Strongest Dimensional Necromancer-Chapter 34: Spartacus

The man didn’t have the height of Riven’s undead, but his armor had been specially crafted to cover his muscular form. He carried a large metal shield on his back and a big sword, but it was the weapon in his hands that made soldiers avoid him.

Chains wrapped around his hand, the ends fitted with sharp hooks that were heavy with blood and pieces of hair.

He was a soldier from the Roman army, one of their berserkers, and his red-tainted eyes locked on Riven’s undead. The chain man raised his right hand and brought it down.

The chain wrapped around it snapped forward, creating a thwack sound as it blurred through the air faster than ordinary eyes could track.

But the chain wasn’t targeted at Riven’s undead directly. No, the chain man let the hook fly past his target before he snapped it back and reeled it in with force. The hook would then take the target from the back of the neck, opening their skull. The whole process wouldn’t take more than a minute.

It was an effective method that he had been using so far, and a successful one too, earning him his title as one of the powerful berserkers of the Roman army.

But this time, things didn’t work as expected. The hook flew past his target, but Riven was standing behind his undead, and he slapped the chain away.

At the same time, his undead dropped its axe and reached out to the chain after a command from Riven. It then jerked the chain forward, drawing the surprised chain man toward them.

Riven jumped out from behind. "Another body for me!"

And that was how he got his second undead. A good thing too, because he was reaching the place where the battle was the thickest, and the strongest warriors from both sides were joining swords.

Riven used his undead as a shield, and he even picked two more to complete the four he could raise at a single time. They formed around him and began to push against the knot of sharp steel that was the battlefield.

Riven understood the dilemma of a Necromancer then. It was easier to watch and command undead from afar, sending their army forward, but that was only good if they were at a higher rank.

As it was now, Riven was having the strongest of his headaches. Controlling four undead wasn’t an easy task. Giving them multiple commands at once while keeping the technique he was using alive was making his head hot.

The only thing helping was his Sigil. It was so easy to fill up, and with death all around, the aura was surplus. A Necromancer with a weaker Sigil would have been worried about running out of aura.

...Ah... and it’s not simply just cutting now... This place is dangerous... These warriors are strong... I didn’t know normal humans could be this powerful... or maybe I just can’t see their powers...

The chain man had already lost one of his hands, and another of his undead lost its head. Riven had to steal another person’s head just so he wouldn’t make the soldiers too suspicious. He didn’t want the whole battlefield to turn on him, after all.

On more than one occasion, Riven had to step in and fight himself, flickering between enemies, cutting right through metal and bone with ease.

But the issue soon turned complicated because the battlefield was taking notice of them. Four berserkers and one man, made up of soldiers from the two opposing sides. There was slight hesitation at first, but then the two groups began to attack them.

...Ah, shit... I have to do something quick! Just where is my target?... Riven thought, scanning the battlefield for where body parts were being sent flying.

He saw several places that were whirlwinds of steel and blood, of raining body parts, but it wasn’t what he was looking for. His inhuman eyes scanned the blood field, and then he saw it.

"There!"

Spartacus had lost his chariot and horses along with his red cloak. The helmet he had been wearing was gone as well, revealing his rugged face. His dark eyes were calm and piercing as he watched the destruction around him.

On his two hands were heavy chain bands, the mark of slavery that he had turned into his own personal standard.

He carried a sword as tall as he was, but he hadn’t removed the scabbard. He was just using the sword like that, a blunt weapon that still managed to cut down everything around him, crushing and smashing bodies apart, occasionally snatching the weapons of his fallen opponents to fight.

Riven felt something bubble in his stomach when he saw him. It was a mixture of fear and excitement. That was a man of strength. His body seemed to be carved from power itself, and his face carried the weight of what he wanted—what he needed to do—without faltering.

Riven was jealous of that. Although he knew his own goals, they weren’t written, carved into his very being like Spartacus’s.

...This... a lesson here!... Let what I want guide my very moves!...

He didn’t need to point. The undead felt their master’s will as surely as if a hand was pressing against their backs. They turned and began to cut their way toward Spartacus, one dead body at a time.

And then, finally, they broke through. Spartacus stood in the middle of what could only be described as a blood pool. Bodies surrounded him in broken heaps with twisted bones. Armor had been yanked into wrong angles, and weapons were shattered.

"Spartacus!" Riven shouted, his voice carrying jealous anger. Whatever had made this man into an unbroken sword wrapped in broken chains was something he wanted to take away.

Riven wanted to see him break and crack. He wanted that strength.

Spartacus turned, and his dark eyes narrowed. Those eyes weren’t pure black. There were hints of red in them. It was then that Riven realized the man was a berserker as well, but he had tamed the madness in him. He had turned it into a weapon, something he was in control of.

Purple eyes met dark, and they held.

Spartacus then pointed at him.