Deus Necros

Ludwig did not pause to admire the damage. His body was still in motion, still charged with momentum. With the same breath that carried his strike, he twisted midair, his free hand flicking toward his ring. A shimmer of mana sparked across his fingers as the stored weapon within his ring manifested into being. Durandal, no longer in its standard form, unfolded into the sleek curve of a single-handed scythe. The weapon gleamed in the half-light, its edge alive with violet flickers.

Still in the air, Ludwig shifted his grip and rotated his core, swinging the scythe across the Queen’s already-damaged neckline. At the moment of impact, he cast again.

“Explosive mine,” he roared, and just behind the sweeping blade, another charge burst into being.

The detonation cracked the air. The pressure pushed his swing further, dragging Durandal through the Queen’s throat in a clean, severing arc. The roots and tendrils that had only moments before begun to reknit were torn apart again, this time with flame and precision.

[-1,788,477 HP]

[Critical! Decapitation!]

The Queen’s head detached in a rush of vapor and ichor, toppling backward, once again severed from its grotesque perch. Her body buckled from the loss but did not fall, held in place by the anchoring roots she had sunk deep into the soil. Her limbs twitched once, then stiffened.

Ludwig’s boots struck her chest, and he pushed off without hesitation. His back arched as he flipped through the air, twisting just enough to avoid the arms that slammed together where he had been a second before. She was not dead, not yet, and even headless, she remained lethal. Her reaction was blind but full of rage.

He landed several meters away, knees bending to absorb the impact. The ground shuddered beneath his weight, but he held firm. His hand released Oathcarver momentarily as he turned his focus upward, his other palm alight with fire. In the space of a breath, he clenched the flame and shaped it, forging it into a long, slender spear. His stance shifted again. From the base of his feet to the curve of his spine, every undead muscle coiled into a single intention.

He hurled the spear with a shout.

“[Fire Spear!]”

The projectile shot forward, trailing heat and pressure in its wake. As it flew, Ludwig’s foot struck the earth again. “Earth Wall!” he commanded, and the spell took form the instant his heel met the ground. The hardened magic surged upward right under the Queen’s roots raising her up just enough for a small opening. At the same time locking the Queen in a stunned and sudden displacement just as the spear vanished between the Queen’s limbs.

The body jerked at the impact. The ground exploded upward from beneath her as the spear detonated on contact with the roots that remained connected. The resulting flame licked up through her torso, igniting the vines that spread outward from her spine.

[-18,177 HP]

[You have applied Conflagration! All fire-related spells will have their damage increased and the chance to apply Burn doubled.]

The Queen’s corpse caught flame. Not all at once, but in growing patches that spread like fungus in fast-forward. Her limbs twitched again, less from intent and more from muscle memory. The tendrils writhed in protest, but the roots could not put out the fire quickly enough.

“Kakakakakak! Splendid display, you amuse me, lad, one might think you’re born to fight, keep struggling, show me more of what you got,” the werewolf laughed as he watched.

However when Ludwig turned to see him only his mouth was laughing not his eyes.

He didn’t want to reply as he had more matters to tend to, mainly the constant consumption of mana that was required to keep the undead functional.

Ludwig moved again, hand slapping against his belt where a small, blood-colored flask rested inside the storage space of his Soul Letting Lantern. He pulled it out and popped the cork with a flick of his thumb. The Bastos Wine Potion tasted like fermented iron and spoiled lavender, but he downed it in a single swallow, grimacing at the taste.

[Your Mana, Stamina, and Health will regenerate at 200% for the next 8 hours.]

A rush of cold energy spread through his chest, a pulse that sank into the muscles along his arms and legs, washing the dull ache from his joints. His mana surged, a faint glow surrounding him as the potion settled into his system.

There was no time to focus on the Queen now. The Perturbants had arrived.

Ludwig turned sharply, scanning the battlefield. Notifications were already filling his vision. Red glyphs flashed in his periphery, marking the deaths of his summoned undead one after another. Their names, simple identifiers scrawled in the language of necromancy, disappeared from his registry. Too many. Too fast.

He snatched Oathcarver from the ground and dashed forward, flinging himself into the path of the closest Perturbant. The creature shrieked as it charged, its limbs jagged and uneven, its torso armored with bark-like plates. Ludwig didn’t hesitate.

He stepped aside at the last second, letting the creature’s momentum carry it past him, and grabbed it by the back of the neck. His fingers clamped down hard, and with a sharp motion, he lifted the thing from the ground and slammed it down spine-first into the dirt. Oathcarver came down a moment later, driving through its skull with a sickening crunch.

[You have slain a Soulless Construct. No soul gained.]

Ludwig frowned but didn’t stop. Another Perturbant lunged toward him. He sidestepped and swung in a wide arc, severing the beast’s arm at the joint before plunging Oathcarver into its gut and pulling upward. Black ichor splattered his coat and boots, sticky and warm, but he barely felt it.

The Tyrant Blade technique stacks up and ramps up in damage the longer Ludwig’s blows keep landing, all he needed to do was not miss and the damage could potentially stack up forever. However, the depressing feeling of the Notification that showed up only made him scowl some more.

[You have slain a Soulless Construct]

[You cannot gain soul echoes from what has no soul]

There were nothing to gain here. Only trash. Only delay.

Another of his minions fell, torn apart by a group of four Perturbants who had swarmed it from behind. Ludwig surged forward, dragging his chain behind him like a banner of iron. He whipped it outward, snaring the legs of two Perturbants at once and yanking hard. The creatures toppled, and Ludwig followed through, driving his blade into their tangled forms.

He did not slow. He did not retreat. He pressed forward with cold precision, clearing the field with relentless strikes, aiding what few undead remained. His minions were barely more than fodder now, distractions buying him seconds at a time. But it was enough. He moved like someone who had danced this pattern before. His strikes came too clean, too rehearsed, his choices too exact. Every dodge, every counter, every spell cast seemed to fall into place with the ease of memory.

Unbeknownst to Ludwig, the frown on the Apostle’s face kept deepening the longer the fight went on. This was not the display of someone newly turned, this was not the display of someone who just became an apostle of Necros.

True they have already noticed it the moment he was chosen, all the former apostles, and even thought to eliminate him first. But they decided to keep a watch and spectate him. However, this growth, is incredibly fast, too fast for even them.

There shouldn’t be any human or person capable of fighting to this level if they had newly turned to an apostle, it should take years, if not decades for a normal person. Even a genius would require a decent amount of time to display this amount of skill and proficiency.

Behind Ludwig, the Queen continued to burn. Slowly. Methodically. Her flames had dimmed, her movements sluggish. She was rooting herself again, casting new roots from her shoulders and back to locate her severed head.

“You sure about ignoring her like this?” Thomas’s voice broke through the haze of battle, sharp but not accusing.

“If I try to finish her off now, I’ll get boxed in,” Ludwig replied. “These things will surround me.”

“You speak as if you already did this once,” Thomas said.

The Knight King, observing from the side, murmured beneath his breath, “He fights as if he’s done this many times. In fact”

Ludwig didn’t answer. He smiled lightly and simply kept moving, his expression set in a quiet calm that bordered on unnatural. He launched himself at the last cluster of Perturbants, his chain twining around three of them, pulling them inward like fish caught in a net. He brought Oathcarver around in a wide, sweeping arc that bisected them cleanly, sending limbs and shrieks tumbling across the dirt.

The fight lasted nearly ten minutes.

By the time the last Perturbant fell, its skull crushed beneath the heel of Ludwig’s boot, the field had grown eerily still. A light wind found its way into the grotto, brushing softly against the scorched ground. The roots around the massive tunnel no longer trembled.

Of all the undead Ludwig had summoned, only three remained. They stood silently behind him, armor cracked and weapons chipped, but they were still standing.

“Three this time,” Ludwig said quietly. “Not bad.”

He turned his eyes toward the Queen.

Her head had been reattached again, but the work was poor. The roots at her neck hadn’t sealed cleanly. Some still hung loose, twitching like tendons left exposed in an unfinished surgery.

Ludwig exhaled and rolled his shoulders.

“All right,” he said. “Time for phase two.”