Chương 81: Chapter 80. First wall

There wasn't anything else of note in the core room. Beyond the books and the signs of habitation, the chamber was empty. No weapons or potions. Nothing that told them what the necromancer was even doing in the Pascar Plains. Rayne closed the research diary and exhaled slowly before tucking it under his arm along with the other two books. Then he turned and led the way back into the ruined chamber. Varrick was crouched near the necromancer's body when they returned, fiddling with a few rings in his hand.

When he noticed them approaching, he straightened slightly, put all but one ring on the ground, and looked directly at Rayne.

"You crushed two of these," he said, holding the ring up between his fingers.

"Completely ruined the runes on them. And as I said, the necromancer's artifacts were subpar. Uncommon grade at best. The falling stones didn't help either. That kind of blunt force ruins cheap enchanted items fast." Bran fixed his eyes on the rings.

"But you can still tell what each of them does, right?" Varrick shook his head.

"Not me. I didn't specialize in runes or forging." He turned one of the rings slightly so the inner band caught the light.

"All I can say for sure is this—the runes etched into these rings are orcish." Rayne raised an eyebrow.

"So… not made in Valeria?" Varrick looked at him like he'd asked whether the sun rose in the west.

"Valeria has every kind of runesmith you can imagine," he said flatly.

"They work with runes of all schools. So the orcish runes don't mean anything. It just narrows down the type of craftsman, and even then, there's a good chance these are just stolen. Orcish runes aren't popular here, but they're not illegal either." He rolled the ring once more, then let it fall into his palm.

"Still, someone more knowledgeable would have to confirm it. Serene had good knowledge of runes, and I'd bet she's already on her way." Kesh and Nate exchanged uneasy looks at that. Rayne noticed, but he wasn't worried. If Serene and the rest of the Crown's Hand came down here, her attention wouldn't be on them. It would be on the necromancer and her chimera.

"Let's just rest," Rayne said calmly.

"It'll take time for anyone to reach us." No one argued. They settled into the ruined chamber. Varrick moved into a quieter corner and pulled out a small bottle, taking a long drink from it. Whether it was alcohol or a potion, Rayne couldn't tell, and didn't ask. He crossed the chamber and sat against the far wall, setting the books beside him with care. Then he took a breath. It was finally time to see what he had gotten out of his encounter with the necromancer. With hope, he pulled up his notifications.

You have slain Undead x15. You have slain [Flesh Doctor] x1. You have gained adequate experience. You have levelled up. Level 30 reached. +2 points gained in Strength. +2 points gained in Endurance. +2 points gained in Agility. You have gained the skill Danger Sense (Basic). The skill has been registered as a new skill. You have levelled up the skill Lesser Regeneration. Level 2 reached. Skill Stealer Activated. +2 points in Arcane.

Rayne widened his eyes seeing so many notifications, and after going through them, he couldn't be happier. Not only had he reached the infamous wall, he had also managed to finally level up his [Lesser Regeneration] skill. All those nights of stabbing himself had surely sped up the levelling. He wondered what class he would get once he level up once again, but realised he was getting ahead of himself, and focused on his new skill. One look at his status was enough for him to realise it was a class skill.

He'd gotten no skill from levelling up until now, but that was normal with a common class. And the one he had finally gotten didn't seem so bad. Danger Sense (Common) – Level 1. Danger is always around the corner, but not everyone can move before getting killed. This skill allows the user to sense danger to his life before it comes to be, giving him the chance to avoid it. It might not work every time, but there's a good chance it will.

Gives basic intuition against anyone or anything with a killing intent towards the user. After reading the description, Rayne wondered what the probability of it working was. The descriptions were always vague, but an intuition skill sounded pretty good to him. Being in the army and facing monsters, he had already gained a good sense of his surroundings, and the skill would surely add to that experience.

After checking everything one last time, Rayne simply leaned against the wall and sipped a bit of a health potion. He hadn't gotten any major injuries in the battle, and his skill was taking care of the small bruises, but he still needed to put on a performance. Even now as he rested, he could feel Varrick's eyes on him from time to time. The man had honestly not done anything today that would endanger his life.

Even his information about the necromancer's level had been right, but Rayne still saw him as a potential enemy. He doubted that would change in the future either. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Varrick clearly hated the fact that he had survived his bloodline execution, and maybe wanted to correct that. But this was just an assumption. The only fact was that Varrick would kill him if he ever got the chance. Hopefully, he would never get one.

Even if he did, Rayne now had a good idea about his abilities and could counter him. Even if he had revealed [Death Strike], he still hadn't displayed his full potential to him. And if the army kept throwing him into different dungeons, he would have more surprises accumulated sooner or later. With these thoughts, Rayne rested, and a few hours passed by before they knew it.

Halfway through it, he had even gotten up with Kesh and Bran to go check out the last hallway where they had encountered a few undead, but aside from that, it was all empty. They had cleared the dungeon thoroughly. By the time Rayne had grown bored enough to consider taking a nap against the cold stone, the sound of footsteps echoed faintly down the hallway. Every spine in the chamber straightened. Rayne pushed himself off the wall in one smooth motion. Nate and Kesh rose almost instantly, weapons half-lifted.

Even Varrick moved, his posture shifting as one hand rested on the hilt of his greatsword, eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the ruined arch. He knew there was a good chance it was just the army, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Five long minutes later, Heins emerged into the chamber, his expression tight with anxiety. Relief washed over his face the moment his eyes landed on them. Behind him came a flood of soldiers, hundreds of boots filling the hallway.

Roughly half remained packed near the entrance, weapons ready but no longer raised. Rayne exhaled quietly. He stepped forward as Selene, Casper, and Captain Edran followed in behind Heins. He gave Heins a firm pat on the shoulder as he passed, then came to a halt and saluted. Captain Edran returned it with a nod, his sharp gaze already moving past Rayne. His eyes lingered first on the crushed remains of the necromancer, then shifted toward the chimera's corpse, half-buried beneath stone.

"It seems," the captain said slowly, "that you managed to handle everything yourselves." Rayne nodded.

"It wasn't easy. Varrick handled the chimera. And the necromancer was weaker than she looked." Selene raised an eyebrow, turning her attention to her apprentice.

"Is that so?" Varrick nodded immediately.

"It is." Her gaze drifted back to the chimera, then to the massive slab pinning what remained of its head.

"And how did you manage to crush its skull with falling stone?" she asked calmly.

"You don't have a ranged skill, Varrick." Varrick smiled as if he had been waiting for the question, then turned slightly, angling his body toward Rayne.

"I don't," he said.

"But Rayne does. Pretty flashy one, too." Rayne's stomach sank, even if he knew this was going to happen. Casper stepped forward, eyes widening just a fraction.

"You do?" Captain Edran looked back at Rayne, his expression unreadable.

"Why don't you tell me what happened here? And what Varrick is talking about," he said.

"You can give a detailed report later. For now, I'd like the short version." Rayne nodded. Since he couldn't hide it anymore, he had already decided to come clean. But the more he talked, the more he felt Selene's eyes on him.

Mana swirled around Morvane's fingers as the body of a silent sabertooth changed beneath his hands. Even in death, it was a majestic monster. The sabertooth was an apex predator of the northern ridges—four legs packed with coiled muscle, elongated claws capable of tearing through steel mail, and hind limbs built for explosive bursts of speed that could cross entire clearings in a heartbeat. When alive, it had hunted in silence and killed before its prey ever realised it was being watched.

And yet, Morvane had killed it. The memory lingered faintly in his mind. The beast had leapt at him with terrifying speed, claws aimed for his throat. And still, it had fallen. Not because it was weak, but because it had never reached its true potential. No matter how fast it was, no matter how strong, it had died to a lanky human who commanded death mana. That had been its greatest failure. Morvane would not allow that failure to remain.

Cold, icy veins of death mana crawled across the sabertooth's corpse, seeping into split muscle and shattered bone. The creature's chest rose—not with breath, but with power—as necrotic energy filled gaps where flesh had torn and bones had cracked. The body slowly reshaped under his will. Some parts were beyond saving. Morvane tore them out without hesitation. Organs that relied on blood flow. Tissue meant to regulate heat. Weaknesses designed for a living body that no longer mattered.

He discarded them with practiced efficiency and would replace them with better alternatives. Necromancy was not simply about dragging the dead back into motion. It was about refinement. About improvement, and making sure it became the best version of itself that it never was when alive. A servant did not need comfort. It needed purpose. The sabertooth's spine thickened, vertebrae fusing and reinforcing until it could withstand impacts that would have snapped it in life.

Its claws elongated, blackened, edges sharpening into something closer to blades than bone. Death mana pooled in its limbs, granting strength the creature had never known—strength that no living body could endure. Now this was closer to what it should have been. Morvane was about to continue when something tugged at his senses. A faint ripple of mana leaving his side. His fingers stilled instantly. Slowly, Morvane looked down at the rings on his left hand.

His gaze settled on the one set on the middle finger—a thin band etched with familiar runes. The faint wisp of mana within it had vanished. His jaw tightened. He removed the ring and inspected it closely. The runes were intact. No fractures. No degradation. That ruled out overload. Artifacts sometimes faltered when exposed to massive concentrations of mana, but this wasn't that. Which meant only one thing.

"So," Morvane muttered softly, eyes darkening, "I ended up losing you too, Melenia." His fingers curled and he threw the ring on the floor. It shattered against the stone with a sharp crack, fragments skittering away across the chamber. He felt no need to preserve it. With his apprentice dead, the artifact had lost its function. But her death was more than a personal inconvenience. It was a problem. The Valerian army would come now. There was no avoiding that.

He didn't look down on the army and knew they would inspect her, and through the artifacts on her, they would be able to find where he was. Morvane exhaled slowly.

"I hoped for more time," he murmured. His gaze drifted back to the half-finished corpse, its body twitching faintly as the death mana stabilised around it. Then he shook his head and turned away. There would be time for refinement later. If an army was coming, he needed to prepare. He needed to ensure that the children he had gathered—crafted, shaped, and improved over so many years—would be enough. Enough to drown soldiers in corpses. Enough to break banners and grind hope into mud.

So that he would never end the way his apprentice had.

"Hathras bless her soul," Morvane said quietly, already walking away.

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