The Third Return of the Necrotic Magic Swordsman

A full day had passed since Evan departed, his destination set—the Undead Forbidden Land, a place whispered of in fear and dread.

His journey led him through expansive beast-filled areas where monsters lurked and adventurers hunted. Some zones buzzed with activity; others were barren as if something had swallowed the life from them entirely.

Along the path, Evan encountered several monsters, but none were even worth his time. The strongest he found barely scratched Lv.60. Disappointing.

Curious, he paused at various stops, gathering intel from passing adventurers. What he learned didn’t surprise him.

Apparently, the Twilight Raiding Team, a high-level squad from the nearest major settlement, had already carved through most of the region. Their recent months of relentless monster hunts had wiped out almost every formidable beast in these outer zones.

No wonder the place felt deserted.

The remaining monsters were all lower-level, young and undeveloped—creatures still evolving, far from becoming a threat.

He even asked a few if any of the Twilight squads had dared venture into the deeper forbidden zones. The response was the same every time.

”No.”

Because what lay beyond wasn’t just dangerous—it was death incarnate.

The Undead Zone was overflowing. Something unnatural had stirred the land. Peak-tier undead—the kind considered elite monsters in their own right—roamed freely. Even their so-called ’weaker’ counterparts registered between Lv.80 to Lv.90, but they were so vast in number, that counting them was impossible.

It was as if something… had awakened.

But Evan didn’t care.

His goal was buried deep within that forsaken land, and no swarm of corpses would deter him.

He pressed forward. Step by step, the crowd of adventurers thinned until there was no one left in his path. The fear of that land gripped others like a curse—but Evan walked on, unshaken.

And soon, he crossed the line.

The soil beneath his boots shifted from earthy brown to a lifeless, gritty grey. His map pulsed faintly within his system, confirming it.

He had entered the Undead Zone—a land where no living creature was meant to survive beyond a day.

But something was off.

There was… nothing.

No undead. No sound. Not even movement.

He advanced deeper, watching the terrain darken around him. The very ground seemed drained of life, and the skies above clouded with stormy black mist. A creeping cold clawed at his skin, but Evan remained unfazed.

He was prepared for war.

But even in the middle zone, which was said to crawl with undead between Lv.60 to Lv.80, the silence remained.

Not even a skeleton wandered the cursed lands.

”The hell? Where are the undead?” he growled, scanning the fog-laced horizon. ”They on a break or something? Don’t tell me that Twilight squad wiped out this area too…”

He stepped forward, annoyed.

What he didn’t realize was that his very presence had turned the battlefield into a grave of silence.

From within his soul, Arven watched, amused.

’Someone tell this fool... The undead are here. Every single one of them. But they’re too damn terrified to show themselves.’

Because in the eyes of the dead, Evan wasn’t prey.

He was Death’s Chosen.

His Death Monarch Physique placed him atop their hierarchy like a demigod cloaked in mortal skin. Every lesser undead in the region could feel the suffocating pressure he exuded—an unspoken command that demanded submission.

He was a predator in the jungle of monsters. And they were the ones being hunted.

Not knowing this, Evan just clicked his tongue and summoned his spectral steed with a flick of his hand.

A ghostly horse cloaked in wisps of cold flame emerged, hooves crackling against the grey soil.

Evan mounted without a word and rode deeper into the land of death.

Two more hours passed.

At last, he crossed into the Core Region of the Undead Zone.

The temperature dropped sharply. The landscape around him distorted—ashen winds blew across jagged terrain while ghostly howls echoed in the distance. The very essence of death hung thick in the air, a haunting chorus of forgotten souls.

Evan didn’t flinch. He welcomed it.

And finally—finally—the first signs of movement emerged.

From the darkness stumbled a pair of skeletons.

One wore broken armour, corroded by time. The other held a chipped halberd barely held together by rusted metal. Their levels flashed before him:

-> Lv.96

-> Lv.91

Evan’s eyes lit up with curiosity.

”Finally. Took you long enough,” he muttered, leaping from his spectral steed with a grin.

He dashed forward in a blink, standing face-to-skull with the skeletal pair in a heartbeat.

Despite their high levels, they looked brittle—too brittle.

He stepped back, cocked his fist, and struck the armoured one straight in the chest.

BOOM!

The skeleton flew back like a cannonball, crashing into a jagged boulder.

Evan narrowed his eyes, flexing his fingers.

”Huh… that armour looked like junk, but it actually absorbed some of that. Not bad.”

With a slight smirk, he reached into his inventory.

And unsheathed his sword.

”Let’s see if your bones can handle what comes next.”

Evan tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword as it flashed into existence from his inventory, the steel humming with his intent.

The moment he stepped toward another undead, its skeletal frame trembled uncontrollably. Its hollow eyes were locked on him—not with rage or hunger, but raw, instinctual fear.

Strange…

Even though the creature was Lv.96, an elite by any standard, it stood frozen like a lamb before the slaughter.

With a slow breath, Evan paused.

”Hey, you…” he muttered, eyes narrowing. ”Join my storage.”

He said it casually, half-joking—until a metallic chime echoed in his mind.

[System Notification][The Undead has joined the Host’s Summon Storage.][You’ve obtained: Elite-tier Assassin Skeleton – Lv.91]

”…What?”

Evan blinked. His eyes darted between the notification and the cowering skeleton.

Then he laughed.

”You guys… were scared of me this whole time?”

Without hesitation, he stepped forward and smashed his fist into the skeleton’s skull. The poor undead’s head shot off like a cannonball.

”Dammit! I thought something was wrong with the atmosphere!” he shouted. ”Turns out you’re all just cowards!”

Inside him, Arven finally chuckled and manifested beside him with a smirk.

”You knew?” Evan barked, pointing an accusing finger.

”Of course,” Arven said casually. ”Your physique ranks you so high in the Death hierarchy, they probably think you’re a walking catastrophe. I just thought it’d be fun to watch you figure it out.”

”Fun?! I was hoping to get some fighting experience here!” Evan growled. ”All I got were glorified mops shaking in their boots!”

Rolling his eyes, Evan turned and began walking toward the inner core of the zone. He didn’t even need to fight anymore—he was strolling through, scooping up elite-tier undead like vegetables from a market.

The Summon Storage was nearly full.

Each addition was a powerful servant, all drawn to him not by force, but by fear-born submission. Normal undead didn’t even exist here anymore—only elites. And they were practically lining up.

Eventually, his path led him to a small, jagged mountain nestled in the heart of the region. The air was denser here, colder, and a strange pressure pressed down from the peak.

There were fewer undead around, but Evan paid them no mind.

”They’re probably hiding again,” he muttered, approaching the base. ”Let’s see what you’re guarding…”

But then—he paused.

No notification. No submission. No trembling.

The undead stationed around the mountain were still.

Silent.

But unafraid.

Evan narrowed his eyes. He counted them—one, two, three…

Wait. One is missing.

The realization hit too late.

A shadow fell over him.

His instincts flared. He twisted, leaping from his mount in an instant—just as a colossal blade tore through the air.

CRACK—!!

His ghostly steed was obliterated in a single strike.

A system chime hit his ears.

[Summon Destroyed. Cooldown initiated: 2 hours]

But Evan wasn’t focused on that.

He turned to see nine figures emerge from the shadows, each holding stolen adventurer gear—swords, staves, grimoires, Spear, strange daggers.

They were... organized.

Not mindless. Not broken. These were no wandering mobs.

They were guardians.

Stationed here for a reason.

Evan’s Eternal System surged to life as data streamed across his vision. Names, levels, classifications—each of them clocked in at Lv.100.

The aura they radiated was suffocating, the same tier as Lucas, the Draconic Champion he’d once struggled to face.

But this time?

This Evan was different.

This Evan had evolved.

He smirked and pulled out his blade once more.

”Alright,” he whispered, ”finally… something worth slicing.”

The nine undead advanced in formation. Each one distinct. Each one deadly.

The first—a human skeleton wielding a rusted but cursed sword, eyes blazing with silent fury.

The second—a demi-human archer with ragged robes, his quiver overflowing with blackened arrows.

The third—a towering brute of bone and rusted iron, hefting a massive greatsword with ease.

The fourth—a rider atop a skeletal steed, armed with a battered spear and a shield riddled with holes.

Two more shimmered with faint magical auras, likely mages. Another clutched a torn grimoire—either a healer or witch, though the corrupted mana made it hard to tell.

But it was the last two that made Evan raise an eyebrow.

They were different.

One wielded twisted, dual-bladed daggers, his movements too precise—too aware.

And the final one?

It wasn’t a skeleton at all.

A massive undead behemoth, covered in layers of decaying muscle and plated flesh. Its arms looked like clubs of stone, and it radiated a primal madness—a Hand Thrasher, a rare undead subspecies built purely for destruction.

Evan grinned.

”…Finally,” he whispered. ”Let’s dance.” 

”Hey, Arven. You seeing this?” Evan muttered, his eyes narrowing as he watched the undead refuse to move. ”They’re not attacking… but they’re not afraid either.”

Arven appeared beside him, arms crossed, gaze sharp.

”Hm… now I understand. These nine aren’t ordinary undead,” he said with a low hum. ”They’re non-life summons. Puppets.”

”Puppets?” Evan echoed, blade still drawn. ”Aren’t all undead… technically dead?”

”You’re missing the point. These aren’t just dead warriors animated by mana. These are ancient bindings. They’ve lost their master, but something else… something powerful… is keeping them here. Likely to guard whatever’s hidden within that mountain.”

”…So they won’t attack unless I make the first move?”

”Exactly.”

A grin spread across Evan’s face.

”Then I’ll be the one to break the silence.”

He sheathed his sword into the ground beside him and reached back into his inventory. A familiar presence slipped into his hands—Shadowpiercer, his bow. Sleek, dark, and deadly.

With smooth precision, he nocked an arrow.

FWIP—!

The arrow soared through the air and pierced one of the mages straight through the skull.

The figure fell back with a thud.

But before Evan could even smirk—

CLACK.

Bones cracked. The undead mage rose once again, eyes burning brighter than before.

”Oh, come on,” Evan muttered. ”You were supposed to be the weak link.”

As if his attack had pulled a lever, all eight remaining undead snapped to attention. Their bodies jerked forward—and the battlefield exploded into chaos.

The spear-wielding rider was the first to charge.

”Here we go…”

Evan dropped his bow, retrieved his blade, and barely sidestepped the lunging spear. But no respite followed—the remaining guardians closed in like clockwork.

Every step he took was predicted. Every dodge, every counter—met with precise, coordinated retaliation.

”They’re reading me…” he realized.

It wasn’t random.

It wasn’t instinct.

It was tactical.

As if the one pulling the strings was an expert combat tactician.

Evan was under siege.

The mages rained spells from afar, their chants twisted and corrupted. The grimoire-wielding undead cast layered debuffs—the curse of frailty, slow, even mana burn—but his Death Monarch Physique nullified most of it.

Still, the pressure mounted.

He couldn’t find an opening.

He couldn’t retaliate.

His armour cracked. His breath grew heavier. It was like being caught in a perfectly tuned killing machine, designed solely to wear him down.

But then—his fury erupted.

”You think I’ll fall to a bunch of glorified dolls?!”

His eyes gleamed dangerously. The rage behind them wasn’t just from the damage he was taking—it was from being forced into a corner.

He needed a gamble.

And he took it.

[Shadow Leap]

In a flash, his body flickered into the void, vanishing from sight. Spells detonated where he’d stood, but he was already behind his next target—the undead archer.

Without hesitation, Evan drew his twin daggers and plunged them deep into the creature’s ribcage, lifting it into the air like a skewered beast.

But the other undead weren’t slow to react.

Flames erupted—two massive fire orbs launched straight at him from the mages.

Evan didn’t flinch.

”You can have him back.”

With a twist of his arms, he hurled the archer’s body straight into the oncoming fire.

BOOOOM—!

The impact shattered the archer to pieces, the echoing boom shaking the mountain. Even its bow disintegrated mid-air.

Evan exhaled sharply, his eyes already shifting to the next threat.

But then—BOOM!

The hulking zombie-like behemoth was already behind him, its massive fists raised for a crushing blow.

Evan didn’t move.

He simply whispered:

[Bone Cage]

The ground beneath the zombie erupted as spears of bone launched upward, piercing through its limbs and suspending it midair—twisting, immobilized, howling in silence.

But the battle wasn’t done.

Above, the skeletal rider once again charged—his summoned steed galloping across the terrain, spear glowing with crimson energy.

Evan turned swiftly.

[Earth Spikes]

The terrain shattered as massive spikes erupted from the earth, skewering the undead horse mid-charge. The beast let out an unholy scream before crumbling into dust.

But the rider?

He jumped off midair, soaring straight toward Evan like a spear of death.

Evan’s eyes widened.

He shifted his stance and braced, sword ready.

But before the next strike could land, he quickly scanned the battlefield.

Three were down.

Only six remained.

Six elite undead.

Still enough to kill him.

But no longer enough to stop him.

”…Now we’re getting somewhere.”

He smiled—and this time, it wasn’t out of amusement.

It was the kind of smile that only monsters wear when they stop holding back.

Evan’s eyes flicked between the two spellcasting mages and the trio of remaining melee-type undeads. The one clutching the ancient grimoire wasn’t a major threat—his debuffs had long been neutralized by Evan’s physique. The real dangers now stood between Evan and final victory.

He made the first move.

Charging one of the mages, Evan swung hard—but instead of the satisfying crack of bone, he was met with a harsh clang—metal on metal. His gaze snapped up.

A curved, dual-bladed sword had intercepted his strike.

”That one again,” Evan muttered, eyes narrowing.

It was the dual-blade undead, fast and precise, his movement unnatural and eerily efficient. Whoever controlled this army wasn’t just raising corpses—they were orchestrating warriors like pieces on a deadly chessboard.

”A Necromancer? No… more like a Puppet Master,” Evan muttered. ”And one with terrifying skill.”

The remaining melee undead—the greatsword, longsword, and curved blade wielder—flanked the mages like elite guards. Evan knew he had to break their formation. Fast.

Feigning retreat, Evan hurled a dagger toward the curved-blade warrior and took a step back.

Predictably, the undead deflected the blade and lunged forward to strike.

Evan grinned.

[Death Bolt]

A dark bolt exploded from Evan’s hand, slamming into the undead’s skull with a resounding boom, knocking it off its feet.

Evan wasted no time. Dancing between the other two undead’s attacks, he dashed toward the fallen dual-blade undead and drove his spear down with all his strength, crushing its skull.

The creature spasmed… then stilled.

One down.

But the others were already closing in.

The greatsword undead came swinging—an overhead slash aimed at Evan’s skull.

He didn’t dodge.

He summoned his shield from his inventory and put it in front.

With a burst of energy, a blackened shield shimmered into place just in time. The blade crashed into it, sending sparks flying.

A jagged gash was carved into the shield, but the sword stuck deep into its surface.

Evan seized the opening.

With his free hand, he delivered a punch directly into the undead’s chest cavity.

It didn’t seem to do much—barely denting the hardened ribcage.

But that wasn’t the point.

He grinned beneath the strain.

[Flame Burst]

Fire erupted violently from his embedded fist. Flames poured out like a fountain, incinerating the creature from the inside out.

The undead shrieked—its first and final scream—as its body erupted, collapsing into molten remains. Even its massive sword shattered and fell to the ground in smouldering chunks.

Evan stepped forward, eyes locking onto the final melee-type.

The longsword undead.

From the way it moved, the way it fought—it had once been a master swordsman, perhaps even stronger than Evan in life. But now its body was bound, stiffened by time and decay. Still, it was dangerous.

Their clash was relentless.

Steel met steel in a dance of precision. Sparks flew. Earth cracked beneath their feet. Evan parried, dodged, countered—and still, the undead came. Ten minutes. Twenty. Half an hour of gruelling combat.

But eventually, Evan’s skill, speed, and instincts overtook the puppet’s worn patterns.

With a final twist of his wrist, he plunged his blade deep into the creature’s skull, ending its motions once and for all.

He staggered back, gasping.

His armour was torn. His blade chipped. His body screamed with every breath.

But the worst… was over.

Only the mages remained now—two of them, casting spells, refusing to retreat even as their guards fell.

But Evan didn’t give them the chance to finish their incantations.

With a burst of speed enhanced by his Shadow Leap, he flashed between them and with a single sweeping strike, shattered their fragile forms—robes fluttering as bones cracked and scattered.

He dropped to his knees, panting hard.

Blood trickled down his chin. His HP and MP hovered at 50%, both slowly regenerating, but his mental fatigue was overwhelming. Two hours of sustained, high-intensity combat had taken its toll.

Only one undead remained.

The silent figure clutching the ancient grimoire.

It was still chanting.

Still… doing something.

Evan stood.

”I’m ending this,” he muttered.

He dragged his weary body forward, every muscle screaming in protest. The book-wielding undead didn’t stop its chant. It didn’t flinch. It didn’t even seem aware of what was happening around it.

Evan raised his blade.

And then—

BOOM!

The world exploded sideways.

A massive, obsidian-colored fist, larger than his entire body, crashed into him from the left, sending him flying like a ragdoll.

”—UGHH!!”

He crashed through brittle trees, splintering trunks and smashing through boulders until his body slammed into the side of the mountain wall.

Blood burst from his mouth as he hit the ground, gasping for air.

His vision blurred.

His ribs were cracked. His shoulder was dislocated. Something was broken—maybe more than one something.

He coughed and looked up through the haze.

A towering shadow stood at the edge of the clearing.

Its eyes burned like twin hellfires.

And Evan knew—

This wasn’t a puppet.

This was the controller.

What Evan saw next froze his breath.

The undead—every last one he had destroyed—were rising again.

Bones reknit. Torn flesh mended. Crushed skulls reconstructed before his eyes. The gaping hole in the chest of the flame-charred zombie was sealing rapidly as if nothing had happened. Several others were even stronger than before, their auras flaring like they had returned to peak condition.

Evan’s gaze snapped to the Book-wielding undead.

Arcs of mana surged from the grimoire in its hands and funnelled into the resurrected eight. The truth struck him like lightning.

This… this thing was the anchor.The core behind the resurrection. The true controller’s puppet.

Evan tried to rise, but his body screamed in protest. His ribs were shattered. His arm hung limp. The pain dulled his senses—he couldn’t feel anything in half his body. The healing factor had kicked in, but far too slowly.

Then came the whisper in his mind.

[System Notification]

[Talent, Supreme Adaptation, is in effect.]

[Your Bones regen capability has been slightly increased.]

[Your Muscles and Blood regen have been slightly increased.]

[Your Inner organ’s regen rate has been slightly increased.]

[Your Bones regen capability has been slightly increased.]

[Your Muscl....]

.....

[Your Bones Regen Capability has been Slightly Increased.] ×34

[Your Muscle And Blood Regen has been Slightly Increased.] ×32

[Your Bones Regen Capability has been Slightly Increased.] ×47

Evan blinked.

He watched as the wounds that should have taken hours—days—began to mend in seconds. Bones cracked back into place. Torn muscle stitched itself together with scorching intensity.

The sheer acceleration left him stunned.

But before he could revel in it—

A flame spear the size of a ballista screamed through the air.

Reacting on instinct, Evan thrust up his hand.

[Earth Pillar]

A thick wall of stone erupted from the ground—just in time.

The impact shook the area, kicking up a blinding cloud of dust. Evan coughed, stumbling back, trying to disappear into the haze long enough to recover.

But the enemy wasn’t going to give him that luxury.

A blur crashed down from above—the undead brawler, leaping like a beast with death in its fists.

Still not fully recovered, Evan narrowed his eyes. He had one shot.

He waited, letting the enemy close in... and just as it reached the radius—

[Bone Cage]

Spikes shot up from the ground—but to his horror, the creature tore through them like they were made of paper.

”What…?”

Then he noticed it.

The undead weren’t just back. They were stronger.

Their auras had deepened. Their speed, coordination, and power—it had all surged.

Buffed.

Somehow, the controller had supercharged them.

Evan barely had time to curse before—

Shhhk!

A curved blade tore through his back.

”Gahhh!”

He screamed as he dropped to one knee. Blood soaked through his armour. His body was still regenerating, but not fast enough. Not this time.

”Behind you!” Arven’s voice rang out in his mind.

Evan spun, instinctively summoning [Bone Armor]—but it shattered instantly on contact. His flesh tore. Pain lanced through him like lightning. He collapsed to the ground again, breath shallow, vision blurry.

The nine undead formed a semi-circle around him, moving slowly. Mocking him. The Book mage stood at the center, arms raised like a conductor controlling a symphony of death.

Evan tried to summon a shield.

A barrier.

Anything.

But the mages weren’t letting up. Their spells shattered his attempts again and again, leaving nothing but cracked mana dust and the feeling of despair.

Evan’s vision began to darken.

His stamina was gone. His vitality had dipped below its threshold. His regeneration was slowing—his body losing the will to fight.

This was it.

He could feel death creeping closer.

And then—

A memory.

A face.

Nelys.

The dragon girl who had pulled him from the abyss. The one person he trusted in this godforsaken world. Her smile. Her voice. The look in her eyes when she said, ”I’ll be waiting.”

And suddenly—something snapped.

No.

He couldn’t die here.

Not without seeing her again.

Not without keeping his promise.

Even if the world wanted him dead—he would rip through fate itself.

”No… I won’t die here. I can’t die here.”

The fire returned to his eyes.

”I’ll meet her again. I don’t care if I have to claw through gods and monsters. I will meet her.”

He glared at the nine undead charging in, his fury surging past pain.

”Do you think you can kill me?” he spat. ”I’ll rip your controller’s head off with my bare hands, and then I’ll burn the rest of you into the void!”

As the final blow neared—

Evan’s hand shot into the air.

[—Radiant Sanctum: Sanctum Pulse, Benediction]

A blinding surge of light exploded from his core, rippling outward in a 12-meter halo of divinity and dominance. Holy radiance poured from his body like a tidal wave, crashing against the decay that had infested the land.

Necrotic energy shrieked under the light, recoiling like a beast doused in flame. The earth beneath him—long dead and lifeless—shuddered as cracks vanished, the ground blooming for a heartbeat with vibrant green. For a split second, the battlefield remembered life.

And then—

Death clawed it back.

But that brief spark… was enough.

The tide had turned.

Evan’s eyes flared wide as a series of powerful system alerts erupted before him.

[System Notification][Ding! Hidden Physique Condition Triggered!][Tri-Synergy Effect Activated: Life, Death, Necrotic detected!][Physique Resonance: Death Monarch Awakens – Entering: DEATH PULSE State!]

[Temporary Buffs Gained:

• +150% to All Stats• All Physique Abilities Boosted Tremendously• Basic Attacks now inflict: Necrotic Damage]

[Effect Duration: 3 Minutes]

And then it hit.

A blast of energy detonated inside Evan’s body like a divine awakening, flooding every vein, muscle, and cell with raw, elemental force. His skin was seared with power. His wounds were stitched shut in a blink. Torn organs regenerated. His muscles tightened, surged, and transformed.

He wasn’t healing.He was ascending.

His gaze turned toward the undead. No longer cautious.Now—predatory.

Even the nine elite undead staggered, their movements slowing as an invisible weight crashed down on them.Evan’s aura was choking them. Dominating. Controlling.

—Moments Earlier—

Deep within the Undead Zone’s heart, inside a mountain shrouded by fog and death, an ancient slumber was disturbed.

A presence stirred.

Its thoughts were fragmented—twisted—but powerful.

”...Someone… awakened... higher grade…? Who dares…? Must consume... soul... devour fate... ######...”

Its words garbled into madness.

It stirred…But did not rise.

Confident in its army.

Fool.

Present — Battlefield Inferno

Outside, Evan now stood ablaze with power.

The once-shambling undead now moved like puppets with tangled strings. Crude. Sloppy. Weak. He stepped forward—

Then vanished.

Flash Step.

In the blink of an eye, he was in front of the Book-Wielding Undead, ready to cleave it in two—only to be intercepted by the Sword Zombie mid-slash.

But this time?

Evan grinned.

He could see everything. Every twitch. Every intent. Every mistake.

CLANG—CLANG—CLANG!

Steel clashed in a furious, high-speed ballet. The ground shattered beneath them. Mana burst with every strike. But Evan wasn’t slowing down—

He was speeding up.

The others jumped in—arrows whistled past, fireballs and wind scythes hurtling toward him from all sides.

Evan pivoted.

”Too noisy.”

His eyes locked onto the Undead Archer, the most annoying pest on the battlefield.

[Radiant Sanctum – Radiant Lance!]

Above his head, a luminous green spear forged from condensed holy and light mana formed—its body humming with radiant heat. It launched down like a divine missile.

The Archer tried to leap away—but the ground beneath its feet rose and shackled its legs.

A trap.

Evan had read the field three steps ahead.

But the Greatsword Undead leapt to intercept the lance—its blade coming down like an executioner.

Too late.

This wasn’t a normal lance.This was the bane of the undead.

A plundered gift from Ilya.A weapon forged of light and life—a holy spike of judgment.

The moment it clashed with the Greatsword, BOOM!

The sword shattered like glass.

The lance plunged through the Greatsword’s chest, detonating a radiant blast inside its core.The undead hit the ground, shrieking in silence, its bones melting under divine wrath.

It didn’t die instantly.

It writhed.Suffered.Because this wasn’t just death.

This was his vengeance for his summon.

Evan stood tall, his body glowing with an unholy fusion of life, death, and necrosis. His cloak billowed behind him, his eyes locked onto the remaining undead like a beast among sheep.

”You think I’m done?”His voice was ice. Fire. Fury.”Three minutes is all I need... to erase every last one of you.”

The war had flipped.

And Evan was done playing fair.

Evan’s sword danced with fury—but his mind was a battlefield of its own. His focus splintered across the field, analyzing every movement, every hostile presence.

His next target: the Bulky Undead.

But the Undead Swordmaster—relentless and unyielding—kept him tethered in melee.

”Then break the earth beneath him,” Evan muttered.

He slammed his foot into the ground.

[Seismic Rupture]!

A devastating quake tore through the terrain. Cracks webbed out violently as the earth convulsed. The Swordmaster lost his footing, tumbling sideways.

Opportunity: seized.

Evan blitzed forward, eyes locked on the hulking figure of the Bulky Zombie.

”Let’s end this.”

[Dark Art Mastery – Smoke Screen!]

A thick cloud of cursed black smoke burst outward, blinding the battlefield. But Evan wasn’t lost in the chaos—he was the architect of it.

He had already memorized the Bulky Zombie’s location.By the time it reacted—He was gone.

And reappeared right behind it, sword glowing with ruthless intent.

[Power Slash]

The blade came down in an arc of death, slicing clean through the Undead’s thick neck. Bone cracked. Rotten sinew tore.

Head—Gone.

He moved in a blur, turning to his next prey—

Only to sense danger behind him.

The Curved Blade Undead had appeared like a phantom, aiming a vicious strike at Evan’s exposed back.

[Mana Shield!]

The shield burst to life, shimmering briefly before being shattered in a single hit.

But Evan was already prepared.

[Mighty Roar!]

A primordial bellow erupted from his core, amplified a hundredfold by his Death Monarch Physique.

The entire battlefield trembled.

Undead twitched, spasmed, and froze, their rotten bodies paralyzed with fear and trauma.

Evan raised his hand.

[Gravitic Vein – Engage.]

A pulse of gravitational energy warped the air. The blade-wielding Undead rose—levitated unwillingly, its limbs spasming in slow-motion terror.

Struggling like a dying beast caught in a snare, its body writhed uselessly.

Evan clenched his hand.

The Undead’s neck twisted in his invisible grip, as he summoned a flame from his other hand.

The creature ignited.

Wails of agony echoed across the scorched battlefield.

Half-melted, the Undead’s body crumbled. Evan discarded the corpse-like trash.

No pause.

Eyes flicked to his next target.

The Lancer Undead was just mounting his skeletal horse, unaware his end was galloping toward him.

Evan grinned.

[Shadow Leap!]

He blinked through space, appearing directly in front of the beast.

The horse reared up in panic—but it was too late.

Slice!

Evan’s spear slashed upward, beheading the horse in one clean strike. It crumpled beneath the Lancer, sending the undead warrior crashing down.

The Lancer rose, unbothered. It charged forward—mechanical, merciless.

Evan waited until the last second.

Sidestep.

Thrust.

His dagger plunged upward—into the Lancer’s throat-ripping clean through the spine and skull.

The lifeless corpse dropped, its soulless armour clanking uselessly.

Four down.

Only the Swordmaster, the Bowman, the Dual Mages, and the Undead Priest remained.

Another arrow screamed toward him. Evan deflected it mid-air.

The Bowman wasn’t just attacking.

He was targeting. Calculating. Tracking.

Behind him, elemental barrages from the mages exploded. Evan ducked, rolled, and deflected each one with practised ease, turning defence into an art.

But he didn’t retaliate yet.

He had a plan.

He charged toward the Dual Mages.

[Dark Veil!]

A dome of pure shadow erupted around the remaining undead.

Sight—cut off.

Within the mountain, the slumbering controller stirred again, confused. He couldn’t see—couldn’t feel—his pawns anymore.

And then—two pulses disappeared entirely.

”Two of them… disconnected?”

Panic began to slither into the ancient mind.

Outside the veil, ice glistened. Two undead mages were now statues, frozen mid-spell, dead eyes wide in shock.

Evan stepped out of the darkness.

Only the Bowman, Swordmaster, and Priest remained.

The Bowman fired a rapid burst, arrows streaking through the air like death whistles.

Evan spun through them like wind incarnate, parrying and dodging.

His eyes locked onto the final three enemies.

’These…’ Evan narrowed his gaze.’These undead aren’t just any summons. Each one is a monster—a talented warrior from a forgotten time. Legends resurrected…’

He tightened his grip on his weapons.

’...But even legends fall.’

Fighting a master swordsman in close combat was already brutal—but doing so while fending off precision bow strikes?

Even for Evan, it was hellishly difficult.

But not impossible.

With a sudden surge of power, he slammed both hands into the earth.

[Stone Grasp!]

Two towering stone pillars erupted from below, trapping the Bowman mid-draw and slamming him into the cliff face with bone-crushing force.

The threat was gone.

That left only two enemies.

The Undead Priest, standing still behind, and his last guardian: the Swordmaster.

Evan narrowed his eyes.

The Swordmaster had placed himself squarely between Evan and the Priest, guarding him like an immovable wall.

”Damn,” Evan muttered. ”He’s trying to raise the others again.”

He could already feel his battle buffs fading, his adrenaline wearing off, his energy dipping low.

He didn’t have time.

Evan’s brain clicked into battle mode—fast and ruthless.

[Meteor Dash!]

He launched forward like a comet crashing into the Swordmaster, swords clashing in a fiery explosion of sparks.

But to Evan’s surprise—the Swordmaster didn’t even budge.

Not a tremble. Not a recoil.

Evan’s brows furrowed, tension sharpening his features.

”This one’s different,” he thought. ”This guy... he’s the real deal.”

Two blades in hand, Evan unleashed a flurry of furious slashes, moving like a tempest.

Steel rang against steel, but the Swordmaster was flawless—each strike blocked, deflected, absorbed. No wasted movement. No emotion. Only deathly precision.

And strangely, the Priest wasn’t chanting. He was just standing silently, as though confident—too confident—in the warrior protecting him.

”So you’re betting everything on this guy, huh?” Evan growled. ”Not a smart move.”

With his buffs gone, Evan felt the weariness begin to creep in. His body felt heavier. His breath was tighter.

But his eyes never lost their edge.

”Not here. Not now. I’m not going down.”

He began weaving between swordplay and spells—every swing reinforced by [Power Strike], every clash a calculated test of the enemy’s rhythm.

Still, the Swordmaster held. Impossibly firm. As if no strike could reach what he protected.

Evan narrowed his eyes. A plan began to form.

He leapt back—far enough for distance, close enough for control.

[Dark Veil.]

A swirling blanket of shadows exploded over the Swordmaster and Priest, robbing them of vision—blinding them entirely.

More importantly, it cut off the controller’s vision.

Evan pulled out his bow and notched two arrows.

One crackled with lightning.The other seethed with flame.

The first arrow was loosed with deadly force.

The Swordmaster sensed it instantly—he dodged with unnatural grace.

The second arrow followed milliseconds later.

He deflected it with a clean sweep of his blade.

But it was never about him.

The Priest couldn’t see.

The lightning arrow curved mid-flight.

Impact.

The Undead Priest’s skull was pierced—the full charge of lightning exploding inside his rotted cranium.

The shadows faded just in time to reveal the Priest’s charred corpse—still standing upright before collapsing, twitching, to the ground.

The connection was severed.

The controller inside the mountain felt it immediately. His prized Priest—gone.

Evan smirked, panting slightly.

”That’s one way to cancel a resurrection,” he muttered.

He turned to the Swordmaster, raising his blade with a confident grin.

”Now it’s just you and me. Let’s see who gets whose head, shall we?”

That... was a mistake.

The air changed.

The Swordmaster didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

But the aura around him shifted—from disciplined silence to raw savagery.

The temperature dropped.

Evan’s skin crawled. His instincts screamed.

He gritted his teeth, sensing the chilling aura radiating from the Swordmaster’s blade.

Then—

”I...”

The Swordmaster’s voice broke the silence—deep, cold, and ancient.

”...I shall stand in my Lord’s place, O bearer of Death.”

His words cut like a frozen blade.

”Either my sword breaks here... or it shall claim blood once more in my Lord’s name.”

Evan’s breath caught in his throat.

It was the first time the Undead had spoken—and it sounded less like a monster, and more like a knight damned by fate.

The Swordmaster’s stance shifted instantly.

His grip changed, blade tilted into a strange, elegant form—a battle style lost to time.

Then it happened.

Mana flooded into his sword—dense, endless, terrifying.

The previously dull blade began to glow with a hungry luster, as though it had been reborn... or awakened.

Evan’s smirk vanished.

His pupils sharpened.

He took one step back, his hands tightening on his blades.

”…This guy… he’s a nightmare.”

A voice echoed in his head—Arven’s voice, shaken for the first time.

”Kid... fall back. That sword guy—he’s using something ancient. That move will kill him—but it’ll demolish you. It might even obliterate your damn soul.”

Evan’s heart thumped hard in his chest.

He stared at the now-awakened Swordmaster standing silently beneath the stars—a specter of war itself.

And for the first time in this battle…

Evan felt fear.

The aura from the Swordmaster deepened—like a tempest on the verge of being unleashed.

The temperature plummeted.

The killing intent sharpened until it pressed against Evan’s skin like invisible blades.

His heart pounded. His instincts screamed.

”Kid… back off,” Arven’s voice whispered from deep within. ”That sword technique… it’s suicidal. But it’ll erase you completely if you stand in its path.”

Evan’s grip on his blades tightened.

”Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

He took a steadying breath, raising his twin swords. Every muscle in his body locked into a firm, unshakable stance.

He waited.

The Swordmaster’s body tensed—a perfect posture as if shaped by the will of war itself.

And then—

A heartbeat of silence.

The world fell still. Not even the wind dared to move.

Then, it came.

A thin, shimmering arc of energy, drawn across the air like a divine cut—so sharp, so precise, it seemed to slice through the fabric of space itself.

Reality twisted.

The very world bent around the Swordmaster’s final strike.

Evan’s eyes widened, but he did not move away.

Instead, he surged forward.

Both swords ignited with energy—[Power Strike] poured into them as he braced himself against the oncoming death.

The energy slash met his blades with a flash of white.

Both swords shattered instantly.

Their fragments were swallowed by the devastating wave as it carved cleanly through his bone armour, slashing diagonally across his chest.

The sheer force hurled Evan backwards.

And then—Boom!

An explosion engulfed everything.

Dust, ash, silence.

The Swordmaster stood amidst it all, his power drained, his breath shallow.

The corrupted blade in his hand crumbled, eaten away by time now that its final purpose had been fulfilled.

He dropped to one knee, whispering toward the unseen sky.

”Oh, my Lord... this worthless one has fulfilled his final duty. I... shall now return to eternal sleep. Perhaps there, I shall meet the comrades who once stood beside me…”

His words halted.

His fading eyes caught sight of something that shouldn’t have been possible.

Not far ahead—through the smoke and fire—

Evan stood.

Barely.

His chest was torn diagonally open, blood-soaked deep into his robes, his breathing ragged. But he stood.

Alive.

The Swordmaster blinked. For a brief moment, emotion—something resembling awe—flickered through his undead eyes.

And then, without another word, he exhaled... and collapsed.

A warrior’s death, fulfilled in the shadow of his master’s will.

Evan fell backwards as well, crashing onto the dirt with a painful grunt.

[System Notification][Talent Ability: Self-Regen Factor, Activated][Injury Severity Detected][Initiating accelerated regeneration...]

”...Got lucky,” Evan coughed, a smirk barely forming across his lips as the system began to heal his broken body.

He stared up at the cavern ceiling, sweat mixing with blood.

”Those Nine Dead... weren’t just monsters. They were legends in their own right.”

But there was no time to relax.

The final challenge still awaited—the one behind it all.

The true controller. The mastermind. The boss of the Nine Dead.

That battle would make all of this feel like the opening act.

But before Evan moved to face it—

He had one last thing to do.

A ritual of his own.

A personal rite he reserved only for enemies he truly respected… or hated.

He rose to his feet, body shaking, eyes cold.

And said nothing.

Because what came next—

...was always silent.

—To Be Continued—