Chapter 223

On a small, rounded hillock, a tall, muscular skeleton of dark purple-golden hue bent its body and let out a horn-like howl, causing the entire earth to boil as countless skeletons and zombies surged forward with the sound.

Behind it, rows of golden skeletons, piles of silver skeletons, batches of iron-skinned and copper-skinned zombies stood in neat formation.

The most conspicuous among them was a three-meter-tall, robust skeleton.

To describe a skeleton as "robust" was already strange—after all, a skeleton was nothing but bones; how could it be robust?

Yet this skeleton was undeniably robust—its joints thick, its bones stout, its fingers and toes short and blunt, clearly solid and sturdy.

Moreover, it was a golden skeleton—three meters tall, powerfully built, its combat potential likely terrifying. Yet right now, it stood cautiously, hunched like a quail, shrinking itself into itself.

"Move away, move away, don't push, be careful," the timid golden skeleton muttered in a muffled voice, gently nudging its kind aside.

One misstep, too much force—snap—the head of a gray-bone skeleton tumbled off.

"Oh, fell off…" the golden skeleton lamented guiltily, hurrying over on tiptoes to pick up the head, trying to reattach it.

But as it lifted the gray-bone skeleton's frame, crack—the ribs snapped under its grip, two of them broken.

"Oh, broken… sorry…" the golden skeleton murmured in remorse, attempting again—lifted once more—crack—the lumbar vertebrae shattered.

The golden skeleton's voice trembled as if about to cry: "I knew it… I can't do anything right… I'm such a fool…"

The Grand Sage, drifting over, sighed: "Big Bone, just toss it into a pile."

"Oh." Big Bone promptly hurled the skeleton's head and frame onto the ground—this time, the arm bone came loose.

Crack, crack—the gray-bone skeleton's head rolled onto its cervical vertebrae, snapped back into place, grabbed the detached arm bone, and swiftly reattached it, pushing itself up with both hands, crawling several body-lengths away before realizing something was missing.

It turned, snatched up its lower half, didn't even bother reattaching it, and scrambled away on all fours until safely distant, then turned back and silently opened and closed its jaw at Big Bone.

Big Bone scratched its head, dejected: "Sorry…"

The Grand Sage sighed: "Big Bone, you need to be fiercer. If you were fiercer, these lowly skeletons wouldn't dare come near you. Your strength is too great, your body too hard—even light bumps can knock them apart."

"Oh…" Big Bone replied, slumped for a moment, then suddenly raised its head, flailing its arms wildly, adopting a fearsome, clawing posture, and bellowed "Aoo! Aoo!" loudly.

After finishing, it asked: "Am I fierce now?"

The Grand Sage's form nearly unraveled from stifled laughter, nodding with difficulty: "Fierce! So fierce! You scared me half to death."

As it spoke, it released its aura—the aura of a Death Sage, a Grand Sage—its presence tangible to ordinary skeletons. Instantly, the lowly skeletons and zombies scattered over ten meters away.

"Aoo~ Aoo~" Big Bone thought it had truly frightened them, and began waving its limbs wildly, showing off like a cute little thing.

The Grand Sage shook his head and drifted toward the purple-gold skeleton, soon arriving behind it: "Harvey, why are you here? You haven't come to the front in nearly three hundred years."

The purple-gold skeleton, Harvey, turned and nodded at the Grand Sage: "A few days ago, on the communication bone tablet, someone claimed to be the God of Undeath."

"Oh, you mean that? Fake. Clearly some human child found the bone tablet and started babbling randomly," said the Grand Sage.

He had heard that transmission too—when the voice on the other end swore it was the God of Undeath, he'd felt something strangely peculiar, wondering how the Undead Empire was faring now, how the King was.

Harvey shook his head: "I'm not talking about humans. I'm talking about our soul—the soul at the frontline relay station."

"Oh, heh, young ones get excited easily. Those at the relay station are all undead or liches born less than a thousand years ago, many even born in this plane—they can't control their emotions. Don't take it personally," the Grand Sage explained.

Harvey glanced back at him, tone odd: "Grand Sage, you don't think I came here to punish someone, do you?"

"Of course not," the Grand Sage shook his head. "The new Undead King, Lord of Mourning, the purple-gold skeleton Harvey—how could you possibly come all this way over something so trivial? There must be something important. So why are you here?"

Harvey did not answer immediately, but looked up at the sky, lost in thought.

The Grand Sage followed his gaze upward—but apart from the inverted bands of light, the sky was no different than usual.

After a long silence, Harvey suddenly spoke: "Do you think the King is still alive?"

The Grand Sage froze, hesitated, then said: "Probably… maybe… likely not. Didn't we already discuss this before? Why bring it up now?"

"Then why haven't we perished along with him?" Harvey asked.

"At the final moment, we all felt the soul-link severed. Perhaps the King used some power to forcibly cut the soul network, allowing us to survive," the Grand Sage replied.

They had debated this thousands of times over the past three centuries—long ago reached consensus. Now the Grand Sage recited it like reading from a record.

"So I'm just the new Undead King… unable to become a loyal warrior for the King, like Locke did?" Harvey said, regretful.

He paused, then continued: "We've reached consensus—the King is gone. Breaking through the human lines to return to the Palace of Rest is meaningless. That's why I've avoided the front for years—better to sleep quietly and strengthen my bones."

"But after hearing that young soul's cry, I realized I was wrong."

"We've reached consensus—we've confirmed the King's death. But these young souls haven't. They may still believe the Undead Empire endures."

"They think they're merely blocked by humans—if they break through the lines, they can return to the Palace of Rest and kneel before His Majesty, becoming the King's subjects."

"For these young souls, I feel I must act. Seven hundred years ago, when I first broke through to Lord of Mourning, my power was unstable. Today, it is solid—I am a true Lord of Mourning. The human lines cannot stop me."

"It is time for the Palace of Rest to welcome its new master."