Pillar of Yita

He didn’t mind a single person’s death, but losing a somewhat useful tool was quite unwise.

He glanced in the direction of the Forest.

The gloomy lead gray sky hid the Sun’s height, as the day was steadily darkening; it should be a Talia Tick past seven o’clock. The Spruce Forest was sinking into Twilight, and its bleak darkness sent a shiver down even the spine of a Necromancer.

He furrowed his brows.

Unlike these people, he knew there were eerie things beneath the dark Forest. Although he came for that particular thing, he didn’t want to face those entities at night — regardless of whether the Moonlight pierced through the clouds or not, on the night of a full moon, those things would draw power from Dragon Blood and become truly terrifying.

Time was running out, he must leave the Valley before the moon rose.

Yet he didn’t show any sign of urgency, simply placing down the Skeleton Staff in his hand and pointed to one person. ”Go take a look inside.”

That person completely ignored him, turning their head aside. However, ’Messenger’ swung the Magic Wand, shooting a dark ray that struck the person, sending him flying, rolling far in the snow, lifeless.

”I said, I don’t want useless trash.”

He coldly said, simultaneously pointing the Magic Wand in his hand at another person.

The other was a Female Mage in her early twenties, scared to tears, barely able to speak. ’Messenger’ frowned, but suddenly, someone beside the Female Mage stepped forward and said: ”I’ll go instead of her.”

’Messenger’ glanced at the person, unconcerned about their identity and profession, smirking inwardly at such trivial sentiments, but nodded noncommittally.

He only cared whether someone would go.

As for who, that didn’t matter.

As he said, killing these people didn’t truly matter either, just other distasteful exchanges.

Because exchange was also a form of concession —

He waved a hand gently, letting two Skeletons crawl out from beneath the snow to follow the person into the mine. He might have used these people as Bait, but that didn’t mean he trusted them.

A Necromancer truly trusted only their own Undead Creatures.

Inside the mine.

The Musketeer was hiding alone in the darkness.

He gripped his sword nervously, cautiously examining his hiding spot — which was merely a depression between two clumps of quartz pillars, after the Illumination Crystal went dark, all around only remained pitch black.

He lightly touched the icy surface of the Crystal, feeling a sting that made him withdraw his hand involuntarily.

From the darkness afar, the rhythmic sound of dripping water echoed.

He glanced in that direction, knowing his companion should be hiding somewhere beyond, though he could not see where exactly.

The mine was dark as pitch, he couldn’t see his hand in front of him, the only thing visible was the system’s series of ghostly blue numbers, clearly describing his current state —

His heart rate once exceeded one hundred and twenty, the flow of blood accelerating, the tension causing his head to tighten.

He didn’t know how long had passed, it felt like an eternity, the sub-zero temperature made him sweat onto his sword handle. And it was at this moment that he finally heard a rustling sound from ahead.

The steps were slow, but after listening, the Musketeer confirmed it wasn’t an illusion.

Involuntarily, he recalled the ’Veteran Adventurer’s words:

”Remember, if you see someone coming in who’s one of ours, signal them, but don’t speak.”

”Then move towards the back left to exit.”

”Withdraw to the previous cave before my countdown finishes.”

But what if the one entering isn’t ours?

The Musketeer couldn’t help pondering this.

A faint light came from ahead, it should be the Illumination Crystal’s light. The Musketeer’s heart leapt; Undead didn’t require illumination, so it was indeed one of ours coming — though it might also be the Necromancer himself.

Yet even he didn’t think the Necromancer would be so careless.

The light crossed towards this direction, revealing a face behind it — it was Luce, the troop’s Iron Guard, who was ridiculed for secretly loving the troop’s Magic Guided Conductor, three years his senior.

But the Musketeer couldn’t laugh; he didn’t know if there were Undead following behind that light, yet remembering the ’Veteran Adventurer’s words, he involuntarily stepped forward.

Luce held a stern face, clutching the Crystal and moving forward. He could have seized the chance to flee, the Captain likely wouldn’t blame him, yet thinking of the lady he fancied still in their hands, he couldn’t muster the resolve.

Besides, the bony figure behind him was likely sent to watch him.

It was at this moment, the light from the Illumination Crystal in his hand suddenly reflected a silhouette. Luce froze, realizing it was the troop’s Musketeer, his face pale under the Crystal’s light, waving at him.

He was shocked; didn’t Little Fatty say they all died inside the cave, leaving only him to escape?

Yet the Musketeer only flashed, disappearing into the cave’s shadows.

He thought he must have imagined it, quickening his pace to follow — but at that very moment, he heard soft chanting: ”Darkness — ”

A pitch-black ray struck the Illumination Crystal in his hand.

Dark Art.