Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer-Chapter 119: Second Soul Soldier (1)

It was a plausible possibility. Percival’s Skeletons usually held the short end of the stick when it came to battles with beasts and other Awakeners.

This was because Awakeners and beasts had the options of raw force and magical offense. Percival’s Skeletons—being only raw bones revitalized by soul energy—did not have the option of magical offense, unless of course, Percival equips them with a special armor.

Because of this, they suffered damage at the hands of beasts and Awakeners. However, these Demons, the Manor Vampires at least; they only caused soul damage, draining the blood and hence, the lifeforce.

But Percival’s Undead Summons had no blood, and with no blood to drain, their lifeforce also couldn’t be affected. This meant Percival, and his Necromancer Class was the necessary weapon to take down this Demon Gate, or any that would appear in the world.

But what else could this insinuate? Was Percival fated to fight Asmodea? Since Classes carried the essence of Gods, did his Necromancer Class come from Asmodea herself?

These questions wracked his brain as he stood there in the silence of the Foyer. Everything was changing now. This wasn’t what he had planned. He had wanted to journey the world, gather the great swords, create the most powerful legion of the undead Awakened and Unawakened, max his Necromancer Class, and ascend the max level on both Classes.

Now, his revenge story was turning into a rendition of Ghostbusters.

He looked around the room, the burnt, smoking corpses of the Manor Vampires gazed emptily back at him. Percival grimaced. A terrifyingly disgusting rendition.

⸢Foyer of Lost Breaths cleared successfully⸥

⸢Proceed to the next Encounter Zone⸥

He returned his unharmed Skeletons into their Summon Space, then stepped forward, lifting his armored feet over the debris scattered on the floor. He approached the first Vampire corpse, kneeling low to examine what would be probably the inaugural Demon loot ever.

⸢Demon Core x16⸥

⸢Tarnished Silver Ring x16⸥

⸢Manor Vampire Cloak x16⸥

⸢Vampire Fang x32⸥

⸢Mana Coins x3000⸥

⸢Demon Marks x6⸥

⸢4 Health Potions / 3 Elixirs⸥

Percival studied the loot. He picked up the Demon Core and rolled it over in his hand. It was cold, unlike Beast cores that were usually warmer. Percival was surprised that they had cores at all, since he’d presumed they were all just living mana.

Perhaps there was more to these Demons than he had thought. The other interesting loot was the Demon Marks. Percival picked one of them. It floated above his palm, a crescent shaped black shard that let out glowing green pores.

He didn’t know what they were so he requested a description. The interface popped up a second later.

⸢Demon Marks⸥

⸢Description: Unique currency inside Demon Gate Worlds that can be used to purchase equipment and necessities like Elixirs, Health Potions, and Power Up from Dark Merchants that appear at times of need⸥.

Percival stared. That seemed surprisingly helpful.

It meant two things: either Demon Gate Worlds were that kind, or the threats in here were just that dangerous, a new mechanic had to be instilled to give challengers a fighting chance,

Percival wasn’t a betting man, but he placed his bets safely on the latter suggestion.

He stored the Demon Mark in his inventory. It joined the rest of his currencies. He rose to his feet, dusting the cobwebs and green Demon goo off his armor.

He moved to turn around, but paused, looking down and realizing that he was standing merely a foot away from the corpse of Willow Lockhart.

She lay against the wall, her legs sprawled awkwardly, her head tipped back as if gazing at the ceiling where her killers had emerged. Her eyes, now glazed and dull, still held that final spark of defiance he had felt in the Spectral Memory.

He remembered the vision clearly. The Arcanist, a man who she had fought beside many times before, turning his back and fleeing toward the portal. She was betrayed. In a sense, just like him.

He remembered that Willow was the only one who had stood out to him. Maybe it was because he had been in her head, saw things from her point of view, literally. But it was more than that. It felt more than that,

The other Knight had been more worried of being in control. The Mage let panic get to her and she crumbled even before the Vampires sucked the life out of her. The Barbarian had been too sure of his strength and it only led to his death. The Arcanist hid, and then ran.

But Willow was the only one who stood her ground, shouting commands that no one followed, raising her shield to buy time for cowards who didn’t deserve it. She had tried to help the support team. In fact, it was because of her that many of them had escaped.

It might not have been a sentiment that he agreed with. But even he knew that it was a character worth having. Especially as a soldier.

But he wondered if she would be worth it. If only there was a way for him to know just how powerful she was. Or could be.

Just then. A notification appeared before him.

⸢Name: Willow Lockhart⸥ 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

⸢Class: Ascending Knight (Lvl 107)⸥

⸢Talent: Severed Fate (Legendary Rank)⸥

Percival froze. Was that ⸢Grave Sense⸥?

He was just realizing that the active/passive Skill not only sensed corpses, but could also examine them.

A wave of relief flushed through him. This way, he could vet future Soul Summons before waking them. Especially the unplanned ones such as Willow Lockhart here.

Curious about her talent, he expanded the notification for more details.

⸢Talent: Severed Fate⸥

⸢Description: The user learns from defeat instantly. Any damage type, status effect, or method of killing that is used against the user once will have its effectiveness reduced by 100% in subsequent encounters. The user cannot suffer from the same cause twice⸥.

Percival’s eyebrows flew into his hair. "Severed Fate," he muttered. "That is... absurd."

It was a talent that practically guaranteed godhood if the user survived long enough. If she had lived through this encounter, the Vampires’ life-drain would have been useless against her next time. She was a reactive evolution engine. A tank that hardened with every hit.

He shifted his gaze to her face.

"Eutheo must have been furious to have lost you," he muttered.

He looked at the rest and used ⸢Grave Sense⸥ on them. None of them had any exceptionally interesting Talents. Not like Willow. They were all just at a higher level than her. Percival suspected Eutheo had been using them to train his young prodigy.

At the moment, he had his mind set on making Willow his second Soul Soldier.

He inspected her armor.

Covering her from neck to feet was the Gilded Lionheart Plate (A-Grade). It was dented but unbreached. Her sword, the Oathkeeper’s Bastard Blade ( also A-Grade), lay near her hand, its edge still sharp despite the abuse it had taken.

"You were too good for them," Percival said quietly to the silence. "Far too good to rot here as a monument to their failure."

He glanced at the other corpses again. He still had enough Summon Spaces left to add all of them if he pleased. But Percival felt no pull to any other of the dead Awakeners. Even the leader, the Knight, who was the highest in level.

Percival didn’t need another Knight. He had Mercius Seagrave, the Blade of Brackenbridge, sitting in his soul inventory. And now, he had Willow Lockhart.

Mind made up, Percival took a breath, centering his mana. He extended his hand, palm hovering over Willow’s stilled heart.

"⸢Awake⸥"

WHOOSH.

The blue inferno erupted instantly, consuming the reality around them. The Foyer of Lost Breaths, the Vampire corpses, the paintings; all of it was washed away in a tidal wave of cold, azure fire.

Percival found himself once again in the Concept of Place.

The endless blue void stretched into infinity, silent and still. The ground beneath his boots was that familiar, invisible solid, rippling like dark water with every shift of his weight.

In the distance, the azure flames burned like pyres. From within them, ribbons of pale blue smoke began to unspool, drifting toward the center where Percival waited. They coalesced, weaving together bone and memory, until a figure stepped out from the fire.

Willow Lockhart.

She looked as she had in life, but the dents in her armor were gone, replaced by a pristine, spectral glow. Her face was pale, her expression one of deep, sorrowful confusion.

She looked at her hands, then at Percival.

"I died," she stated. It wasn’t a question. Didn’t seem like it. Her voice echoed in the void, clear and melodious, stripped of the pain of her final moments.

"You did," Percival confirmed, his voice deepened by the authority of his Class.

Willow fell silent. She looked around the blue expanse, her gaze lingering on the smoke that was beginning to swirl around them.

"Then this is judgment?" she whispered.

"In a way."

The smoke thickened. It began to move, projecting scenes from her life onto the canvas of the void.

"Tell me about yourself, Willow."