Chapter 185: A Vessel of Despair

Reinfort’s aura blazed with renewed fury as the first wave of undead crashed against him. His sword moved in elegant, deadly arcs—each strike precise, efficient, devastating. A skeleton fell, its bones scattering across the blood-soaked floor. A zombie crumpled, its head separating from its shoulders in a spray of black ichor.

“Star Sword Style: Falling Petals!”

His blade became a blur of silver light, cutting through three undead in a single, fluid motion. But more kept coming—the Lich’s army was endless, each fallen soldier rising again moments later, their bodies reassembling with horrible crackling sounds.

Valdris fought beside him, his light-blade blazing with holy fire. He cut down two skeletons, then a third, his movements still fast but growing desperate. His eyes flickered to Reinfort, watching the old knight’s flawless technique with something like envy.

’I should have trained harder with the sword,’ he thought bitterly, deflecting a zombie’s lunge. ’I relied too much on artifacts. Now, when it truly matters, I’m barely keeping up.’

His light-blade swept through another undead, but the effort was visible—his form was less refined than Reinfort’s, his movements more reliant on speed than skill.

The Lich watched from the center of the room, Elise’s crimson eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He had not moved since raising his army, content to let his puppets wear down his enemies.

“Playing with your food, are we?” Valdris snarled, cutting down another zombie.

The Lich’s smile widened. “I prefer to think of it as… savoring the moment.”

Then his expression shifted. The amusement faded, replaced by something colder. More focused.

“Enough games.”

He raised both hands, and the room itself seemed to respond. Shadows deepened. The temperature plummeted. And from his palms, waves of necrotic energy erupted at his own army.

The effect was immediate and horrifying.

The undead soldiers convulsed, their bodies twisting, merging, reforming into something far more terrible. Skeletons fused with zombies, creating abominations of bone and rotting flesh. Their eyes blazed with crimson light, and when they moved, they moved with a speed and coordination that the individual soldiers had lacked.

They surged forward.

Reinfort met the first abomination with a devastating overhead strike—Star sword Style: Meteor Fall. His blade connected, cleaving through bone and flesh—

And stopped.

The abomination didn’t fall. It didn’t even stagger. Reinfort’s eyes widened as the creature’s hand shot forward, grabbing his sword arm with crushing force.

“Your technique is impressive, old man,” the Lich murmured, his voice carrying across the chaos. “But against my children? Useless.”

More abominations pressed in. Reinfort fought, his blade cutting, his aura blazing, but for every one he felled, two more took its place. He was slowing. His wounds were bleeding freely now, staining his armor crimson.

And then he saw it—a moment of distraction. Valdris, surrounded by three abominations, his light-blade flickering dangerously as he tried to hold them off.

Reinfort didn’t hesitate.

He abandoned his technique, the power he’d been gathering dissipating uselessly. He surged toward the prince, his blade cutting through two of the abominations in a desperate arc. His arm wrapped around Valdris, pulling him clear just as the third creature’s claws swept through empty air where the prince’s throat had been.

“Your Highness! Are you—”

The Lich’s attack came without warning.

A lance of pure darkness, concentrated and devastating, slammed into both of them. It lifted them off their feet, hurling them across the room to crash against the far wall. Stone cracked. Blood sprayed. Both men slumped to the ground, their bodies broken, their lights flickering.

Reinfort groaned, forcing his eyes open. His vision swam—everything was blurry, distant. But he could see Valdris beside him, the prince’s chest barely moving, his light-blade extinguished.

“Your… Highness…” The words came out as barely a whisper.

The Lich glided toward them, Elise’s form floating inches above the ground, her white hair streaming behind her like a funeral shroud. The corruption had spread further now—her hands blackened to the wrists, dark veins crawling up her arms like vines.

“You fought well.” The Lich’s voice was almost gentle, almost kind—a predator savoring its kill. “But in the end, you were merely… entertainment.” He stopped before them, looking down at their broken forms with those terrible crimson eyes. “Thank you, little prince. Your cruelty, your arrogance, your willingness to cage her—it made Elise afraid. And that fear opened the door I needed.”

He raised his hand, darkness gathering for the final strike.

“Now die knowing that your kingdom will follow. Slowly. Painfully. And there is nothing you can do to stop it.”

The darkness condensed, forming into a spear of absolute annihilation. The Lich drew back his arm, ready to throw—

“ELISE!”

The scream tore through the room like a blade.

The Lich’s head snapped around, his crimson eyes widening with genuine surprise. There, framed in the ruined doorway, stood Seraphina.

Her chest heaving, her Oath blazing around her like a second skin. Behind her, Gill stumbled into view, clutching his side and gasping for air.

The Lich’s crimson eyes swept over them, a cold smile curving Elise’s lips. “Oh? There are still insects crawling around.” His gaze lingered on Seraphina, taking in the silver-gold light that enveloped her. “How… persistent.”

Reinfort, crumpled against the wall with Valdris beside him, managed to lift his head. His eyes found Seraphina—the battered knight, the fierce Oath, the desperate determination written across her face. For a moment, something like hope flickered in his gaze.

Seraphina’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and clear despite her exhaustion.

“Lich! Release Princess Elise! Now!”

The Lich laughed—a horrible, layered sound that seemed to come from everywhere at once. “Release her? Foolish girl. She is mine. Her body, her blood, her very soul—all mine.” He spread Elise’s arms wide, showing off the blackened hands, the dark veins crawling up her wrists. “Do you not see? The corruption has already taken hold. She is becoming my vessel, my masterpiece.”

Seraphina’s Oath flared brighter, her jaw tightening. “I don’t care what you’ve done to her. I’ll get her back.”

The Lich’s amusement didn’t fade. With a casual flick of his wrist, he sent Valdris and Reinfort tumbling across the room like discarded dolls. They crashed against the far wall, groaning but still—barely—conscious.

“Such devotion,” the Lich murmured, almost admiring. “It will make your despair all the sweeter when you watch her become fully mine.”

Seraphina’s eyes darted to Gill, who had pressed himself against the wall, his face pale and sweaty. “Gill! Tell me how to save her!”

Gill’s head snapped toward her, his grey eyes wide behind those gleaming glasses. “I—I’m not omniscient! I don’t have all the answers!”

The Lich began to chant—a low, droning sound that made the shadows in the room pulse and writhe. Dark energy coiled around Elise’s form, sinking into her skin, spreading the corruption further.

Gill’s eyes widened. He grabbed Seraphina’s arm, his voice dropping to a frantic whisper.

“That chant—he’s deepening the possession! The princess is already lost to consciousness, but there’s still a chance!” He swallowed hard. “You have to make her unconscious! Force her body to shut down! It might break the Lich’s hold long enough for—I don’t know—something!”

Seraphina stared at him, her mind racing. Knock Elise unconscious. The very thought made her stomach turn.

But Gill was already pushing her forward. “GO! Before it’s too late!”

The Lich’s chant grew louder. The shadows darkened. And Elise’s form began to change—her body shifting, warping, becoming something less human and more monstrous.

Seraphina’s Oath blazed.

She charged.

Seraphina’s blade swept toward the Lich in a devastating arc, silver-gold light trailing behind it like a comet’s tail.

“CHARGE!”

The Lich raised one hand, blackened and corrupted—and caught the blade mid-swing. Flesh met steel, and the sword stopped cold, unable to advance even a millimeter.

“Impressive,” the Lich murmured, his crimson eyes gleaming with something almost like respect. “Your devotion gives you strength. But devotion alone cannot save her.”

He flicked his wrist, and Seraphina was hurled backward. She twisted in the air, landing in a crouch, her sword already raised for the next attack.

The Lich raised his other hand, dark energy coalescing into a sphere of crackling malevolence. “Necrotic Spear.”

The projectile shot toward Seraphina with blinding speed. She dodged—barely—the spear grazing her shoulder and leaving a burning line across her skin. The wound didn’t bleed; it simply… died, the flesh around it turning grey and numb.

Seraphina’s eyes narrowed. She flowed into motion again, circling left, her Oath blazing brighter as she pushed through the pain. Her blade swept up in a rising diagonal, aimed at the Lich’s exposed flank.

The Lich’s barrier materialized just in time, the sword sparking against it uselessly. But Seraphina had already changed direction, flowing into another strike from a different angle.

The Lich anticipated it. A wave of force sent her stumbling, and before she could recover, the undead abominations surged forward.

They came at her from all sides—bone and rotting flesh, crimson eyes blazing with stolen life. Seraphina’s blade became a blur, cutting through one, then another, then a third. But for every one she felled, two more took its place.

She fought on, her Oath flickering but holding, her body screaming but refusing to yield.

Gill, meanwhile, had made his way across the ruined room. He moved carefully, stepping over debris and the fallen, his eyes fixed on the two broken figures crumpled against the far wall.

Reinfort looked up as he approached, his old face a mask of pain and suspicion. Valdris stirred beside him, groaning, the Light Core on his chest flickering weakly.

Gill stopped a few feet away, looking down at them with an expression of weary amusement. He adjusted his glasses, which had somehow remained intact through everything.

“Wow… you two look terrible.” His voice was dry, sardonic—the same tone he’d used with Seraphina in the cells. “Need a hand? Or should I just stand here and enjoy the view?”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep