[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-black-dragon-necromancer":3,"chapter-black-dragon-necromancer-black-dragon-necromancer-chapter-139":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},2312899,4521,"Chapter 139: Beacon","black-dragon-necromancer-chapter-139",139,"\u003Cp>Do not fully trust the words of devils; this is a ironclad law repeatedly emphasized in the Long Zhi legacy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fei Nuo behaved with elegance, sincerity, even excessive enthusiasm; every word he spoke seemed crafted for your benefit, but Sakavi knew it was merely because the entrance to every trap is always covered in flowers and honey. Yet the map he gave was real.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The scent of age on the parchment—the centuries-deep layers of dust, mold, and some preservative herb—was not forged.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sakavi lightly tapped the edge of the parchment with his claw-tip. Ku Hai Yu Zhao—a name he had never heard before. Fei Nuo said it lay somewhere in the 72nd Abyssal Plane, on a forgotten continent, beneath the shadow of Shi Ying Mountains.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But the 72nd Abyssal Plane was as vast as an endless black ocean; demon lords carved out territories and waged war against each other, even they could not say how large this plane was or how many continents it held.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But the Soul Prison… Sakavi’s vertical pupils contracted slightly. He had heard of that place. It existed only in fragments of the Long Zhi legacy, in the hushed whispers of necromancers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was the most terrifying prison known, holding souls enslaved for over ten thousand years by successive Abyssal Lords—warriors, mages, dragons, even angels. No one knew its exact location, and no one had ever taken anything out of it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sakavi needed to verify it himself, but he could not bring his dragon beasts or anyone else. In this demon-dominated 72nd Plane, any large-scale movement might draw unwanted attention.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Moreover, if Fei Nuo was lying, and if what waited for him in that marsh was not an undead army but a trap, he alone could ensure his own escape. Sakavi rose, spreading his dragon wings. The old wound at the base of his left wing still throbbed, but he no longer cared.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Go see,” he murmured. Sakavi flew for two full days along the direction marked on the map.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He flew for an entire day. He crossed the sulfur wastelands, the boiling rivers of magma, a basin still smoking from the footsteps of some colossal creature.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The dark red sky hung perpetually overhead like a ceiling about to collapse. The sulfur scent grew thicker, mixed with blood and charred stench, drying his throat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Occasionally, winged demons dove from the clouds; Sakavi ignored them. His size dwarfed theirs, and his dragon aura was enough to make most low-tier demons avoid him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The next day, the terrain changed. Black magma rock gave way to gray-white dust—like ash, like lime, like something weathered for countless years. The sulfur scent faded, replaced by a cloying stench of decay—not demon, but human death.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sakavi lowered altitude, gliding close to the ground. Dust rose from his wings like gray smoke. Cracks on the surface deepened and widened; through them he saw dark red substances below, like congealed blood. He did not know where he was.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He landed at the edge of a cliff.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Below the cliff stretched a gray-white wasteland, scattered with massive, weathered rock pillars. Their shapes were irregular—some like humans, some like beasts, some like creatures too ancient to recognize, long extinct.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They were not natural formations; Sakavi could tell. The pillars bore carvings, but time had worn them smooth, leaving no trace of their patterns.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He crouched, scraping his claw-tip across the rock beneath him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The rock was hard but brittle, like charred bone. He scraped off a layer of powder and brought it to his nose. Not limestone—it was bone dust.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sakavi’s vertical pupils contracted. He rose, scanning the surroundings. Those massive pillars, those weathered shapes resembling humans and beasts—they were bones. Tens of thousands of bones, buried for countless years, crushed and then re-solidified.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The entire wasteland beneath his feet was a tomb.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But he found nothing more. The wasteland was too vast, the bones too numerous, yet none of what he sought—nothing he could use to “awaken” the undead.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>These bones had been dead too long; their souls had long scattered, or been taken by some demon lord, turned into darker fuel. What remained were mere shells—bone dust weathered into stone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sakavi circled the wasteland for a full day. He found more bones—piled in deep ravines, sunk beneath the dark red lakes, buried under volcanic ash. Some still bore fragments of shattered armor and weapons, rusted, crumbling at a touch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The map bore no name for this region. Perhaps it never had one. Perhaps all who knew its name were already dead. On the third day, he saw the sea.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The water was black—not the black of midnight, but the kind that made your soul feel sucked in at a glance. The surface held no waves, only a slow, heavy undulation, like the breath of a colossal beast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Far off, where sea met sky, a band of dark red light stretched—a wound slowly bleeding. Chi Bo Islands—the plane’s coordinates.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sakavi did not stop. He spread his wings, flying against the biting wind from the sea. Something moved beneath the water—massive, occasionally surfacing with a white trail.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He flew high, at least five hundred meters above the surface, yet he still felt their gaze—greedy, hungry, as if watching meat falling from the sky. North of the islands lay a new continent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>From above, the continent resembled a skinned corpse. Its gray-white surface was covered in thick dust—no green, no black, only endless gray-white, occasionally split by dark red fissures like fresh bloodstains.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Suddenly, a wind blew from the north, carrying a scent he had never smelled before—a faint, ashy odor like charred leaves. He followed the wind’s direction; on the northern horizon, a dark silhouette emerged—mountains.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sakavi spread his dragon wings and flew north.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He flew for three days.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not because it was far, but because it was too dangerous. The farther north he went, the more demons there were. They were no longer mere scavengers feeding on corpses, but organized, disciplined armies under the command of some powerful lord.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Berserker demons lined the plains, Soul-Judgers patrolled the skies, and on several occasions, Sakavi sensed the presence of demigod-tier demons—like dark red lightning splitting from distant mountains, sweeping across the wasteland.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had to detour, flying low, hiding in ravines and fissures, slipping between demon patrols. Once, he nearly was spotted by a Soul-Judger—it flew less than two hundred meters above his head; he could even see the cracks in its carapace and the pus oozing from them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sakavi held his breath, his scales pressed flat against the cliff wall, motionless. The Soul-Judger’s vertical pupils swept over the rock crevice where he hid—stayed for less than a second—then continued onward.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sakavi waited until its presence vanished completely before crawling out of the crevice. His scales were slick with cold sweat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the fourth day, he finally saw Shi Ying Mountains.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was a black mountain range, formed by countless massive, petrified bones stacked together like its skeleton. Between the bones lay black volcanic rock and gray-white bone dust, like the mangled corpse of some forcibly stitched, monstrous beast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sakavi hovered at the mountain’s edge, scanning the bones. He recognized some—dragon ribs, titan pelvises, the skull of a creature he had never seen, three times larger than a dragon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>These beings had been legendary, even demigod-tier in life; even after thousands of years of death, their bones still radiated faint pressure.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If Ku Hai Yu Zhao was here, if Fei Nuo’s ancient battlefield was here, then the mountain range beneath his feet was its tombstone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sakavi flew along the southern foothills, searching for any terrain matching “Ku Hai Yu Zhao.” But at the mountain’s base lay only endless gray-white wasteland and occasional smoking craters—no marsh, no mud, nothing worthy of the name “ Yuzhao .”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Until he reached the eastern stretch of the range.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The terrain changed abruptly. The gray-white wasteland gave way to a dark green depression—the ground wet, soaked as if submerged.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The air reeked of a cloying, decaying stench—not of corpses, but of something older, colder. Sakavi lowered altitude and landed at the depression’s edge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His claws sank into soft, black mud—thick, viscous, like half-solidified asphalt. He scraped with his claw-tip; beneath it lay a hard, gray-white layer—bones. Again, bones.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sakavi rose, scanning the depression. It was vast—beyond sight. The surface was covered in a dark green, moss-like substance, slimy underfoot, like walking on rotting skin.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thick fog filled the air—gray-white, cloying with decay—obscuring everything beyond ten meters.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sakavi hovered above the marsh, scanning below. He felt something beneath—the air carried an ancient, purer, buried death, older than any demon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That presence prickled his scales like cold needles. He descended, diving into the thick gray-white mist. The fog was denser than it appeared; inside, he could barely see ten meters ahead.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The air grew damp and cold, like entering an ice vault. Acidic mist condensed into fine droplets on his scales, faintly corrosive, hissing softly. Sakavi paid no mind—black dragon scales resisted acid; this level of mist could not harm him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He flew less than fifteen minutes before encountering his first trouble—living demons of the marsh. A group of creatures, hybrids of giant salamanders and crocodiles, erupted from the sludge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Each exceeded five meters in length, their gray-white scales covered in tumor-like nodules and moss, two curved bone spines rising from their backs like chimneys puffing white smoke, limbs short and thick, webbed claws splayed like five curved scythes, eyes milky white without pupils, yet glowing with a sickly green luminescence deep within.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sakavi recognized them from the Long Zhi legacy: Gray Marsh Stalkers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Apex predators of marshlands, feeding on carrion and any living thing, hostile to all intruders.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The first Stalker leapt from the sludge, jaws gaping to reveal two rows of inward-curving, nail-like teeth, lunging straight for Sakavi’s left hind leg.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sakavi halted midair, flapping his wings sharply backward; the blast of air flipped the Stalker over. It crashed into the sludge, splashing black water, but immediately rolled upright, unharmed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Its scales were too thick—ordinary attacks could not pierce them. Meanwhile, two others lunged from either side; Sakavi did not retreat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He dove, right claw gripping the Stalker’s upper jaw, left claw gripping its lower jaw, then tore violently. A crisp crack echoed over the marsh—the Stalker’s head was ripped cleanly in two, gray-white blood spraying over him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Another Stalker seized his left hind leg. Teeth pierced his scales, sank into flesh; pain jolted through Sakavi. He did not turn, but whipped his tail backward.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The bony tip of his tail pierced the Stalker’s eye socket. It shrieked, releasing its grip. Sakavi soared upward, fleeing the area.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Four blood holes marred his leg; black blood dripped down his scales. He glanced down—the wounds were shallow but painful. “Strong,” he muttered. He continued flying deeper into the marsh.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The deeper he went, the thicker the fog. Gray-white, cloying mist rose from the surface like countless hands grasping his wings. His vertical pupils lost function in the haze; he relied solely on hearing and smell.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The marsh held more than one kind of demon. He encountered more Gray Marsh Stalkers—three, five, sometimes entire packs. They erupted from the sludge, burst from the skeletons of dead plants, or rose suddenly from gray-white foam. Each tried to bite him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sakavi killed one after another. His claws were caked in gray-white blood, his wings pitted by acid mist, his left hind leg still oozing—but he did not stop. These demons could not stop him; they only drained his strength and patience.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What he truly sought was Fei Nuo’s ancient battlefield. The map marked its location at the marsh’s heart. Sakavi followed the route for nearly two hours—then the fog began to thin. Not because it dispersed, but because he had flown beyond it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fei Nuo had not lied. The battlefield was here. The undead were here.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But he found no bones, no “key” to control these undead. Not because he lacked power, but because someone—or something—had hidden the key.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sakavi hovered in the mist, silent for a long time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The devil gave him the map, pointed the direction, even hinted at the Soul Prison. But he gave no beacon. He made Sakavi come himself, discover it himself, then draw his own conclusion: without the beacon, he could do nothing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was Fei Nuo’s scheme.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He used no lies to deceive—he made Sakavi see these undead, hear their wails, touch this forgotten tomb. Then he let Sakavi ask himself: Do you want them? Do you want this power? Then go take the prisoners from the Soul Prison to claim them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When Sakavi returned to the Infernal Volcano, his old wound at the base of his left wing had split open—from twisting violently to evade a Soul-Judger during his passage through demon patrols. Blood dripped down his scales, sizzling as it hit the black magma rock.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He did not pause to treat the wound. He crouched before the map, vertical pupils fixed on the ancient lines, his mind racing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Soul Prison—Fei Nuo wanted the prisoners within. Souls imprisoned for millennia by some ancient demon lord, powerful, many legendary-tier, their warden a demigod.\u003C\u002Fp>",2194,"2026-06-20T13:10:04.638Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","f104becb68a4d901a298638eafd8fb1d5b60a7fb196f0faa34079d6f75575866","black-dragon-necromancer-chapter-140","black-dragon-necromancer-chapter-138",145,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fblack-dragon-necromancer-cover.jpg"]