Chương 49: The Lich (Part 2)

The answer, as it turns out, is quite a lot more. Purple light floods my Garden as over fifty magic circles ignite behind the Lich in rapid succession, layered one atop the other until the throne room glows like an overenthusiastic ritual diagram. The undead step through instantly. Not a shambling horde this time. A squad. Upgraded knights. Upgraded mages. Reinforced variants of what I dismantled earlier—less bulk, more polish. The same concept as the four-hundred strong army from before, but clearly refined.

Quality over quantity. They assemble without hesitation, forming ranks across my soil as if the concept of personal space has never been explained to them. Another circle forms behind the Lich. Of course it does. It is identical to the others. Precisely identical. Same lines. Same layered geometry. Same highly suspicious symbols and squiggly nonsense characters occupying every section with aggressive symmetry. Not even a decorative flourish.

It's almost as if the cosmic authority responsible for magical aesthetics hit copy and paste with divine confidence and never once questioned the decision. Annoying. Vengeance will be mine. … Eventually. But first— He still has not answered my question. Which means I am entitled to another.

"You appear to understand what an Arcana is," I say smoothly, blade resting at my side as my vines coil lazily through the soil.

"I acquired mine only recently. The System's description was thorough, yet curiously incomplete. Would you care to elaborate on the finer details?" He considers for several seconds before answering.

"I cannot claim deep expertise," he says at last.

"But I will relay what I know. Arcana are exceedingly rare abilities that alter reality within a localized domain. They are born of the user's will. Their manifestations vary—some assault, some entrap, some impose laws upon their surroundings." He pauses, gaze fixed on the soil overtaking his throne room.

"In your case, it appears to accomplish all three." Hm. My tail flicks once. Then again. That was an utterly wasted question. Rare? Of course they are rare. I did not claw my way through a dragon, immolate an entire Tutorial, and tear reality open for something pedestrian. Localized reality transformation? I am actively replacing marble with soil while flowers bloom at my feet. That much was evident the moment the veil split. And multiple functions? Please. Did he expect me to specialize in only one trick?

Was there ever doubt that if I acquired something as dramatic as an Arcana, it would naturally be superior? I am the most perfect, beautiful prodigy in the world, after all. Honestly, if it only did one thing, I would have been offended. The "pure willpower" part, however… That is wrong. Or at the very least incomplete. Willpower is involved, yes. But my Garden does not feel like something I forced into being through sheer stubbornness. It feels like it belongs.

Like it was always there, and I just had to reveal it. That sounds far less dramatic than it should, but the distinction matters. Identity fits better. The System's description supports that interpretation far more than his explanation of brute determination shaping reality. Tragic. I wasted a perfectly good question on information I had already deduced. I will need to be more precise with my further questions. The circle completes its animation. Bone erupts from it.

A massive skeletal serpent tears free, vertebrae grinding as it coils into being. Strangely, it has mandibles instead of fangs. Seven out of ten. The Lich lifts one hand. Five more circles bloom in the air like dark flowers, completing almost instantly. Undead spill from them in silence. Floating, robed, and suspended above the ground by absolutely nothing at all. These ones are ominous in a way so textbook it borders on parody.

If RPGs and fantasy anime have taught me anything, those are very obviously wraiths or phantoms of some variety. I should absolutely not let them touch me. Inspect fires. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Gravecoil Serpent (Level 55 | Tier 2) [Summoned Minion] Species: Undead Aspect: Venom A massive skeletal serpent animated through a soul-contract. Exhibits rapid coiling movement and precise striking patterns. Its fangs deliver concentrated venom capable of degrading physical resilience over time.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Wraith of Withering (Level 55 | Tier 2) [Summoned Minion] Species: Undead Aspect: Wither A contracted soul-assassin bound by the Lich's soul-contract. Moves in near-silent glides and favors direct contact. Physical touch induces rapid chilling and progressive weakening of the target's vitality and movement. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Charming.

A stacking debuff composition layered on top of the bone abomination still orienting itself and the modest undead battalion awaiting orders. Very considerate of him. The Lich speaks.

"My turn for a question." The light behind his eyes flares brighter.

"Why do you remain still? You allow me to summon unhindered. You do not interrupt. You do not strike. Why?" Ah. I was wondering when that one would surface. I look him directly in the eyes.

"Surely you don't require clarification. You've noticed it, haven't you?" He studies me.

"You have not directly attacked me a single time." I incline my head.

"Correct."

"I see," he says slowly.

"It is more entertaining for you this way." He understands. That earns him a small measure of respect. Nothing present is a genuine threat. Both skeletal constructs could be erased with a single Rending Starfire Line. Physical attacks may falter against wraiths, but Starfire is not particularly concerned with material limitations. The lesser undead are beneath notice. With my stat distribution, soul-burning tendencies, and objectively unfair skill composition, I am likely a necromancer's least favorite matchup.

Especially since—"That does lead neatly into my question," I say, holding his gaze.

"How much has the System weakened you?" For the first time, he looks surprised. Strange. From my perspective, it is painfully obvious.

"You speak like one who has endured centuries, yet you remain barely Tier 2. You claim knowledge of an ability you deem 'exceedingly rare.' And most telling of all—" I gesture vaguely at the assembled horrors.

"You have not used a single class skill. Only summons." I let the silence stretch.

"That is not incompetence. It is a limitation. You either do not possess them… or they are too diminished to matter. Correct?" The Lich's jaw creaks as he chuckles. Low and amused.

"You observe well. Not a single one of my skills is above the Uncommon rarity. In addition, my eighth-ring power has been reduced to barely third ring, at most." I see. So his previous greater world operated on an entirely different scaling mechanic. He stands at barely Tier 2 here, yet he once possessed eight rings. If ring progression scaled in a manner comparable to tier advancement—where level requirements steepen and stat gain per level increases with each tier—then the compression must be severe.

Eighth ring would likely correspond to… around Fifth Tier, perhaps higher. Hard to map perfectly across systems, but the ratios line up well enough. Which means—"You are saying that you are hundreds of times weaker than previously?" He inclines his skull.

"Yes." That is… deeply unfortunate. If I were reduced by that magnitude, I would be contemplating extreme levels of violence against the blue box rather than obediently performing as its Tutorial boss. Then again, I suppose that is the consequence of dying in one's previous world. Conclusion: skill issue. He also answered another question he did not have to. It certainly was not my turn twice in a row. How generous. My tail swishes in smug superiority. He notices. The light in his sockets narrows slightly.

Annoyance, probably. Excellent. My traitorous tail swishes harder. I seize it with my free hand. It continues. … That is going to annoy me in the future. I can already tell. He now looks vaguely amused. … Embarrassing. My ears angle ever so slightly to the side. Unacceptable. The mental damage from the constant and consistent betrayal of my Foxkin biology is, at this point, more dangerous than the undead currently staring at me with all the intensity of a crow eyeing a highly suspicious pastry.

Which is to say: hungry. But cautious. As if weighing the benefits of deliciousness against the risks of indigestion and sudden, irreversible decapitation. Considering they are facing me, the latter is the statistically correct concern. Also— The Lich is not spawning any additional circles. No new purple theatrics. No ominous geometry. No further aesthetic crimes. Interesting. Which means one of two things. Either he is running low on mana.

Or the System has arbitrarily decided that exactly four unique summons and a modest handful of tutorial points constitute an adequate "final boss experience." Given its prior performance, I am inclined toward the latter. Again. I find myself—briefly—feeling a faint flicker of sympathy. Not for his impending demise, obviously. But for the deeply uninspired constraints placed upon him. He looks concerned now. Ah. That expression is easy to read. Likely the face of someone who attempted another summoning…

and was denied. Yes. That would explain it. Judging by his continued refusal to launch anything resembling a direct spell at my face—and the extremely consistent use of the phrase"soul-contract" in every Inspect window so far—my earlier assessment stands. Soul specialist. As expected of my genius. So. A brief recap. An ancient soul mage reduced to Tier 2. No direct offensive casting. A low rarity class I cannot read, despite it allegedly existing. No skill above Uncommon.

And to top it all off, apparently hard-capped by summon count. … Congratulations to the Tutorial designers. Truly inspired work. They have effectively handed me the final boss in a neatly wrapped coffin with minimal resistance and a strong emphasis on copy-pasted purple circles.

Even the other participants—those who have been decomposing in the forest for the past twenty-five days, assuming they were not eaten by monsters or converted into decorative lawn ornaments—could likely have defeated him with a reasonably sized party and a marginal amount of preparation. Which is, admittedly, probably the point. He is not meant to win. He is meant to stall. Build an army. I, unfortunately, do not stall. I take absolutely zero responsibility for my own competence. Still though. One out of ten.

The System is on very thin ice. I sigh. He sighs as well. For a brief, almost imperceptible instant, we share a moment of mutual suffering. There is no rage in his posture. No frantic desperation. No scrambling for advantage. Just a quiet, resigned irritation. I respect that. Beings like us should not fear death. We do not beg. We do not flee. If the end arrives, it arrives. That is the essence of pride. The seed inside me pulses. Ah. So that's what it is. Fitting. Though I cannot be entirely certain yet.

It continues to crack in slow, ominous increments, as if demanding further evidence before reaching its own inevitable conclusion. Dramatic. The Lich breaks the silence.

"Your System seems rather… poorly optimized, no?" His tone has shifted. Less theatrical now. Almost conversational. Threaded with faint disbelief. I allow my own voice to soften to match.

"I agree wholeheartedly." He nods.

"There is no need to drag this on any longer." I nod back and settle into Blazing Star Dance once more. His undead surge forward, breaking into neat groups of five, clearly targeting my flowers. Rude. The two skeletal threats to my continued existence come for me directly, while the wraiths hover just out of reach, drifting with all the confidence of things that believe intangibility equals superiority. The serpent attempts to burrow. It fails immediately. Tragic. I ignore the lesser undead for now.

My Garden spans wide, and they are not particularly fast. Destroying enough dahlias to collapse my Arcana would require time. Time they do not have. The Ossuary Abomination and Gravecoil Serpent arrive in tandem. The abomination swings from my left with two fists large enough to convert me into a regrettable red smear. The serpent lunges from my right, mandibles wide, aiming not for a wound—but division. Taking either hit would be less "minor injury" and more "Lyn: Part One and Part Two."

Unfortunate, then, that they only strike an illusion. The real me stands offset, just a fraction to the right. Every vine I can control snaps around the serpent at once, coiling along vertebrae and ribs. It thrashes, tearing vines into motes of starlight as it tries to force itself free. Too late. My hilt rises to my shoulder. Prismatic motes bloom along the length of my blade, heat bending the air in shimmering waves.

"Blazing Star Dance, First Step:" I thrust. The motes arc outward. Lines carve through space.

"Rending Starfire Line." My blade pierces the joint between skull and spine without resistance. Bone fractures in a cascading series of cracks as the force carries through, splitting vertebrae in sequence. The head falls. The body follows, collapsing into a loose spill of structureless remains. The abomination swings again. A small pivot carries me inside its guard. Its remaining arms lash out in response. They all miss. A sequence of sidesteps, Astral Steps, and admittedly unnecessary turns later, it overextends.

I take the opening immediately—planting a foot against its forearm and launching upward. Yes, the flip is unnecessary. No, I will not apologize. Gravity reverses. Runes flare. Motes ignite. The graceful arc of my ascent becomes a ballistic descent in less than a heartbeat. Horizon Slash activates. My blade shears cleanly through one shoulder joint and continues through the second, severing both arms in a single descending line. Tragic. With its balance ruined, the rest is procedural. Two dodges.

One suppressed giggle as it wobbles with theatrical indignation. A final step. Then I remove its head. I did not even require a named technique. My vines, liberated from larger concerns, resume their enthusiastic reduction of the lesser undead and wraiths. They are therefore—irrelevant. I turn my attention back to the Lich. No new circles form. No further summons attempt to claw their way into being. He has reached the limits the Tutorial permits him. He speaks.

"You asked me earlier what my Aspect was, right?" I tilt my head.

"Yes." I already know. But I will permit him his reveal. This is usually the part where a boss unveils a conveniently timed final card or equally dramatic transformation.

"Well," he says, raising a hand, "I will answer that question now. My Aspect is—" He points directly at me.

"Soul." Called it.

"Soul Recollection" Ah. This is going to— My consciousness is torn from my body. The world falls away. I drop. Deeper. Past bone, breath and thought. Into my soul. Into memory. Into a time when I still had a last name.