"This is the 222,339th time..."
The dull sword, the only thing left over from the Great War four thousand years ago, has always been with me — has finally shattered into pieces.
Only my spectral stone remains. Despite my attempts to shatter it in every way, it has not been untouched.
On the contrary, it increasingly radiates the thick, disgusting smell of decay.
I have long since forgotten the screams of my comrades.
Amidst the flames that scorched the last stronghold that day, I too had forgotten the reason I sold my soul to the abyss.
In exchange for power?
To stop them from dying?
Or was it simply a way to cling to something in utter despair?
Whatever it was, the price has turned me into this...
There is no longer a heart to tremble.
No more blood to shed tears.
I am a creature that even death turns away from in disdain.
Only a barren will clings to the remnants of memory.
They call me Lich.
A corpse, cursed by immortality.
Born of mistakes and late regrets.
I used to be human.
Now..
I am just a tattered shadow of myself.
And even...
I can hardly remember my own name.