Chapter 50: I Am Willing to Do This for You

  The only difference between Ethan and a corpse was that he still drew breath. He had been unconscious in bed for days, and Sophia had stayed by his side, caring for him the entire time.

  Some of the thieves had asked where the "couple" had gone. The half-orc innkeeper told them the governor had invited the two to stay and discuss important matters. Letting their imaginations run wild, the thieves assumed Ethan and Sophia were negotiating for extra benefits with the governor. They sighed, admiring Ethan’s "foresight," then left Oufu with their loot.

  Ethan had been moved from the roofless house to another room. The matter was kept quiet—after all, the governor needed to uphold the dignity of the law. Theft, no matter the reason, deserved the gallows in the square. Lord Sedros had only told others that Ethan was a friend of his, injured during a magic experiment.

  Healing magic had finally begun to work on Ethan’s body. There was no school of magic Sedros did not know. While his wide range of knowledge prevented him from mastering the most powerful spells, he excelled at every magic he could cast—his healing abilities were no worse than any high-ranking priest’s.

  But even the best healing could only mend "injuries."

  The bones and muscles in Ethan’s hands and chest were shattered beyond repair. Not even the most skilled craftsman could separate the rice-grain-sized shards from his tangled muscles and blood vessels, then piece them back together. Several broken ribs had pierced his internal organs, and his skull was cracked open—only a hair’s breadth away from exploding.

  Even Sedros could barely believe Ethan was still alive after such injuries.

  It had all been a terrible, coincidental misunderstanding.

  If Sophia had helped the thieves move the loot, she would have met Sedros earlier. If Ethan hadn’t been so stubborn about solving things his own way. If he had discussed the matter with Sophia. If he hadn’t fought so fiercely—if he had explained himself or surrendered when caught—none of this would have happened.

  Lord Sedros had checked on Ethan again that day. He shook his head, his face still grim. After talking to Sophia, he realized the truth: it was a misunderstanding. He still couldn’t explain why the young man wore the Robe of the Lich Lord or why he’d stolen the book, but anyone willing to use a Leaf of the World Tree—a treasure every mage dreamed of—to save someone could not be a member of the Necromancer Guild. Besides, Bishop Ronis’s letter of appointment was not a forgery.

  Sedros could also see the bond between Ethan and Sophia, which made him care even more. He tested her: "What if he never wakes up? Your wedding is not far off, is it?"

  "If he doesn’t wake up, I’ll stay here forever. I won’t go anywhere," Sophia replied calmly.

  Sedros fell silent. Her tone was not fiery or passionate—if it had been, it would have been easier. Passion fades; impulsive decisions cool with time. But this quiet resolve meant she had accepted the reality.

  For anyone else, the governor might have admired such devotion. But she was a duke’s daughter, bound by responsibilities far greater than her feelings.

  Sedros spoke meaningfully: "Do you know this is unfair to you? If he’s unconscious for life, are you willing to waste your best years on him? You’re still young—you have a bright future ahead."

  Sophia shook her head. "I was once unconscious too. He saved me. Now I can’t save him, but at least I can stay with him."

  "But he’ll never know what you’re doing. This is just self-deception," Sedros said.

  Sophia only replied softly: "This is my decision."

  Sedros sighed. "Have you thought about your father? You know how much he hopes for you. Are you really willing to abandon everything for this one-sided feeling?"

  Sophia said nothing. She slowly spooned a mouthful of honey water into Ethan’s mouth, her face expressionless.

  Sedros watched her, sighed, and turned to leave.

  He suddenly felt like a terrible person.

  But terrible or not, he had to say it—because things had to be done. If she really stayed, the one in trouble wouldn’t be the duke—it would be him.

  Suddenly, an official ran over from the city hall. "My lord!" he panted. "The thieves who left a few days ago are back—only a handful of them. They say a huge fire-breathing monster is heading here from the wastelands."

  "Monster?" Sedros’s brows furrowed.

  At the city hall entrance, Sedros held up a severed arm.

  It was a relic of a thief who had died while fleeing in panic. The thieves had been woken by strange rumblings at night. By moonlight, they had seen a colossal figure approaching. Terrified, they had fled on horseback. Those who hesitated or moved too slowly had been swallowed by the monster’s flames. Only a few had escaped.

  Sedros examined the arm carefully. It was intact, with a clean cut—as if hacked off by a heavy axe. But the bone at the cut surface was black; when he squeezed it, it crumbled like dried bread. No natural fire could do this—burn a person to ash yet leave an arm exposed to the flames unharmed.

  This corrosive fire must be dark magic. But what could breathe magical fire? Sedros suspected the Necromancer Guild was behind it, but he couldn’t fathom their method.

  Sedros had traveled the continent since he was a teenager, exploring its wonders. He had seen legendary dragons in the underworld and visited the Diya Valley to meet necromancers. He loved reading too—he had visited nearly every famous library on the continent and had a photographic memory. He was arguably the most knowledgeable man alive. If even he didn’t recognize something, it meant it had never existed before.

  "When did you encounter the monster?" Sedros asked the surviving thieves.

  "Three nights ago," replied Fodolen, the oldest thief. He had been the fastest—he’d run for his horse the moment he heard the noise, while others had grabbed their weapons to investigate. It seemed the longer people lived, the more they feared death.

  From the thieves’ accounts, the monster was not fast—but it must be close by now.

  Sedros and Gru rode to the marsh northeast of Oufu—an extension of the Lizard Marsh into the wastelands, used as an independent settlement for lizardmen. There, they mounted a wyvern and took flight.

  The lizardmen didn’t just raise wyverns—they also secretly bred scale oxen and carrion lizards. The lizardmen rarely participated in Oufu’s other affairs; their task was to experiment with taming these creatures in the marsh.

  There was no record of anyone taming such beasts—no one had even dared to try. These were among the most dangerous creatures in the most perilous regions of the continent.

  Scale oxen were bison unique to the Lizard Marsh. At first glance, they looked like ordinary cattle, but they stood two meters tall, five meters long, and weighed thousands of pounds. Their bodies were covered not in fur, but in thick, large scales—impervious even to battleaxes. Though herbivores, they were more ferocious and irritable than any carnivore. Combined with their massive strength and size, they were among the deadliest beasts on the continent. And because they often ate poisonous plants in the marsh, their stomachs accumulated toxic gases from fermentation—gases they could spew from their mouths at will. The gas burned human skin like "sulfuric acid," an alchemical substance.

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  Only wyverns could hunt scale oxen. These giant flying creatures had unimaginable strength and speed—enough to lift a scale ox into the air and drop it repeatedly until the beast died, then feed on its corpse.

  Terribly dangerous as they were, they were also incredibly useful. Just imagine a scale ox charging into battle—no general would send his soldiers against such a monster. Wyverns, meanwhile, were invaluable for aerial raids, transporting supplies, or assassinating enemy generals in the middle of an army.

  With such powerful, dangerous creatures at their command, no army would dare attack Oufu lightly.

  Only Lord Sedros had the courage and vision to tame them. He knew these strange creatures’ habits from books and had deduced taming methods by studying humanity’s history of domestication. Only he could persuade the lizardmen to retrieve the creatures’ eggs and cubs from the marsh and raise them in its unique environment. Over the years, they had only succeeded in taming a handful—but even a handful was enough.

  A wyvern’s strength made carrying Sedros, Gru, and a lizardman rider seem effortless. Its flying speed far outmatched any horse. Within half a day, Sedros had spotted the monster the thieves had described from the air.

  "What is that? A giant bat? Is there someone on it?" Sandro frowned. They were hiding in a distant forest; Sedros couldn’t see them.

  "Tamed wyverns," Vedenina said, sounding slightly surprised—but not less proud. "Who would have thought someone would use them as flying mounts? A clever trick. It seems the leader of that orc city heard the news and came to see our masterpiece for himself. I wonder how he’ll feel when he sees the creation that will turn his city to ash."

  At a glance, Sedros knew the monster could reduce all of Oufu to cinders. The magical energy swirling around it was beyond imagination.

  "Fly lower for a closer look," Sedros told the lizardman rider. The lizardman pulled the reins, and the wyvern roared, diving toward the undead dragon.

  As they swooped past the undead dragon, Sedros saw the countless corpses that made up its body—and felt the magical power contained within them. Only the Necromancer Guild could create such a monster, but even he was shocked by its size and perfection. It wasn’t just powerful—it was a flawless fusion of magic of completely different natures. His vast knowledge and deep understanding of magic let him distinguish these forces, making the sight even more shocked.

  The corpses were not ordinary—nor were they zombies. They were living corpses (revenants), a transformation only achievable by mages who had mastered body magic and dark magic to the highest degree. They burned all remaining life force in a human corpse in an instant, granting a normal corpse the strength of a high-ranking warrior for a short time. Here, there were hundreds—even thousands—of such corpses. This was the strength of an entire army, now used merely as the monster’s body.

  Sedros also recognized the monster’s shape: it matched the legendary dark magic spell, "Dragon of Darkness." Normally, this was just an illusion of condensed magic, which dissipated after the spell ended. But now, it had merged with the hundreds of revenants. It wasn’t just an appearance—dark magic truly flowed through the countless corpses.

  What shocked him most, however, was that the monster was, in a sense, alive. Only the limbs of corpses that jutted out from its surface were rotting; the parts that formed the dragon’s body remained intact. Even the skin of those corpses retained the luster of living flesh. Revenants only lasted a short time, but this monster was clearly not newly created. Someone had fused the highly active corpses (while their life force burned fiercely) with the "Dragon of Darkness" spell, temporarily creating a cycle of magic. They had then granted this corpse-made entity life to sustain its power. The monster’s incredible magical energy and life force merged into an endless cycle, allowing it to spew destructive flames almost indefinitely—like a living creature breathing.

  Each piece of magic was masterful. The balance between different magical forces was perfect, and that balance brought out the full potential of each type of magic. Sedros marveled: it was a peerless work of magical art.

  But he snapped back to reality. "Too close! Fly up!" he shouted to the lizardman.

  The undead dragon had turned its head. After being bombarded by hundreds of mages a few days earlier, it had become extremely sensitive to human auras. It stretched its neck, inhaling deeply. Even the lizardman rider—who knew no magic—could feel the air twist as magic gathered frantically.

  Sedros chanted a spell, raising his hands. A white orb shot toward the dragon’s head—"Thunder Blast," the most destructive air magic spell.

  There was a deafening explosion. The dragon’s neck twitched, and a small crater was left on its head. But the damage was negligible. It opened its mouth, and green flames began to pour forth.

  Gru bent his knees, leaped into the air, and roared—a roar that pierced the clouds. He punched forward. The force of his jump made the wyvern’s massive body sink downward. His body, wrapped in white light, looked like a silent bolt of lightning, hurtling toward the dragon’s head with the power to split heaven and earth.

  The tip of that "lightning" struck the dragon’s head. At the moment his fist touched the corpse-flesh, a blinding light and a thunderous boom erupted. This single blow outshone the hundreds of magical explosions combined. The dragon’s neck whipped to the side, and its colossal body tilted under the impact. If Gru had hit any other part—without the neck to absorb the force—this punch would have knocked the mountain-sized monster to the ground.

  For a moment, the sky rained pieces of corpses. The dragon’s head was almost completely shattered; only half its jaw hung from its neck.

  In the distance, the three mages who witnessed this were utterly stunned by the power of the blow.

  They were master mages—they could tell it was not magic.

  It required no skill or wisdom, no advanced casting techniques like channeling, resonance, or synchronization. It was a raw, unfiltered display of life force at its most intense.

  Anyone who saw that power, that scene, that aura would think of only one word: strength.

  All three had once been obsessed with becoming stronger—that was how they had become top mages. But now, seeing true strength, they were overwhelmed. It was like a writer or painter, who had refined their craft to express beauty, being stunned by the breathtaking grandeur of nature.

  But the spectacle lasted only a moment. Green flames still gushed from the dragon’s twisted, half-broken jaw. It was not a true living creature; the destruction of part of its form did not disrupt the flow of magic.

  The dragon’s neck snapped back, and a wave of frantic green fire surged toward Gru, who was still mid-air.

  Gru still held the posture of his punch. He had used all his strength; his body hadn’t recovered from the explosive force. Suspended in the air, he had no way to brace himself. Facing the 汹涌 green tide, his lone figure looked as small as a leaf—doomed to be swallowed by this sea of death without a trace.

  But then he moved backward, as if pulled by an invisible hand. He narrowly dodged the wave of flames—Sedros’s wind magic at work.

  The wyvern flapped its wings, ascending rapidly. But the wind from its wings stirred up a few sparks of green fire, which shot toward its beating wings. Even a single spark would be enough to make the wyvern thrash in pain—and that pain would be fatal.

  Sedros kept one hand focused on the wind magic, pulling Gru toward them. With the other, he sent streaks of white cold light to intercept the green sparks. When the flames and cold light collided, they fizzled out with a soft pop.

  Gru landed back on the wyvern’s back. The wyvern soared upward, escaping the range of the dragon’s flames.

  Enraged by the attack, the undead dragon moved faster. It shook its body and leaped into the air—though not very high—before crashing back to the ground with a thunderous impact.

  From high above, Sedros could see the dragon’s body changing. The corpses that formed it squirmed, and the shattered head began to rebuild itself, as more corpses crawled over to repair the damage.

  "Impressive," Gru said, his eyes glowing. The fact that his full-strength punch hadn’t knocked the monster down only excited him more. "Fly down—let me try again."

  Sedros stopped him quickly. "It’s too dangerous. That magical flame is unstoppable. We need another plan."

  The undead dragon roared at the sky, realizing it couldn’t reach them. It turned and resumed its slow march toward the northwest.

  Sedros frowned, muttering to himself: "There must be a core. To sustain such a massive magical cycle, it needs a powerful core. From the magical aura, it should be on the right side of its chest, about three or four meters inside its body. But the question is, how do we destroy it? And what is it? What could hold such enormous magic in a living cycle?" He paused, then his eyes widened. "I see." He turned to the lizardman rider. "All right—let’s go back."

  The wyvern circled once, then flew back the way it had come, soon shrinking to a dot on the horizon.

  Sandro was the first to let out a long breath. His mind was still reeling from the punch. "Who was that? Was he even human?"

  Ronis was also shocked by the blow, but he turned to his equally stunned student, his tone mocking: "If everything had gone as you expected, why are you so surprised?"

  "Regardless," Vedenina said, her hoarse voice firm. "I believe my creation is unbeatable. It will destroy all this trash completely." She spoke as if even seeing that shocking punch hadn’t shaken her confidence.

  Confidence was a form of strength—but a private, inner strength. If you needed to shout it aloud, it smacked of desperation.

  Ronis heard that desperation. He nodded, smiling. "I was right not to leave. Things are getting more interesting." The man who could use two schools of magic with such precision reminded him of an old friend.

  "Interesting is good! Interesting is good!" Sandro agreed, shaking his head.

  That night, in Oufu.

  Sophia had just finished feeding Ethan honey water. She stroked his face, her soft palm following the sharp lines of his features. Her heart was in turmoil. Sedros’s words that day had shaken her resolve.

  Was this really just self-deception? Was she running from reality, from her responsibility to her father? But leaving Ethan here and returning alone? She couldn’t do it. She felt her heart tearing in two.

  Lord Sedros entered the room. He watched her for a moment, sighed, then spoke slowly: "If I can heal this young man, but you must promise to do something you were always meant to do—will you agree?"

  "I agree," Sophia said, standing up. Her face lit up like someone who had heard a divine oracle of salvation.

  Sedros placed a hand on Sophia’s head and patted it gently, nodding. "I knew you’ve always been a good girl—always obedient."