Strongest Dimensional Necromancer-Chapter 78: Dare to attack

Riven had a lot of thoughts, like how he absolutely didn’t want to be where he was right then. He began to calculate how he could get out of the problem, and he came up blank each time.

Even his Undying effect wouldn’t work because when he came back to life, he would still be standing right there.

Wait, Riven frowned.

"...if I put the necklace on and ask him to run out of the place while I distract Zandrel with my life... that’ll work, but the problem is that I don’t know if there’s a shield formation in place... there is... so instead of making my escape... my secret will just be revealed..."

Riven took a deep breath as he felt everything close around him, as if he was between the jaws of a monster and the monster was slowly but surely closing its jaws.

He began the process of summoning the Grave Knight, but the slightest bit of aura that leaked out of him made one of the constructs react.

The big statue twitched and then blurred forward, its fist snapping out. Riven didn’t even have enough time to blink properly before the blow slammed into his chest and sent him skidding to the back.

Pain flared in his chest, and he felt as if something had been broken. He gasped for breath, blood dripping from his mouth, but he dragged himself away—just in time too, as a stone foot crushed the place he had just been.

He tried to stand properly, but he swayed, his body trembling. Just one punch, and he had almost fainted. Any hopes that he had about fighting back were crushed. His only option lay in getting away.

He would have to risk using Spartacus’s method.

But before he could call anything, a shadow loomed above him. The construct was right there again, its sword aimed high, and it brought it down on him without mercy.

Riven screamed as he raised his own sword with trembling hands. Every aura in his body flowed to the sword, and it shone like green fire.

Bam!

The two swords collided. A ripple of snapping shockwave blasted out, and the ground beneath them cracked in a circle. Riven’s right hand snapped, twisting at an angle.

But the construct remained unharmed. It didn’t even move away from the place it was standing—not a single step back.

"Oh? You’re really powerful for being able to stop the blow of an Auracrest rank. We’re in the same ranks, you know. Me and the constructs are in the low Auracrest rank.

"They are one thing I will always be grateful to Green Clouds Sect for providing me. Normally, it’s very difficult for puppeteers to have two puppets at the same rank as them, but the construct here didn’t need much power from me. I just rewrote their inner formations with my own.

"I turned their natural instincts to my own means. They have made me really powerful."

Riven was glad that Zandrel seemed to be in a good mood with all the talking he was doing—more time for him to summon. But the pain his body was going through was messing with his head.

He narrowed his eyes in concentration and began to focus his aura again, but suddenly a blinding pain split his head, and he found himself on the ground staring up at the sky.

What just happened?

The construct had just used its sword to split his head—the flat side. He groaned. Every part of his body seemed to be in pain. From his head down to his toes, each part seemed to be competing over which could feel pain the most.

Suddenly, his view of the sky was interrupted by Zandrel looking down at him.

"You’re still not at death’s door. I won’t be able to make you my puppet. I should beat you more. But the construct will tear you apart if I ask them. What a troublesome thing. I have to get blood on my hands."

Riven didn’t reply. He was staring at the sky blankly while he continued to build the foundation of the grave. He didn’t activate or use his aura. He only held the foundation in his mind, waiting for the perfect moment.

Zandrel brought a knife out from his robe and lifted it.

"I know of the quickest way to do this. It’ll be painful, but it’ll be worth it. At the end, you will be relieved to have someone be in control of your life. You won’t be lost, as I will give you directions while I figure out what’s special about you."

He crouched and brought the sword closer to his cheek, the sharp blade glittering in the moonlight. Just as he was about to cut his cheek, he stiffened.

Zandrel looked to the left, and his eyes widened briefly in surprise.

He gestured quickly, and the wooden construct that was clinging to him leaped up into the air, hands extended.

Just then, a twisting rope of darkness came out of the darkness. The rope seemed to be made up of four different sides—blades joined together, each made of darkness.

Bam!

The attack slammed into the construct. The blade of darkness bit into its chest and cleaved right across the head, shattering the upper part with ease.

Zandrel stood up, the smile on his face frozen in surprise.

"You. You dare to attack me."

Kivara appeared out of the darkness. Her face was pale and filled with pain. Her right hand was twisted and dripping with blood, but still, she held the sword in hand steady.

All around her, golden threads connected from her limbs upward, from her joints reaching into the sky. But the one on her right hand seemed to have snapped.

"I apologize that the attack didn’t take your head from your neck."

Zandrel was almost too shocked to speak back. His eyes were locked on her right hand.

"Impossible. How did you cut the thread of your right hand?"

"You underestimated the void, Zandrel. You underestimated me. The void is the finality, and it eats away at everything. It is always a matter of time."