly empty.
Only charred marks marred the walls and sarcophagi. A thin layer of ash coated the ground. A faint, acrid smoke lingered in the air—evidence of necromancy’s final dissolution.
“Such a number of undead…”
“Over the years… how many ‘materials’ must have been consumed?”
The man murmured softly, lifting his hand. A gentle breeze swept through the chamber, scattering the ash and revealing a clear path forward.
He stepped deeper into the tomb.
Behind him, the Flame Tongues writhed like living serpents, slithering into cracks in the stone walls—seeking, consuming. They found the hidden compartment, and with a final, violent surge, destroyed the pallid skull head within—the cursed artifact capable of transforming human remains into undead.
For centuries, this cannibal tomb had devoured lives. Now, at last, it met its complete termination.
In the Castle of Weeping Souls, the Lich’s eye sockets flickered with a dying ghost flame.
“Sorcerer,” he whispered.
His Bone Quill continued to scribble furiously.
“Such control over fire… it can only mean one thing—a Legendary Sorcerer. Strange… how could such a being exist in a place like Anzeta, a land of magical wasteland?”
“The situation grows worse by the moment. Perhaps I should finally take my long sleep… hide for centuries… until after this intruder is dealt with.”
The ghost flame in Orestes’ sockets pulsed. Rotting mist seeped from his hollows.
With a skeletal hand, he caressed his skull, his voice cold, hollow.
“Even a Legendary Sorcerer?”
“Just a mortal.”
“They cannot escape death. They cannot flee their inevitable end. This is the shame of mortal existence—forever inferior to beings like me, Immortals.”
“You will be the final prey before my Deep Sleep.”
The Lich stared into the Image Projection, his empty eyes locked onto the man’s silhouette.
Orestes’ confidence was not unfounded. He had foreseen this intrusion. Centuries ago, he had prepared this tomb meticulously. Even a Legendary Spellcaster would suffer grievous losses.
The heavy stone door creaked open.
Before him stretched a dark, endless Corridor—deep, suffocating, like the maw of some ancient beast. Wind howled through its depths, a chilling whisper of death.
“Hall of Death,” Kai Xiusu murmured, gazing ahead with quiet reverence.
In his past life, this place had been known as the Hall of Death—the most abhorrent trial in the entire dungeon. Traps, necromantic rune arrays, all layered in intricate, deadly sequences. Even the elite team led by Singo had suffered multiple Complete Annihilations before finally breaking through.
“Truly… nostalgic.”
Without hesitation, Kai Xiusu stepped forward.
Meanwhile, deep within the Castle of Weeping Souls, a Lich watched the scene unfold—anticipating the intruder’s body being torn apart, shattered into pieces.
Crack!
Boom!
Bang! Bang!
Whoosh!
A barrage of sounds erupted through the Hall of Death.
Hundreds of trap mechanisms activated in succession.
Arrows laced with bone-eating venom streaked through the air. Steel spines shot from the walls, designed to pierce flesh. Miasma of rotting decay spread through the corridor, causing wounds to fester instantly. Armor-classid pools appeared on the ground, capable of turning living men into skeletons in moments.
But this was only the beginning.
The real danger lay in the spells.
Death Rune Arrays etched into the ceiling and walls. Marks of Fear. Soul-Stealing Formation. They could drain a life without warning.
Yet Kai Xiusu walked as if strolling through a garden—calm, composed, utterly unaffected.
Arrows, steel spines, venom—none touched him. Before they could strike, an invisible barrier repelled them, rendering them harmless.
The Rune Array on the wall flared violently. A torrent of Death Mist poured forth, releasing countless trapped spirits, their wails rising as they sought to steal his life.
Kai Xiusu raised a hand. A flick of his fingers erased the formation.
Above, the Resurrection of the Dead spell activated. Hundreds of bones and skeletons stirred from the floor, rising as undead—skeletons and zombies—roaring toward him.
They were consumed instantly by fire.
“Tiresome.”
“This Lich really loves stacking monsters. He should’ve been designing the Black Souls series in my past life.”
Boom!
Kai Xiusu stomped his foot.
The entire chamber froze.
All traps, mechanisms, rune arrays—darkened, cracked, shattered.
Silence fell.
The once-legendary “most abhorrent level” of the dungeon—unchallenged for centuries—had been completely destroyed.
It was meant to torment players for days, overwhelm dozens of top-tier professionals, claim countless lives.
And yet, here stood Kai Xiusu—this “cheater” home player—cutting through it effortlessly, without breaking a sweat.
He continued forward.
The Hall of Death was carved into a vast subterranean cave, stretching for kilometers. Along the walls stood stone statues depicting men, women, and children in various stages of death and decay. On either side, dozens of tomb chambers lay buried, each constantly spewing forth undead.
But none of it was his target.
His destination: the Eternal Tomb—the slumbering chamber of Milcor’s Fate’s Elder, hidden deep within the Ancient Mausoleum.
“How… is this possible?”
“How can he move through it so easily?”
In the Castle of Weeping Souls, the Lich’s voice, once calm and detached, now trembled with unease—almost desperate.
Liches cared nothing for living beings—unless it threatened them.
No wonder Orestes was losing composure. After passing the Hall of Death, the mysterious threat was now dangerously close to his Fate Chest.
The Fate Chest—his most sacred treasure. The ultimate secret behind his immortality.
“No… no, it can’t be.”
“He won’t find my Fate Chest.”
“I’ve set traps in the next chamber. Even a Legendary Sorcerer would suffer grievous wounds trying to pass.”
“Even if he survives the spells, he won’t reach it. And I’ve placed my final safeguard—my ultimate stealth concealment.”
“These fleeting mortals… lives as fragile as ants… how could they ever compare to the centuries of preparation I’ve made?”
(End of Chapter)
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