No! I don't want to be a Super Necromancer!

Black Dragon Palace, Chamber of the Matriarch

The colossal chamber, adorned with pillars of polished obsidian and tapestries woven from shadow, shook under the rage of the Matriarch of the Black Dragon clan.

Her enormous form, majestic yet terrifying, scales glinting like polished onyx, towered at the heart of the chamber. Eyes of violet fire glared down from the throne, casting waves of furious energy that sent her attendants scrambling back, trembling.

The air was heavy, thickened with her wrath. Her voice, a harsh whisper more chilling than any roar, reverberated sharply through the chamber. "Who dared to murder my Crown Prince?"

Her claws flexed, massive and razor-sharp, gripping the throne's edge with a force that cracked the dark stone. Her rage was palpable, a living force of fury.

Before her knelt twelve dragons, each formidable and imposing, their scales blacker than the night itself. They were the Black Dragon Apostles, the Matriarch's personal vanguard, her most trusted and powerful commanders.

Each one was chosen from thousands, forged through brutal battles into perfect weapons.

They stood as one, perfectly still, awaiting orders. Their auras formed a unified storm of dark power that pulsed rhythmically. Beneath their wings stretched intricate tattoos of obsidian-black runes, marks of their absolute devotion and lethal capability.

"Find them," she hissed, eyes blazing like twin stars of vengeance. "Scour every mountain, cave, and valley. I don't care if you turn the entire territory upside down. Bring me the one who took my heir, or do not return at all!"

Without hesitation, the Apostles bowed, wings flaring outwards. Instantly, each Apostle turned and strode out of the chamber, leading their flights, elite squadrons of fiercely loyal dragons who specialized in combat, assassination, tracking, and siege warfare.

From the heights of the palace, they launched skyward, an awe-inspiring sight. Twelve flights spread in every direction, their wings blotting out the moonlight, their formations precise yet ruthless.

Dragons flooded outward like black tidal waves, scattering through the vast realm, their passing shaking the earth beneath.

As the Apostles and their flights spread through the territories, chaos bloomed. Dragons questioned prisoners, ransacked inns, disrupted markets and training grounds alike. Panic rippled rapidly, as every dragon knew the severity of the Matriarch's wrath.

—

The massive obsidian doors thundered shut behind the last of the She looked at him fully now. "It could be him, couldn't it? Your litBlack Dragon Apostles, their exit leaving behind only fading gusts of wind and an eerie silence. The echoes of armor and claw faded into the distance, swallowed by the shadows of the palace.

Within the colossal throne chamber, the Matriarch remained unmoving for a long, simmering moment. Her violet eyes, still glowing with fire, slowly shifted upward to the moonless sky above. Beyond the high-arched glass ceiling, the night stretched wide and clear, stars cold and indifferent.

Her furious expression softened.

Her jaw unclenched. Her wings relaxed.

And then she exhaled, slow and weary, as if the weight of centuries pressed down upon her scales.

"Another threat. Another spark of chaos," she murmured, her voice no longer a thunderous command, but a tired whisper that barely reached the polished obsidian floor.

The air beside her throne shimmered.

The space rippled once, then split, and from that tear in reality stepped a man—tall, dressed in a flowing black coat trimmed with blood-red patterns, his crimson hair wild and wind-swept despite the still air. His skin was pale, almost grey, but it was his eyes that drew the Matriarch's full attention. Crimson, glowing, not with heat, but with the promise of violence.

His presence screamed with power. Killing intent laced every breath, sharp and surgical, coiling like a blade half-drawn from a sheath.

"Why have you come again?" the Matriarch said without turning. Her voice remained even, but the edges were colder now.

He didn't reply immediately. He simply stared.

"Don't give me that look," she said, glancing sideways. "This is probably another false alarm. Half the clan would love to see my son dead. But not many can kill him like that with a single strike, in our own territory, right under my wings."

A beat passed. The man didn't blink.

tle shadow from Earth."

At last, he spoke. His voice was quiet, low, but it echoed in the chamber like a curse.

"Find the one I'm looking for or die."

The temperature in the room dropped like stone in water.

The Matriarch did not flinch. Her wings slowly spread, casting towering shadows that filled the corners of the chamber. Her violet gaze blazed once more, this time not with grief but with defiance.

"You have no power to coerce me, human," she said, every word coiled with layered threat. "I may tolerate your presence. But threaten me again, and I will tear you apart whatever your lineage."

The red-haired man didn't retreat, but neither did he press. His killing intent dimmed, just slightly, as if entertained.

The Matriarch leaned forward, her voice dropping. "And let's not forget, your power is borrowed. If the Darkness Sovereign learns you're meddling in this world again… you know what will happen."

The man's smile was thin. "Let him try."

The Matriarch studied him for a long, heavy moment, the fury in her eyes cooled now into something calculating. "So. My prophets tell me that you are He who holds the Key to Death?"

The red-haired man didn't answer, but the silence around him thickened. His expression didn't change but the answer was clear.

She narrowed her eyes. "So it's true. You're the one who claimed the Gravewalker's core inheritance. You received his power. Yet you don't know what the key is for…?"

The man didn't blink. His gaze stayed locked on hers. "No. Not yet."

"Then why are you here?" she asked, voice lower now. "Why scour my territory for something you don't even understand?"

His silence remained, deep and brooding.

"Tell me, human, or consider my help over." The Black Dragon Matriarch growled softly.

His silence remained for a few moments before gaze sharpened.

"Because my prophets spoke. They foresaw a convergence. A window of months, this year, this season, where someone would emerge. Not the one holding the key. But the one who understands what it unlocks."

The Matriarch's claws curled slightly into the obsidian stone.

"We've searched your territory for months," the man continued. "Fighting prisoners, smugglers, scholars, wandering beasts… All of them were watched. Tested. Eliminated."

Her wings shifted behind her, uneasy now. "And what have you found?"

His voice grew colder. "Nothing. Until today."

Her eyes narrowed. "The death of my son."

A pause.

The man nodded. "No ordinary enemy could have done it. The signature of death energy, the efficiency… it wasn't mindless slaughter. It was execution. Calculated. And there was something else. A trace… old, ancient. Like something familiar."

The Matriarch leaned back slowly. "You think it's him. The one you've been waiting for."

He didn't reply.

He didn't need to.

With a shimmer of crimson mist, the man vanished, the space where he stood folding back into silence, as if he had never been there.

Alone again, the Matriarch exhaled. Her grief returned but it was no longer the pure, burning grief of a mother. It was shaded now with unease.

Uncertainty.

Far beyond her palace, her Apostles scoured the realm, hunting the one who had dared strike down the Crown Prince. But deep down, she knew…

She wasn't hunting Damien to avenge her son.

She was hunting him because something older was moving beneath her feet. A story older than dragons. A key no one understood, but one that promised to unlock something far more valuable than the whole Dragon World combined.

The Gravewalker was, afterall, one who was closest to the power of the Sovereigns.