Chapter 52: Mercy Was Never Promised

Basil, the burly young man, stared at the scene before him, his lips trembling uncontrollably.

Thoren had already shocked him again and again along with everyone else present.

But this time was different.

This time, terror rooted itself deep into his bones.

Watching a dead, terrifying humanoid creature rise once more. Their hollow eyes blazing with soul fire was beyond horrifying. It shattered his understanding of reality.

His muscles stiffened, locking him in place, while his breath hitched painfully in his throat.

“T-This…” His voice faltered, trailing off as his mind struggled to process what he was witnessing.

There were no words.

Only dread.

If Thoren could turn such powerful humanoid creatures into obedient undead servants, then what was stopping him from doing the same to them?

The thought struck Basil like a hammer.

His heart sank.

Memories of his earlier arrogance surged back, each word he had spoken now echoing like a death sentence.

Regret flooded his chest so violently that he nearly gagged.

He wished the ground would split open and swallow him whole.

He would rather be buried alive than fall into the hands of such a monster.

Across from him, Idonea, the Lancer, stood frozen as well.

For a brief moment, she forgot about the nerve-racking pain tearing through her battered body and stared blankly at the scene unfolding before her.

“Too powerful…” she murmured hoarsely. “How can anyone on the first floor possess such an overpowered ability?”

Necromancers were notorious, but they were also bound by limitations.

They could only control a limited number of undead.

Their mental capacity restricted how many contracts they could maintain, and they were never supposed to control undead stronger than themselves.

Those were ironclad rules.

Rules that the boy before them had completely shattered.

None of the restrictions applied to Thoren.

Looking at the overwhelming undead legion standing in disciplined silence, Idonea felt a chill crawl up her spine. Her grip on her broken spear tightened unconsciously.

She swore to herself then and there.

After escaping this forsaken hellhole, she would avoid Thoren at all costs.

While she made her silent vow, the others were thinking the same thing.

They had barely survived an encounter with five Level 16 High Noble Stonewall Warriors, creatures capable of wiping them out without effort.

And now those same existences stood behind Thoren, obedient and lifeless.

Who in their right mind would dare oppose him?

As for Thoren, he paid no attention to the trembling awakeners.

His entire focus was on the final stage of converting the High Noble Stonewall warriors into undead servants.

“Hah… finally.”

He exhaled deeply as the last contract was completed.

A bead of sweat slid down his forehead, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. A satisfied grin crept across his face.

’Now, these six will become my ace from now on,’ he thought calmly as he turned away.

Behind him, five undead High Nobles stood in a perfect formation, like sentinels guarding a sovereign.

Their hollow eye sockets burned with intense soul fire, radiating cold intelligence. They were no longer mindless monsters but elite weapons.

Merely meeting their gaze sent shivers racing down the spine of anyone nearby.

“T-Thank you… for helping us…”

Idonea forced the words out, her voice stiff with apprehension.

Necromancers were feared for a reason.

Their minds were said to be twisted beyond comprehension, their morality warped by death and darkness. No one could predict what such a person might do.

If Thoren decided to turn them into undead servants, their fate would be sealed forever.

She held her breath, as if awaiting a verdict.

Basil and the others mirrored her expression.

One by one, the remaining awakeners offered their thanks, though their faces were pale and distorted with fear.

Their dread of Thoren rivaled, if not exceeded the terror they felt toward the High Noble monsters.

If the High Noble creature killed them, at least their bodies would remain intact, their souls free to rest.

But if they fell into Thoren’s hands…

Even death would not grant them peace.

Just imagining it made their hearts pound violently against their chests.

The atmosphere within the underground chamber grew heavy and suffocating.

Oppressive silence pressed down on everyone.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Thoren’s lips.

He could already guess what they were thinking.

His gaze locked onto Basil.

Then he moved.

Thud.

Thud.

His boots echoed softly against the stone floor.

In the deathly quiet chamber, each step sounded like a tolling bell.

To Basil, it was the sound of doom approaching.

’No… no…’

He screamed internally.

’Please… don’t come to me…’

Pain faded from his awareness as despair gnawed relentlessly at his heart.

Sweat drenched his body, soaking his clothes.

With each step Thoren took, it felt as though death crept closer.

Finally, Thoren stopped in front of him.

He lowered his head slightly and stared down at Basil.

“I believe you and I have unfinished business,” Thoren said, his voice dangerously calm.

Gulp.

Every person in the chamber swallowed hard.

Basil trembled violently.

He tried to speak, but no sound emerged. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a massive humanoid figure approaching.

’I’m doomed…’

The stench of death filled his nostrils.

It suffocated him from the inside out.

As if mocking him.

A revered Level 14 Berserker, trembling beneath the gaze of a newcomer.

That alone spoke volumes of Thoren’s terror.

“This will serve as a lesson for others,” Thoren said coldly.

Before Basil could react, the Undead High Noble reached out and seized him.

He was lifted effortlessly into the air, his body dangling helplessly in its grip.

“P-Please…!” Basil begged desperately.

Regret consumed him.

Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?

Why did he have to be the one to provoke him?

If he had known Thoren was such a devil, he wouldn’t have dared offend him even if given ten lives.

Unfortunately, there was no pill for regret.

Crack!

“AHHHHH—!”

A soul-rending scream tore from Basil’s throat.

The Undead High Noble tightened its grip.

Bones snapped.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Flesh tore apart as blood gushed out like a broken pipe.

Idonea and the others shuddered violently. Some couldn’t hold it in and soiled themselves in terror.

Crack! Crack!

One bone after another was crushed, ground into paste.

Basil was kept alive, forced to experience every second of agony.

“P-Please… kill me…” he sobbed.

To him, Thoren was no longer human.

He was a devil.

For a mere taunt, he was subjected to inhuman torture.

Who else could do such a thing?

Now, Basil wished for death.

But Thoren’s expression never changed.

When Basil’s arms were completely ruined, the Undead High Noble released him.

Thud!

He hit the ground with a wet, sickening sound.

“Cross me again,” Thoren said coldly, his voice carrying clearly through the chamber, “and it won’t end here.”

He glanced at the others.

“Carry him outside,” he commanded. “Make sure he stays alive. If he dies…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t need to.

The threat felt like a cold blade pressed against their necks as Thoren walked calmly toward the five coffins in the distance.

*****

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