Chapter 98: Archmage, Please Lend Us Your Name

As the last rays of sunlight faded from the sky, a silent, terrifying battle line materialized outside Marino City. Standing at the forefront was an oppressive mass of skeletal soldiers.

These ancestors of Marino, pulled from their graves by death’s emissary, wielded whatever scraps of metal they’d found. They were driven to the front lines under the will of the necromancers.

Behind them came an unending horde of zombies.

On the city walls, a few adventurers with darkvision could make out familiar faces among them, faces they had once known.

The primary undead formation was positioned to the north. Once the duchy’s defenders, these soldiers still gripped their weapons, now as skeletal warriors facing their own families and fellow countrymen.

Moving among the ranks of undead were death knights, stripped of pride and honor. They surveyed the undead battalions with eerie green flames flickering in their eyes, silently commanding the core warriors of the undead army.

At the center of the horde, the mastermind behind this deathly invasion, the Grand Lich Brutus, raised his newly crafted bone staff high.

The pale, wicked staff glowed dimly in the wind.

The souls of Marino’s ancestors began to wail under the torment of soul magic. The jaws of the pale skulls stretched wide, and a piercing gaze that could chill even the living shot from their hollow sockets, reaching three hundred meters to the city walls.

Then, not one or two, but tens of thousands of undead on the battlefield wailed in unison, fixing their dreadful stares upon the city walls.

If cast by a single sorcerer, this would be considered a 6th-level necromancy spell, Soul-Gaze, testing an opponent’s will. Anyone who failed this will test would fall into instant panic, fear, or dread.

When Brutus summoned the collective gaze of every undead creature, however, it became a more potent, wide-reaching battlefield magic.

Chaos erupted atop the walls—cries of terror and sobbing filled the air.

“No! Don’t kill me!”

“We can’t win! How can we possibly beat an undead army?”

It was clear to all that the duchy’s forces were gravely outmatched. The Royal Guard had dwindled to half a squad, with fewer than two hundred city guards remaining. The rest were merely citizens who had grabbed any weapon they could find, driven by sheer desperation to defend the walls.

Facing the legion of death, the fragility in their hearts was laid bare.

Unchecked, their panic would soon spread into full-blown terror, and the battle would be over before it began, leaving only the inevitable slaughter.

Then, a slender figure clad in silver armor sprang gracefully to the highest point of the city wall. She held the Mountain Crest banner of the Marino family high in one hand, her gleaming sword in the other.

Her clear, powerful voice rang across the northern wall:

“I am Sophia Marino! The last member of the Marino family! Before us stands Brutus, the arch-traitor, condemned and driven out by the Allied Forces of Justice after murdering the late king. Now he returns with his foul army. There will be no mercy! No forgiveness! Any weakness on our part will only fuel his depravity! Abandon all hope of escape! Prepare to fight to the last!”

A desolate voice broke out from the crowd: “How can we hope to defeat so many undead?”

It was the question in everyone’s heart and the root of their fear.

How could they, ordinary citizens, expect to win against a foe that had once bested the duchy’s entire army?

Sophia, the Grand Duchess, didn’t flinch as she boldly declared, “Fellow citizens! Fear not! The legendary Archmage Tesla, who has slain dragons and destroyed demon lords with a single spell, has promised to come to our aid. He will be here by dawn. If we hold out through the night, there is hope we will survive!”

A ripple of hope swept through those atop the wall.

“Your Grace, is it true?” someone shouted.

“Of course!” she replied. “I swear on the honor of the Marino family! I will stand with my guards and fight beside you to the very end.”

The disheartened guards and citizens found renewed courage.

Tesla’s story had become almost mythical, and even the isolated Marino Highlands had heard tales of his legendary feats. Knowing that the dread lich would be facing an even more powerful mage lifted the weight of fear from their hearts. Some even began to restrain panicked citizens, knocking them unconscious and hauling them back into the city.

After making her speech, Sophia leapt down to rejoin her troops. Her temporary lieutenant, Sir Joseph, approached her with concern. “When did Tesla agree to help us? I didn’t see a messenger return.”

“Shh!” Sophia pressed a finger to her lips.

The knight stared in astonishment as she gave a rueful smile. “The people were terrified. They needed something to give them the courage to fight. The Marino family can’t provide them any comfort. I had no choice but to borrow the Archmage’s name.”

Sir Joseph, lowering his voice nervously, asked, “But what if the Archmage doesn’t come?”

Sophia shrugged with a wry grin. “Then there won’t be a Marino family left to care about its honor. He can always come to Hell and take it out on me.”

Unfazed, she was ready to face the worst—if the city fell, she’d be beyond caring about the consequences.

Unfazed, Sir Joseph gave her a deadpan reply that seemed meant as either a grim joke or a serious warning. “My Lady, in all seriousness, if you die, there’s a good chance you’ll be turned into a death knight. And even in Hell, he’d likely still find you. For the sake of your soul’s peace, please don’t joke about these things.”

Sophia shot him a hard glare, clearly thinking, If you can’t say something helpful, say nothing at all!

But Sir Joseph wasn’t finished: “And if Archmage Tesla does arrive and wins the battle… what then?”

“That’s my problem to solve!” she snapped, stomping her foot in frustration. I’ll likely die from exasperation before the enemy even reaches the wall!

Yet, despite her irritation, morale had been restored, and a spirit of resistance ignited.

Outside, Brutus observed the surge in morale and murmured, “Oh?”

“My lord?” asked one of his necromancers softly.

“No matter. Proceed with the attack as planned,” the lich sneered, his desiccated jaws cracking a bit as he broke into a mirthless grin, giving his face an almost ridiculous appearance.

But it was a cruel smile.

“Struggle all you want, insects! Dance for me! Your resistance will only make this dance of death more glorious. Hahaha!”

His raucous laughter echoed through the dark night, serving as the signal to advance. Tens of thousands of skeletal figures, armed only with makeshift weapons, surged toward the beleaguered city, now an isolated island in a sea of death.