The Third Return of the Necrotic Magic Swordsman

Lucas lay sprawled in the middle of the dim alleyway, his body drenched in blood, unmoving. His face was pale, almost lifeless. Beside him, Ilya and Tess knelt, their faces soaked in tears, their expressions shattered.

To the onlookers, he looked like a man at death’s door, ready to greet the King of Hell.

But in truth—he was fine.

Thanks to his bloodline, Lucas possessed regenerative powers. The injury he suffered wasn’t just real—it was calculated. A dangerous gamble. One he made to awaken something buried deep within Ilya.

He coughed weakly, playing the part of a man whose end had come, his trembling hand reaching toward the faces of the two girls he held dearest.

“Sor… sorry…” His voice was faint, hoarse. “Maybe I won’t be able to walk with you both on this path called life. Maybe… maybe if fate allows, we’ll meet again someday... Bye, Tess… lya…”

And with that, he let his hand fall and pretended to lose consciousness—if not die outright.

Tess’s mind went blank. The man she loved was dying in front of her.

Rage bloomed in her chest.

Her eyes turned crimson with fury.

She turned toward the one responsible, bloodlust leaking from every pore.

Meanwhile, Ilya desperately poured every ounce of her energy into healing Lucas.

“No… you can’t die here… just wait… wait for me… I’ll save you…” she sobbed, her voice cracking under the strain of her effort. Her hands trembled as she activated her healing skills again and again, draining her mana dry. Her nose began to bleed, her body shaking violently from overexertion.

And then—it happened.

A radiant, blinding light burst from her body.

It enveloped both her and Lucas in a golden sphere of pure life energy.

The crowd gasped, stunned at the divine glow blooming before their eyes. It was as though the heavens had descended.

The weak girl from moments ago now radiated power on par with a Peak Tier 0 Healer.

Even more miraculous—Lucas’s body began to heal.

Wounds stitched together, torn flesh reformed, and the color returned to his cheeks. The aura of death slowly faded away.

Ilya, suspended midair by the glow, finally collapsed to the ground, drained beyond exhaustion.

Tess caught her, her own body trembling. She looked down—Lucas’s eyes fluttered open, blinking at the sky.

She looked at Ilya, unconscious but breathing and a sense of relief flooded her.

He was alive.

‘I did it... now no one should come close to Ilya when it comes to healing,’ Lucas thought as he smiled inwardly, never letting the others see.

It was risky, yes. But the reward? Beyond measure.

By placing his life on the line, he’d successfully awakened the dormant healing talent inside Ilya—, a rare S-rank ability.

And from what Lucas could tell—it held the potential to even reach SSS-rank under the right conditions.

When he first met her, he saw that glimmer of potential. Originally, he planned to help her unlock it inside a dungeon.

But fate handed him a chance here—and he took it without hesitation.

A fifty-fifty gamble.

A perfect success.

Tears turned into smiles.

Hope returned to despairing hearts.

But as joy surrounded the trio...

...one figure dashed through the dark alleys, fleeing the scene.

It was Evan.

He was bleeding, wounded by Tess’s ferocious arrows. He hadn’t expected her to interfere—let alone unleash such a dangerous skill in public.

His plan to end Lucas tonight had failed.

Another damn miracle.

“Destined ones... parasites who leech off others, only to climb over them later,” Evan muttered under his breath as he rode through the city on his Phantom mount—Zephoros. The undead steed galloped like a blur, attracting shocked glances from pedestrians.

Nearing home, Evan dismissed the beast to avoid attention.

He staggered into his apartment, leaving trails of blood behind him. The door slammed shut.

He switched on the lights, stripped off his torn and bloodstained clothes, and stumbled into the bathroom.

His body was a mess of bruises, cuts, and punctures. Each injury is a reminder of how close he came to being torn apart.

He gritted his teeth and grabbed the first-aid kit.

He disinfected, bandaged, and covered his wounds as best he could.

And then—ding.

A system message appeared before him.

His limbs trembled.

Vision blurred.

He collapsed onto the bed, barely making it.

And there he lay—asleep, healing, silent.

The wounds hidden beneath the bandages were visibly shrinking. Flesh closed. Skin repaired.

His body had gone into overdrive.

And Evan? He had no idea.

[16th Everdusk, 2103]

Sunlight peeked through the window.

Evan opened his eyes slowly.

His entire body felt... light.

The pain was gone.

He sat up, glancing down at the bandages. A shock jolted through him—only faint scars and bruises remained.

He remembered everything.

Lucas.

Tess.

Ilya.

And that damn miracle.

”If I don’t grow stronger now… I’ll die before I can even touch him again.”

His goal was clear.

Level 50.

At that level, he could finally consume the Vial of Unknown—his secret trump card.

It would elevate him.

Maybe even let him stand above them all.

He had no more time to waste.

After a quick breakfast and tossing his bloodstained clothes, he dressed in fresh gear and prepared to leave.

But the moment he opened his apartment door...

A crowd had gathered in the hallway.

People were murmuring, gasping, pointing toward something.

He frowned, confused.

“What the hell is going on now?”

- To Be Continued -

What lies beyond that crowd? Trouble? Revelation? Or perhaps a twist Evan never saw coming...?