Ding!
To summon the Death Knight, you need a container or body that can handle Holy and Dark Magic at the same time.
Vanthelis frowned, arms crossed, eyes scanning the floating system screen as if trying to force it to make sense.
"This isn't how it worked in the game…"
In the old world — the game world — Death Knights were summoned with mere resources and a structure upgrade. But here? It demanded something more... sacred. Or cursed.
Ding!
Scanning area for suitable container...
A pause. Then:
Suitable vessel found. Distance: 200 meters. Follow the fog.
A slithering mist began to rise from the Altar of Darkness, ghostly tendrils curling through the air like a cold breath. It wove past the Spirit Towers and the silent Acolytes, slinking into the shadows behind the Necropolis.
Vanthelis didn't need to follow to know where it led.
He already knew.
There, beneath the stones they had stacked with shaking hands months ago… was Ishlar.
The mist coiled over the grave like a snake mourning its master.
"Dig him up," Vanthelis said quietly. "Carefully."
The gnolls exchanged uneasy glances, but obeyed. Their clawed hands worked with grim reverence, removing earth and stone. The younger children gathered nearby, silent and tense. Kristine clutched a ragged blanket, her knuckles white.
When the body was finally unearthed, the air grew colder.
Ishlar's corpse was half-decayed — jaw exposed, ribs visible, dried blood soaked into what remained of his armor. His silver hair had turned ghostly white, clinging to his cracked helm. One eye socket was hollow.
Vanthelis approached slowly, kneeling beside the body. He didn't speak. He didn't cry.
He only stared.
"I should've saved you," he whispered.
With the help of two Acolytes, Ishlar's body was lifted onto the Altar of Darkness. The black stone pulsed with faint energy as if recognizing the soul that once walked beside it.
Ding!
Suitable vessel confirmed. Initiating Death Knight Ascension.
Suddenly, a deep neigh echoed through the forest — not of a living steed, but of something far more ancient. The sound cracked through the trees like a war cry of the damned.
Black fog erupted from the altar, swallowing Ishlar's body whole. The gnolls staggered back. Acolytes held their breath. Even the ghouls growled with unease.
Then came the chilling hum of steel. A helmet appeared within the mist — forged from blackened metal, lined with silver fangs. It hovered above the altar before descending like a crown of death.
Bones cracked.
Flesh twisted.
The corpse began to move — muscle fibers weaving back over bone, dark blood surging through newly-formed veins. The old armor warped, fusing with shadow and steel into something regal, terrifying.
Black-blue runes danced across the chestplate. Spikes curved along his shoulders. A long, blood-red cape flowed into existence, caught in the swirling energy of the ritual.
And then, the final gift of the altar emerged — a blade.
Forged not by hands, but by will.
Its edge gleamed with a frozen malice. The hilt bore skulls. The air around it crackled with death and frost.
Frostmourne.
The blade fell gently into Ishlar's waiting hand.
With a gust of wind, the fog dispersed.
He stood tall.
Eyes glowing — one crimson red, one icy white.
His voice, deeper now, echoed across the Necropolis.
"I serve... once again."
Vanthelis stood frozen. His throat tightened. Slowly, he stepped forward.
"...Ishlar?"
The Death Knight tilted his head, voice grim but undeniably familiar.
"My mind is mine. My soul is… torn. Holy and dark war within me… but you—" he knelt, placing one gauntleted fist to the ground "—are the only one I will follow."
A ping from the system followed:
Ding!
Death Knight (Lv.1) Summoned
New Trait: Immune to Light-Based Magic (+50% Holy Resistance)
Skill Unlocked: Death Coil – Launch a bolt of death energy to heal undead or damage the living
Vanthelis offered a hand.
"Rise."
Ishlar rose, standing a full head taller than any ghoul. His presence alone sent chills down spines. He looked around, his eyes narrowing at the new buildings, the towers, the grim order of the growing fortress.
"This place," he muttered, "is much grander than when I left."
Vanthelis stepped forward and, in a moment of raw emotion, hugged him.
Ishlar stiffened… then returned the embrace, his heavy gauntlets resting on Vanthelis's back.
When they pulled apart, Vanthelis smiled faintly.
"I kept your sword," he said, holding out the old, chipped blade that once belonged to Ishlar. "But it looks like the altar gave you something better."
Ishlar took the sword gently, examining the old weapon before handing it back.
"Keep it," he said. "Let it remind you of what was lost."
They stood together in silence for a moment, watching the sky begin to cloud. Vanthelis finally broke the stillness.
"My power… it told me you have holy magic in you. How is that possible?"
Ishlar's expression grew distant.
"My mother," he said. "She was the daughter of a Holy Knight. A devout one. They say holy blood runs through that line — but she married my father, a common war tactician in your father's army. I inherited both her blessings and his fury."
A pause. Then a chuckle.
"Guess I was never meant to be just one thing."
Vanthelis smirked.
"You were always different."
Then, he turned serious.
"Ishlar… this land. It isn't enough to survive anymore."
The Death Knight turned to face him, his aura pulsing with frost and rot. The skeleton horse neighed as though excited to what is coming.
"I want you to conquer it."
Ishlar knelt again, pressing Frostmourne's blade into the stone.
"I will do what you ask."
As the Necropolis glowed softly above them and the Spirit Towers lit the island in eerie blue hues, Vanthelis stood still — watching the man who had once died for him now rise to fight for him.