Adarin stiffened as the air grew heavy, the same suffocating necromantic pressure he felt around Rüdiger—only older, darker, like roots pressing on his lungs.
Johan shrieked and pulled one of the pale-fire grenades designed to weaken with necrotic energies.
But the goblin nearly cackled.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, boy!”
Johan hesitated. Liora, more pragmatic, ducked behind the wagon—placing the bulk of the undead between her and the threat.
The undead began shambling forward.
Then Johan yelped.
A root erupted from the ground beneath him, wrapping around his ankle. He was yanked backward, dragged toward a nearby sapling that hadn’t been there a moment earlier.
Adarin prepared to charge. This creature’s powerful… but the level signature isn’t overwhelming. Maybe I can take him. If the undead distract him...
Adarin paused I would need a distraction. His eyes fell on Liora. Noospheric link—maybe I can actually talk to her. How do I—
He pulled up the ability description.
Noospheric Link (Virtual Machine, PER)
Lesser Tier 1
Due to your connection with Entity [REFERENCE ERROR], you can link minds with individuals designated by it.
Communication range scales with the power of Entity [REFERENCE ERROR].
Designate… just focus on Liora?
Suddenly, something tore open inside his skull—like a soap bubble popping, but wet, electric, invasive.
Liora, he whispered mentally.
Behind the wagon, Liora let out a startled gasp, clutching her temple as if someone had shoved a thought straight into her skull.
Adarin winced. Subtle as ever, fucking hell.
‘Okay, Liora—send the undead at him. I’ll try to hit him in the chaos.’
Confusion radiated back, but she hesitantly responded. ‘Yes…’
Adarin moved to flank.
But the creature only laughed.
“Relax,” the goblin croaked, voice rasping like bark torn from wood. “I came to talk—your master and I already agreed on that.”
Everyone froze—except the undead, who continued shambling forward under their last command.
Adarin cursed. So that’s why Rüdiger only sent us. He cut a deal.
But then the goblin’s next words deepened the mystery.
“Oh, relax,” it rasped. “I just wanted to talk to the resurrectors.”
It gestured lazily at Adarin.
“The boy may take the horde and flank or whatever.”
Then its gaze sharpened.
“But you, Liora—and you, Adarin—are to come with me.”
Adarin hesitated. Maybe we can take him… but he knows something. Called us resurrectors. I need to know more.
He retracted his root whips. “Very well. Talk, old man.”
The goblin chuckled. “Not here. There’s something special I want to show you.”
Adarin shook his head. “No. We talk here—or not at all.”
He cracked his root whip against the ground, sending a sharp snap into the air.
The goblin snorted. “Oh, how intimidating. The undergrowth wants to punish me.”
Adarin clenched his jaw. There wasn’t much else he could do.
That was when a patrol of orcs rounded the corner.
They froze at the scene—rising undead, captured goblins, tension thick in the air.
Then they roared and charged.
Adarin spun to intercept—
But the goblin’s voice rang out, cold and sharp. “Stop!”
The orcs froze mid-stride, staring at him in horror. “High Shaman Karthrak? Why? How?”
The goblin smiled with teeth like rotted knives. “I have new orders for you.”
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He lifted one clawed hand—and the earth responded. Roots erupted, coiling up the orcs’ legs. Bark split across their skin, thorned branches tearing through flesh from within. Their screams curdled into gurgles as the forest devoured them alive. “Be silent—and die.”
He turned back to Adarin.
Liora’s voice echoed over the noospheric link. ‘What is going on? What is going on?’
‘Shut up’, Adarin snapped. ‘I need to think.’
The goblin swept his arms with theatrical flair. “You see, if we talk here, we might have to repeat that ugly scene. And I truly hate waste.”
His smile widened. “Come with me as esteemed guests… or be dragged as prisoners.”
Adarin sighed. “Very well.”
While Johan struggled against the roots, Adarin and Liora followed the black goblin down cracked streets toward the towering citadel.
“So, Adarin, is it?” the goblin asked casually. “Tell me of the empire you want to restore.”
Adarin missed a step. Liora’s gaze flicked between them, brows drawing tight.
How does he know? Is this Yara’s doing?
Adarin glanced at Liora. Fuck it. Give him the standard line.
So he spoke.
Of cities filling the Ecliptics sky. Of a civilization built for a trillion people. Of order, power, purpose.
Liora frowned as he went on.
“And what about the System?” she asked. “Who controlled the crystals? What did mages do in your empire?”
Adarin swallowed. “The System… it attacked us. It was an infection. Delivered by a foreign god. It destroyed everything.”
Silence fell over them.
They walked past orcs and goblins mobilizing for war. No one stopped them.
Eventually, they reached the citadel’s core—a vast hall with a tower of cracked, glowing crystal at its heart.
“So,” the goblin said, pausing at the entrance, “we are here.”
Adarin narrowed his eyes. Why did we agree to this?
The goblin chuckled. “Most of the powerful are dead or broken. The world is shifting again.”
Adarin snorted. “Fascinating. But what about us? Why did Rüdiger give you permission?”
“I told you—I wanted to talk. That was my price for ordering a retreat.”
Adarin blinked. “Ordering a retreat?”
The goblin smiled. “I may have left out part of my introduction.”
He bowed low, theatrically.
“I am High Shaman Karthrak of the Black Trees, third in command of the Conquest.”
Liora gasped. “You… you’re the Black Butcher...”
Her voice faltered, trembling.
Adarin turned to her. ‘What?’
‘He slaughtered cities. Fertilized dead World Trees with blood. The green pillars, the exploding trees—it’s all him. Holy Mother protect us.’
Adarin sighed. Of course I’m captured by the enemy leader. Why wouldn’t I be?
The goblin gave a sharp nod. “Well, it’s been a pleasure. Now comes the time to betray your master.”
He grinned. “May you live in interesting times.”
He raised his hand.
Before the sentence finished, white webbing exploded outward—sticky, magical, fast. It pinned Adarin and Liora where they stood.
The goblin turned as if sensing another presence.
“Now, now… who are you?”
His gaze locked on Liora again. And then, disturbingly, he smiled wide—like he recognized something.
“You… you are her.”
He bared his canines in a grin that promised nothing good. Liora screamed and thrashed—but it was useless.
The goblin reached into his robe and pulled out a small vial. He uncorked it and flung its contents at her face.
She inhaled—then instantly slumped, blinking sluggishly. Her breath evened out. She almost looked drowsy.
“Well,” the goblin murmured, “I think it’ll be much more interesting… if I do this to you instead.”
He bound his gnarled hand to several glowing threads of ritual light connecting him with the crystal.
Adarin lunged, his wooden whip snapping forward—only to feel the magic fizzle in his grip. What—? Why can’t I cast? What is going on?
“Oh yes,” the goblin said casually, still manipulating the threads, “I believe no one ever taught you… the wonders of counter-spell magic.”
He smiled wide. “A basic ability of every real mage.”
Adarin tried to move. He couldn’t. Not effectively. His limbs felt like clay and smoke.
“Do not worry about what I’m about to do to you,” the goblin said gently. “In fact—it’s a good thing. You’ll be the new lord of the city.”
He chuckled low, watching Adarin squirm. I have no way out of this.
Adarin ran through his abilities, searching, panicking. Maybe I can split a piece of myself off?
But they were already there.
The ritual circle was etched in blood and ash, gouged into marble like a battlefield autopsy—lines so sharp they still seemed to bleed.
The goblin’s voice flowed like poison. “You see… the funny thing about most rulership crystals? A new ruler can only rebind every month. And the current one—our great warleader, the Prophet? Dead.”
He smiled with his teeth. “And now…”
The ritual circle flared.
A blinding flash. Blue light surged across the runes. Adarin’s mind seized as a frenzied awareness poured into him.
His tattoos writhed, burning like molten wires under his skin. Then they spasmed, convulsed—and screamed ERROR, ERROR, ERROR across his vision and skull in jagged red bursts.
The same red light as when he had forked the System in the liminal space flared again. It enclosed him.
Invalid user connection.
For a brief, searing moment, a wave of structure overtook his consciousness—an awareness of rules, of a network of command, of supply and civic authority. It was all too much, too fast.
Then:
Congratulations. You have become the Lord of the City of Northgard.
Half a breath later:
ERROR. ERROR. ERROR.
You have lost the status of Lord of the City of Northgard.
The goblin had stepped back as the monolithic crystal began to pulse with a violent light. Red veins crawled across its surface. Rot-like fractals spread outward.
And then it happened.
With a jagged, bone-splitting crack, the crystal imploded. Shards screamed outward in a spray of red-lit dust before collapsing into a heap of smoking rubble, its heart still pulsing faintly like a dying organ.
Adarin’s tattoo steadied.
Congratulations. You have become the City Lord of [Error].
The goblin shaman blinked once. Then he broke into manic laughter. “Yes! Yes! This is even better than I could’ve hoped for! Amazing!”
Adarin barely had time to process it. He heard the sound of armored boots pounding across stone.
The goblin made a flicking motion—casting a distraction spell not unlike the one Rüdiger had so often used.
And that’s when the Crusader knights stormed into the chamber.
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