"What is fate? Is it an unchangeable certainty? Does it mean that from the moment this world was formed, all of its movements were predestined, like an endless straight line? That even something as trivial as where and when someone spits or takes a piss, where that piss lands, how many ants drown in it, and whether the person feels happy, relieved, or frustrated because the flow wasn't smooth—all of it was arranged by the great hand of fate?"
Staggering forward, the man wasn't merely pretending to be drunk—he was truly intoxicated. A wine flask dangled from his hand, and his once-elegant, luxurious garments were wrinkled and stained with liquor. His usually well-groomed hair was now a disheveled mess, and the deep, enchanting eyes that had once captivated countless women were now dulled by his own intoxication. He looked at the two tense figures, his laughter slurred and carefree. "No need to argue, no need to be so on edge. Because eventually, this so-called Black Star, this so-called Necromancer King, is no different from ants drowned in a puddle of piss."
"Inham, you disappoint me," the lich's voice was so sharp and grating, it was as if she wanted to grind him to dust with her very words.
"Oh, my apologies." The marquis finally arrived, leaning lazily against a large slab of obsidian. "But I imagine you're used to it by now. After all, I think I've been disappointing you for the past twenty years…"
"You truly disappoint me—both then and now. I regret ever agreeing to introduce you to Dehya Valley."
"Oh, really?! Then I truly must apologize even more. Back then, I thought you'd be quite pleased." The marquis paused, as if recalling something and suddenly bursting into laughter. Even his laughter reeked of alcohol. "You regret it? Isn't that also part of your so-called grand fate? What is there to regret? If you could foresee and orchestrate such a grand event as the Necromancer King raising the Black Star, surely you should have foreseen something as trivial as this?"
"The way you are now is an insult to the noble title of necromancer. You disgrace the sacred grounds of Dehya Valley." The lich's face betrayed no expression, but the flames in her eye sockets flickered violently, as if ready to burst forth and burn the marquis to ashes.
"So what exactly do you think a necromancer should be like? Like those fools standing there, waiting for the great Necromancer King to turn them all into zombies?" The marquis wobbled unsteadily, pointing toward the peak of the Spiral Shadow Mountains. From below, the thick, oppressive darkness had already engulfed all visible figures. "Take Shante and Danis for example—both are old enough to be corpses already. Whether they become the king's servants or not, they don't have many days left. Honestly, for them, maybe this is the best ending. At least they don't have to go through all the trouble you did, paying such a heavy price just to turn into a walking skeleton."
"This is the fate destined for necromancers. You still don't understand that? You're not even worthy of being one. Or perhaps I should turn you into a lich right now?" Vadenina's voice was cold as ice.
Yet the marquis, still lost in his drunken stupor, seemed more exhilarated than ever, even more animated than the swirling darkness itself. He roared with laughter. "Now I finally understand an old saying—those who fail at being human should never try to be gods or ghosts. The ones who prattle on about fate and divine will are precisely those who failed at being human. And by that logic, doesn't that make fate and the gods even worse than humans? Hahahaha!"
The black magical energy around the lich roared like an erupting volcano. It wasn't just her—Sandru, too, was watching the marquis with an odd expression. Given what they knew of this man, his current state was less like drunkenness and more like insanity.
It seemed that he had finally laughed enough. Inham took a breath, his voice a little clearer now. "Alright, old man Sandru, if you're going, then go. I'll hold her off for you."
He said it so casually, but both Sandru and Vadenina were more shocked by these words than by his earlier manic laughter.
"I understand what you're trying to do. Things have already come to this point—maybe it won't make a difference, but whether it does or not is one thing. Whether we do it or not is another." The drunken haze in Inham's eyes was rapidly fading—or rather, he had never truly been as drunk as he seemed. It had only been an outlet. He still wore a slightly tipsy smile as he waved at Sandru. "She hasn't made a move on me this whole time because she isn't confident she can kill me without letting you escape."
"I've always hated people who act all self-righteous and try to do me favors—especially annoying bastards like you. If this were any other time, I'd take that arrogant head of yours clean off."
"In a situation like this, I'd advise you not to let your pride get in the way..." Inham sighed lightly.
"Hahahaha..." A shrill, wailing laughter burst from Vadenina's shriveled body, and the massive churning darkness spread through the entire valley. "No need for that. I've decided to act in place of the Necromancer King right now and rid the world of you two who have disgraced the name of necromancers..."
Her voice, forced out by sheer magical power, was still echoing from her severed throat—because her head had already flown off.
Just as she burst into laughter, a black flash streaked across her neck. Her shriveled head shot into the air, tumbling repeatedly before crashing to the ground.
Both Sandru and the marquis were stunned. But the most shocked of all was undoubtedly Vadenina herself. Even as she watched her own headless body still laughing, still able to raise a hand and form a magical gesture under her will, the flames in her eye sockets seemed to freeze in disbelief.
Before anyone could react, that black flash struck again, wildly flashing across the lich's decapitated body. As if a mere beheading wasn't enough—as if that was only the beginning—the streak of darkness tore through the lich's body with an unstoppable force, shredding it to pieces at a speed too fast for the eye to follow. In the blink of an eye, the body that had been proclaimed its master's greatest magical creation had been reduced to a scattered heap of useless debris.
Sandru and the marquis still hadn't fully processed what had happened. Seeing a person that radiated such overwhelming power suddenly reduced to scraps was shocking enough. Even more so when their relationship with her wasn't merely that of simple enemies.
At that moment, a figure emerged from the darkness behind Vadenina. A small, thin frame. An aged face—yet now entirely composed, brimming with lethal intent and solemn precision. It was as if she had been standing there all along, unnoticed by any of the three.
"It's you." Sandru suddenly understood. There was only one person who could dismantle Vadenina in the blink of an eye—the King of Assassins.
Agrenel held nothing more than a casually picked-up rock fragment in her hand—yet it was with this very fragment that she had sliced the lich apart. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the stone away.
Sandru and the marquis had barely opened their mouths to speak when the lich's severed head, still lying on the ground, was shattered into dust, along with the soul fire that once burned within the skull.
"Stop trying to act tough and get out of here," Agrenel shot Sandru a cold glance.
"You..." Sandru looked at the pile of shattered remains, his expression conflicted.
"No phylactery in her body," Agrenel observed, her gaze still carrying a lingering murderous intent. "Seems like she's advanced enough to store it elsewhere, like the legendary liches. That means she's not truly dead. And with the dense aura of the Black Star saturating Dehya Valley, her revival won't take much effort."
"Exactly." The lich's voice echoed once more—not from a body, but from the overwhelming magical presence that had spread throughout the valley.
The moment the voice emerged, Agrenel vanished as if she had never been there in the first place, as if she had only been an illusion. At the same time, dozens of firebirds, their forms sculpted from eerie green flames, materialized in the air. They spread their wings and shot through the space in a wild frenzy, streaking across the battlefield like a storm of death.
The obsidian ground had completely melted, and the firebirds wove through the air, creating an immense and unbearably scorching inferno. Sandru and the marquis retreated rapidly, barely managing to evade the devastating flames, but they were already in a state of utter disarray.
A muffled groan came from the edge of the green fire inferno. A shadow, previously concealed within the folds of space itself, was forcibly burned out by the flames. With a hint of scorched stench, the figure twisted and flickered like smoke within the green fire before slipping out of the inferno's reach and vanishing completely.
"Impressive. Even as a fellow necromancer, to break through so many layers of my magical defenses without a sound, launch a surprise attack, and still manage to escape from my full-powered Infernal Flames—she truly deserves the reputation of the most feared assassin. So many people in the guild have dreaded her for so many years, and it's not without reason."
Vadenina's voice echoed through the empty valley. On the ground, the shattered fragments of her body began to stir, writhing as if alive. Within moments, they had reassembled into a complete lich once more, her tattered robe restored as if nothing had ever happened.
"If it weren't for the fact that we are in Dehya Valley right now, in a place steeped in the sacred aura of the Dark Star, I wouldn't have been able to recover so easily to counter her."
"Master, the Soul Gathering Arcana can be used in this way. You probably never even imagined this when you taught it to me. As long as I have enough magical power, this body—my greatest magical masterpiece—is truly immortal. And under the aura of the Dark Star, I, as its chosen vessel, am naturally undefeated and invincible."
Vadenina spread her arms wide, as though presenting a great masterpiece of art. Her robe billowed in the raging magical currents, revealing the grotesque form beneath—an amalgamation of skeleton, zombie, and mummy, a monstrous fusion of death and decay.