Black Hearted Mage

Chapter 365: Undead Mage

A sneer curled the corner of Caesar's mouth, and he deliberately kicked the slightly raised magic-patterned slab in front of the stone house with the tip of his boot. Instantly, the ground lit up with faint green magical patterns. With a teeth-grinding scraping sound, the heavy stone door of the stone house slowly opened. Three hunched figures wrapped in yellowed cloaks walked out with eerie steps, their rotten leather boots leaving sticky black marks on the ground.

Even from a distance of over ten meters, the stench of corpse oil and rotting flesh was overwhelming. Caesars noticed the shortest mage's sleeves revealing the skeletal remains of flesh—gray-green rotting flesh hung from his knuckles like melted candlesticks, dripping with slime as he moved. Necromancers' very nature defied the laws of nature. These lingering spellcasters were nothing more than cursed zombies, even the soul fire pulsing beneath their cloaks a sickly dark blue.

The fat dog whimpered. It didn't want to touch the smelly rotten meat with its claws, as it would make it lose its appetite.

"A living person?"

The necromancer standing in the center suddenly let out a bellows-like roar, his rotting vocal cords giving each word a sticky, bubbling sound. All three simultaneously raised their clawed hands, dark purple threads of curse entwined between their knuckles. When they saw the visitor wearing a horned helmet inscribed with Abyssal runes, they retreated in unison like frightened corpse vultures, their rotten cloaks scraping harshly against the cobblestones.

Caesars extended his hand and launched a small fireball, which flew towards the roof, startling the deathbirds perched on the ridge. "Tell old Roman that his former students are here to visit him. Tell him to come out and see them!"

Caesars glanced at the necromancers with disdain, a sneer curling his lips. While their soul power far surpassed that of ordinary magicians, and a chilling aura of death lingered around them, he saw them as mere paper tigers, bluffing. Necromancers cultivated by devouring soul energy for years, naturally possessing formidable soul power. But so what? True strength was never solely determined by soul power.

"Lord Roman is too busy to see you!"

A hoarse yet powerful roar echoed from the depths of the pitch-black stone house, resonating in the chill air. Immediately afterwards, a heavy metallic clang echoed, as if someone, draped in heavy magic steel armor, were slowly emerging from the gloomy stone house. Each footstep seemed to strike the ground, causing it to tremble slightly.

Caesars frowned, a hint of doubt rising in his heart. Necromancers were known for their frail constitutions, their obsession with the study of the soul often leaving them as thin as bones. But the owner of this voice could move freely in a full suit of magic steel armor? This completely contradicted his understanding of necromancers. Could it be that Old Roman's men had mastered some kind of necromancy to strengthen their bodies?

A tall figure in rusted armor slowly emerged from the stone house, their heavy boots scraping against the stone slabs with a teeth-grinding sound. The armor, forged from magic steel and supposedly impervious to rust, was now covered in dark red rust—the mark of long-term corrosion from the pus seeping from rotting corpses. The death magic contained in the pus had even formed honeycomb-like corrosion patterns on the armor's surface.

"Oh, there's a new kind of undead—the Undead Knight. This is so surprising!"

Caesars tilted his head and exclaimed in exaggerated praise, the magical tentacles entwined between his fingers moving like venomous snakes. "You're the result of old Roman's research, right? That old fellow was incredibly clever!" He suddenly snapped his fingers, and three magical tentacles pierced the crevices of the Undead Knight's armor, darting through the bones and probing.

Through the vibrations fed back by the tentacles, Caesars clearly sensed the condition within the armor: the joints, once supported by sturdy muscles, were now nothing but shimmering black bones. He couldn't help but scoff, "All it has is a formidable shell, but the skeleton inside wouldn't even be able to wield a heavy sword, right?" As he spoke, the magical tentacles deliberately tugged at the joints, creating a chilling scraping sound. "I reckon you don't even need a powerful spell strike. A simple vibration spell will rip your tin can apart..."

"Insanity!"

The Undead Knight suddenly roared in a muffled roar, and two streaks of green light emanated from beneath its rusted helmet. It suddenly raised its right arm, and a sticky black substance suddenly gushed out from the cracks in the seemingly rotten armor, instantly corroding the magical tentacles. Even more shocking, the black substance spread rapidly across the armor's surface, peeling away the rust wherever it passed, revealing a new layer of metal beneath, shimmering with strange magic runes.

"Now that's getting interesting. It's actually a set of magic pattern armor transformed through mystical techniques." A hint of amusement flashed in Kaisas's scarlet eyes, and his slender fingers gently stroked his chin. "But... this level of defense is just a child's toy to me. After all—" He suddenly grinned playfully, "I have the qualifications to be arrogant!"

Before he finished speaking, Caesars uttered an obscure spell. Suddenly, a mage's hand, shimmering with a faint blue light, appeared, comparable in size to a dragon's claw. With devastating force, it grasped the undead knight, dripping with corrosive acid. As Caesars gracefully bent his index finger, the mage's hand's force suddenly increased.

"Creaky!" The teeth-grinding sound of twisting metal suddenly resounded throughout the courtyard. The magic steel armor, said to be able to withstand dragon breath, began to twist and deform like waste paper. The magic patterns and arrays engraved on the inside of the armor burst into dazzling sparks. The undead knight let out a shrill roar, and as he struggled, a foul-smelling black liquid seeped from the cracks in his armor.

"Too noisy," Kaesus snapped his fingers impatiently. The mage's grip tightened suddenly, instantly denting and deforming the magic steel helmet. With a crisp "crack," the skull within shattered. The undead knight's roar abruptly ceased, and his entire body transformed into a surging, dark soulfire. A faint, gruesome face could be seen struggling within.

The soul fire instinctively tried to escape back into the stone house, but it was firmly contained by the gray-white vortex of the soul gem hanging from Kaisas's waist. Countless tiny rune chains emerged from the gem's surface, dragging the struggling soul energy into it inch by inch.

When the last trace of soul energy was devoured, a dazzling light suddenly erupted from within the Soul Gem. Caesars examined the gem with interest, observing the energy surging within it like boiling lava. "Interesting..." He narrowed his eyes. "The soul strength of this Undead Knight is as strong as that of three great magicians combined." His fingertips gently tapped the surface of the gem, sending ripples of energy ripples through it. "It seems this harvest is far more bountiful than expected."

The moment the Undead Knight collapsed, a sneer of triumph curled across Caesar's lips. He casually twirled the Soul Gem in his hand, a milky white light swirling within it, nearing half-saturation. The three trembling necromancers were mere prey to be harvested—perhaps even the greedy gem wouldn't need to be slain.

Just as his fingertips gathered deadly magic, a surge of magical energy emanated from the stone house. A biting chill surged like a tide, and a figure shrouded in a pitch-black cloak floated out into the air. The strange, levitating form made Caesars' pupils shrink slightly—the silver-rimmed soles of the newcomer's boots remained half a foot off the ground, as if lifted by an invisible icy mist.

"Sandro!"

The magic between Caesar's fingers suddenly dissipated. He narrowed his eyes and studied the uninvited guest. The dark patterns on the hem of his cloak glowed eerily blue in the moonlight, as spotless as a new product fresh from an alchemy workshop. This discovery brought a flicker of surprise to his heart. He had expected to see old Roman, but he hadn't expected to see the most mysterious mage among the undead.

"Caesars——"

A hoarse magical sound like rusted gears grinding over dead wood. As Sandro slowly landed, frost flowers spread wildly around his toes. Caesars noticed a few unnatural twists in the shadows of the man's cloak, the ripples of a high-level concealment spell failing. He secretly activated his detection spell and, sure enough, deep within the man's pale skeleton, he detected a subtle trace of arcane energy, dormant like a hibernating venomous snake.

"Where is the old Roman?" Caesars deliberately made the sword make a slight sound in the sheath, "Now you don't even have the courage to see me?" His eyes were always fixed on the ice-blue mist wrapped between Sandro's finger bones, and the mist was condensing into some kind of ancient magic pattern shape.

"Roman can't come, he's sleeping in his coffin!"

Sandro was incomparably shocked, discovering that his necromancy was out of control. The arcane beacon within his soulfire was evolving, becoming extremely dangerous, as if it could destroy his soulfire at any moment.

"He is also undergoing the most thorough undead transformation?"

Facing Caesar's question, Sandro removed his hood and pointed at the fleshless white skull. The blue soul fire in his eye sockets flickered, staring at the soul gem on Caesar's waist.

"The Soul Gem is just a container for collecting soul energy!"

Caesars looked at the skeleton and said something calmly, then a smile spread across his face. He discovered that Old Ethan had left an arcane beacon in Sandro's soul, preventing the Necromancer from attacking him. Because arcane energies resonate with each other, as long as Caesars is within a hundred meters of it, the tiny arcane energy will evolve on its own.

Sandro stood frozen in place, his soulfire flickering wildly within his skull. He discovered with horror that whenever he harbored even the slightest desire for Kaesus, the arcane energies lurking within his soulfire would stir like sharks scenting blood. Those purple filaments of energy multiplied at a visible rate, entwining his essence like parasitic vines.

"Sandro, since old Roman is asleep, I won't stay here any longer. I'll come back later." Before he finished speaking, Caesars suddenly raised his hand and shot out two streams of dark energy.

Dark Blast spells tore spiderweb-like cracks through the air, leaving the two necromancers barely able to raise their bone staffs. Their skulls cracked like fragile pottery, the shattered bones crumbling beneath the turbulent spell. The two struggling soulfires, barely freed from their bodies, were forcibly ripped apart and devoured by the vortex created by the Soul Gem. As the last wisp of light sank into the depths of the gem, the dark patterns on Caesar's robes faintly lit with an eerie purple light.

The soul fire in Sandro's eye sockets shrank dramatically, the blue light sometimes surging and sometimes dimming. His fingers gripped the staff tightly, making a subtle crackling sound, but he ultimately didn't lift his grip even a bit. The arcane energy growing within him now vibrated with hunger, as if urging him to join the hunt—and he knew full well that he was the captive prey.

"Next time, prepare three necromancers, or prepare an equal amount of soul energy for me." Caesar's pale fingers gently stroked the gleaming soul gem at his waist, and his voice was like the cold wind echoing in the tomb. "Then, I will reveal to you the true secrets of the undead - those forbidden knowledge hidden deep behind the veil of death, which is enough to subvert all your understanding of undead magic!"

The last surviving necromancer stumbled back, his rotten robes rustling in the wind. As he turned and fled, his skeleton creaked under the weight. Caesars simply watched indifferently, the soul gem churning with milky light, already filled to capacity.

"This is impossible..." Sandro's dry throat bones rubbed against each other, making a harsh sound, and the soul fire in his skull beat violently. "Those lost secret arts of the undead, how could you..."

"The ancient library within the crater records the wisdom of the elves from thirty-six thousand years ago." Caesars unfurled his magical wings, pitch black as night. Each feather was adorned with dark purple runes, a fusion of darkness and arcane magic. "Do you think necromancy is a human invention? As early as the First Age, the great elven sages deduced the seven realms of the Law of Death."

The dark red, fat dog whimpered as it was carried into a fur backpack. As its wings stirred up a gust of air, Caesars' figure shot towards the pitch-black sky like an arrow.

Sandro gazed up at the fading black dot, his soul fire suddenly falling into an eerie stillness. Countless clues now connected in his mind, forming a terrifying truth—those "accidentally" discovered ancient tombs, the perfectly timed ice formations, even the several sleeping sarcophagi that had inexplicably appeared a few years ago. All of these gifts had a price tag attached to them. They were merely the soul crops the old elf had meticulously cultivated.

Sandro's bony fingers dug deep into his bony palms, yet he felt no pain. The soulfire that flickered in his hollow eye sockets trembled violently, like a candle flickering in a storm. Every necromancer who had used the Sleeping Stones fell into a tragic plight—those three stone coffins, carved with ancient runes, were like the most pernicious pacts, forever binding their souls to the cursed land of Bitterwater Farm.

He had attempted to escape, but within two days of leaving the farm, he discovered to his horror that his soul fire had begun to dissipate rapidly, like a leaking bladder. Even more despairing, the sarcophagus, housing powerful necromancy, seemed bound by some law, unable to be stored in a storage ring or even moved by the caster himself. Sandro still remembered the moment he exhausted all his magic power to lift the sarcophagus, and the blood-red runes that suddenly appeared at its base—soul shackles stronger than any chains.

Now he could only wander around the sarcophagus day after day, guarding this cage like a true zombie. Every night, the strange pulsation from within the sarcophagus would remind him of that fatal decision - if he had not touched the dark silver moon emblem on the coffin lid...