Chapter 325 Holy King! I'm going to humiliate you severely!

"Ron, no matter how powerful, glorious, or admirable you were in life."

"In the end, you still couldn't stop that sharp blade called time."

The lich's whispers were filled with hatred, bordering on a roar.

"Now you have turned into dust in history, but the enmity between us is far from over."

"Just wait! Wait until I reclaim the legendary realm."

"Your descendants, those inheritors whose blood flows with your filthy dregs; your people, those foolish lambs who once cheered for you and worshipped you as a god; your kingdom, that filthy land built upon the countless corpses of the Kingdom of Balet!"

"They will all pay the heaviest price for what you have done."

"The hatred of being killed and the humiliation of a destroyed nation! Even after a thousand years, even after my soul has completely decayed... I, Phillips, will never forget!"

With his hand, now only pale white finger bones remained, he slowly stroked the surface of the crystal ball, which reflected the vibrant scene of lights flickering within the Riverwood Territory, a stark contrast to the deathly stillness he found himself in.

At this time, if there were scholars familiar with the history of the Federation present...

Hearing the words he uttered, one would surely be shocked.

Ron.

His full name is Ron Lowthern.

It was that legendary figure who almost single-handedly created the Federation and was later revered as the Holy King Lortheon.

Phillips, on the other hand, was a legendary necromancer from the Kingdom of Butler, a land long buried by the dust of history, who once struck fear into the hearts of countless enemies eight hundred years ago.

However, that is all in the distant past.

King Lorthorn was not born invincible.

On his magnificent journey of territorial expansion, he encountered many powerful enemies and resolved countless thorny crises.

The Butler Kingdom is one of the toughest nuts to crack.

With the rise of the Holy King, Butler's capital was eventually trampled under the iron hooves of Lorthorn, the kingdom's flag was permanently broken, and its territory was incorporated into the Federation.

Time flies, and the world changes.

Nowadays, the Kingdom of Balet has long since become a vague footnote in historical documents, and the legendary necromancer Phillips, who once dominated the world and commanded an army all by himself... has long since fallen under the Holy King's sword, transforming into the lich body before us, neither human nor ghost.

Going back eight hundred years, before the Federation was established, it was a time when nations fought for the rich resources of the Ser Wilderness.

Phillips once single-handedly commanded an undead army, becoming invincible and shining brightly on the wilderness battlefield.

However, he encountered the young Saint King Lorthorn, who had just entered the realm of legends and was at the height of his talent.

Despite his youth, the Holy King at that time already displayed terrifying strength that swept across all directions and extraordinary military wisdom.

In a crucial battle, the Holy King cleverly feigned weakness to lure Phillips into leading his undead army in deep pursuit.

When Phillips, eager for victory, slightly revealed his true form hidden among the army, the Holy King suddenly unleashed all his hidden power, forcefully breaking through the layers of defenses of the undead legion with overwhelming force, and finally beheading and killing this powerful necromancer!

However.

Although the young sage king was decisive in killing and his sword brought down powerful enemies, he ultimately lacked the experience and maturity he would later acquire.

Necromancers spend their lives traversing the boundary between life and death, exploring the forbidden mysteries of life.

Phillips' physical body did die from the Holy King's fatal attack, but his existence did not completely end.

Before participating in the brutal wilderness war, this necromancer had secretly crafted a life-saving "Life Box" as a precaution.

The death of his physical body triggered the spell he had set up.

His soul was preserved and eventually transformed into a lich, reborn as an undead.

However, this evil transformation did not come without a price.

After becoming a lich, Phillips' soul became extremely weak due to the Holy King's attack and the damage from the transformation ritual, forcing him to enter a long period of forced slumber to stabilize this state between life and death.

This sleep lasted for a full three hundred years.

When his consciousness finally awoke on a deathly still night more than five hundred years ago, he tried to regain his former glory.

He was shocked to discover that the world had already been turned upside down!

The Kingdom of Balet, which he fought for and protected, has vanished into thin air, becoming nothing more than a cold page in the annals of history.

Even more frightening is...

The vibrant, warm, and emotional souls of humankind are being constantly eroded and assimilated by the cold body of the lich. His emotions grow darker and more gloomy, more cruel and violent each day!

The human way of thinking and emotional logic that once belonged to Phillips.

Like a sandcastle, it continuously crumbled and collapsed under the onslaught of the undead consciousness.

He desperately wanted to take revenge while he was still conscious.

However, during the reign of the Holy King, his prestige was at its zenith, and the Federation was as stable as a rock.

Phillips knew that if he were to rashly reveal himself for revenge in his still-unrecovered lich form, whose soul state was extremely unstable, it would be tantamount to throwing an egg against a rock and courting death.

He dared not reveal his existence.

He could only lie dormant like a rat in a sewer, in a remote corner of the wilderness of Sel, relying on intermittent slumber to slow down the rate at which his soul was completely assimilated by the nature of the undead, silently accumulating power and waiting for the opportunity to take revenge.

Until recently, news of the Holy King's fall reached his lair.

He immediately sensed that the Federation, having lost this pillar of strength, would inevitably descend into internal strife and fragmentation.

He decided to no longer lie low and take advantage of this golden opportunity, when the Federation's control over the wilderness was at its lowest, to harvest souls here, restore his power, regain his legendary status, and then carry out his bloody revenge against the Kingdom of Lorthorn, which he had been brewing for hundreds of years!

"The Ironclad Tribe... Creekwood Territory..."

Phillips traced the surface of the crystal ball with his pale finger bones, the soul fire in his eyes flickering and burning eerily.

For undead creatures, the souls of intelligent beings are the finest delicacies, far more nourishing than the souls of ferocious beasts and monsters.

Among them, the human soul, with its rich emotions and clear thinking, is the most delicious and nourishing.

The next level down are the souls of monsters like ogres and gnolls, which possess rudimentary intelligence and savage emotions.

The ultimate feast for the soul is none other than the soul of a dragon! Its boundless life force and ancient dragon soul are enough to drive any high-ranking undead mad.

The Serbian wilderness is now engulfed in war and chaos.

However, those places where large numbers of intelligent beings gather are mostly strategic locations heavily guarded by various kingdoms, making them difficult to provoke.

However, Ximuling is an anomaly.

In the lich's perception, it was like a bright lamp that suddenly appeared in the dark wasteland, exceptionally vivid and alluring.

Moreover, he had already conducted preliminary investigations and tests, and was able to confirm that the Ironforge tribe's defenses were indeed strong, with many powerful biological auras, but there was no powerful enough presence to stop his torrent of undead.

"Humans, monsters, dragons."

His gaze swept greedily over every figure inside the crystal ball, as if he were taking stock of his own possessions.

"Not a single one will escape... Every living soul is mine, and I will not let any of them go!"

"Hehehe... Hahaha..."

Phillips first let out a hoarse, distorted laugh that was completely unlike anything a human could make, but then, as if he suddenly realized something, his laughter abruptly stopped, and then he deliberately restrained it, trying to make it sound a little more normal.

After transforming into a lich, he found himself increasingly prone to using that chilling, grotesque laugh.

This is definitely not a good sign.

This means that his soul is rapidly degenerating, and his humanity is being constantly eroded by the cold instincts of the dead.

Indeed, transforming into a lich grants the spellcaster a near-immortal life form.

But the price paid behind this was far heavier than imagined.

Time is the lich's most abundant asset, but also his most deadly poison.

The lich's body will continuously and inversely influence and distort his soul, subtly altering his way of thinking, emotional patterns, and behavioral logic.

As time flows by.

Phillips's human memories, emotions, ways of thinking... even his self-awareness will be gradually eroded and covered up by the will of the dead carried by this immortal body, until they are completely obliterated.

final.

The legendary necromancer Phillips, who once loved the kingdom, studied magic, and had joys and sorrows, will disappear completely. In his place will be a cold and pure necromancer who only follows the instincts of the undead and pursues death and souls.

Phillips feared this shift.

Deep down, he still stubbornly identified with his human identity. His transformation into a lich was merely a last resort for survival under the Holy King's sword.

He couldn't accept that his mindset had been completely changed.

That meant a second, and truly complete, death—Phillips' death as a human being.

More importantly.

He would never allow himself to forget that deep-seated hatred.

If the soul is completely transformed into the mind of the dead, then he may no longer be able to understand the emotions of the living, such as national hatred and personal grievances, and his revenge will lose all meaning.

The cold logic of the dead cannot bear the intense grudges and grievances of the human world.

But this is an irreversible process.

After all, from the moment he completed the transformation ritual, his life form was already anchored; he was now a lich, no longer a human.

The only hope lies in regaining the power of the legend.

"As long as I return to the legendary realm, the essence of my soul will be sublimated, becoming resilient enough to better resist the assimilation of the undead body."

"Although this transformation will still take place gradually, the time frame of the entire process will be greatly extended."

"I will have ample time to exact my revenge on the Kingdom of Lorthorn and to make the Ron bloodline pay the price!"

As if to comfort himself, Phillips took a deep breath of the cold, negative-energy-filled air in the cave.

Immediately afterwards, he put down the crystal ball in his hand, reached his bony hand into the wide black robe, and slowly took out a strange staff that was carved entirely from the pale bones of some unknown creature and inlaid with a large, dark green gemstone at the top.

He began to wave his staff, chanting hoarse, ancient necromancy that echoed ominously through the cave.

"The bones of the dead who were once buried beneath this earth!"

"O lost souls who once wandered this wilderness!"

"Wake up!!!"

"Respond to your master's call! Tear away the rotting shroud! Break free from the earth's shackles! Return from your slumber!!"

Buzz—!

An invisible yet vast and boundless spiritual wave, filled with an aura of deathly stillness, rapidly spread out with his chanting and the waving of his staff, sweeping across every corner of the cave.

Deep within this vast and dark underground cavern, the already thick and pungent aura of evil spirits became almost viscous.

Immediately afterwards.

One o'clock... two o'clock... ten o'clock... one hundred o'clock...

Scattered, eerie lights, appearing one after another from near to far, illuminate the deepest darkness of the cave.

No!

That's not a light.

Those were the cold, merciless flames of the soul burning in the eye sockets of undead creatures; they belonged to the eyes of the dead.

For hundreds of years.

Each time Phillips briefly awoke from his slumber, he would secretly collect the remains of powerful creatures left behind in the wilderness or deliberately hunted, and transport them deep into this secret lair.

On one hand, he can continuously increase the concentration of negative energy in this place to nourish himself; on the other hand, he can use necromancy to gradually refine these powerful corpses and transform them into undead warriors who obey his orders, silently accumulating the power of revenge.

He was a lich, but before that, he was first and foremost a great sorcerer proficient in necromancy!

The true power of a necromancer lies not in fighting alone. Their terror lies in their ability to single-handedly build an army, sustaining themselves through war, unleashing an overwhelming swarm of undead, and overwhelming any enemy who dares to stand in their way with an endless sea of ​​skeletons and terrifying monsters!

After hundreds of years of lying low and accumulating experience.

Beneath this desolate wasteland where bloodshed and death have never ceased, Phillips has quietly amassed an astonishingly large, diverse, and terrifying undead army!

Centuries of patience and waiting have led to this rise!

"No one can stop me! No one can!"

"Hehehe... Hahaha... Hehehe... Ron! Just wait! I will not only destroy everything you protect, but I will also find your burial place, dig up your grave, and turn your corpse into the lowest of the undead, so that I may forever insult you!"

Phillips's shrill laughter rang out once again, unable to be suppressed, echoing repeatedly in the underground cavern.

As the laughter subsided, he put down the crystal ball reflecting the scenery of Riverwood Territory and continued preparing the spell ritual to strengthen and consolidate the newly awakened undead in preparation for the battle to come.

For a lich, a necromancer.

He is invincible as long as there is no powerful being among his enemies who can break through countless guards and behead him.

The dragons of the Ironforge tribe clearly do not possess such power.

He will start from Riverwood, unleash a horde of the undead that will sweep across the wilderness, and then return to legend!

(End of this chapter)