Chapter 65: A Lesson Written in Corpses

Ahhhhhh!

A soul-rending scream tore from the lips of one of the Glorious Path Party members.

A stone spear burst through his chest from behind, its jagged tip exploding out of his sternum in a spray of blood.

The force lifted him off his feet for a heartbeat before gravity reclaimed him.

Blood gushed from his mouth as he choked, his eyes wide and trembling, filled with disbelief and unwillingness.

Behind him, a Level 12 Undead Stonewall Tribe warrior stepped forward.

Its massive frame loomed over the dying awakener.

Hollow eyes burned with cold soul fire as it seized the man by the shoulder and flung him aside like a discarded rag.

The corpse slammed into the ground with a wet thud, twitching once before going still.

The undead did not pause.

It marched forward, stone spear scraping against the ground, already locking onto its next target.

“DEFEND!” Sebastian screamed.

His voice cracked with raw terror.

His heart hammered violently against his ribs, each beat echoing in his ears as fear gnawed at his soul like a vice.

Panic surged through him, but training forced his body to respond.

He raised his staff with shaking hands and began chanting frantically, mana surging through his veins.

Whoosh!

Before the spell could fully form, a deadly arrow materialized in his vision, too fast, too close.

’Danger!’

Sebastian’s muscles locked.

Without hesitation, he threw himself sideways, rolling hard across the dirt.

The arrow hissed past his face, close enough for him to feel the wind it displaced.

His heart nearly burst from his chest as he scrambled back to his feet.

He survived.

Others did not.

The Undead Stonewall Tribe advanced relentlessly, their formation tight and merciless.

Stone spears thrust forward with crushing force, shields slammed aside defenses, and heavy stone fists reduced flesh and bone alike.

The previous disdain on the party members’ faces vanished completely.

Fear replaced it.

Panic.

Warriors rushed forward, screaming battle cries as they attempted to halt the undead advance only to be overwhelmed in seconds.

They had expected fragile skeletons.

They were wrong.

For every warrior that stepped forward, three undead descended upon them at once.

Stone spears pierced armor.

Stone fists shattered ribs.

Stone shields crushed skulls.

“Ahhhh!”

“Help!”

An arm was severed mid-swing and sent flying through the air, blood spraying like rain before it splattered against the ground.

Screams of agony echoed across the battlefield, overlapping and blending into a nightmarish chorus.

The once dry earth was soaked in fresh blood, turning into a slick, crimson mire beneath their boots.

Minerva stood frozen.

Her body trembled as she stared at the carnage unfolding around her.

Idonea’s trembling voice echoed inside her mind, clear and merciless.

’If you value your life, don’t try to attack him.’

Minerva had scoffed at the warning then.

She had dismissed it as fear, cowardice disguised as concern. She had been too consumed by vengeance, too certain of her righteousness to listen.

Now…

Innocent people were dying because of her.

Guilt tore through her soul like a blade.

Her sword trembled violently in her grip.

Her chest tightened until breathing became painful, each inhale shallow and desperate.

Strength drained from her limbs as if her body could no longer bear the weight of what she had caused.

Her knees buckled.

The crushing weight of guilt pressed down on her shoulders like a mountain.

This was not how she had imagined it.

She had thought.

She had expected.

Her throat went dry.

Her thoughts churned chaotically, colliding and shattering, unable to form anything coherent. Confidence drained away completely, leaving behind only horror and regret.

Only now did she understand.

While she had been chasing revenge, Thoren had been growing stronger.

Far stronger than anyone had anticipated.

Stronger than a newcomer had any right to be.

Bodies continued to fall.

One after another.

The Undead Stonewall Tribe warriors showed no mercy.

No hesitation.

In front of them, the Glorious Path Party collapsed like dry leaves before a storm.

“Noooooo!” Minerva screamed.

Tears welled in her eyes and spilled freely as she turned toward Thoren.

Her legs weakened completely.

She stumbled forward and nearly collapsed.

“P-Please…” Her voice came out hoarse and broken.

Her face drained of all colors.

In front of this monster, what meaning did Federation law hold?

This was the Abyss.

Here, strength ruled everything.

Even on the surface, that truth existed. She had simply refused to acknowledge it.

She had been blinded by her illusion of justice, too focused on enforcing laws to see the reality of the world.

“P-Please… don’t kill them,” she sobbed, voice cracking apart. “Let them go. I swear…I swear I’ll never come after you again.”

Thoren looked at her.

A cold, condescending smirk curved his lips.

“No,” he said calmly, shaking his head. “I want you to come after me.”

His tone was casual.

Dismissive.

Filled with disdain.

Just then.

Ahhhhhh!

A guttural scream erupted from Sebastian’s throat.

One of his arms had been severed cleanly at the shoulder.

Blood poured freely as his staff slipped from his grasp, clattering uselessly onto the ground beside him. He stared at the stump in disbelief, despair etched deeply across his face.

His eyes darted wildly, searching for his attacker.

He found nothing.

Without his staff, his chanting speed was crippled. Yet even then, his thoughts were not of retaliating.

Only escape.

If he had not allowed his emotions to cloud his judgment…

If he had not tried to impress Minerva…

’I need to escape.’

’No… we need to escape!’

He opened his mouth to shout.

Whoosh!

A shadow beneath his feet twisted.

From it, an assassin skeleton erupted upward, blade gleaming with killing intent.

In a blink, the blade flashed.

Sebastian’s leg was severed at the knee.

Ahhhhhh!

He collapsed screaming, rolling across the ground, crying like a gutted animal as blood soaked into the dirt.

Pain overwhelmed him completely.

Regret flooded his heart.

He had a future.

They all did.

He had dreamed of dominating the Abyss.

Of returning to the surface stronger, respected, admired.

Now…

For a woman he had barely confessed his feelings to, he had lost an arm and a leg.

Hatred filled him.

His bloodshot eyes locked onto Minerva.

“MINERVA!” he screamed, voice cracking. “This is your fault!”

“I curse you!”

“I curse your entire bloodline!”

Tears streamed down his face as his strength faded rapidly.

His vision blurred.

His thoughts slowed.

He knew death was near.

“I should have listened…” he muttered weakly.

There was no medicine for regret.

From the corner of his fading vision, he saw an undead approaching.

“I’m such a loser…”

A stone spear plunged through his skull.

His body went limp.

Minerva collapsed onto the ground, watching Sebastian die.

Her tears poured endlessly.

She hated herself.

She wanted to disappear.

Why?

Why had it come to this?

Then.

A sharp, agonized scream erupted to her left.

She snapped her head around.

Rowena.

Her best friend.

Blood soaked her armor as two arrows protruded from her shoulder.

“NO! DON’T KILL HER!” Minerva screamed with everything she had.

She crawled forward desperately, collapsing onto her knees before Thoren.

“Please!” she begged, voice breaking completely. “Please don’t kill her!”

“I’ll do anything!”

“I’ll obey!”

“I’ll give you everything!”

She bowed her head, pressing her hands into the blood-soaked ground.

“I’m begging you…”

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