Chapter 73

Thick, emerald-green poison mist hung dense as solid matter in the depths of the swamp, the air heavy with the cloying stench of rotting vegetation. Black mud bubbled with bubbles, releasing neurotoxic fumes. This was a cradle of death, a source of negative energy—an ideal environment for necromancy.

On this tranquil evening, an oppressive pressure suddenly descended upon the swamp, silent yet suffocating, causing even hunters to tremble; even deadly predators like the Ghoul Fungus were forced to feign harmlessness, dimming their presence.

At that moment, a withered humanoid figure clad in a hooded robe appeared hastily atop a rock, clearly unfamiliar with his location, glancing wildly about; the glow on the bone staff in his hand revealed his formidable power—and simultaneously exposed his position within the thick mist.

“Dear Lord Necromancer, what are you seeking? I might be of assistance—the price being only your life and possessions.”

“Black Dragon, I have no grievance with you. There’s no need for a fight. Let me go—I’ll give you all my research. Knowledge cannot be bought with gold; if I destroy it, you gain nothing.”

“What if I extract your soul and seal it within a vessel? Then I could summon you whenever I need knowledge.”

“Your greed knows no bounds, Black Dragon—you will pay for this. I have no wish to fight you today. Stop him.” As he spoke, two undead swamp horrors suddenly rose from the mire, their decaying forms terrifying—but to a necromancer, they posed no real threat.

As they lunged forward with clawed limbs, a spear of pure decay energy struck and shattered their soul containers; within seconds, the two swamp horrors collapsed into piles of rotting sludge. But the brief respite was enough for the necromancer to flee the perilous swamp—yet fate seemed to mock him once more.

“I forgot to mention: this swamp is sealed by a ward. Only one sentient being may leave alive. This seal is called the ‘Silent Corridor,’ designed specifically to trap those who excel at escape.”

Seeing escape impossible, Naxos struck first. His mouth, formed from vengeful spirits, opened and closed soundlessly, unleashing a soul-deep shriek: “Wail of the Dead.” Where the sonic wave passed, the mud exploded, forcibly dragging forth countless tormented souls trapped within, transforming them into arrows of vengeful spirits—a green storm of projectiles lashing toward Sakavi.

Sakavi did not move. He let out a low dragon’s roar, and instantly, a semi-transparent barrier of colossal screaming faces formed before him. The spirit arrows struck the barrier—not piercing it, but being consumed and assimilated, thickening and solidifying it further.

The necromancer’s eye sockets blazed with intensified ghost fire; two ashen beams shot toward the Black Dragon. This was the ultimate expression of a death spell—capable of directly stripping away vitality, withering flesh and shattering souls. Facing this dire threat, the Black Dragon instantly swapped places with a venomous corpse-ghoul. The moment the beams struck, the ghoul emitted a chilling scream as its body began to rot and wither.

Naxos finally showed alarm. He realized the Black Dragon’s mastery of necromancy far exceeded his expectations. He activated his final trump card, raising his pulsing dark heart high above: “Planar Assimilation! With this as core, I am the swamp—the swamp is me!”

The entire Blighted Swamp’s negative energy surged into a frenzy, rushing toward him. His form swelled violently, attempting to fuse temporarily with the plane’s death laws, becoming a semi-planar consciousness immune to conventional destruction.

“Manipulating rules? Interesting. But your understanding of ‘death’ is far too narrow.”

“Domain: Stripping.”

No light. No explosion. Only an absolute, conceptual force.

The moment the incantation left his lips, a “definition” was forcibly rewritten around Valakar. The planar death laws merging with Naxos were violently torn apart and peeled away—as if invisible hands had ripped the necromancer from the very web of his own “planar avatar.”

“No—!” Naxos screamed a soul-shattering cry. He felt his connection to his soul container—the dark heart—fading, severed entirely from the swamp. His swollen form deflated like a punctured bladder, collapsing back into his fragile original body of venom and withered bone.

“Since my last battle with a certain devil, I’ve completely overhauled the rules governing borrowed power. Within the ‘Silent Corridor,’ the rules adapt dynamically to circumstance.”

As he spoke, Sakavi seized the moment when Naxos was reeling from rule backlash, his magic still unsteady, and sealed his soul. When no soul-response came, the body instantly crumbled to dust. Finally, the necromancer’s soul, still cursing, was sealed within a pre-prepared rhombic green magic crystal.

The necromancer’s treasury lay within a vast underground cavern illuminated by negative-energy crystals. The air was icy, carrying the scent of parchment, preservatives, and soul dust. Valakar walked among the shelves in humanoid form; Sakavi’s molten-gold vertical pupils scanned rows of bookshelves crafted from oak and beast bone, filled with hunger for knowledge.

“The Compendium of Soul Weaving”: A thick leather-bound tome made from monstrous hide, systematically detailing how he wove fragmented souls into stronger vengeful spirits—and even granted them rudimentary intelligence. This went beyond mere enslavement, bordering on the creation of undead consciousness.

“The Theory of Negative Energy Ecological Cycles”: A series of complex charts and papers meticulously documenting how the Blighted Swamp functioned as a natural negative-energy reactor, automatically generating and sustaining specific undead creatures—such as venomous corpse-ghouls and bone raptors. It was equivalent to a blueprint and maintenance manual for an automated undead arms factory.

“Planar Anchors and Resonance with Death Laws”: An extremely valuable research manuscript. Naxos sought to decipher the plane’s own rules and resonate his soul container with them, aiming to replicate the “semi-planar avatar” effect he achieved in battle.

In the laboratory, Sakavi uncovered several intriguing items: dozens of magically sealed crystal vials, each containing purified, distinct types of special souls—from angry crimson soul-fire to despairing blue ghost light—precious reagents for advanced necromancy.

In several specially preserved containers, submerged undead “prototypes” floated: one with a negative-energy crystal implanted in its chest, another whose bones were inscribed with microscopic runes. They lay dormant—once activated, they became ready-made elite units.

According to the unfinished manuscript, the necromancer was currently researching how to replicate his own soul and inject it into other necromancers’ bodies, extending his will to perform dangerous tasks.

This experiment deeply intrigued Sakavi. His own flesh golems had always lacked combat power due to insufficient soul strength—a problem he had never solved.

In this multiverse, golem constructs were not uncommon. Many powerful empires could produce elemental or mechanical golems capable of challenging demigods, even possessing limited autonomous thought.

Obviously, they were infused with intact souls—but Sakavi had only heard of such golems. The necromancer’s few special souls might be usable; he could attempt crafting a few unique golems.

Yet a place teeming with unknown dangers was no place for experimentation. After sealing the entire laboratory within his domain, Sakavi began searching the necromancer’s possessions. No mage was ever poor.

Not only did experiments require expensive materials, but even crafting a few magical items or selling engraved objects brought in piles of gold. Unless born wealthy, every mage knew at least a few profitable spells.

Inside the necromancer’s vault, Sakavi found not only vast quantities of gold, but also ornate jewelry imbued with cruel curses. Naxos collected them not to wear, but to trap jewelers or human nobles—common tactics among chaotic evil factions to acquire wealth.

Beyond such ordinary items lay dozens of perfectly cut crystals, each imprisoning a powerful, pure soul. These soul prisms were hard currency on the Astral black market; many lawful-aligned powers, needing souls for golems or sentient constructs, purchased them from necromancers—since the Pantheon monopolized ordinary souls.

In an unassuming corner, a chest held countless flawless rubies and black diamonds—not merely secular wealth, but also power reservoirs, spell catalysts, and foundational stones for permanent arrays. Each gem had been meticulously selected, flawless, ready for immediate use.

Most astonishing of all: not a single weapon was found. Clearly, this necromancer was a pure scholar. No wonder the entire plane’s elite had been eradicated—he, a legendary necromancer, still hid deep in the swamp conducting experiments. He likely had nowhere else to go.

Yet Sakavi had always loathed the practice of torturing sentient beings for magical research, never permitting his subordinates to engage in such acts. No matter how valuable a necromancer might be, he would never accept one. Typically, lawful-aligned factions used Kuo-toa for research; since they claimed Kuo-toa weren’t sentient, Sakavi had no objection.