The Necromancer's Servant

The cries of the wiverns echoed in the sky as Asa looked up to see two shadows, seemingly no larger than bats, circling high above him.

Asa silently cursed his luck. Detached from the troop, he was now a prime target for an ambush. When he had left the general's unit, he had carefully navigated the woods to hide his presence, but in the past few days, he hadn't seen any signs of wiverns, only to encounter them now, just as he was approaching Bracada—and there were two of them.

With a sharp cry, one of the wiverns began to dive towards him. In an instant, the creature's figure grew larger in the sunlight, and even from several dozen meters away, Asa could feel the gust of wind rushing towards him. The horse he rode grew restless beneath him.

Although he wasn't actually a scout for the imperial army, it seemed there was no time to explain. Asa carefully tracked the wivern's dive and, seizing the moment, he sent a fireball flying through the air.

His timing was impeccable; he had calculated the wivern's wingbeat frequency and diving momentum, a sense that only a warrior, honed in the heat of battle, could possess. Only the most basic of spells, like a fireball, could be conjured instantly without incantations or magical resonance, which is why Asa preferred to use such fundamental spells—simple, direct, and able to exploit the moment to strike. Moreover, his fireball was not comparable to that of any ordinary low-level mage; its power was sufficient to be considered a high-level attack spell, enough to take down even such a massive creature in a single hit.

As the fireball was about to strike the wivern's chest, it suddenly seemed to be deflected by an invisible hand, altering its trajectory. The fireball grazed past the wivern, which, startled, let out a cry and returned to the high skies.

Before Asa could fully process the surprise, he was met with an even more astonishing sight. A small black dot suddenly separated from the other bat-like shadow above and began to fall. This was not a bat but another enormous wivern, and the black dot appeared to be a person. That person gracefully leaped from an altitude of nearly a kilometer.

It was obvious that this person wasn't using any descent-slowing magic like "Skyfall." As they plummeted, they grew faster and closer to the ground, becoming a blurry shadow. Asa was stunned; at that height, even if the person were made of steel, they would shatter upon hitting the rocky ground. If they were flesh and blood, the outcome would be akin to that of a watermelon or tomato hitting the ground.

Before Asa could recover from his shock, the shadow hit the ground just a short distance away.

A deafening crash resounded, as if the entire wilderness was shaken by the impact; debris flew, and the rocky surface collapsed like fragile bread, forming a large crater. Asa gaped at the dust cloud rising before him, staggering back several steps to regain his balance. It felt like a bolt from the heavens, imbued with divine fury.

"If you don't want to die, just stand there and don't move," a voice said, not loud but cold and authoritative, commanding respect just like the immense force of the fall. In the center of the dusty crater, a figure slowly rose from a crouched position.

"It's you?" As the smoke cleared, the person who had fallen approached, and Asa recognized him. His tall, slightly gaunt frame resembled a perfect sculpture made of concentrated essence, with a sharp, strong face that conveyed elegance alongside determination.

Asa nodded slowly, "I should have guessed it. Only you could make such an entrance." Even if he couldn't remember the face, he would never forget the almost invincible presence and demeanor. It was Grutt, the general who commanded all the orc troops of Orford.

On the back of the wivern, Asa listened to the wind roaring past his ears; below him, the trees looked like mere blades of grass, and his horse had shrunk to the size of an insect. The vast wilderness below appeared to stretch out endlessly. Sitting on the specially designed saddle, he reached out to touch the wivern's back, feeling the large, lizard-like scales and the powerful muscles moving beneath them. Though he knew he could never afford one, he couldn't help but ask, "How much for one of these as a mount?"

"Three years, over ten lizardmen's lives, and the energy, financial, and human resources spent cannot be calculated. We've only managed to tame four so far. How much do you think one is worth?" General Grutt's response was succinct and powerful.

"Such a treasure, how could Theodorus ever sell it? Its utility for transportation and reconnaissance is unparalleled; even the most skilled air mages cannot compare to this winged beast. And in terms of combat strength, even ten wiverns would likely be inferior. It's surprising he thought of raising such creatures." The old man sitting in front of Asa spoke. Asa could tell that the old man was quite proficient in air magic. Even during this rapid flight, the surrounding wind didn't hinder their vision or obscure their conversation.

A middle-aged man beside him glanced at Asa and said, "Your fireball spell is quite impressive. A mere fireball has such power." He pointed to the old man behind them. "If it weren't for the teacher's quick response just now, Mr. Theodorus's treasure would have suffered."

"Oh?" Asa was somewhat surprised and asked, "So who are you?"

"We are mages from the Tower of Fangs." The middle-aged man gestured to a few others on another wivern. "Young man, are you from the Einfast Empire? You look like someone from a magic academy."

"For now, I'm a cleric in the army," Asa replied, taking a closer look at the mages. The "Tower of Fangs" was a kind of mage guild in the southwestern religious nations of the empire. Unlike the magic academy, which was purely a civilian organization unrelated to the state, the Tower housed high-level elemental mages and was well-known among adventurers.

"Your magic is quite captivating. Would you be interested in coming to our tower to study together?" the middle-aged man offered.

"Don't poach this promising young man. He must be a disciple of Bishop Ronis," the old man interjected. "But young man, have you been to our place before? I feel like I've seen you somewhere…"

"Ah? You must be mistaken. I have a very ordinary appearance, quite similar to many people," Asa deflected vaguely. He knew this was undoubtedly the effect of the elf race's bounty on him.

What would have been several days of travel passed in just half a day under the speed of the wiverns. Along the way, Asa also spotted the troop led by the general, which from high above looked like a swarm of ants. By dusk, the two wiverns had brought them to Orford.

Theodorus welcomed the mages warmly, greeting them with delight, and was quite surprised to see Asa.

"I saw a lone soldier and intended to capture him for questioning about that troop's situation, but I didn't expect to catch you instead," General Grutt said.

After hearing Asa's account, Theodorus shook his head regretfully. "I didn't expect such a situation to arise from one person's loss of control. It's a pity for those five thousand young soldiers who were innocent."

"Not entirely innocent," Asa replied, a deep-seated disgust for those soldiers' fanaticism bubbling within him. "They came willingly."

Theodorus shook his head and said lightly, "Don't say that. The young often don't understand how to see the essence of things and can easily be led astray by others, clouded by passion. It's truly unfortunate to seek death for such pointless reasons."

The leading old mage asked, "Did you summon us just for this? But you wouldn't think that just a few of us air mages could stop five thousand soldiers, would you?"

"Not to stop them," Theodorus smiled wryly, correcting him. "But to kill them. Those who are mad with anger and hatred will only spread more hatred if we let them live. Such emotions bring no benefit to anyone." He took a deep breath and summarized again, "Therefore, for the sake of long-term peace, we must kill them all." He turned to Asa. "This is our decision, and I still want to ask you… what do you think we should do?"

Asa furrowed his brow and thought for a moment, feeling an unparalleled sense of annoyance. He shook his head, sighed, and softly said, "Let them kill you."

"What do you want to do?" an air mage asked.

Theodorus pulled out an object from his pocket. It was a round piece of glass, thick in the center and gradually thinning at the edges. "This was given to me by a dwarf craftsman. It's truly a marvelous thing; I've discovered some interesting phenomena with it." He looked up at the sky and said, "The next two days will be calm and clear with no wind."

Asa and the other mages exchanged glances, uncertain about what he was getting at.

The next day.

It was a fine day.

The general looked up at the dazzling sun. It was perfect weather for battle; the fresh air of the highlands and the burning sunlight on their skin would invigorate and embolden the bloodthirsty warriors. The orc city called Orford was not far away.

Since that night, the orcs had gone completely silent, and the bipedal dragons only occasionally appeared in the sky. The soldiers were more spirited due to the orcs' cowardice. Although the general knew that the calmness hid turbulent undercurrents, he only "knew" it; his dead heart would not be distracted by anything else. He only wanted to charge, to fight, to hear the orcs' wails and feel their fur and bones break beneath his axe, dying gloriously. This was all his spirit was invested in. When he chose this path, he knew there was no turning back; he had never considered victory or defeat, nor the fate of the five thousand soldiers.

"There's a small orc troop ahead." During their march, the soldier at the front spotted the target and reported immediately.

The general shouted with his resonant voice, "Warriors, it's time to show our courage and our swords for our honor and our nation's hatred. Let's kill them all!"

The soldiers responded with a roar like wild beasts, charging forward like a pack of starving wolves.

That small troop of orcs began to flee, but they were moving slowly. The soldiers shouted as they chased, gradually catching up to a flat area where a tall rocky hill unique to the wild highlands stood alone, isolated from any other formation.

Suddenly, the sky darkened; the previously dazzling sunlight vanished from sight. The general looked up and saw a massive shadow enveloping the sky above. It was not a cloud or any tangible object, but pure shadow. The general had never seen such a strange thing. One side of the shadow was pressed against the towering rock, looking as if this hill was wearing a bizarre, enormous hat in the sky.

Amid the soldiers' spirited shouts, a piercing scream suddenly broke through, the sharpness of which cleaved the enthusiastic battle cries in two.

This sound held no discernible emotion; it seemed to exist solely for the sake of screaming, a primal instinct to tear itself apart. Once this sound pierced the ears of the living, it instantly sparked a primal fear, even the general was no exception. He turned around and witnessed an unbelievable scene.

A dazzling circular light curtain moved among the soldiers in the back. Everything that could burn within its reach ignited in an instant—soldiers' hair, leather armor, boots, belts, clothing, even skin... Yet, these flames appeared utterly powerless, almost invisible. Even the dark objects within that dazzling light curtain reflected blinding points of light, drowning the color of the flames.

The air was filled with the smell of char. Everyone gazed in terror at the blinding light, trying to discern what it was, but it was just light—pure light. From the massive shadow in the sky, a funnel-shaped light curtain gradually shrank, and then the tip of the funnel fell upon the soldiers.

Sunlight. This was the only thing the soldiers under this funnel of light could feel.

The light, which normally illuminated everything and bestowed warmth and life, now felt overwhelmingly intense. Even with their eyes closed and hands shielding their faces, they could not resist; in an instant, their eyes were blinded, as if they had received all the light they would ever experience in their lives.

This immense radiance pierced through their bodies. Every nerve in their skin boiled and twitched under the light, and the pain was sharp and enormous enough to pierce their souls, making them emit screams and howls with all the strength they had left. Then they smelled the charred scent of their own bodies and heard their muscles cracking like fried beans under the high temperature.

The sun, which had always been so dear and admirable, for the first time filled everyone present with terror. They realized that this orb they saw every day was so enormous, so unfathomably powerful. Everything appeared weak under this heavenly might—human bodies, horses, objects—all became indistinguishable black masses, with only a few swords still glowing red, releasing the heat they had absorbed.

The soldiers' previously ignited spirit and courage vanished in an instant under this mysterious and unpredictable heavenly power, leaving only fear; they began to scatter and flee. However, that light curtain swiftly enveloped them, charring and incinerating them.

The general was furious, enraged, and let out a meaningless roar. He could not afford to be afraid or retreat, so he transformed all his emotions into frenzied anger and fighting spirit. He brandished his axe and shouted as he charged toward the two hills ahead, where he saw several figures. Those were the ones behind this mischief, and he wanted to turn them into mush with his seething rage.

But he too was soon bathed in this boundless light, and darkness instantly engulfed his vision. He heard two faint explosions coming from his eye sockets.

The unbearable pain throughout his body could not overshadow his fierce fighting spirit; he continued to shout as he charged forward, but he could already hear his robust muscles drying up rapidly, producing cracking sounds.

I want to die like a warrior... he thought madly. But even this last seemingly unyielding thought crumbled to dust under the brilliance. With a 'pop,' his head exploded, boiling brain matter, eyes, and blood spraying out, and then he, along with his body, turned into a charred mass of lifelessness, collapsing.

The last remaining body that was still active fell under the onslaught of this light, turning black. With the sound of a gust of wind crashing in the sky, the shadow vanished, and the light curtain disappeared as well. The wild highlands returned to peace, and the sun, as it always did, impartially cast its light upon every corner of the land, including the scorched earth.

Asa stood on the hill, looking down at the twisted, charred bodies below. Those blackened limbs resembled burned branches, with only the individual withered heads connected to them exposing their white teeth, confirming what they once were. Just minutes ago, they had been five thousand vibrant young men, their battle cries resounding.

The screams during those few minutes left an indelible mark on all who heard them; they were the most mournful, the most agonizing sounds a living being could emit.

The air was thick with the stench of char, and Asa knew that even if he had to eat bugs, drink blood, or even swallow live animals in the wild, he would likely not eat grilled meat for a long time.

Standing in the center of the magic circle, Theodorus lowered his arms, which had been raised high, and let out a weary sigh, unsure if controlling this magic had exhausted him.

"Remarkable, being able to combine so many people's air magic to control the airflow," a younger wizard remarked, glancing at the magic circle beneath him. "And to manipulate it freely, using the airflow to cause the refraction of light to kill—that's incredibly creative. It's truly a masterpiece."

Theodorus snorted disdainfully, shaking his head as he looked down at his work. His voice was filled with fatigue. "It's just a killing tool. Nothing remarkable."

"Remarkable. Truly remarkable." A round of enthusiastic applause rang out from the skeletal hands of several necromancers.

One necromancer examined the magic circle in the crystal ball carefully, marveling, "Impressive! This could win the award for the most creative magic of the year. I wonder if it belongs to the light magic or air magic category?"

"Killing five thousand people with the sun? This old man is more formidable than us. We would at least need to throw magic at people; he just controlled the air pressure," another necromancer said, raising his eyebrows.

"The magic circle is drawn well, and the control is even better. Although controlling airflow is not particularly impressive in itself, perhaps no one can control it as precisely as he does. However... if this is the method, then no army can rival his city-state?"

"That's just taking advantage of the fact that the other army has no wizards. As long as someone can see through this trick and use air magic to interfere, it would be fine. But those rigid-minded wizards from the academies would indeed find it difficult to see through," another necromancer replied.

"Hey, hey, hey. Everyone saw it; not a single orc died." A spirited necromancer clapped to attract attention. "Let's give points to the virtuous Lady Vadenina and that gentleman. And... let's celebrate the fact that we are about to have two new members. This is a rare event in our Dehya Valley for a century!"