Chapter 405: Subjugating the Lich
The lich knelt on the ground, the ghostly flames in his hollow eye sockets flickering. His frail, decayed body, wrapped in a tattered cloak, trembled violently.
"Your Majesty, but I—"
"No buts."
Cassius interrupted him again, and his claw exerted a bit more force.
The wooden box slightly deformed, emitting a creaking sound that made the lich's spirit quiver, causing his body to tremble even more.
"Submit or die. There is no other option."
"To be honest, I'd enjoy killing you."
Cassius's calm voice echoed through the chaotic hall, and with each word, the air grew heavier.
"Think about it. Your decaying soul, sustained by necromantic magic for centuries—what emotions will it show the moment I destroy it? What a hideous scene that will be."
The red dragon clenched his free left claw.
"Crash!"
With a crisp sound, the crystal lamps in Soulweeper Castle shattered one by one, and the imprisoned wailing souls fled in tears.
"No!"
"I—I submit!"
"Don't kill me!"
The lich's body shrank, looking almost comical. He truly believed his phylactery had been crushed—there was no trace left of the composure he displayed earlier.
Those who pursue immortality fear death the most.
The last time Orest felt such fear was 300 years ago when he realized he was dying of old age.
At that time, he spared no cost in searching for ways to extend his life and eventually discovered the method to transform into a lich in Myrkul's Doomsayer's tomb.
He succeeded.
To continue existing, he abandoned his mortal life and embraced undeath.
However, this wasn't true immortality. The phylactery was a lich's greatest weakness. If destroyed, their decaying soul would perish alongside it—something Orest had always feared.
Thus, for centuries, he devoted almost all his energy to protecting his phylactery while collecting souls to complete Myrkul's tasks.
But now, everything had fallen apart.
The Dragon Emperor who ruled the Northlands had come with overwhelming power, easily destroying all of his defenses and holding his most precious source of life in his claws.
The lich knelt, curling into a ball while muttering, "I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die…"
"Please… don't let me die…"
Memories flashed through his soul: his days of glory as a mage, his hedonistic life in the castle, his fear upon facing death, and the cautious years after becoming a lich.
To him—
Existence was everything.
Living meant everything.
Without existence, everything was meaningless.
In pursuit of immortality, he had turned beautiful, kind elves into banshees, sacrificed loyal servants to dark gods, and even discarded his body to embrace undeath.
If that were the case—
Then surrendering to a dragon and offering everything he had didn't seem like an unacceptable choice.
In the face of existence, freedom was trivial—at least, to the lich Orest.
He raised his head, the ghostly green flames flickering with endless pleading in his hollow eyes. He held up [Myrkul's Bone Staff] as if offering a sacred gift to a deity.
"Your Majesty, I am willing to submit to you."
"As long as… you allow me to continue living, I will offer you the Bewilderment Valley, Soulweeper Castle, and everything else."
Cassius smiled, stepped forward, and spread his wings slightly. The massive shadow enveloped the lich entirely.
"Good, Orest."
"You've made the right choice."
The staff floated into the air and fell into Cassius's claw.
Compared to the dragon's enormous size, the staff looked like a mere toothpick.
This was the same "artifact" that players in the previous era had nearly obtained—until Myrkul's skeletal hand had reclaimed it from the void.
But now, Anzeta was Cassius's empire, and not even gods could interfere so easily.
Cassius examined the staff closely. Its entire length was bone-white, made from sections of vertebrae.
The staff's tip bore a skull insignia representing Myrkul. Its cranium had been hollowed out to house a jet-black negative-energy gem.
[Myrkul's Bone Staff]
Quality: Legendary
Creator: Feroth Bradford
"Know me, fear me. My embrace is open to all. It is patient, yet certain. Death will always find you. My hand reaches everywhere—there is no door it cannot open nor guardian it cannot bypass. —Myrkul, Lord of Bones"
Effects:
[Undead Scourge][Summon Greater Undead]
[Undead Scourge]
9th-circle Necromancy Spell
Unleashes powerful necromantic energy, raising all skeletons within range under your command.
[Summon Greater Undead]
8th-circle Necromancy Spell
A more advanced form of undead summoning, capable of creating shadows, wraiths, specters, revenants, and more.
Cassius toyed with the staff. Although unfamiliar with necromantic magic, he could sense the surging negative energy—it was undoubtedly valuable.
"Orest, I see your sincerity."
The lich breathed a sigh of relief and cautiously asked, "Your Majesty… since I am now your vassal…"
"Then… my phylactery?"
Cassius cast him a glance and chuckled. "Since you've pledged everything to me, doesn't 'everything' include your phylactery?"
"Or are you—"
His tone suddenly grew cold.
"Thinking of breaking our agreement?"
The lich, terrified, immediately lowered his head and repeatedly exclaimed, "No, Your Majesty! I didn't mean that!"
"Good."
"Heh, you should feel honored. Without me, your ridiculous tomb would eventually be breached, and your phylactery would be destroyed."
"Rest assured, I've placed your phylactery somewhere absolutely secure, under my personal protection—"
Cassius deliberately slowed his speech.
"Unless you disobey my orders and force me to act."
The threat was unmistakable, but the lich didn't dare show any resistance.
Orest forced a fawning smile onto his sunken face and replied,
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
"Your grace… I will never forget it."
To have his tomb raided, his phylactery seized, his lair destroyed—and still be forced to offer gratitude, despite being an evil lich, could only be described as—
Truly, a magical world.