Chapter 143: Finding the Federation Hideout.

[Charrock Plateau]

The jagged stone plain of Charrock Plateau lay under an unsettling silence. A thin wind drifted across the scorched land, dragging faint trails of smoke behind it as though the earth itself were exhaling.

Thud. Thud.

At first, the tremor was subtle, faint but with each passing second, it grew stronger, heavier, more deliberate.

The ground began to quake in earnest. Pebbles skipped across the surface. Loose debris rattled.

From the distant haze, a colossal figure slowly materialized.

At a glance, it seemed to move sluggishly, its massive frame lumbering across the plateau. But a closer look revealed a terrifying truth.

Its pace was anything but slow.

Its strides were enormous, and each step left behind a deep crater in the hardened stone.

Beneath a towering mountain at the plateau’s edge, a ruined town sprawled like a carcass picked clean.

Among these ruins, awakeners concealed themselves, their eyes fixed on the approaching figure.

“What’s that?” a voice whispered, barely louder than the wind.

“I don’t know,” another replied, squinting through the smoke. “But it looks like a massive beast.”

“Should we report to the chief?”

“…Let’s wait and see what it is before we report,” someone else murmured.

The sentries exchanged uneasy glances. In this desolate region of the uncharted territory, activity was rare.

Most days, their only companions were drifting smoke and the distant rumble of volcanic eruptions.

Danger existed, certainly but it was usually predictable.

This was not.

Before the sentries fully grasped what was happening, the approaching figure had already closed the distance.

In mere moments, it stood only several meters away.

“…W-What?” one of them gasped, his jaw dropping.

Fear and panic seized their hearts.

It was not merely a beast.

It was an undead beast.

Its enormous, decayed frame radiated an aura of death that chilled them to the bone. And atop its back stood a silver-haired young man, his expression calm, almost indifferent.

The sentries felt their hearts skip violently.

They had heard rumors, whispers of a rising necromancer among the newcomers. Stories of a Grim Reaper whose undead army grew with each battle.

But they had dismissed such tales as exaggerations.

Besides, their chief had already dispatched a powerful Level 16 awakeners to eliminate the threat.

To them, the outcome had been predetermined.

But now…

“Q-Quick! Report to the chief immediately!” one of the sentries shouted, finally snapping out of his shock.

“A-Ah! Yes!” another responded urgently, scrambling toward the stone stairs.

Standing atop the undead Iron Roar Komodo, Thoren gazed at the ruins without any visible change in expression. His silver hair swayed gently in the smoky wind.

Outwardly calm.

Inwardly, his heart pounded with anticipation.

I need to end this as quickly as possible… he thought, a sharp glint flashing through his eyes.

Behind him stood three members of the Knight Order, serving as navigators.

Darius as a Vice Leader could not abandon his men to personally guide Thoren to the Federation hideout. Instead, he had selected three of his strongest knights to accompany the young necromancer.

The knights stood rigid, their breathing shallow.

They were all Level 16.

And yet, as they stared at Thoren’s back, an inexplicable chill crept down their spines. Their hearts thudded heavily in their chests.

He intends to confront the Federation forces alone…

How strong must he be to carry such confidence?

Had they not witnessed his power firsthand, they would have questioned his right to challenge the Federation Police. The battle in the alley had overturned everything they believed about necromancers. It had shattered their assumptions.

Now, they watched in silence, waiting to see whether this junior would carve his name into history.

Unaware of their thoughts, Thoren focused entirely on the scene before him.

The sentries stood frozen, their grips tightening around their weapons. Cold sweat drenched their backs.

The oppressive presence of the undead Iron Roar Komodo suffocated them.

Suddenly, thick necromantic energy surged in front of the beast. Dark mist coalesced, swirling violently before condensing into a humanoid shape.

From that churning aura of death, an undead servant stepped forward.

The sentries’ hearts leapt into their throats.

“M-My goodness…”

Their muscles stiffened.

Their blood ran cold.

It was only a single undead.

Yet…

Its mere presence altered the atmosphere of the entire plateau.

A long, deadly blade gleamed in its skeletal grip, humming with lethal intent. Simply gazing upon it made their skin crawl.

Hollow eyes burned with madness and brutality, like twin furnaces of eternal rage.

The undead Royalty Stonewall.

A Level 18 undead.

Against Level 15 awakeners, this was not merely overwhelming, it was annihilation waiting to happen.

But Thoren did not hesitate.

He wanted this over.

“Kill.”

Whoosh!

The undead Royalty Stonewall vanished from its position. Its speed was terrifying, so fast that none of the Level 15 awakeners could track its movement.

A soul-rending scream tore through the plateau.

“Ahhh—!”

A head soared into the air, eyes still wide with disbelief.

Even in death, the sentry did not understand how he had been killed.

“Run!” someone screamed.

But could they truly escape?

Bang! Bang!

In the blink of an eye, the remaining sentries were cut down. Limbs separated from torsos.

Blood splattered across the blackened stone, fresh and steaming in the cool air.

The massacre lasted mere seconds.

Thoren did not spare the scattered corpses a second glance. His gaze locked onto a small, fortified building embedded deep within the mountain’s heart.

“Go,” he commanded.

The undead Royalty Stonewall turned toward the structure.

At that exact moment, the heavy doors of the building burst open.

Federation Police officers poured out, fully armed and armored, their expressions grim. They were prepared for a life-or-death battle.

Standing at the forefront was Jareth.

He stared at the fallen sentries for several long seconds before shifting his gaze to Thoren.

How can he still be alive? he wondered, confusion flashing across his face.

More alarming than Thoren’s survival was the power he now displayed. A Level 18 undead servant stood at his command.

Unease washed over Jareth.

His instincts screamed of imminent danger.

Beside him stood a towering Level 18 Vanguard, muscles coiled with restrained power.

Without taking his eyes off Thoren, Jareth leaned slightly toward the Vanguard and whispered, “Stop him.”

Then, without another word, he turned and strode back into the building, his steps urgent.

He had other matters to attend to.

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