[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-black-dragon-necromancer":3,"chapter-black-dragon-necromancer-black-dragon-necromancer-chapter-102":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","Black Dragon Necromancer",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2312862,4521,"Chapter 102","black-dragon-necromancer-chapter-102",102,"\u003Cp>The residual shockwaves from the clash of the High-Stage beings on the distant marshland had not yet reached the main battlefield; beneath the towering walls of Agrik, the battle presented a completely different scene.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The demon army retracted like a receding tide, leaving behind a brief, eerie vacuum between the ruins and charred earth. At its core, the demon lord Goralton stood alone at the front, his swirling sulfurous smoke dimmer than before. He slammed his massive serrated demonic blade into the ground, and dark red runes spread from its tip like defiant bloodstains.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A hoarse, thunderous voice, laced with abyssal power, pierced through the battlefield’s clamor and struck clearly against the weathered walls:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Commander of the defenders—! Dare you face me in a knight’s duel?!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The cry echoed across the corpse-strewn battlefield, carrying the abyssal creatures’ cunning and desperate madness. He knew defeat was certain; this duel was his last chance to reverse his shame—or even the tide of battle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Upon the walls, a chilling silence fell. Then, a figure stepped forward from the summit of the tallest arrow tower, descending like a gray iron falcon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sharut still wore his battered plate armor, scarred from countless battles. He landed without stirring much dust, one hand gripping his unadorned greataxe, its edge glowing with a cold white light, stepping steadily through the parting ranks of defenders toward the dueling ground.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His gaze calmly swept past Goralton, over the remaining High-Stage demons and defending soldiers holding their breath, then returned to his opponent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“As you wish.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The voice was quiet but clear and resolute, rippling through the sudden silence of the battlefield. Sharut was a Master-Stage warrior; facing a Legendary-Stage demon lord, he had no chance of victory. Yet to advance, he needed the right opportunity—this duel was one.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Enemies meeting, eyes blazing—Goralton swung a heavy diagonal slash; Sharut blocked with his axe, but the force crushed him to one knee, cracking the ground instantly. The blade’s “Pain Drain” rule invaded his body, as if countless red-hot hooks were tearing at his soul.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Blood seeped from Sharut’s lips, yet his eyes grew clearer. The pain did not numb him—it hammered like a forge, crushing out every impurity, hesitation, and fear within his consciousness. He felt his years of accumulated, near-instinctive combat experience begin to melt and reforge under this extreme pressure.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After a desperate sidestep roll to evade a spreading Abyssal Nova explosion, Sharut knelt, gasping. His hearing had changed. He no longer heard only Goralton’s roars, the whistle of weapons through air, or his own heartbeat—he began to “hear” more.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The subtle tremors and groans within the metal structure of his greataxe as it absorbed impacts; the faint, heartbeat-like pulse rising from the earth beneath his feet; even the mournful cries of magical elements being repelled by the abyss. This was the warrior’s instinctive perception of the vibrational frequency of existence itself—the precursor to touching the principles of “rules.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Goralton sensed the anomaly. This human, who should have been crushed, now radiated a presence that, though still weak, was like refined iron hammered relentlessly under pressure—growing brighter, sharper.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The demon lord decided to end the game. He gathered immense abyssal power, raised his blade, and a six-meter-long black blade Gang  slowly formed, imbued with the concept of “annihilation,” sealing off every possible escape route for Sharut. This was a Legendary-Stage rule strike— Lilunshang , a Master-Stage warrior could never withstand it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bang!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A sharp, jarring, almost vulgar explosion tore through the heavy air of the dueling ground. The sound was so out of place, like a street thug’s whistle interrupting a solemn symphony.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Goralton’s massive body jolted violently. Right at the center of his chest, armored in thick bone plates capable of withstanding siege hammers, a gaping wound suddenly erupted—filled with metal shards, dark red demonic blood, and seared flesh.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A specially crafted anti-magic conical round, moving faster than sight, had precisely slipped through the slight gaps in his armor caused by rage, drilled deep into the demon’s body, and detonated internally.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The grotesque expression on the Abyssal Lord’s face froze, replaced by pure, almost bewildered shock. He looked down at the wound devouring his magic core, then up at Sharut, who had also paused in surprise—as if he meant to speak.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Legendary-Stage’s vast vitality and the abyssal essence struggled frantically to heal the fatal wound, but Sharut gave him no chance—he raised his axe and struck hard. Goralton’s battle-hardened muscle memory triggered a reflexive backward dodge, but his rapidly draining life force made his movement slightly sluggish.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The next instant, the power sustaining his towering frame vanished like a receding tide. Goralton’s knees buckled, and his massive body crashed to the ground like a falling mountain, kicking up a cloud of sulfurous dust and blood. His demonic blade clattered to the earth, the foul flames burning along its blade flickering weakly before dimming and extinguishing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Ha! How’s that shot taste, Bigtooth?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A hoarse, satisfied voice came from the shadows of the wall. A figure clad in a mottled camouflage cloak leapt nimbly down from the parapet, a long-barreled firearm still wreathed in thin white smoke at its muzzle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He kicked aside the scorching shell casing at his feet, strode forward, and pulled back his hood to reveal a jackal-man face, scarred and caked with gunpowder and dust.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Lucky I pulled the trigger just in time,” he said, casually tapping the still-warm corpse of Goralton with his gun barrel, tone mocking, yet a sharp gleam flashed in his eyes. “Otherwise, you, this newly minted Legendary, wouldn’t have even cooled off before you joined him in the dirt.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Compared to this old acquaintance, Sharut was more curious about his weapon. It was less a gun and more a masterpiece of wild pragmatism—a killing art that perfectly embodied the legendary jackal-man ranger’s combat philosophy: merging cunning long-range hunting with brutal close-quarters combat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>About one and a half meters long, forged entirely from a matte, silver-admixed hardened steel, its lines were rugged and powerful, devoid of any ornamentation, marked only by years of wear and scratches. The grip was wrapped in tanned leather, blackened by decades of sweat and blood.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The barrel was unusually thick and long, its inner walls engraved with spiral runes ensuring projectile accuracy. Midway along the stock, a fist-sized alchemical core crystal was embedded—the weapon’s power source, providing stable, potent energy to the firing mechanism and granting the round penetration effects.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The most striking, most chilling feature was a massive cleaver nearly as long as the gun itself, mounted directly above the barrel via a sturdy hinge mechanism.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Redhair, what the hell did you cook up this time?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sharut wiped the blood from his axe blade and stared at the bizarre gun-blade, his brow furrowing as usual, though a faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at his lips.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Always tinkering with these flashy gadgets…” he shook his head, voice laced with the blunt disdain only old friends could muster, “Tubes and blades—how can you stand the bulk? Only your brain could dream up something like this.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You country bumpkin.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The jackal-man ranger snorted, his rough claws fondly stroking the cold metal and runes of the gun, as if caressing a lover’s face.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Open those eyes of yours, just now learning to see rules, and take a good look—this isn’t some firewood dug from the dirt.” He tapped the barrel, producing a crisp ring.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The night elves themselves drew the plans, tracked down a dwarven master craftsman from the Astral Plane, and spent half a year forging this treasure. Long-range, it picks targets; close-range, it chops meat—far more practical than bows or crossbows!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He grinned, revealing sharp white fangs, lowering his voice with the glee of someone sharing a brilliant conspiracy:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Find a shady corner, hold your breath… wait until those self-important mage lords are mid-incantation, their spells half-formed—‘Bang!’” He mimed pulling the trigger. “Aim for the moment their shields are weak and their spells are sloppy. Few mage skulls can survive this kind of ‘greeting.’”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He patted the massive cleaver mounted on the gun’s back and summed up: “This thing was born to shut the hell up of those bastards hiding behind robes, conjuring fireballs.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Hmph.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sharut slammed his greataxe into the ground with a dull thud. He turned his head, glancing at his friend, who was proudly fiddling with the firearm, and on his blood-smeared face, he pulled a cold, unyielding sneer.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Demons have been gnawing at these walls for three months—and not once did you show your face.” His voice was hoarse from battle, yet each word cut clear: “Now that we’ve broken their bones, you show up with your new toy.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He sized the man up, his gaze sharp as a blade.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Were you hiding in some rat hole, too choked by the stench of sulfur to dare show your face—until you heard we’d won, and remembered you still had four legs to run on?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“If it weren’t for me, Gisk the Great, who spent three months begging those haughty night elves to look down from their trees and see the human world, and who got drunk with a whole valley of stupid trolls—you’d be skinned alive and hung on a flagpole by now!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Ha?” Sharut let out a short, dismissive snort, eyeing Gisk as if he were some rare specimen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You?” He smirked openly. “Were those trolls convinced by your words—or just passed out from the stink of your booze-soaked breath? You’ve drunk with me twenty times—when did you ever make it past the eighth cup without sliding under the table?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He crossed his arms, his greataxe resting casually on his shoulder, watching the other with calm amusement.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“‘Drank a whole valley of trolls under the table’? I bet you passed out first, got carried back to your hut by the trolls themselves.”\u003C\u002Fp>",1638,"2026-06-20T13:10:04.638Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","10b6dbb220ab8a87a13e9c6fd96139abf525090b8b041a774f7235a912ba3bad","black-dragon-necromancer-chapter-103","black-dragon-necromancer-chapter-101",145,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fblack-dragon-necromancer-cover.jpg"]