Chapter 40: Marked by an Ancient Will

Thoren watched as one of the fallen stone statues trembled.

At first, the movement was subtle, barely more than a faint vibration running through the fractured stone limbs.

Then cracks spread across its surface like spiderwebs, fragments flaking off as something unseen stirred within.

Its hollow eye sockets faced the sky.

Empty.

Vacant.

Then.

A flicker of pale-yellow flame ignited deep within its sockets.

Soul fire.

The moment the flames stabilized, the statue’s rigid posture shifted.

Its head tilted slightly, joints grinding as if rediscovering movement.

Beneath the stone exterior, something ancient and obedient awakened.

With the soul fire burning steadily, a semblance of intelligence emerged on its once-lifeless face.

“It worked…” Thoren murmured.

A slow, satisfied smile curved his lips, sharp and restrained.

[Undead Stonewall Tribe (Imperial Guard)]

[Level: 10]

Thoren exhaled softly.

He had expected resistance.

The Stonewall Tribe had not died naturally.

They had been transformed, sealed, turned into living statues through means far beyond ordinary death.

By all logic, converting them into undead servants should have been impossible.

Yet here one stood.

Undead.

Obedient.

Alive in death.

“That raises another question…” Thoren muttered, his brows knitting together.

“How did they become stone statues without dying?”

The question lingered, heavy and unanswered.

He stared at the newly risen undead imperial guard, studying the faint traces of humanity still clinging to its posture.

The truth was buried deep within this ancient city, layered beneath blood, sacrifice, and forgotten secrets.

Thoren shook his head.

Guessing blindly would only invite disaster.

More importantly, he knew his limits.

Whatever secrets lay hidden here belonged to a level of power far beyond his current reach.

“Not yet,” he whispered to himself.

Strength came first.

Answers could wait.

His gaze shifted back to the battlefield.

Confidence surged through him once more.

“Continue.”

[Undead Summoning.]

One by one, fallen stone statues trembled.

Soul fire ignited.

Undead imperial guards rose from shattered stone, answering his call without hesitation.

With each successful conversion, Thoren’s control solidified.

His undead army expanded, not merely in number, but in quality.

The battlefield changed instantly.

The remaining stone statues faltered.

They were no longer fighting an invading force—they were being dismantled from within.

The clash grew brutal.

Stone shattered against bone.

Steel screamed as weapons collided.

At the center of the chaos, the Level 13 Stonewall Tribe warrior locked into combat with the Level 13 Skeleton Knight.

Each impact sent shockwaves rippling through the ground.

Cracks tore through the earth beneath them.

Chunks of stone exploded outward.

Yet the Level 13 statue did not retreat.

Unfazed by damage, it raised its massive stone blade and swung with overwhelming force.

The air shrieked.

The blow was meant to cleave the Level 13 Skeleton Knight in two.

Whoosh!

Two Level 10 Assassin Skeletons erupted from the fog.

Their blades flashed in perfect synchronization, slicing cleanly into the statue’s knees.

Bang!

The statue’s balance shattered.

It crashed to the ground with bone-rattling force.

Before it could rise, the Level 13 Knight Skeleton lunged forward.

Its blade seized the fallen statue.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Again and again, it slammed the statue into the ground, each impact gouging deeper craters into the earth.

Stone fractured.

Dust and debris filled the air.

The brutality was overwhelming.

Nerve-shredding.

After several long seconds, the knight skeleton halted.

The stone body lay motionless.

Cracked.

Broken.

Dead.

This time—truly dead.

Without sparing it another glance, the Level 13 Knight Skeleton turned toward its next target.

Then.

Something went wrong.

The fallen Level 13 statue twitched.

Slowly, unnaturally, it began to rise.

Its movements were stiff, jerky, as if something resisted from within.

Thoren’s heart clenched.

Cold sweat drenched his back as he immediately attempted to assert control.

[Undead Summoning.]

Pain exploded through his skull.

A crushing pressure slammed into his consciousness, ripping through his mental defenses like a tidal wave.

Thoren screamed, though no sound escaped his lips.

Blood leaked from his nose.

From the corners of his eyes.

His vision blurred violently as a foreign presence forced its way into his mind.

Then.

A voice.

Deep.

Ancient.

Unintelligible.

“&%$#@HU*—”

The language was utterly alien.

Each syllable carried unfathomable weight, reverberating with authority older than time itself.

It was not sound.

It was law.

Each word invoked power beyond mortal comprehension.

Thoren’s thoughts shattered.

His mind reeled, fragments of consciousness tearing apart under the pressure.

His muscles locked.

Veins bulged grotesquely across his temples.

His entire body trembled violently.

The connection to his undead army wavered, fracturing.

On the verge of collapse.

’What should I do?!’

’I need—something—anything!’

Clinging desperately to the last thread of rationality, Thoren activated his second talent.

[SSS-Rank Sub-Talent: Soul Lantern of Eternal Crypt]

A spectral lantern flared to life within his mind.

Golden light flooded his consciousness, forcibly stabilizing his shattered thoughts.

The oppressive presence receded.

Not vanished.

But restrained.

Thoren collapsed to his knees, drenched in sweat.

His chest heaved violently as he gasped for breath.

Slowly… the voice became clearer.

The words resolved into meaning.

“You survive…”

A pause.

“Interesting.”

Another pause, laden with amusement.

“Human child. My eyes are upon you now.”

A chill seeped into Thoren’s bones.

“Let us see how long you last.”

Silence followed.

The presence withdrew.

Thoren remained kneeling, trembling.

Every hair on his body stood on end.

His heart thundered painfully in his chest.

’What… did I just attract?’

The realization struck him with terrifying clarity.

This entity had noticed him because of the Stonewall Tribe.

Because he dared to claim what had been sealed by something far greater.

Did he regret it?

Thoren laughed softly.

No.

Never.

As a necromancer, undead power was his path.

And he would walk it, no matter the cost.

Slowly, he rose to his feet and wiped the blood from his face.

Then he froze.

On the back of his left palm.

A mark had appeared.

Dark.

Engraved deep into his flesh as if it had always been there.

The symbol writhed subtly, alive beneath his skin.

It depicted a humanoid beast with a long, coiling tail.

Merely looking at it sent icy dread down his spine.

“What have I dragged into my life…” he whispered.

For a long moment, he stood in silence.

Calculating.

Then his eyes hardened.

“If it can’t kill me now,” he murmured, “then it’s either sealed… or far away.”

Either way.

He would grow stronger.

Fast.

His gaze returned to the newly subdued Level 13 undead statue standing obediently before him.

Confidence surged once more.

“If you’re watching,” Thoren said softly, a grin twisting into something cold and dangerous, “then watch closely.”

“I’ll give you a show.”

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