The Necromancer's Servant

The envoy's legs and waist had completely gone limp, every bone turned to noodles by fear, rendering him unable to exert any strength. The stench emanating from his pants was so foul that even he could smell it. But unfortunately, it did nothing to deter the elderly figure in front of him.

The old man was missing a small portion of his head; a slash had cut diagonally from the top of his head to his temple, exposing grayish-white brain matter that bobbed slightly with each slow step he took toward the envoy. His eyes, now a dull gray, were completely clouded, and he approached with slow but resolute steps. The envoy trembled as he tried to push himself backward with his hands, making noises that he couldn't even recognize.

Not far away, several cavalrymen were pinned down by a dozen corpses. It seemed as though they were an incredibly delectable feast; although the corpses moved slowly, they tugged and gnawed at the cavalrymen with a sense of urgency. The cavalrymen let out screams that reached the limits of human capability, their limbs flailing as blood and innards were passed back and forth between the corpses' hands and mouths.

The old man drew closer to the envoy, extending his stiff, decaying hands as if to express friendship and trust, placing them on the envoy's shoulders and opening his mouth to reveal a few remaining teeth.

The envoy summoned every ounce of courage and composure he could muster, pulling a shimmering cross from his pocket. He closed his eyes and trembled as he shouted, "In the name of the God in Heaven, you unclean thing, get away from the servants of God! Otherwise, by the power of justice…" What followed was nothing but a hysterical scream; he felt the old man's teeth sink into his scalp, piercing down to the skull, sending waves of pain coursing through him.

"Crack." It sounded like biting into a crisp apple—a clean and decisive noise. This was the last sound he would hear in this world.

Asa felt goosebumps erupting on his back and scalp.

The hunter Levin's wife, who had once warmly welcomed him, now had her face nearly split in two by a single cut, her flesh curling back to expose white bone. One of her eyes had exploded from the wound, with nerves dangling at an angle from her cheek. She was feasting on one of the cavalrymen along with several other corpses, her other eye, protruding like that of a dead fish, fixated vacantly on the soldier's abdomen. Reaching in, she pulled out something still twitching and brought it to her mouth, chewing with a crunchy sound as dark red juice dripped down her chin.

Nearby, a hefty man named Brother Bombo tore off the cavalryman's arm and bit into it. His neck was nearly severed in half, blood likely drained long ago, leaving his skin an alarming chalky white, starkly contrasting with the fresh red liquid still oozing from his mouth.

The screams became the most melodious sounds on this patch of grass, at least they were sounds produced by the living. The only other sounds were the rustling of the hundreds of various corpses walking on the grass. Some had gaping holes in their chests exposing their innards; others clutched their own heads as if wielding a weapon. Some had already begun to rot and swell. An arm might fall off while they were walking. Mushy intestines were spilling from their mouths, resembling a vomiting fit, but their murky eyes remained fixed ahead.

Asa had seen plenty of corpses before, even sleeping beside them at Sandru's. But seeing them lying still was one thing; having them stand up and walk toward him was something entirely different. The red-robed man was still standing several paces away, watching him with great interest, as if observing a long-anticipated date. The gaze from those eyes radiated a deathly aura, even stronger than the stench from the hundred surrounding corpses.

Whether it was from being hunted in the desolate lizard swamp or in any other dire situation, the greater the threat he faced, the stronger his desire to survive grew. The resilience within him rivaled that of the most tenacious beasts.

But what lay before him was no longer a mere threat; it was the stark, unfiltered stench of death. No living creature could face this without feeling a chill run down its spine. The familiar odor of corpses that he had grown accustomed to was now overwhelmingly nauseating, as if invisible fingers were gripping and pinching his skin, coming from all directions along with the gaze of the red-robed. His legs began to tremble, an intense urge to flee rising within him.

You can't run, you can't run, you can't run. Asa screamed in his mind.

He understood clearly that when a person turns to flee in the face of fear, they succumb utterly to it. Reason and willpower would be devoured, leaving nothing but a frantic instinct to escape.

From his own speed and agility, the corpses were no threat. However, should he lose himself in fear and expose his back to the skeletal hand, the outcome could easily be his obliteration by a fireball.

"People need to be well-fed to have energy; it's not just humans, everything needs to eat well to function properly, don't you think?" The red-robed man glanced around at the corpses devouring their feast, regarding Asa with the condescending tone of a cat toying with a mouse.

His upper and lower canine teeth pinched a small piece of flesh of his mouth, and as he bit down, the metallic tang of blood spread throughout. This taste, reminiscent of something long forgotten, reignited the dwindling embers of his courage that was nearly extinguished by fear.

Asa licked his bloodstained lips. Once his fighting spirit was ignited, it would blaze fiercely like a red-hot dagger.

Taking a deep breath, he gripped his knife tightly, crouching low like a cat. The red-robed man watched him, shaking his head with a smile that felt wholly unnatural, his voice heavy with the stench of decay. "Don't panic; I only want to—"

Suddenly, Asa lunged toward him.

"Youngsters are always so impatient." Red-robed man raised a withered hand slightly, as if making an offhand gesture. A small green flame flickered to life from his claw-like hand and dropped to the ground.

In a flash, Asa bent low, pushing off the ground with his hands and feet, rolling sideways to escape. The muscles in his arms and legs screamed from the abrupt exertion. He had been carefully watching the red-robed man's every move; his charge was merely to dodge.

As the small green flame landed, it suddenly erupted into a towering green fire pillar, shooting straight in the direction Asa had just come from, brushing past him as he rolled on the ground.

The pillar of flame galloped toward the nearby corpses; the moment it touched one, it flared wildly, sending several corpses soaring into the air. They disintegrated into nothingness within the green radiance.

Asa didn't look back; he was already launching himself toward the red-robed man.

He could wield magic himself and knew that casting it required time to gather and prepare. The window between spells was the only chance to strike.

Unfortunately, he had miscalculated this time, very badly.

The red-robed raised his other hand, another hand that appeared as though it was wrapped in tattered leather, but this one burned with a fierceness that eclipsed any torch, as if it were crafted from hellish oil and volcanic sulfur.

Asa realized his error; he shouldn't have leapt. In mid-air, he had no leverage to twist or turn, only the dreadful sight of that flame morphing in the red-robed man's hand into a colossal flaming bird. Its wings unfurling as it dove toward him.

Asa concentrated all his magical energy into a fireball and shot it at the flaming bird. The fireball vanished almost silently within the dazzling glow of the bird, and in an instant, everything turned a blinding golden yellow. The blazing apparition flew toward him in an embrace, intent on engulfing him in its searing warmth.

With no other recourse, his instincts took over; he curled into a ball, covering his head and tucking in his limbs as tightly as possible.

The firebird successfully ensnared its prey, beginning a frenzied aerial dance that demonstrated the vast magical power it embodied, intent on reducing its captive to ashes.

A knife tumbled out from the chaotic ball of flames. As soon as it hit the ground, it let out a sizzling sound, scorching the grass around it.

"If you hadn't pushed me, I would have liked to leave you with a corpse," the red-robed sighed, a hint of strain in his voice. The rapid casting of spells was taking its toll. He looked up at the sky, where an arc of shadow was swiftly swallowing the sunlight, casting the area into darkness.

With a flick of his wrist, the swirling firebird shot off toward the Whispering Woods, creating a loud explosion and a burst of red light upon entering the thicket. The red-robed nodded and gestured to the corpses behind him. "The door is open; let's go in."

Asa had encountered many bizarre occurrences, but nothing had left him feeling as incredulous as this.

He was alive—miraculously untouched, not even a hair scorched, while his hand that had gripped the knife was burned.

When he curled up to evade the fiery bird, the knife had immediately heated to unbearable temperatures, forcing him to drop it. He could sense the wild swirl of magical energy and flames around him. Being a fire mage himself, he understood the intensity of the magic swirling nearby. Logically, even if he were as tough as iron, he should have melted into liquid. But he merely felt warmth, not even a burn, and despite the chaotic fluctuations of flame, nothing splattered onto him.

Then, he felt himself carried along with the firebird's flight, soaring until a thunderous crash resonated in his ears. The swirling magic and flames dissipated, and he was violently slammed against something solid.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a charred tree hollow, or perhaps a carbonized pit. A massive ancient tree, wide enough for a dozen people to embrace, had been burned through by the firebird, leaving a large hole, its wooden edges fully carbonized.

Asa jumped down, surrounded by more such ancient trees. Thin wisps of fog coiled around them, and an unsettling silence prevailed, void of any birdsong or insect buzz.

This was indeed the Whispering Woods he had glimpsed from outside. The ancient, magnificent trees and ethereal mist remained, but the sense of awe that once gripped him had vanished, leaving only an eerie tranquility.

Asa ventured deeper into the forest. He couldn't comprehend how he had survived the terrifying fire magic—perhaps the red-robed had shown him mercy, or maybe for some other reason. But regardless, he had no desire to return to face the red-robed and the horde of zombies. From the red-robed's earlier words, it seemed that entry into the Whispering Woods was a rare opportunity; he needed to seize the moment and find the World Tree.

The forest was eerily still, as though he was suspended in an empty void, with only the sounds of his footsteps on the grass and fallen leaves breaking the silence—no traces of life could be found. The stillness invoked a peculiar sense of fear.

Following the traces on the ground, Asa made his way deeper into the woods. These marks were left by a few cavalrymen who had fled from the zombies into the forest. By tracking their steps, he hoped to sense any potential danger ahead of time.

However, he hadn't gone far before he sensed something was amiss.