Chapter 515: I Love Magical Duels the Most

The hearse glided through the air, leaving a long, dark trail that radiated an aura of death.

The Lich King Alanbru stood atop the hearse, gazing down at the black earth with a troubled expression: "The Star Burst Array will strike the Annihilation Barrier soon, but we still haven't found a way to rescue Your Majesty—what are we to do? That damned Gust has claimed he found a solution, hasn't he?"

Alanbru had been told that in four or five months, the Star Burst Array would be fully charged and strike the Annihilation Barrier to eliminate the Undead Monarch—now four months were nearly gone.

Unfortunately, if he had known Ang and been close to him, Ang might have told him that the Star Burst Array showed no signs of energy accumulation.

The Life God's spores had quietly spread through every ventilation duct and sewer line of the Star Burst Array; if the Array had emitted powerful energy, the spores would have been the first to detect it.

Alanbru muttered to himself, not expecting any reply, continuing in a low voice: "Gust, that old undead, claims to have secret sources but won't say what they are. This sneaky behavior—could it possibly be the Church of Light giving him intel? Why else would he be so secretive?"

"If the source were humans or the Mage Alliance, he wouldn't be hiding it—getting intel from the Mage Alliance is a sign of skill. He only keeps quiet when the source violates everyone's taboos, even from me."

"Damn it, how did this old undead get mixed up with the Church of Light? Don't let me find proof, or I'll have to clean up his mess." Alanbru grumbled in frustration.

One of the undead knights ahead turned back and shouted: "My King, we're approaching the Undead Temple—shall we pay our respects?"

Alanbru shook his head: "No time. Just toss a soul crystal to that clever little bone when we pass."

"Got it." The undead knight replied, then turned back—but soon, the undead knights shouted in unison: "My King, look!"

Alanbru followed their gaze and saw a colossal dragon statue.

"Who carved a dragon here?" was his first thought—but then he realized:

"No, it's not a statue—it's a petrified dragon? The petrified dragon Dahrhan Diyawala from the Hall of Knowledge—who moved it here? Gust? Why didn't he tell me? Let's go down and check."

Alanbru clearly knew the petrified dragon—even the dragon before it petrified—and this led him to a massive misconception: he assumed Gust had ordered it moved.

Because no one else knew that deep within the main hall of the Hall of Knowledge lay a petrified dragon—and that this dragon was key to many souls gaining wisdom.

The undead cavalry guided the hearse down to the ground; as they drew closer, Alanbru saw the terrain clearly—and beneath the petrified dragon, the Resurrection Altar.

"Huh? Wait—the Resurrection Altar's been repaired? Who fixed it?" Alanbru exclaimed, immediately sensing something was wrong.

Gust might move the petrified dragon without telling him, but he'd never repair the Resurrection Altar without informing him—it was Alanbru himself who oversaw its construction.

It was as absurd as Ang building the World Transit Station without telling Du Luo.

"Be careful—something's off." Alanbru called out loudly.

The undead cavalry, however, were unconcerned—this was the Plains of Rest, and farther south lay the Undead Abyss—what could possibly be wrong?

Still, they went through the motions, drawing their weapons—mostly lances, since lances could double as javelins.

Just as they neared the ground, a little girl suddenly leapt out from beneath the petrified dragon.

"Where did this girl come from? Watch out—don't hurt… wait—Holy Light?! Watch out!" Alanbru had just warned them not to harm her, but the next instant he was stunned by the surge of Holy Light radiating from the little angel.

The little angel raised her hands—then paused, remembering something, scratched her head, sighed irritably, and with a sharp thrust of her back, unfurled a pair of true wings.

"Battle Bird? Why is there a Battle Bird here? How did she get here? Are the Patrollers blind?!" Alanbru gasped in shock.

After unfurling her true wings, the little angel slowly opened a second pair of light wings. She had been repeatedly warned: don't unleash blinding Holy Light—take it slow, draw the enemy's attention.

The little angel hated this. Why not just unleash the big move and have fun? But there was no choice—among all of them, only she and Anthony had the strongest Holy Light presence. Anthony had other duties—so it fell to her to draw the enemy's focus.

"Four-winged Battle Bird! Watch out!" one undead knight shouted, hurling his lance.

The long lance became a streaking bolt, piercing toward the little angel.

The little angel tilted her body, her light wings blasting outward, propelling her sharply sideways. As the wings kept firing, a third pair unfolded—and with them, she pulled out the Archangel's Staff.

"Cheated Kangxi"

"Supreme Holy Spirit?! That one from Northwind City! No—Northwind City had two Supreme Holy Spirits! Watch out for the other one!" Alanbru shouted a warning.

The Dragon Lich Nosalo had already reported to everyone about encountering two six-winged archangels and the Pope in Northwind City. Since no six-winged angels or Pope had appeared in years, the news had drawn serious attention—and Alanbru knew it well.

Yet here, so close to the Undead Abyss, a six-winged archangel appeared—where was the other six-winged archangel and the teleporting Pope?

The thought had barely formed when Ang leapt out from the other side of the petrified dragon, flipped onto its back, and drew forth a row of Holy Light missiles.

The little angel was merely a distraction—Ang was the true artillery suppressing the undead cavalry. Instantly, every undead knight was pinned down by the barrage of Holy Light missiles.

Alanbru slammed his staff down, preparing to suppress Ang—when suddenly, a premonition struck him. He whipped his head to the opposite direction—and saw a flash of light at the third vertex of the equilateral triangle formed by Ang and the little angel.

Alanbru shattered a bone amulet on his chest at once—a bubble-like ring exploded outward.

Everything around slowed—then rapidly expanded with the bursting "bubble." Anything caught within it became excruciatingly slow—including a purple-gold skeleton.

Feti was stunned by this "slowing" effect. Everything moved in agonizing slowness, yet his thoughts and reactions remained normal. He watched helplessly as Alanbru swiftly drew his staff, chanted a spell, and prepared to strike.

Feti felt as if he'd passed through an invisible barrier—the slowing effect vanished instantly. His speed returned to normal—but he immediately plunged into another invisible "sludge."

"Superb Slow?" Negril peered out, murmuring. If magic had tiers, Slow was tierless—a level-one mage could cast it, an Arcane Master could cast it—only the effect varied.

Alanbru's Slow was clearly superb—it could slow Feti, a Lord of the Dead. He continuously cast Slow, and the hearse drifted backward, increasing the distance between him and Feti.

Simultaneously, he summoned wave after wave of wraiths, ferociously lunging at Feti, clinging to him, circling him, dragging him.

These wraiths couldn't harm a Lord of the Dead—but combined with the Slow, they forcibly delayed Feti's movement until he was brought to a complete stop.

"This… Feti was actually stopped? This lich is terrifying." Negril exclaimed in shock.

Silba, peering over beside him, said: "It's normal—Lich King Alanbru, a Truth Mage, is extremely powerful. If his followers hadn't been held back and slowed by the Master, the lances might've already been thrown… hey, where are the undead knights?"

Everyone's attention had been fixed on Feti and Alanbru's clash—no one had noticed Ang. Now they turned—and saw the twelve undead knights were gone. Ang swung a massive Holy Light scythe, its blade hanging twelve flickering soul flames.

"This… so fast? These undead knights are that weak? What's that? A Holy Light Scythe? Why does it look like a Death Scythe?" Silba gasped.

Negril awkwardly scratched at the scales on his waist: "That *is* the Death Scythe. Originally made to fool people into thinking it was for harvesting grain."

Feti had been stopped—his "Flash" naturally broke, forcing him to descend. His Flash required solid ground to activate—he couldn't cast it mid-air, so despite his ability to walk on air, he still needed to land before using Flash.

Alanbru glanced toward Ang—and his expression changed drastically: "Where are my men?!"

Ang instantly unfurled his true wings, his light wings blasting outward, propelling him at high speed toward Alanbru.

"What are you? You're not a Supreme Holy Spirit! Release my men!" Alanbru roared, swinging his staff and unleashing a green wind blade aimed directly at Ang.

Swoosh-swoosh-swoosh-swoosh… Ang loved nothing more than magical duels. Twenty Holy Light missiles blasted out per second, shattering Alanbru's wind blade mid-air.

"Elemental Spear!"

"Wind Loss!"

"Slow!"

"Tornado Blade!"

"Soul Shock!"

For all the previous spells, Ang responded with Holy Light missiles. At this insane rate, Alanbru's magic was useless—overwhelmed by the barrage. Frustrated, Alanbru resorted to the undead's most trusted technique—Soul Shock.

Ang tilted his head back, then calmly returned to position, raised a finger at Alanbru, and cast: Soul Shock!

————Extra Notes————

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