Necromancer (5)

The whispers started in taverns, where drunk patrons tried to pronounce my title without stumbling: "The High-Human Thslayer." They evolved in noble courts, where pale-faced aristocrats choked on their wine at the mention of my name. Finally, they reached the streets, where children played a new game called "Run from the Reaper" – remarkably accurate, if a bit on the nose.

The High-Human Slayer. The Destroyer of Churches. The Butcher of Nobility.

Personally, I preferred "The Guy Who Made Aristocrats Soil Their Expensive Pants," but that one never caught on.

One man – well, technically a hybrid, but who's counting? – had brought the mighty Eldian Empire to its knees. Their royal family now decorated my soul collection, their warriors had become fascinating case studies in rapid mortality, and their divine protectors had learned that prayers work better with an attached soul.

The world watched, as worlds tend to do when something terrifying happens. Nobody dared call me a criminal, which was refreshing. Fear, it seemed, was a better motivator than any anti-discrimination law.

Policies changed overnight. Suddenly, being nice to humans was trending. Hybrids went from "kill on sight" to "please don't turn into another psychopath with a soul fetish." The nobility's collective sphincters tightened every time they saw someone who wasn't pure-blooded.

I found it all darkly amusing. They thought they were preventing another me, as if oppression alone had created what I was. If they only knew what waited beyond the horizon...

The Cursed Scimitar was complete – a symphony of ten thousand screaming souls wrapped in steel and spite. Time to disappear, which I did with considerably more style than strictly necessary.

Yet despite all the admiration, all the reverence, all the fear, he cared for none of it.

He had achieved what he set out to do.

The Cursed Schimitar was complete.

And so, he vanished once more, retreating into the shadows, where his true work would begin.

***

His destination lay deep in the countryside, nestled within a forgotten cavern. It was a place untouched by civilization, free from prying eyes, and shielded by layers of runes, illusions, and misdirection.

A seemingly ordinary cave mouth concealed the entrance, yet no wanderer could hope to stumble upon it. To most, it appeared as nothing more than barren rock—an unremarkable scar on the land. However, to those with the right knowledge, it was an entirely different reality.

As he approached, the first layer of deception unraveled before him.

A hidden sigil, invisible to all but those attuned to soul magic, or master ranked beings. glowed faintly as he passed. The rock face shimmered, revealing a dark passage beyond.

With each step he took, the magic grew denser. Runes of concealment obscured his presence, barriers of misdirection deterred those unworthy, and traps of instant death awaited intruders foolish enough to step where they did not belong.

He walked through effortlessly, it had 20 floors now, it was reduced to it due to the passage of time it seems.

At the heart of the dungeon; floor 20, a heavy, rune-encrusted door loomed before him. It pulsed with power, safeguarding the secrets within. He placed his hand upon it, sending a surge of his own mana into the ancient inscriptions.

With a low groan, the massive doors parted, revealing the vast underground laboratory that had been a lich's sanctuary for years. Shelves lined the walls, filled with alchemical ingredients, enchanted tools, and death-infused artifacts. The faint glow of magical sigils illuminated the room, casting eerie shadows across the cold stone floor.

And in the center of it all, waiting in the darkness, was Arthur Valdik.

The air was thick with death mana, the very fabric of the room pulsing with the power of the undead.

Arthur Valdik, the ancient lich, sat upon a throne of bones, his skeletal form draped in dark robes that pulsed with unnatural energy. Hollow eyes of soul-fire burned within his skull as he regarded the intruder with silent curiosity.

Xiavar stepped forward, his presence unshaken.

"I see a human with death magic, similar to me," the lich rasped, his voice echoing unnaturally.

"Indeed, pleasure to meet you I am from the Numbers organization", replied Xiavar

Arthur's gaze flickered with emotion, " Ah the remnants from the Ancient organization, still living like cockroach." 

Arthur continued, "Why are you here?"

"Im here to let you safe keep this item, in return for information from the past 200 years, and Information on Number 1, according to the contract you have formed with Number " replied Xiavar

Arthur proceeded to look at the item.

"I can feel it," Arthur murmured. "Ten thousand souls, trapped within." His skeletal fingers hovered just above the blade, feeling the sheer density of the imprisoned spirits. "A magnificent creation."

Xiavar smirked. "This will be used in the next cycle."

The lich chuckled. "still not given up on defeating the calamity have you?."

Xiavar nodded. "I came to discuss the future."

Arthur leaned forward. "Go on."

Xiavar met his gaze. "You know who I am, but let me introduce myself properly this time. I am Number 2 of the Numbers Organization."

Xiavar continued, "You must be wondering what happened to Number 1 . The Barbarian King "

Arthur remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

Xiavar exhaled. "Number 1 fell in the last cycle, against the calamities, which was a gate. called the gate of calamity, it summoned dozens of master-ranked monsters, which were killed by Number 1, and his comrades. But it was all for naught, as a grand-master ranked being was summoned, the black dragon. They stood no chance, Number 1 died. "

Xiavar then proceeded to account the information of the last 200 years, mostly major events. He had found this information mostly from the church, so it was credible. After all, he killed them and then ransacked their headquarters. 

Arthur hummed in thought. "And what of Number 3?"

Xiavar's lips curled into a smirk. "My successor. The one who will finish what I started. The one who will end the calamity, once and for all."

A low chuckle emanated from the lich's hollow chest. "Such confidence. And what of you?"

Xiavar's eyes gleamed. "I have no intention of stopping it this time. This cycle is nothing more than preparation. The real battle will be fought in the next one."

Arthur studied him for a moment before nodding. "So, you have finally abandoned the illusion of salvation."

"Salvation?" Xiavar scoffed. "Humanity has already failed. This world belongs to those strong enough to shape it. And I intend to shape it in my own image."

A long silence stretched between them before Arthur finally spoke. "Very well. If you are to prepare, then I shall safe keep this item according to our mana contract"

He then gave away the cursed schimitar. 

Xiavar turned, striding toward the exit. He had no need for further words. His mission was set, his path was clear.

As he stepped beyond the dungeon's threshold, the magic sealing it behind him, he smiled to himself.

The world feared him, the high-humans loathed him, and the calamity waited beyond the horizon.

Let them wait.

He had work to do.

And when the time came, he would be ready in the next cycle.