927: 315.
“Old Friends Reunion” of the Dark Female Baron_2 927: 315.
“Old Friends Reunion” of the Dark Female Baron_2 Murphy snorted, sheathed his drawn sword-staff, and surveyed the figure before him, his gaze drawn to the restless Skeleton War Horse nearby—it caught his eye.
The warhorse, being devoid of flesh and left with only its bones, was slimr than an ordinary steed, but this “Necromancer” had adorned his mount with many artistic details.
For instance, he had inlaid decorative horns made of brass into the horse’s skull and added carapace embellishnts to the skeleton in various places, giving it a more imposing look and that characteristic gloom and oppression of undead creatures.
This Skeleton War Horse was clearly superior to the ones used by the Skeletal Cavalry; it wouldn’t collapse simply because its master had departed, rather, it could maintain its complete and independent form in place.
“Perhaps this cool and imposing creature could beco a ‘special reward’ for the current grand plot resolution?
The season’s mounts prepared by the Fight Club for the first batch of outstanding Gladiators could be replaced with it.”
A great idea popped into Murphy’s mind, and once more, he turned his gaze to the “Necromancer” bound in mid-air, suddenly realizing that instead of killing this elusive figure, keeping it alive might produce more “value.”
Therefore, the Vampire Lord pondered for a mont and then spoke to the silent “Necromancer”:
“I know that servants like you from such secret forces must be bound by many restrictions that prevent you from divulging your organization’s secrets.
I’ve encountered Zivig before, a guy nicknad ‘Plague Rat King.’
Do you know him?”
“Hah, that idiot…”
The Necromancer made no secret of his familiarity with Zivig, mocking him with a hoarse and parched voice:
“He could have stayed in the swamp to enjoy his so-called ‘eternal’ life, yet he insisted on venturing out to revel in the splendor of the Human World.
The mont he left, I knew his fate wouldn’t be pleasant…
Lord Vampire, I see you are a wise one, so why don’t we make a deal?
You don’t need to torture this poor soul with tornt; I’ll tell you everything I can.
Then you let leave, how about it?”
“That won’t do.”
Murphy shook his head and said:
“The commotion you’ve caused in Smugglers’ Forest has already led to casualties among my Warriors; you must offer compensation.
Besides, simply letting you go would make us at Crimson Castle seem incompetent, wouldn’t it?
There must be so form of punishnt, right?”
“Punishnt?
I lost the Festival Wand and alerted you to the secrets hidden in the swamp!
Just these two points alone are enough to subject to horrifying punishnt upon my return.
My body will be chopped up to feed the Hounds of Hades, and my consciousness will be thrown into the Forge of Souls to be torched for years on end!”
The Necromancer shouted:
“Those Jackal Warlocks are not the kind of characters you can get along with easily; the thods they use to drive us are far more detestable than you can imagine.
I’m saying, I wasn’t voluntarily involved in these sses!
I was already dead.
Oh heavens of Avalon, I have been dead for over twenty years.
I thought the indifferent treatnt my soul received in Hades was torture, but never did I imagine I’d be returned to this accursed Human World with the identity of a cursed Dead!
This wasn’t my choice, esteed Vampire lords.
I don’t ask for your pity; I only hope you can understand my predicant.
I’m willing to cooperate because I never wanted to aid those Jackals…”
The creature’s wailing caused Murphy to blink, having gathered much from its howls.
He looked toward the direction of the Polluted Swamp and said:
“So, a group of Jackal Warlocks awoke you?
And they put you to work in the swamp, continuously infiltrating and expanding into Transylvania.
Since you know Zivig, does that an those Jackal Spellcasters are also servants of Dusk?
In the end, what were you looking for in the swamp?”
“I cannot say; that is a forbidden topic.”
The Necromancer shook his head and said:
“I’m not uncooperative, but if Zivig died by your hand, you should know what would happen to if I spoke about things I should not.
I know from an enemy’s perspective, I deserve any and all forms of torture, but the issue is, it’s aningless.
Let live, and I can answer more of your questions.
But I will tell you, I’m not in the service of Dusk.
I haven’t earned that ‘privilege’ yet.
I’ll tell you that those Jackals belong to the Bonebite Clan of Spellcasters.
They have been active here for more than just a day; I was awakened in the muck of the swamp three years ago, and by the ti I was resurrected in this cursed form, those Jackals already had at their disposal an Army of the Dead that they could command at will.
As for materials…
Heh, the lives swallowed by Polluted Swamp over the past few centuries are innurable, and four occurrences of the Black Disaster have been enough to litter that filthy ground with bones forming a giant highway of skeletons.
So if they wish, they could even muster a Skeleton Army that would flood Transylvania, but that’s not their goal.
What do they want to do?
Well, I hope you use your brain to think about it, Lord Vampire.
This is the Polluted Swamp!
This is a Frontier that the Jackals have wanted to fully control for generations, the final boundary leading to the civilized world, and the fifth Black Disaster is looming!
What do you think they plan to do here?”
“I’ve had enough of your enigmatic attitude.
I’ll send soone into the Polluted Swamp to investigate; you will create a map for .”
Murphy declared, leaning on his sword-staff:
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