Chapter 113: The Taste of Despair

Stanley never once looked back as he fled with all his might. His body cut through the rushing wind like a broken arrow loosed without restraint, every step fueled by terror rather than courage.

His lungs burned, his heart thundered, and yet he did not dare slow down for even a fraction of a second.

The mission was supposed to be simple.

Five Level 16 awakeners had been dispatched to eliminate a single rookie necromancer albeit one rumored to possess a handful of powerful undead servants.

Kill the Necromancer.

Complete the mission.

That was all.

At least, that was what they had believed.

When they first spotted Thoren riding atop his undead beast through the winding mountain range, confidence had filled their hearts.

Luck was on their side.

The terrain favored them.

The enemy was isolated.

Victory seemed inevitable.

To end the battle swiftly, Wilfred and Nyssa struck first, launching a coordinated assault meant to crush Thoren before he could even react.

In their eyes, the fight would be over in moments.

But they were wrong.

Hopelessly wrong.

Not only had Thoren survived the initial ambush, but he had also turned the entire situation on its head.

In just a handful of exchanges, exchanges so fast and brutal they barely had time to react and they pay dearly.

Wilfred and Percival were killed.

Dead.

Gone.

And the manner of their deaths haunted Stanley even now.

Thoren’s undead servants were unlike anything he had ever seen before.

They were not dull, sluggish corpses animated by crude necromancy. They moved with intent.

With coordination.

With intelligence.

Each undead was different, armed with distinct weapons, tactics, and combat.

It felt less like fighting undead servants and more like facing a disciplined army.

An undead army.

How were they supposed to win against something like that?

There was no hesitation in Stanley’s decision. The moment fear overwhelmed his pride and he turned and ran.

’I must report this to the leader,’ he thought desperately as he fled. ’Only the leader can handle him. Even if I become a Level 17 awakener, I wouldn’t stand a chance against that monster.’

He dared a glance over his shoulder.

Nothing.

For a brief moment, relief washed over him, and a shaky sigh escaped his lips.

“I should be safe by now…” he muttered, though he did not slow his pace in the slightest. “With those two holding him back, they should buy me enough time…even if things go south.”

As the words left his mouth, a slow grin crept across his face.

“If I hadn’t fled decisively,” he added under his breath, “I’d probably be lying behind them by now.”

While Stanley congratulated himself on his decision, the situation behind him was far from fortunate.

Nyssa and Rupert were fighting for their lives.

Rupert, an Earth Mage, was never known for his speed.

Although he had gained a brief head start, Nyssa quickly overtook him, sprinting past without a word or even a backward glance.

Rupert was drenched in cold sweat. His chest rose and fell violently as exhaustion clawed at his body.

Compared to warriors or assassins, his physical constitution was lacking and compared to the undead servants relentlessly pursuing him, it was pitiful.

He glanced over his shoulder.

Two undead were rapidly closing the distance.

“No… no…” he muttered, panic seeping into his voice.

Fear gripped him from the inside out. The thought of falling into the hands of a necromancer—of becoming one of those mindless undead—terrified him more than death itself.

Then he saw them.

Two skeletons sprinting alongside the other undead.

He recognized them instantly.

Wilfred.

Percival.

Their flesh was gone, stripped down to bone, yet their armor and weapons remained intact, still bearing the marks of their former identities.

“This…” Rupert’s heart skipped a beat.

’That bastard turned them into undead…’

Rage flared in his chest, sharp and bitter.

For a fleeting moment, he wanted nothing more than to turn back and tear Thoren apart with his own hands.

But reason kept him moving.

He remembered his priority.

Survival.

He pushed his body harder, draining the last of his stamina, but instead of increasing the distance, the gap shrank with every passing second.

In less than two minutes, four Level 16 undead were right behind him.

Less than five meters separated them.

’How can they be this fast?!’

His body trembled uncontrollably, panic etched clearly across his face.

Whoosh!

A sudden whistling sound pierced the air behind him.

Rupert’s instincts screamed.

Danger.

Without hesitation, he slammed his staff into the ground and unleashed his strongest defensive skill.

The earth surged violently, rising in jagged slabs and forming a thick, fortified wall around him.

Boom!

The impact shook the ground violently. Even from behind the wall, Rupert felt the tremor ripple through his bones.

He shuddered.

If he had been even a fraction of a second slower, his skull would have been crushed into paste.

But while he managed to block the hammer’s strike, the delay cost him dearly.

His speed reduced greatly.

The undead closed in.

Rupert barely managed to take a few steps forward before a dazzling arc of sword light flashed behind him.

He recognized that strike instantly.

His heart leapt into his throat.

Spinning around in panic, he raised his staff in defense.

Bang!

The blade shattered his staff with terrifying ease and continued forward, slicing deep into his chest.

Ahhh”

Blood sprayed from his mouth as he was sent crashing heavily into the ground.

A deep gash split his chest open, his organs partially visible beneath torn flesh.

He groaned in agony, his face twisted with fear, disbelief, and unwillingness to accept his fate.

The skeleton that had once been Rupert himself stepped forward and stopped before him.

“R-Rupert… p-please… don’t kill me…” he begged, his voice trembling.

“I-I know you’re still there… y-you can hear me… This… this isn’t what you want—”

The katana flashed.

The blade plunged deep into his chest.

“Huh!”

A mouthful of blood mixed with fragments of organs gushed from Rupert’s lips.

His eyes widened briefly as they met the hollow gaze of the skeleton that had once been his friend.

Slowly, the light faded from his eyes.

Darkness consumed him.

Dead.

The four undead paused for only a second after Rupert fell.

Then, without hesitation, they surged forward once more, resuming their pursuit of their last two targets.

Moments later, Thoren arrived at the scene. His expression was cold and detached as his gaze settled on Rupert’s corpse.

Without wasting a breath, he activated his necromantic skills.

[Undead Summoning.]

[Bone Manipulation.]

Dark energy surged.

Rupert’s body twitched.

Bones cracked and shifted as undead energy knitted shattered remains together.

Slowly, his corpse rose to its feet.

His eyes ignited with cold soul fire, empty of emotion and will.

Thoren issued a silent mental command.

’Chase.’

The newly risen skeleton nodded and joined the pursuit.

The hunt was far from over.

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