https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-406-Respawn-Corpse-Suburbs-of-Northwind-Keep/13676812/
Chapter 405: Taming the Lich
Lich knelt upon the ground, his hollow eye sockets flickering with ghostly flames. The gaunt figure, wrapped in the Decay Cloak, trembled violently.
"Your Majesty... it's me—"
"There are no 'buts.'"
Kai Xiusu cut him off again, his claw tightening slightly. The wooden box in his grip warped ever so slightly, creaking with a sharp, brittle sound that sent tremors through the Lich’s spirit. His entire body shook harder.
"Submission... or death. You have no other choice."
"Frankly," Kai Xiusu’s voice echoed coldly through the ruined hall, "I’d be happy to end you."
Each word deepened the oppressive silence. The air grew heavier, colder.
"Think about it—your Necromantic soul, sustained for centuries by the Decay Spirit, so fragile, so dependent on your Fate Chest. What would it feel like when I shatter it? What would your final expression be? What a spectacle it would make."
The Red Dragon clenched his free claw.
Crack!
With a crisp, ringing sound, one after another, the Crystal Lamps inside the Castle of Weeping Souls shattered. Trapped Wandering Spirits wailed as they burst free, fleeing into the dark.
"No!"
"I—I submit!"
"Please don’t kill me!"
The Lich shriveled into a trembling ball, absurd in his panic. He truly believed his Fate Chest had been crushed—no trace remained of the smug confidence he’d shown just moments before.
For an Immortal Seeker, nothing was more feared than death.
The last time Orestes had felt such terror was three centuries ago, when he’d realized he was dying.
In that time, he’d pursued every possible method to extend his lifespan, until at last he discovered the path to becoming a Lich—hidden within the Mausoleum of Milcor’s Elder.
He succeeded.
To live forever, he abandoned his mortal flesh and embraced the Path of Undeath.
But immortality was never true.
The Lich’s Fate Chest remained his greatest vulnerability. If it were destroyed, his decayed spiritual essence would vanish—annihilated.
For centuries, Orestes had poured every ounce of his energy into protecting it, amassing countless Spiritual Souls to fulfill Milcor’s Quest.
Now—everything was gone.
The Dragon Emperor of the Northern Regions, wielding overwhelming might, had shattered his world with a single strike. He now held Orestes’ very life in his claw.
Crouched on the floor, the Lich muttered over and over, voice breaking:
"I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die…"
"Please… I don’t want to die."
Memories flooded his spirit—vivid, agonizing. His days as a powerful mage, brimming with vigor and pride. The decadent life in the castles. The terror when he realized he was dying. The careful, trembling steps into undeath.
For Orestes, existence was meaning.
To live—was everything.
Without existence, all things were meaningless.
To pursue immortality, he had turned beautiful, kind-hearted elves into wretched banshees. He’d sacrificed his most loyal servants to the Dark Deity. He’d abandoned his flesh, embracing the cold embrace of undeath.
If he could do all that…
Then surrendering to a Dragon, offering up everything he was—wasn’t such a terrible choice.
In the face of existence, freedom meant nothing.
At least, not to Orestes the Lich.
He lifted his head. Hollow eye sockets still burned with that same green flame—now trembling with desperate pleading. With a trembling hand, he raised the Skeletal Staff of Milcor, offering it like a faithful servant to a divine being.
"Your Majesty… I submit to you."
"As long as… you let me remain alive, I will give you the Valley of Confusion, the Castle of Weeping Souls… everything."
Kai Xiusu smiled. He took a step forward, wings unfolding slightly, casting a vast shadow that swallowed the Lich whole.
"Good, Orestes."
"You made the right choice."
The staff floated into the air, then settled into Kai Xiusu’s claw.
In the Red Dragon’s massive frame, it looked like a mere toothpick.
This was the artifact the players of a past life had nearly claimed. After their defeat, Milcor’s Bone Hand had reached from the void to reclaim it.
But now, Anzeta belonged to Kai Xiusu.
Even a Divine Being could not so easily claim it.
Kai Xiusu examined the staff closely. Its body was pale white, forged from interlocking vertebrae. At its tip sat a skull—Milcor’s sacred sigil—its skullcap hollowed out, filled with a pitch-black Negative Energy Crystal.
Skeletal Staff of Milcor
Quality: Legendary
Creator: Feroz Bradford
> "Know me. Fear me. My embrace is open to all—patient, yet unwavering. Death always finds you. My hand is everywhere—no door is closed to me, no guard can withstand me. —Lord of Bones, Milcor"
Effects:
- [Undead Cataclysm] (9th-level Necromancy)
Emits powerful Necrotic Energy, raising all skeletons in the area into undead under your control.
- [Summon Greater Undead] (8th-level Necromancy)
Summons advanced undead—Shadows, Bound Spirits, Specters, Revenants—of varying power.
Kai Xiusu toyed with the staff. Though he didn’t understand Necromancy, he could feel the raw, seething dark energy within. This thing was worth far more than anyone could imagine.
"Orestes," Kai Xiusu said, "I see your sincerity."
The Lich exhaled—just slightly. Then, with cautious hesitation, he asked:
"Your Majesty… now that I am your subject… what about… my Fate Chest?"
Kai Xiusu glanced at him, smiling faintly.
"You pledged to give me everything. Doesn’t that include your Fate Chest?"
His voice dropped, cold as ice.
"Or are you… considering breaking our pact?"
The Lich flinched violently, slamming his head to the ground.
"Wrong! Misunderstanding, Your Majesty! I never meant that!"
"Good."
Ha. "You should feel honored. Without me, your pitiful mausoleum would have been breached long ago. Your Fate Chest would have been destroyed."
"Rest easy. I’ve placed your Fate Chest in absolute safety—under my personal control. No one can destroy it… unless you defy my orders and force me to act myself."
The threat hung thick in the air.
Yet Orestes dared not rebel.
He forced a smile across his sunken face—uglier than a cry, more grotesque than any wound.
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
"Your gratitude… I shall never forget."
To be robbed of his grave, stripped of his Fate Chest, beaten into his nest… and then forced to thank his captor—this monster, this vile Lich.
—Only in a fantasy world could such a thing happen.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
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