Chapter 112: Decisive Escape

Although the ambush had come without warning, Thoren was neither intimidated nor shaken.

From the very moment the battle began, his mind had remained calm and razor-sharp, analyzing every movement, every opening, every mistake his enemies made.

Since the clash started, he had been plotting, quietly and how to dismantle them one by one.

This was the first time he had ever faced five Level 16 awakeners simultaneously.

Under normal circumstances, such a lineup would have crushed most opponents instantly.

Yet compared to the monster he had encountered in the ancient city, their pressure felt lacking.

Significantly so.

Whether it was because they underestimated him or because they were simply arrogant.

Thoren could not say. Perhaps it was both.

They had ambushed him, seized the initiative, and still chose to waste time talking.

Ridiculing him.

Flaunting their supposed superiority.

What were they hoping to achieve with words?

They were not stalling for time. They were not coordinating a lethal formation. They were not striking together with overwhelming force.

If they had attacked all at once, without hesitation, they might have had a real chance of killing him.

But they didn’t.

Arrogance and pride had blinded them.

The moment he successfully defended against their opening assault, they should have realized he was no easy target.

That was the signal, the warning that should have prompted them to press harder, faster, mercilessly.

Yet they failed to capitalize on that advantage.

Instead, they allowed him time.

Time to breathe.

Time to observe.

Time to plan.

In his previous life, Thoren had watched countless movies where villains met their end because they talked too much, too confident in their dominance.

He had always found it cliché.

He never expected to witness the same mistake in his second life.

Or to exploit it so thoroughly.

And thus…

Percival lay sprawled on the ground in a widening pool of blood.

Deep gashes marred his chest and waist, wounds so severe they cut through muscle and bone alike.

Blood poured from his mouth in thick, choking spurts as his breathing turned ragged and uneven.

Moments earlier, he had been consumed by rage, fully focused on battling the terrifying undead servant before him. That obsession proved fatal.

He never noticed the skeleton assassins until it was too late.

Two precise strikes.

That was all it took.

Each blow had targeted a vital point with merciless accuracy.

Percival clutched his chest, fingers trembling as terror finally surfaced on his face.

How… how is this possible?

His heart pounded violently, threatening to burst. He had never imagined himself being pushed into such a desperate, helpless state.

Am I… going to die here?

The thought made his stomach churn.

As if responding to his fear, the Level 16 undead servant began marching toward him, step by heavy step.

Its hollow eyes burned with soul fire, devoid of mercy or hesitation.

“No… no… no…” Percival whimpered, desperately trying to crawl backward.

Before he could even move, the two Level 12 skeleton assassins emerged from the shadows once more.

Whoosh!

Their blades flashed with deadly brilliance.

Percival saw only a brief glimmer of steel. He tried to dodge, tried to raise his sword, but his mangled body refused to respond.

Ahhhh! Ahhhh!

A guttural scream tore from his throat as the icy blades sliced cleanly through his arm and chest. Blood sprayed violently, pouring from the wounds like water from a shattered dam.

Stanley shuddered as he watched Percival’s fate unfold.

Wilfred’s death could be dismissed as underestimation.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

Fear gripped him.

His muscles stiffened, his breath catching painfully in his throat.

Only now did he truly understand the horror of the opponent standing before them.

I need to escape.

I can’t stay here any longer.

He was a Level 16 Warrior. He still had time. With steady accumulation of experience, he could ascend to the Second Floor.

There was no reason for him to throw his life away here.

Ahhhhhhh!

Percival’s final scream jolted everyone back to reality.

Blood sprayed from his throat as his eyes filled with regret and unwillingness.

In that fleeting instant, he saw his ambitions, his plans, his future only for them to vanish into nothingness.

Thud.

His head struck the ground heavily.

It never rose again.

Nyssa and Rupert stood frozen, their jaws hanging open. They had believed the arrow assault was Thoren’s true killing move.

They were wrong.

The arrows had never been meant for them.

From the very beginning, Percival had been the real target.

The ranged attack was nothing more than a diversion and they had fallen for it completely.

Nyssa and Rupert exchanged tense glances. In each other’s eyes, they saw the same emotions reflected back, disbelief, dread, and a rapidly growing sense of doom.

“Fuck this!” Stanley suddenly roared.

He unleashed a furious barrage of attacks, forcing the undead servant locked in combat with him to retreat several steps. The moment a small gap opened, Stanley did not hesitate.

He turned and fled.

He pushed his speed to the absolute limit, abandoning everything else in a desperate bid for survival.

“Huh?”

Rupert and Nyssa were stunned.

They had not expected Stanley to break and run so quickly.

But as the reality sank in, they understood.

This was the smartest choice.

Continuing to fight a necromancer whose undead reserves were still unknown was already a losing battle. Staying any longer meant certain death.

Without another word, Rupert and Nyssa turned and fled as well. With Wilfred and Percival dead, their courage had completely shattered.

Whoosh!

Whoosh!

They had barely taken a few steps when four arrows tore through the air toward them at terrifying speed, two aimed at each of them.

“Shit!” Rupert shouted.

He slammed his staff into the ground. A thick, sturdy earthen wall erupted behind him just in time, blocking the arrows with a resounding crack.

As for Nyssa, he didn’t spare her a second glance.

At that moment, his only thought was to escape.

This monster had far more undead servants than any report had indicated.

And who knew how many more remained hidden?

Nyssa’s expression turned grim as she twisted mid-air, barely evading one arrow while the other grazed past her shoulder. Her face went pale as death.

With a desperate cry, she unleashed one of her strongest spells.

A massive torrent of flame erupted across the narrow path, roaring forward like an inferno intent on devouring everything in its wake.

Against such an attack, any ordinary awakener would have been forced to retreat.

Unfortunately for her.

Her enemy was Thoren.

Two seconds later, two Level 16 undead servants burst through the raging flames.

Their robes had burned away completely. Their bodies were charred black, bones cracked and scorched.

Yet their hollow eyes burned brighter than ever.

“This…”

Nyssa froze in horror.

“How is this possible?!” she screamed.

Her heart hammered violently as terror seized her completely.

She turned and pushed herself beyond her limits, fleeing with everything she had left.

All the will to fight vanished.

Only the instinct to survive remained.

But the question lingered, heavy and unavoidable.

Would Thoren allow them to escape?

*****

[AN: Please support this book with your golden tickets and power stones.

Thanks.]

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep