In the vast world, among the myriad beings, if you do not have enough strength to stand at the top of the world—or at least at the upper levels—then you are small, insignificant, and unworthy of attention.
Beautiful emotions, great dreams, meaningful life —no matter how remarkable or valuable they may be—they are utterly meaningless when compared to an existence stronger and higher than you. Just like the countless insects eaten by birds every day, or the numerous fowl consumed by humans, your life is just like a dust, which is negligible in this world. Don't even think about being remembered by anyone, or having a place in people's memories, emotions, or life goals in the future. Even if you are still alive, you are drowned by countless others of your kind, waiting to be silently devoured by forces greater than yours. Then, the world will continue to operate as if your existence never mattered.
Rodhart could no longer clearly recall where or when this belief had originated. Perhaps it had started after he came to the imperial capital and followed Duke Murak, being influenced by his surroundings. Perhaps it began after the incident in his hometown. Or maybe it was even earlier. It could have been an instinct ingrained within him since birth, lying dormant in his soul. His childhood dream of becoming a hero to uphold justice might have stemmed from this very instinct. As time passed, with more experiences and more events, this belief grew stronger, until he had fused all of his emotions and soul into it.
Friendship and love were not emotions he had never felt. In fact, he had struggled many times, almost giving up on his ideal several times. Occasionally, when he reflected in silence, the status he already achieved at his age were things that countless people would dream of. But these thoughts were fleeting, and in the end, it was the power of that belief that made him abandon everything else.
However, this world does not change just because your desires are strong or your beliefs are unwavering. He failed. Although he was unwilling to accept it and did not give up, even after losing love, friendship, and his future, he bet his life to make a final struggle. When he finally encountered a necromancer in the Spiral Shadow Mountains, he seemed to see, in a daze, the door that had always appeared in his dreams finally crack open, a gap created by his effort and belief.
But in the end, what awaited him was to become someone else's experimental material. Trash, an object, dust—less than even a worm. This was the reality in front of him. He wanted to go mad, but could not. He wanted to die, but did not even know if he was still alive.
When the Archangel's Executioner Greatsword split his body in two, the torrent of white magic not only drove away the necromantic power in his body, but also washed away the seal that Shante had placed in his mind. Shante had not had time to erase his memories and thoughts before sending him to Asa because the necromantic seals were intricate and complex, and only Shante himself could unlock them. But the magic in the Archangel's sword, formed from hundreds of years of focused intent from the entire Glory Fortress, had already surpassed the scope of human ability. So, he woke up just like that.
He had woken up, but there was no trace of energy left in his body. He just lay there quietly like a pile of garbage. Several priests came to check on him, turning him over like a hunk of meat, inspecting him, commenting on his condition. Finally, they moved him to this place, where he could only listen to Inham and Stephen discussing how to use him as material.
He could only listen, unable even to move his eyes. But he wasn't too agitated anymore. After long periods of mental torment where he couldn't escape, couldn't go mad, and couldn't die, anyone without an exceptionally strong will would have become numb.
"If I had another chance… if I had another chance…" For dozens of days, his thoughts were nothing but this repetitive sentence. Although he knew such a chance would never come again, all he could do was keep repeating it. He had nothing else. Even his very existence felt like it was merely a monster built out of that hollow thought.
But just like the moment when the Archangel had appeared, when the air was once again filled with immense white magic, he suddenly felt himself able to move. The vast, omnipresent power of Universal Salvation that filled the Glory Fortress now surged into his body. Although it was of a completely different nature from necromantic magic, this pure and grand magical energy was enough to stir his body slightly.
It was just a small movement. After all, this body had been made using necromantic magic, so it could only manage small gestures, like lifting a hand. But that was enough, because at that moment, he heard the necromancer muttering to himself.
Of all the beautiful voices he had heard in his life—the voice filled with dreams of heroic tales from his childhood, the words spoken by Asa when he had found him at the Bracada inn, the voice of the Duke when he accepted his appointment in the imperial capital of Einfast, or even the queen's moans beneath him—all those voices combined couldn't compare to the soft muttering of the thin, emaciated necromancer. It was the most moving, the most soul-stirring.
"There is a way." With every bit of strength he could muster, Rodhart pressed his finger into his throat, tearing away a piece of flesh that blocked his windpipe, and spoke. Although his power was small, he could control every muscle and organ in this body with greater precision than an insect's movement. The vocal cords weren't complicated, and given his control over his body, making a sound wasn't hard.
"Who is that?" Stephen jumped up, as if stabbed by a blade, upon hearing the voice.
"It's me." Rodhart answered, his voice sounding awkward.
"You?" Stephen frowned as he looked at the half-body 'person' on the ground. After a closer look, he understood what was going on. "Shante didn't even clean your head properly before turning you into a death knight… The Universal Salvation spell allows you to move, you're lucky…" His eyes narrowed slightly, clearly someone who knew too much, but also someone who might be useful. "What did you just say?"
"I said, I have a way," said Rodhart in a strange voice, which he had made in his temporary state. "I have a way to make him your loyal subordinate…"
"What way do you have?" Stephen was interested in this half-dead death knight who still had his own thoughts. Although the Universal Salvation had already started, he didn't mind waiting a little longer. "But my time is limited. You have one minute."
"It's actually very simple. Just let me become him. Not make me his part, but exchange his parts for mine. Change his face for mine, and I will be your subordinate."
"Fifty seconds left," Stephen said indifferently.
"You can say that during the surgery, you suddenly discovered a way to heal his mental damage and just proceed with the treatment. This Universal Salvation magic isn't something you encounter often. As long as you find a proper reason, you can say you accidentally damaged his memory while treating him. As long as I'm careful, he won't notice. Plus, neither I nor this other death knight have vocal cords and can't speak, so the chance of exposing any flaws is even smaller."
Stephen's eyes lit up slightly, and he nodded. He had to admit it was quite interesting, although the danger was minimal, it wasn't entirely risk-free. "Thirty seconds."
"You can place a magical seal in my head, so you can be sure I won't betray you."
Stephen's eyes didn't just light up, they also narrowed slightly, a faint smile creeping into them. He carefully examined Rodhart's scarred face, which looked like it had been pieced together, thought for a moment, and then said, "Ten seconds."
Rodhart paused for a moment and then continued in a low voice, "You should be able to tell what kind of person Inham really is. This person is too dangerous. If you had someone by his side, completely unguarded, someone who could control his every move, you might be able to use that to control him. Isn't that worth taking the gamble?"
This time, Stephen didn't continue counting down. Instead, he simply said, "No need to mention those complicated matters, I understand better than you. But do you know what I'm worried about?"
"No."
"What I'm worried about is you." Stephen sneered coldly. "Someone who was used by Shante to be turned into a death knight, someone whose resolve and malice far exceed that of an ordinary person, and someone with such a mind like yours... Being calm enough to persuade me while on the verge of being torn apart and used as parts—this kind of mentality and cool-headedness is probably not inferior to Inham's."
"I just don't want to die." Rodhart answered flatly. He didn't display any obsequiousness or begging tone; those who were moved by such things were fools. Only a fool would think begging for mercy would work, as it would only bring disdain and contempt. He had said everything he could, and now all that was left was for the other party to decide. From what it looked like, this necromancer had already figured out what to do.
"However, a madman you can control is still far better than one you cannot. At least I know what you want." Stephen placed his hand on Rodhart's forehead. "You've succeeded. I'm going to cooperate with you."
"You won't regret it." A cracked smile finally appeared on Rodhart's scarred face. Even with his mental fortitude and composure, he couldn't hide his excitement. He knew very well that, even as the necromancer's servant, the rewards he'd gain would far exceed everything he had before. He could feel the hidden things inside the seemingly aloof old man.
And this "servant" and "subordinate" identity was only temporary; Rodhart was firmly convinced of this.
"As you wish, I will plant a magical seal in your head. This is a trick I learned from the Far East. Even if Magnus and Sandru joined forces, they couldn't remove it. The moment I think about it, I can completely erase your consciousness and make you a true death knight. As for Inham, you don't need me to teach you. You should know better how to deal with him. Once you've fully integrated into the role of his son, I'll tell you what to do next."
Stephen's hand cut through the skin on Rodhart's forehead. Like the most skilled old craftsman, he accurately found a gap in his skull with a touch. With a flick of his nail, the skull opened. Feeling the necromancer's fingers moving inside his brain, the sensation was as refreshing to Rodhart as the first time he touched a girl's breast.
Everything went smoothly from that point on. Stephen exchanged his scarred face with Jarvis', carefully adjusting all the features on the skull, and then the rest of the transformation was easy. When he finally lay on the bed with Jarvis' face, the real Jarvis had been given his appearance, and with the shattered remains of Hilika, they were both discarded in a pile of garbage in the corner.
After the magic of Universal Salvation dissipated, all his power faded with it, but the turbulent waves inside his heart only grew bigger and fiercer.
"Don't worry, your dear old dad will find a way to give you enough magical power to get you moving. Your internal organs are still those of a death knight. You can replenish your magical power by eating human flesh. Although you've lost many of the pleasures of being human, it's still far better than being a pile of garbage, isn't it?"
Isn't that right? As long as he could reach the highest peak, what did being human matter anymore?
Although Rodhart couldn't move, speak, or even change his expression, he didn't mind. He knew his life had begun anew. With this body and that kind of father, it was a new start. Of course, the next most important thing was how to deal with this old man and the seal he had placed. He had all the time and spirit for it.
However, he never expected that this problem would be solved so quickly. Listening to Stephen's final roar, it was fortunate that he couldn't move at that time, and he didn't even have the strength to change his expression. Otherwise, he might have laughed out loud in joy.
Pretending to be an amnesiac Jarvis wasn't too hard for Rodhart now, but he no longer needed to pretend.