Chapter 10

Chapter Nine: The Battle of the Necromancers

Lower-level necromancers are skilled in two spells: Dark Curtain and Corruption. Both of these spells are black magic with the element of 'evil.'

In the game, black magic was brought to the land by the Minel people, who were servants of the Dragon of Twilight. They lived on the frozen highlands north of Cruz during the chaotic era before the First Age began.

The Minel shamans were adept at using spirit summoning and black witchcraft. Later, these two types of spells, along with all offensive spells outside the elements of nature, nature, and holiness, were collectively referred to as black magic.

After the Holy War, the Flame King Girt drove these dark inhabitants to the cold east, and it is said that no one has seen them since.

But the Minel people must have existed. In the Black Codex, the dark lords exiled to Madara learned the tradition of black witchcraft from these demonic beings.

However, the Dark Curtain being called black magic is somewhat misleading, as it is an auxiliary concealment spell. This spell can effectively hide the movements of a small squad of skeleton soldiers.

Of course, this is not complete invisibility or disappearance. You can imagine a camouflage that blends into the dark background. Yes, it does not conceal sound, smell, or any factors other than visual, and it is limited to a certain distance.

But at night, this spell becomes the best cover for Madara's army of the undead, which is why Madara's army often chooses to act at night.

As for the Corruption spell, this terrifying black magic was previously witnessed by Freya and others on Joson.

This is a vicious attack spell and the main offensive method of necromancers. It relies on negative energy to erode the enemy. The more severe the enemy's negative emotions and the weaker their willpower, the greater the damage from the spell.

Until death.

This spell, like most black magic, amplifies negative energy to manifest destructive power.

Mastery of mysterious black magic, commanding mindless skeleton soldiers—necromancers themselves are stronger and more cunning, making them seem like formidable enemies.

However, Sophie knew a secret: necromancers themselves do not have the ability to cast spells. Their true power comes from the bone staff in their hands, a powerful magical item unique to each necromancer. Once separated from their hands, it becomes just an ordinary stick.

Understanding this, the tactics to be employed become clear.

As another skeleton soldier fell, under Sophie's reminder, Freya and Eason, the best swordsmen among the militiamen, engaged the necromancer preparing a spell from both sides.

"Attack its hands; black witchcraft is not as mysterious as you think," Sophie pointed out the weakness of this undead creature from behind: "See its gestures? Prevent it from completing the spell, and take its bone staff..."

The necromancer suddenly raised its head to meet Sophie's gaze, its eyes glowing with怨毒的光芒. Sophie felt a choking sensation, her throat drying up, knowing that the creature had targeted her—yet she quickly calmed down, as the undead could not bypass the militiamen to attack her.

But being targeted by a lifeless, cold monster was not a comfortable feeling, and Sophie had to pause, waiting for Freya and Eason's attacks to take effect.

The necromancer gave a sinister smile and shook its bone staff. The darkness around it rippled and enveloped it. When Eason's sword, like a streak of snow, pierced through, it only hit empty air; the spot where the undead creature had been was now empty.

"Huh?" The young man was slightly taken aback.

Sophie remained unperturbed, as she was very familiar with these creatures' tricks: "Eason, to your left!"

Eason did not react immediately.

But Freya, who had caught up from behind, swung her sword straight at the target. The sword drew a straight silver line in the dim environment, almost reaching the spot Sophie had indicated, but the necromancer stumbled backward before that.

Everyone saw the shadow retreat like flowing water.

"Human, who are you! You are not just a militiaman!" A sharp voice erupted from the shadow, and the necromancer seemed to be quite agitated.

Indeed, militiamen could not know so much; some of what Sophie said was only known among the wizards in Madara.

But Sophie remained silent, and Freya's second strike followed closely. The necromancer's eye sockets glowed green, and it raised its bone staff to block the young woman's sword. The necromancer had 1.7 levels of strength, and Freya's strength was likely not higher than Bran's.

The ponytailed girl's attack was easily deflected to the side, and she stumbled forward several steps before stopping, instinctively clutching her left shoulder and frowning slightly.

The arrow wound from earlier seemed to have reopened—

"Big sister, let Markmi take over; your wound..." Eason, seeing this, defended himself while fending off the necromancer's attacks.

Markmi and little Finis caught up from behind.

"Little Finis, step back!" But Freya blocked the young boy with her sword, sternly ordering him.

"But I am a militiaman too!" The boy protested.

"Step back, did you hear me—!"

Little Finis turned red with anger but did not dare to disobey Freya's command. Among the young people, Freya had always been the leader. The girl was kind-hearted and had her own principles, and everyone respected her as a captain.

Sophie shook his head from behind; the battlefield was not a place for arguments. However, the ponytailed girl's determination earned his approval; such girls were rare in his world.

"You four, attack together," he said from behind.

"Mr. Bran, you—!" Freya took a deep breath, turning back to look at the young man lying on the rock—Roman was standing beside him, looking innocent and winking at her.

This brat, so quickly turning traitor!

She felt a surge of frustration.

"Necromancers are tough enemies, and you four can cover each other," Sophie said seriously.

"But little Finis—"

"He is also a militiaman."

Freya bit her lip, looking back. Markmi and Eason were already retreating under the necromancer's attacks. If the undead creature found an opportunity to cast a spell, the team would suffer another loss.

That was not something she could afford.

Thinking of this, she nodded: "Alright."

"Yay! Bran, you're the best!" Little Finis shouted, drawing his sword. But Freya grabbed his collar from behind, pulling him back and sternly ordering, "Follow me, and stay within my cover, understood—"

"Uh..." A disappointed voice.

After Freya and little Finis joined the battle, the situation quickly turned in their favor. She and Eason were already the best swordsmen among the current batch of militiamen, and to their surprise, little Finis was not inferior—Sophie described the boy as having a strong offensive intent, and his sword strikes were decisive and precise—unlike the Eluan military's balanced offensive and defensive style, it was more like the aggressive battle array swordsmanship of Cruz.

But from any perspective, this was a high praise from a seasoned warrior.

Sophie thought that by the time little Finis grew to Bran's size, his swordsmanship would likely not be inferior, though he might lack some of Bran's innate talent—Bran seemed to be born for battle.

He sometimes wondered, if that young man in history had not died but grown through the war, would his achievements not be any less than Freya's?

Unfortunately, the world is unpredictable, and history has no "what ifs."

Of course, the most important aspect of this battle was the young man's timely reminders. Sophie seemed to completely see through the necromancer's thoughts, pointing out even the slightest intentions.

What is it doing?

Why is it doing that?

Is it preparing a spell?

When should we interfere?

The necromancer grew increasingly alarmed, the undead not feeling fear but still becoming disoriented. Finally, it almost screamed, "Who are you, necromancer? Or a black knight?"

This earned it a merciless strike from Freya, and its claw holding the bone staff flew high, the monster letting out a惨叫, the green fire in its sunken eye sockets dimming.

"Damn humans..."

The battle ended with Markmi's standard strike. The necromancer was already struggling to cope, its hands and bone staff shattered, and it howled in defiance as the sharp blade cut into its skull.

With a crack, the soul fire burst from its body, its final counterattack. But with Sophie's warning, only Eason's right hand suffered a slight burn from being a bit slow to react.

On the other side, the others also defeated the remaining two skeletons, with one more casualty. When the forest returned to peace, only the wind rustled through the treetops.

Everyone stopped, looking at each other in disbelief. They had actually won, facing four skeleton soldiers and a terrifying necromancer.

Markmi's sword clattered to the ground first, followed by a chain reaction from the others. They hugged each other, shouting and crying, releasing their emotions.

Surviving the ordeal left them somewhat dazed.

Sophie, however, remained calm. He looked up and saw three points of golden light fly from the darkness into his chest. No one seemed to notice this detail, not even Roman standing beside him.

The young merchant looked relieved.

Hmm, could only he see this? Sophie found it strange.

He glanced around and subconsciously opened his character attributes, just as he did in 'Amber Sword' after a battle, to review his gains and losses.

A series of emerald numbers immediately appeared on his retina—

Strength 1.1, Dexterity 2.0, Constitution 1.0, Intelligence 1.1, Will 1.3, Perception 1.0.

Absolute Strength 3.5, Elements (Unrefined)—

Bran, human male, Level 1 (Strength System: Physical, Melee; Talent: Unyielding)

XP: 4 (Commoner Level 1: —, Militiaman Level 2, 6/10)

Health (Weak, Dying): 10% (Bandaged, recovering 1 point per day)

Profession (1 Free Skill Point)—

Commoner [Basic Knowledge (Level 1), Geography (Level 0), Local Knowledge (Level 1)]

Militiaman [Military Swordsmanship (Level 1), Combat Techniques (Level 1), Tactical Theory (Level 0), Military Organization (Level 0)]

The attributes that changed were Strength and Constitution, indicating that his physical fitness had improved from the training (leveling) of the militiaman profession.

His Absolute Strength increased by 2.5 levels, mainly due to the 1 point of Dexterity from the Wind Queen's Ring, with the secondary factor being the change in physical fitness.

In this battle, he only gained four points of experience from the four skeleton soldiers and one necromancer, half of what he should have earned. Sophie thought for a moment and concluded—team penalty.

This was absurd; how could such a thing exist in the real world? But as a game enthusiast, he had no professional knowledge to explain it, especially since the concept of crossing over was even more absurd.

Wasn't it?

At first, he tried to figure out how the team penalty was calculated, but he soon realized it was futile, as it seemed to have nothing to do with the game.

"Lord Masha, I'm glad I have a thick skin..." He rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache.

But then Sophie hesitated, looking at his militiaman level. To be honest, he did not want to invest more experience in this profession. Militiamen were so weak that they were often referred to as an NPC-only profession.

In his previous life, he never imagined he would waste experience on this profession.

And he even chose the Unyielding talent!

Lord Masha, there were so many talents suitable for warriors, and Unyielding was the least favorable. This skill allowed him to survive a fatal physical blow, but he only had five minutes to make arrangements, unless he received powerful healing before that.

But so far, he had not seen any item more effective than bandages for restoring health, which were abundant in the game.

However, Sophie was not particularly regretful; after all, this skill had saved his life.

But the current situation was the same. The reality was that he could not find a way to take on another profession for the time being. And he urgently needed strength, so the only option was to continue down the path of the militiaman—

Sophie felt a bit depressed.

Was he going to become a seasoned militiaman from a seasoned warrior? Hey, weren't warriors already cannon fodder enough!

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