The Necromancer's Servant

Asa gripped the blade in his hand. The blood-red glow on the sword no longer flickered or buzzed; instead, it pulsed rhythmically, brightening and dimming in sync with his heartbeat. Though his grip was not tight, it felt as though his blood vessels extended through the hilt into the blade. He could sense the concentrated energy within the blade, connected to his lifeblood, yet brimming with a sharp, menacing restlessness that seemed ready to erupt at any moment.

Lancelote furrowed his brows but continued his slow, deliberate steps. His movements were unhurried, natural, and without hesitation. Instead of reaching for the longsword at his waist, he removed a small cross hanging around his neck. Placing the cross in the palm of his hand, he loosely cupped it. A faint white mist began to form in his hand, gradually intensifying until it coalesced into a sword of pure, radiant light.

This sword resembled an elongated cross, sharpened at its tip. Its pristine white glow was both dazzlingly bright and gentle, never harsh to the eye. Gazing at it for too long could even evoke an illusion of sacred hymns resonating faintly in one's mind. It felt less like a weapon and more like a divine manifestation.

Perhaps it was an uncanny sense born of meditation, but Asa opened his eyes. He could tell this was not merely battle energy or magic—at least not exclusively. It was a fusion of the holy knight's battle energy, magical essence, personal aura, martial skill, faith, and even life force. This sword was not just an extension of Lancelote's body but an extension of his soul.

"Holy Light Cross Sword," exclaimed the two temple knights in unison, their voices filled with awe. Ederic's darkened face displayed utter disbelief. This weapon was the mark of a paladin giving their all.

"That's a fine blade, but its murderous aura is too heavy—it doesn't suit you." Lancelote continued his slow advance. From removing the cross to forging the sword and speaking, every action flowed seamlessly without flaw. His entire presence felt ethereal and elusive, as if he were a mirage, yet the pressure he exerted was as immense and unyielding as a mountain.

Asa did not respond—he could no longer afford the luxury of words. Every ounce of his strength was focused on controlling his body, and every fragment of his attention was locked onto Lancelote's movements. Though Lancelote's motions were slow, they were far harder to predict than the swiftest strikes.

It was like watching a massive waterfall cascading with thunderous force. Despite its grandeur and speed, one could still trace the trajectories of the surging water streams and droplets to predict their movements. But if faced with a river so calm that not a single ripple or wave appeared, even though you knew it was flowing, you would have no way of discerning its direction or flow.

Sometimes, tranquility held far greater power than chaos. True stillness could endure and reach farther.

Asa felt like he was facing a mountain. The ocean might unleash overwhelming storms and waves that destroy everything, but such power could only incite fear and despair. A towering, serene mountain, however, commanded respect and submission.

Which was greater—mountain height or ocean depth? Asa no longer had the time to ponder such philosophical musings. The distance between them shrank to less than five meters. Lancelote was the first to raise his hand, pointing the glowing sword directly at him.

The radiance seemed to emanate not just from the sword but from Lancelote himself. Along with the sword's movement came an aura of timelessness—immense, ancient, tranquil, and inviolable. This pressure was not aggressive but enveloped everyone present, compelling submission.

Hilton and the other two, along with the observing elves in the distance, felt this aura seize their spirits, leaving them momentarily dazed. The two temple knights' expressions showed not only admiration but also a kind of rapture, as if they were witnessing the divine stroke of a master artist.

When martial skill reached its pinnacle, it became an art form. Any technique imbued with a person's entire spirit and focus transformed into a medium of self-expression—an art reflecting one's soul. And when that expression achieved perfection, it transcended into something purer, more direct, and profoundly moving.

As the glowing sword aimed directly at Asa, he felt the force more intensely than anyone else. He could sense the all-encompassing aura pressing upon him from every direction, an overwhelming presence that heralded an unstoppable, flawless strike. His mind, aside from shock, held nothing else.

Not only was his fighting spirit eroding under this oppressive aura, but even his body and consciousness were becoming immobilized. He could only watch helplessly as the Holy Light Cross Sword drew closer.

No! I must fight back! I must strike! I must strike! Asa's last flickers of fighting spirit burned fiercely within his soul as he roared inwardly. Yet, his will and awareness remained entirely suppressed by the incoming strike, growing weaker and weaker.

Just as he was about to be wholly consumed by the aura, his dwindling fighting spirit suddenly erupted. With a resounding shout, Asa broke free from the suffocating pressure of Lancelote's sword, like an unyielding needle piercing through a seemingly impenetrable barrier.

Asa's strike carried no grandiose aura, no semblance of mountain or sea. It was purely and simply him.

The Holy Light Cross Sword suddenly accelerated, its once slow pace transforming into a blindingly fast and unerring thrust. The motion was devoid of any flourish and utterly unavoidable. It clashed against Asa's blade. The impact was anticlimactic—no thunderous boom or earth-shaking tremor accompanied it. Instead, it was as if two intangible mirages had seamlessly fused together without sound.

The sword and blade remained locked together momentarily, refusing to separate.

Neither weapon moved, nor did their wielders. But the outcome was already clear. The dark red glow of Asa's blade, akin to pulsating veins, began to dissipate under the white radiance of the Holy Light. The sacred light spread from the cross sword to the blade, transforming its sinister aura into a dazzling brilliance resembling a holy artifact blessed with divine power.

The sacred light didn't stop there—it surged like a tidal wave over Asa's body, spreading from his wrist, to his arm, and finally to his chest. Hilton and the others saw the danger but were helpless in the face of such an inexplicable exchange. They dared not intervene.

Within moments, the holy light had engulfed Asa entirely.

Asa could feel the combined force of magic and battle energy raging through his body. Yet, it was not a force of destruction. Despite its overwhelming power, it did not seek to harm but instead surged through his veins, blood, and even his senses. It swept through every part of him, immersing him in a massive, scalding river of energy, pushing and pulling him irresistibly.

A faint sound broke the stillness as the sword and blade finally separated. Asa staggered backward, his body trembling before he collapsed to his knees, utterly drained.

The Holy Light Cross Sword dissipated into specks of light in Lancelote's hand, reverting back to the unassuming little cross. He let out a long sigh, hung the cross back around his neck, and gazed pensively at Asa, who lay on the ground. A trace of fatigue appeared on his face, and beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.

The two temple knights breathed a sigh of relief, not even sparing a glance at the wanted criminal lying on the ground. They knew well that no combination of paralysis spells and dozens of steel chains could match the restraining power of that one sword strike. Unlike the paralysis spell, which immobilized an opponent by solidifying the life force within their body, this strike's overwhelming power blanketed every ounce of vitality and bodily function. The technique was subtle and intricate, yet its effect relied entirely on brute, overwhelming force. Unless the life force within the person surpassed the power Lancelote had unleashed, no amount of clever tactics could break the combined effect of the battle aura and magic.

Still, the two temple knights were puzzled. If the goal had been simply to subdue the opponent, there were at least a hundred different methods to do so. Even if the objective was to avoid harming him entirely, there would still be no fewer than twenty methods. Yet Lancelote had clearly chosen the most laborious approach. Perhaps it was because he had noticed that the bishop's paralysis spell was ineffective against this opponent.

Lancelote stared intently at Asa on the ground, his thick eyebrows furrowing deeper and deeper. Finally, he shook his head and gestured to the two temple knights. "Take him away."

Christian looked at Jessica and hesitated but didn't move. Ederic, however, showed no hesitation. Paying no attention to Hilton and his group, he strode forward, picked Asa up, and began walking toward Lancelote.

Hilton and Druid dared not move a muscle, while Jessica tightened her grip on her two short swords but ultimately refrained from taking action. The disparity in strength was simply too vast; even if she attacked, it would be futile.

Just as Ederic picked Asa up and started toward Lancelote, a teleportation magic circle in the distance suddenly lit up.

The teleportation magic circle in Turaleone was rarely used. The elves seldom ventured beyond this place, and those who possessed a teleportation scroll to this location were even rarer. Yet the circle now glowed with not one but two teleportation auras simultaneously.

The blue light had yet to fade completely, and the identities of those within remained obscured. However, a murderous aura as intense as a tidal wave, like a storm of countless blades, filled the air. It was so palpable that it felt like a physical presence slicing through the atmosphere. Not only could one feel it on their skin, but it was so strong that it could be heard and even smelled.

Ederic, standing closest to the teleportation circle, immediately raised his battle spear and retreated. His reflexes were unquestionably quick—after all, the skill of a temple knight was never to be underestimated in any situation. However, even at his speed, he was still holding a person in his hand. Despite his instinctive sense of the ferocious and unparalleled killing intent, he did not let go of Asa.

Ederic was quick, but two others were quicker.

A figure still cloaked in the blue light of the teleportation spell shot out of the magic circle like an arrow. But no ordinary arrow could compare to the force, the murderous intent, and the speed of this figure. In just a split second, the expression on the temple knight's face shifted from surprise to terror.

The second, even faster person was Lancelote. In fact, the moment the teleportation light had appeared, he had already been on guard. The cross he had just hung around his neck was now back in his hand. As the overwhelming murderous intent seemed to erupt out of nowhere, the Holy Light Cross Sword instantly reformed. But this time, the sword was not merely held in his hand—it extended across his entire body, enveloping him in a massive, radiant blade. With a single raised finger, he leapt into the air, his entire body wielding the enormous light blade as he struck at the figure emerging from the magic circle.

Earlier, his strike against Asa had exuded a majestic and overwhelming presence that subdued onlookers. This time, all the intangible majesty and authority exploded outward, transforming into the most tangible and lethal force. Like a bow drawn to its fullest, the potential energy was terrifying—but it was when the string was released, converting that energy into sheer power, that it became truly devastating.

Ederic retreated. The figure from the teleportation circle pursued. Lancelote intercepted. The three converged almost simultaneously at a single point.

A resounding crash shook the air. Hilton and his two companions, standing relatively close, were hurled backward by the tremendous gust of wind. This was not a magical explosion but simply the shockwave and impact generated by the collision of three formidable forces.

Even Christian, who hadn't managed to reach the scene in time, and everyone else present failed to see exactly how the three figures collided, nor what actions each had taken. By the time they came to their senses, the three had already separated.

At the point of collision, the ground caved into a semicircular crater. Ederic, who had retreated back near Christian, wore an expression of astonishment, fury, and disbelief. His battle spear, once a pristine and mighty weapon, was now bent beyond recognition. Its distorted shape resembled something made of clay, crudely twisted by a pair of hands.

Of course, everyone knew that the weapons wielded by temple knights were far from ordinary. In fact, their sacred battle spears were among the most powerful magical artifacts, akin to their radiant armor. These weapons were specially forged by Celeste to combat beings like the minotaurs of Nigan, creatures far surpassing ogres in strength and wielding enormous battle axes. The materials, craftsmanship, and the magical enchantments on these spears were all of the highest quality.

Yet Ederic's fury and astonishment were not primarily directed at the ruined state of his weapon, but at the fact that his right hand was now empty—the captive he had been holding was gone.

Even in the face of extreme danger earlier, Ederic had refused to let go of the prisoner, following Lancelote's strict orders. However, someone had forcibly snatched the man from his grasp.

Despite his anger, Ederic had no intention of leaping back into the fray to reclaim the prisoner. He knew all too well that, had it not been for Lancelote's intervention, not only would the prisoner have been taken, but Ederic himself would likely be dead.

Lancelote, who had also retreated, stood with the Holy Light Cross Sword already dissipated. His brown hair was slightly disheveled, and he was breathing lightly, his chest rising and falling. His piercing brown eyes remained fixed on the figure before him, his gaze as unyielding as a mountain.

The man before him bore no weapon, nor was he clad in any armor. He was tall and slightly slender, with eyes as deep and dark as the ocean. Despite standing unarmed, he had managed to snatch Asa—the prisoner—from the hands of a temple knight renowned across the continent.

Yet no one could have expected such a man to retreat unscathed from a confrontation involving both a temple knight and a paladin. The man's right hand was a mess of blood and torn flesh. It was that very hand, slender and almost elegant in appearance, that had bent Ederic's battle spear with a single punch and clashed with Lancelote's Holy Light Cross Sword.

The critical detail was that the man now seemed exhausted, sweat beading on his forehead. That previous strike had been an all-out effort, and his injuries were certainly not limited to his visibly mangled right hand. However, no one dared think of exploiting his fatigue or injuries.

Despite having taken Asa, the man did not spare him even a glance. His entire focus remained locked on Lancelote, their gazes meeting. Both seemed equally surprised, and they spoke almost simultaneously:

"It's you?"

"Still in time?" Another voice broke the tense atmosphere as the second figure stepped down from the glowing teleportation circle. It was an elderly man with short silver hair and a trimmed beard. Though his back was ramrod straight and his demeanor vigorous, his wrinkled face betrayed his age.

Everyone present recognized him: Theodorus, the renowned sage, scholar, and adventurer, now the lord of the famed city of Orford. And the man who had come with him could only be Grutt, the leader of Orford's orc battalions.

"I told you, late is better than never," Grutt said, still keeping his eyes fixed on Lancelote. "Though I didn't expect to run into this guy here. But… he shouldn't be a servant of the necromancer, should he?"

"Absolutely not," Theodorus replied, glancing at Lancelote with a faint smile and nodding in greeting. He then muttered quietly, as if only to himself, "I warned you this plan was fraught with danger…"

Hearing the words "servant of the necromancer," Ederic's already dark complexion grew even darker, and the veins on his temples pulsed. Were it not for Lancelote's calm demeanor, Ederic might have charged forward immediately. Meanwhile, Christian, the other temple knight, showed no signs of aggression. Instead, his gaze toward Grutt was filled with astonishment, and even more so, with fear and anger.

Everyone else—be they the distant elves, Hilton, or Druid—was too stunned by the sudden development to move. Only one person stepped forward: Jessica.

Her steps were trembling as she approached Grutt. Then, she knelt before him, lowering herself fully to the ground in the posture of the most devout worshiper. Her voice, trembling with fear that seemed to emanate from the depths of her soul, was filled with reverence:

"O great messenger of Moriel, your servant heeds your will and begs for your forgiveness…"