Chapter 213: Undead Doctor Number 1

**Prologue: Mayfly**

Clouds drifted across the sky, bathed in a faint moonlight.

The night had deepened, but the clamor across the plains showed no sign of abating. Flames spread, battle cries shook the heavens, and fireballs launched by catapults periodically streaked across the night sky, soaring over low-lying trees toward the ruined manor and ancient castle at the edge of the horizon. Soldiers charged forward under the cover of darkness.

Leading the charge were highly elite troops, encircling the manor and ancient castle at the horizon from several directions. Although their banners and regimental numbers differed, the combat effectiveness and coordination within each army were remarkably high. Auric light from combat auras, destructive spells from battle mages, and supportive buffs and healing magic boiled around them. The sheer mass of soldiers created a shimmering sea of light, with various colors and forms constantly erupting, weaving a deadly tapestry of light. The ancient castle incessantly bore the brunt of this assault.

In stark contrast to the fierce assault and earth-shattering battle cries, the defending side, though causing immense tremors, remained utterly silent. Under the night sky, most of the outer buildings of the ancient castle lay in ruins, and the remaining core trembled and peeled under the relentless bombardment. Catapult projectiles consistently streaked across the sky, illuminating vast areas upon impact. Yet, amidst this barrage, the defenders showed no sign of panic. Where the light shone, bodies buried by massive stones merely clawed their way out in silence. Some bodies, ignited by the fire, burned with fierce flames, and these flaming figures simply charged into the fray, ultimately being consumed by ash in silent combat.

There were no shouts, no pleas, no cries. As the opposing armies charged forward with hysterical roars, the defenders simply met them in silence.

Within the ancient castle, only undead remained.

In the year 528 of the Warring States Calendar, the siege against Sakabarimor, the most nefarious necromancer on the continent, had entered its final stage.

This holy war, initiated by the Holy See and involving the combined forces of several neighboring nations, had raged for over half a year. Thorn Castle, originally an obscure stronghold in Saamen Province, had consequently become renowned across the continent as a place of darkness and evil.

During the preceding Seven Years' War, which aimed to destroy the Rhine Empire, Saamen Province experienced some of the most brutal unrest. Following the turmoil, a widespread plague decimated the local population, leaving less than one in ten survivors and turning the region into a desolate wasteland that intelligent beings instinctively avoided. The situation near Thorn Castle was even more dire; legend claimed over a hundred thousand people, both soldiers and civilians, had been massacred there during a past war. After that conflict, a sky-high malevolence lingered until, two years ago, people ventured into the area, discovered the erected Dark Veil, and the rebuilt Thorn Castle. It was then they learned the necromancer's name.

Sakabarimor, whose family had once been nobility in the Rhine Empire, had been executed as a heretic years ago for practicing necromancy. Upon learning that he had built a castle here and raised an army of undead, people began calling him the "Last Vengeful Spirit of the Rhine Empire."

Necromancers, who manipulate the dead and desecrate life, are unforgivable heretics in any era. The continent had experienced several great disturbances caused by necromancers in the past; the Scourge of the Undead in the early Warring States period even spread across three-quarters of the entire continent. Compared to that locust-like calamity, the current Dark Veil was not large. It quietly occupied the most desolate part of Saamen Province, resembling merely an inconspicuous small town. However, no one doubted that the necromancer was amassing power, intending to overthrow the entire continent.

Initially, the Holy See had merely issued a clean-up mission through the Black Tower Council and dispatched its own knight orders to quell the threat. However, upon entering the Dark Veil, they discovered that almost every undead creature there possessed power levels of seven or even fourteen and above. Several even exceeded twenty-one, attaining the legendary realm, which finally made everyone realize the immense pressure posed by the necromancer.

For a long time, necromancers had typically relied on quantity, as undead creatures were generally weak, but in times of war, resources were abundant. Fighting a necromancer was particularly dreadful because a fallen comrade might rise again as an enemy. However, this particular foe had clearly taken a different approach, elevating the power of each undead creature to a terrifying degree. Undead with power levels of seven or higher could even project black battle aura that defied sunlight, significantly weakening the power of holy light. Those at fourteen or higher could even contend with holy light as equals. The consequences of such an undead army spreading would be unimaginable.

At this time, the continent remained embroiled in continuous warfare. In the first year and a half after the Holy See issued the mission, bounties steadily increased, but countless mercenary groups returned defeated from beneath the Dark Veil. Sakabarimor's name spread across the continent like a plague. Furthermore, even two legendary martial artists were slain after venturing into the Dark Veil. Considering the past devastation caused by necromancers on the continent, though his undead legion had not yet begun to expand, this very silence created an even greater deterrent. No one knew when he would unleash his fury.

Sakabarimor's past was unearthed. He was a member of the Barimor family, one of the oldest noble houses in the Rhine Empire. As a half-blood, born of nobility and commoner, he was stripped of his inheritance rights. He showed little talent as a child and developed a twisted personality. Perhaps this led him to seek power in the heretical and extreme art of necromancy. During the Seven Years' War, he and his sister betrayed their nation; his sister was beheaded for treason. His most heinous act was transforming his sister's corpse into an undead creature. In the later stages of the Seven Years' War, he even practiced necromancy extensively among refugees. Some even claimed he was responsible for the deaths of tens, if not hundreds, of thousands near Thorn Castle. Such a monstrous figure, twisted to the extreme, was undoubtedly bound to commit crimes against humanity and society.

Although the Rhine Empire had fallen by this time and various nations continued their incessant wars, the shadow of the undead created social unrest. It was not until half a year ago that the Holy See finally unified the forces of the surrounding nations and launched the holy war.

Armies were deployed, yet for the first four months, due to nations not committing their full strength, attacks on the small area around Thorn Castle achieved almost nothing. Two months ago, everyone realized the immense threat posed by the necromancer. They compromised, bringing forth their most elite forces to launch an offensive, finally achieving results and pushing the battle line into the heart of Thorn Castle.

The allied forces relentlessly assaulted Thorn Castle. Behind the front lines, in an area brightly lit by fire, the leaders of the various nations and the Holy See had gathered. The most elite reserve units were also assembling there: Norl's Rose Knights, Istan's Black Knights, Fenrir's Firewolf Guard, and the Holy See's mysterious guard order known as the "Central Doctrine." Of course, their primary mission was not to engage in conventional combat, but rather to intervene in potentially uncontrollable situations and to protect important figures.

At this moment, in front of the encampment, two emperors, three dukes, three marquises, and a Cardinal, whose rank was second only to the Pope, were present. The most elite knight orders from each nation were primarily there to protect them. Now, from the grassy slope in front of the camp, they watched the battle unfold from afar. It was the final and most tense stage of the conflict, and everyone's nerves were taut as they observed the incessant flashes of light in the distance.

Flashes of magic and battle aura, glows of fire—different armies had different combat zones, but all had pushed into Thorn Castle's interior, relentlessly damaging the massive black fortress. Despite the overwhelming might of the allied forces, the undead army's resistance showed no signs of weakening. Black and grey battle auras, necromantic powers erupting from beneath the torn Dark Veil, whether corrosive or cursed, extended like tentacles or raging tides. On one side of the castle, two legendary powerhouses were even locked in fierce combat. However, the most shocking battle at this moment was undoubtedly the one unfolding within the castle's central section.

It was a black dragon.

Just a quarter of an hour ago, this colossal black dragon descended from the sky. Its roar, "Sakabarimor!" enveloped the entire battlefield. Its enormous body, wielding legendary power, attempted to breach the castle's core but was intercepted midway by another figure. Soon after, another legendary warrior from the allied forces joined the fray, collectively besieging the undead powerhouse alongside the dragon. Although this extended the battle line of the rear armies by hundreds of meters, once the area became a collision point for three immense powers, no one dared to charge forward anymore.

The black dragon's power was astonishingly formidable. Combined with the assault of a legendary warrior, it should have been unstoppable. Yet, after a quarter of an hour, the figure resisting in the castle's central section, fighting two opponents, had not retreated a single step. From a distance, the battle's exact outcome remained unclear, but generally, the dragon was mighty, and the allied forces also had ample reserves. Everyone simply watched the situation unfold. From afar, the dragon roared again: "Sakabarimor—"

Dragon voices differed somewhat from human ones, but since it spoke in human language, there was always a discernible quality to it. The dragon's voice sounded full of resentment, yet also as if it had known Sakabarimor from before. Everyone was already somewhat curious about the dragon's appearance. At this point, Duke Arman of Fenrir Principality asked the Cardinal, who was seated not far away, "Your Eminence, is the appearance of this dragon not a request for aid from Dragon's Cliff by the Holy See?"

Cardinal Dolores, watching the scene, shook his head. "Dragon's Cliff has not responded to this matter. However, it's not surprising that a heretic like Sakabarimor, who has accumulated countless enemies in the past, might have offended this dragon."

Few noticed that after speaking, Dolores subtly glanced towards Empress Grace Farrel of Norl Principality, then casually returned his gaze to the battlefield.

"Haha, no matter what, with Master Herbert combined with a giant dragon, if there's only one person on the other side, I doubt they can hold out," Duke Arman chuckled to himself. "Though the undead feel no fear and have prolonged endurance, they can only last so much longer. How much longer until a breakthrough? Anyone want to bet?"

The people of Fenrir were boisterous and fond of gambling. At this tense moment, everyone was on edge; some understood certain things, others did not. Grand Duke Stephen, commander of Istan's Black Knights, frowned slightly and shook his head. "Arman, you have no idea who that is."

"Whoever it is, it's just a dead person—"

Before his words fully faded, an illusory shadow suddenly enveloped the battlefield at the edge of the horizon. Three colossal black figures formed from battle aura merged into one, and a spiritual pressure expanded in all directions, instantaneously traversing the vast distance to reach them. Although no sound was physically heard, an incredibly solemn resonance, like a sacred chant, echoed in everyone's hearts. This sound was three parts solemnity and seven parts ferocity. Despite lacking actual destructive power, nearby priests and clerics immediately erected protective shields against mental assault, as the spiritual pressure spread like a wave.

There, the figure formed of battle aura swung a massive black sword. The sword light tore through the sky, slashing down furiously, drawing a startling gush of blood from the dragon's body and sending its colossal form tumbling hundreds of meters away through the ruins with a thunderous crash.

Duke Arman abruptly stood up. "That... that's..."

"Three Kings' Kill," someone answered for him.

"How—how is that possible! How can an undead unleash the Three Kings' Kill... " He stammered for a few moments before realizing, "Ah, that's..."

Even as he spoke, at the other end of their view, deprived of the dragon's supporting power, Master Herbert, another legendary martial artist, was struck by a single sword blow and sent flying like a cannonball.

"Angelina..." Grand Duke Stephen slowly uttered the name, "...Barimor."

Angelina Barimor. Sakabarimor's sister. She was the most brilliant general of the late Rhine Empire and one of the youngest Sword Saints on the continent. Originally the adopted daughter of Marquis Lanster of the Barimor family, she possessed unparalleled swordsmanship talent. Few knew why this most dazzling general star of the dying empire led such a rebellion after becoming the commander of the Rhine Empire's First Legion. Nevertheless, the rebellion was ultimately suppressed. Even though she was a Sword Saint who had reached the legendary realm, she could not withstand the combined assault of seven legendary powerhouses, including those from the Holy See, the entire Rhine Principality, and her own master, Sword Saint Camus. She was ultimately beheaded by her master, Camus, falling like a shooting star.

It was only later that people discovered Sakabarimor had stolen his sister's body before burial and reanimated it as a living corpse—a deed long considered Sakabarimor's most heinous crime.

The Rhine Empire had fought Istan several times, and Angelina had personally led the First Legion to defeat Grand Duke Stephen. This was why he was so familiar with that figure. But regardless of whether those present previously knew of the female Sword Saint, now a mere animated corpse at the edge of their vision, when the spiritual pressure of the Three Kings' Kill swept over them, everyone felt a profound shock.

Angelina had initially inherited the lineage of Sword Saint Camus, but her true mastery lay in the Barimor family's most renowned martial art, "Four Realms Ascendant." The "Three Kings' Kill" was one of the most distinctive techniques of "Four Realms Ascendant." When unleashed, it used one's own power to resonate with spiritual energy, manifesting the figures of three ancient emperors who symbolized "Justice," "Courage," and "Magnanimity" on the continent. In a battle long ago, it was said that a Holy See bishop, who practiced Grand Divination and possessed legendary power, had his magical network's causal link severed and was shattered by a single strike of this technique.

However, no matter to what extent Angelina could wield this technique during her life, it required a resonance between one's state of mind and spiritual energy. Now that she was dead, how could she possibly resonate with the spirits of justice, courage, and magnanimity? Previously, when the Three Kings' Kill was unleashed, battle aura would surge forth, and the three figures would appear as golden, radiant forms. What then, were these three black spiritual figures now forming?

"That dragon... didn't suffer any fatal injuries. Was mercy shown?"

"Regardless, this is going to be a difficult hurdle."

"Haha, nobody expected this to be an easy fight, did they? We've been mentally prepared!" Arman laughed, waving his hand dismissively, uncaring of his recent misstatement.

"Indeed, many have yet to truly commit. Even if it's not them..." On one side, Emperor Victor of the Kouman Empire slowly began to speak. He was a young emperor in his early thirties, with a mustache, possessing both majesty and handsomeness. He paused mid-sentence, his gaze shifting to Grace Farrel, who was not far away. "Even if it's not them, if Her Majesty Grace were to make a move, I imagine both Angelina and Sakabarimor would be easily dealt with, wouldn't they?"

Both Victor and Grace held the title of emperor, and their presence in such a perilous situation was highly unusual. Ostensibly, it could be proclaimed that two emperors were personally leading the campaign against the evil necromancer, but internally, opinions varied. Victor's words now seemed subtly sarcastic; to others, it might sound like he was goading another nation's monarch to their death, but Arman merely chuckled with his attendant, murmuring, "The young couple is bickering."

The Kouman Empire was a great power that once rivaled the Rhine Empire. Victor, in his early thirties, had inherited the throne and possessed exceptional abilities. Norl Principality, by contrast, was relatively smaller. Its queen, Grace, was of a similar age, also in her thirties and unmarried. She was exceptionally beautiful and had an outstanding demeanor, yet no one ever considered her weak.

The queen's past was also extraordinary. She possessed legendary magical cultivation and was once a female genius comparable to Angelina. Later, she ascended to the throne by assassinating her father and brother, her path to power paved with blood. Although her reign had been peaceful, she had always been ruthless towards enemies, showing no mercy. Arman believed this was a lovers' quarrel because Victor had proposed to Grace several months prior, and their current joint presence was, in a sense, interpreted by some as either a collaboration or a courtship.

Upon hearing his words, Grace Farrel, who had been quietly watching the battlefield, coldly turned her gaze toward Victor and fixed it upon him. If this were merely flirtatious banter, such a stare might have been amusing. However, she herself was a legendary powerhouse, and though her power was not unleashed at that moment, her cold gaze carried immense pressure. After a moment, perhaps adhering to the principle of "a good man doesn't argue with a woman," Victor averted his gaze, shrugging slightly, his expression... seeming annoyed or resentful.

Nevertheless, some people present understood certain things. As Grace turned her gaze back to the battlefield, the old duke beside Victor turned his body and sighed.

"She's like a bottle of volatile elements right now, ready to explode at a touch. At a time like this, Your Majesty, why must you provoke her...?"

Victor said nothing. After a moment, he rose from his seat, donned his long cloak, and turned to leave. "I'm going for a walk."

Before he had even left the area, the atmosphere on the battlefield seemed to shift. A subtle quietness and oppression drifted over. He stopped, looking back. The fighting had not ceased, soldiers were still charging, but the mood had become stagnant. For the first time in many days, the battlefield seemed to grow quiet.

A moment later, word came.

The undead lines were beginning to contract.

"The final moment... must be near," Victor murmured, then instructed those beside him, "Call for the masters... prepare."

Our gaze sweeps across the battlefield, past the vast sea of people and the river of light formed by conflict, and enters the heart of the ancient castle.

Vibrations from outside continuously shook the black edifice. War raged, and light from the flames shone through the glazed windows. Occasionally, the fiery gleam of a passing fireball would streak across.

"Down the small path behind the castle, the knight promised the princess to find a shield imbued with the power of the earth and a sword imbued with the power of fire, then to find a sapling of the World Tree, return to slay the evil necromancer, rescue the beautiful princess, and restore peace to the land. And so, he traversed many mountains..."

A slow, gentle voice filled the space, almost washing away the urgent sounds from outside. It was a large room, but with the figures gathered there, it seemed small and crowded. The room had thick walls, a beautiful fireplace, tables and chairs of all sizes, a bed. Candlelight illuminated the space, flickering with the vibrations, occasionally sending sand and dust trickling down. A man sat in a chair by the fireplace, slowly turning the massive pages of a book. The pages were full of illustrations, depicting fairy tales.

Children crowded the room, filling every corner, listening to him tell these stories. There were so many children, some sitting, some standing, many sprawled on the bed, some small children perched on the shoulders of older ones, wide-eyed, laughing, whispering to each other. They... moved.

The children's clothes were relatively clean, but if a normal person were present, they would detect the strong odor of decay.

The battle continued relentlessly outside, yet the man sat there, calmly recounting the tales from the storybook. His hair was long and entirely white, but it wasn't flowing or beautiful; it was somewhat disheveled, even sparse. Beneath his long hair, his body and face were gaunt. As he told the story, a faint, serene smile graced his lips, yet his eyes seemed dead. From his appearance, his age was indiscernible. Dust occasionally drifted down in the room with the castle's tremors. He spoke for a long time, growing thirsty. He reached for the teacup on a nearby stool, brought it to his lips, only to find it empty and coated with a layer of dust. He set it back down and turned another page of the storybook.

"He obtained the shield, and so he hurried back... The great dragon gave him a blessed ring... He finally passed through the dangerous mountains and came before the World Tree. The World Tree was so vast... And so, he finally climbed to the top of its branches... plunging his sword into the evil wizard's heart. All the guards stopped moving..."

He continued to narrate the fairy tale gently and methodically. At some point, a cry of "Sakabarimor," mixed with a draconic accent, seemed to have echoed from the battlefield outside, but he did not pause. Finally, the storybook turned to its last page.

"The world returned to peace, and the prince and princess lived happily ever after..." he said with a smile, his voice full of meaning. After speaking, he gazed deeply at the illustration for a long time before finally closing the fairy tale book and looking at the children in the room.

"Alright, it's very late. The story is finished, everyone should go back to their rooms and sleep."

The children stood up, filling the room with noisy commotion. Some even let out a yawn, stretching, and began to pour out through the doorway. Outside was a dark, circular corridor. Although the battlefield outside was visible, this area showed no damage whatsoever; even the catapults had not harmed it. Lights flickered along the corridor, provided for the children to easily find their way back to their rooms. Then, the white-haired man also emerged. He wore a long robe, so thin it seemed he might be blown away by the wind.

In the distance.

At the front line of the battlefield, the catapult positions.

"Target sighted..."

"Target sighted—!"

"Prepare magic markers..."

"Quick, quick, quick!"

"Hit him! You must hit him—!"

The lights along the corridor became the most obvious marker in the darkness. Instantly, the entire battlefield erupted into a frenzy—some parts boiling with activity, others gradually falling silent. These were varying reactions born of tension. In the corridor, the man watched the children run ahead to their respective rooms, smiling as he followed. Then, a gleam of light illuminated his profile.

Massive fireballs launched by the catapults streaked across the sky.

"Sleep well."

He walked forward. A child pushed open a door and entered a room ahead, as fireballs, one after another, arced towards them.

BOOM—

Flames erupted, shrapnel flew. Ahead, a massive flaming boulder crashed into the side of the corridor, sending some still-running children flying through the explosions. Yet, he did not intervene. Half the corridor began to crack and collapse, but he simply continued walking forward.

"Sleep well..."

Collapsing, burning stones blocked his path, but he paid them no mind. As he walked, the stones naturally dissolved, and all obstacles disintegrated before him, allowing him passage. Some parts of the floor had already collapsed, yet as he passed, his feet trod upon the air, as if on a path that no longer existed. He simply walked on, reaching out to knock on a door that was no longer there.

"Sleep well."

This section of the castle began to collapse more rapidly. He walked along the non-existent corridor in mid-air, knocking on non-existent doors, bidding goodnight to non-existent children. Nothing could harm him. Then, he entered the castle's interior.

Descending, he entered a room.

It was a simply arranged yet clean room. A woman sat on a chair at the far end, seemingly awaiting his arrival. When she saw him enter, she smiled, and he walked towards her. The woman was tall, but her figure was well-proportioned and slender, not appearing stout or bulky. Her features held a captivating heroism. She sat there, clad in light armor, a female warrior's attire, with a massive sword named "Transverse City" leaning against the wall beside her.

He walked over and sat on the floor beside the woman. She reached out, put her arm around his shoulder, and let him rest his head on her lap. The castle continued to tremble. They remained quietly intertwined like that, in silence. After an unknown amount of time, when the man stood up, the woman's eyes were closed, and she was perfectly still, as if asleep.

He gazed at the woman's face, then picked her up. A coffin had appeared in the center of the room. He walked to it and gently placed the woman's body inside. He gazed at her face for a moment, then picked up a black book from a nearby table. He walked a few steps away, then returned, picked up a quill from the table, opened the book's flyleaf, and added a line of text:

Nothing is immortal, nothing can be resurrected.

He placed the book in the coffin, then closed the lid.

On that day, he suddenly understood that fate raged like a great river of heavenly wind, and in its current, even with immense power, one could not struggle even an inch.

"I'm sorry, sister, I cannot stay with you until the very end..."

He struck down with his palm.

RUMBLE—

The entire ground trembled, and the castle shuddered; its outer layers began to collapse more rapidly. On the room's floor was a bottomless chasm. The coffin was buried deep within this abyss, and a curse began to activate, ensuring that with the castle's collapse, no one would pursue further. Even if they did, even legendary powerhouses would be severely injured by a massive explosion the moment they forcibly opened the coffin. Regardless, the holy light stored within would purify his sister's body, and in whatever form, he hoped she would find eternal rest.

But he could not rest here with his sister; his body, they would certainly want to see.

He walked over and picked up the greatsword from the corner of the wall. This sword itself was no divine artifact; it had endured countless battles, its blade notched innumerable times. Yet, even so, as it settled into his hand, a ferocious, indomitable aura still spread forth.

"Transverse City, let us go..."

Then, he heard a song begin.

They heard a song begin.

From afar, a song drifted from the ruined ancient castle at the edge of the battlefield. It lacked a discernible melody, and its lyrics were utterly unclear, yet the humming of the thousands of undead still remaining carried across the night sky.

Four Day Death Song.

Someone slowly uttered the name. For two years, this was the song the undead would hum every night, its tune eerie. No one knew who had given it such a name, a hellish melody like a requiem. In this most unsettling moment of quiet, the melody sounded once more. They watched silently, listening. At some point, Cardinal Dolores frowned. He looked towards Queen Grace, who had her eyes closed, her lips subtly moving, as if quietly responding to something.