Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer-Chapter 135: Ghostlike Beings

"Cast a mana vision space," Percival ordered, his grip tightening on his War-Scythe.

Lewis shivered, hugging his robes. "W-what? Why? Wait! How did you even know that I have a Skill like that?"

Percival glared at him. "What did I say about listening to me? Just do it!"

"Of course!" Lewis didn’t argue further. He raised his trembling hands. "⸢Mana Illumination Sphere⸥."

Golden mana condensed in his palms before exploding outward in a silent, expanding dome of yellow light.

The spectral pulse washed over the room, peeling back the layers of the unseen world.

And behold, the library was not empty. They were completely surrounded.

Dozens of ghostlike beings floated in the air, hovering silently above the bookshelves, drifting through the solid petrified wood as if it were water.

Percival narrowed his eyes in dark recognition. Nightwraiths.

They were terrifying apparitions—tattered, flowing shrouds of absolute darkness that seemed to swallow the golden light.

They had no legs, almost resembling the childish ghost costume of a piece of white cloth over a human body. But they were actually floating, made of green smoke and tapering off into ragged shadows that trailed beneath them.

Their faces were like voids, save for two piercing, glowing white eyes that glared down at the intruders with ancient, unfathomable hatred. 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

They had been there the whole time, invisible, watching them step into the trap.

The moment the golden light revealed them, their passive aura crashed down upon Percival and Lewis, completely engulfing them with the dark energy they possessed.

⸢Status Effect Inflicted: Overwhelming Dread⸥

Lewis gasped, clutching his chest. The fear wasn’t just an emotion; it was a magical assault. The Nightwraiths fed on terror, and in return, they projected it.

"What... what is this feeling?" Lewis whimpered, his eyes so wide that his pupils almost vanished.

Hallucinations instantly seized his mind. He looked at his own hands and saw the skin wrinkling, the flesh decaying into dust.

He felt the phantom touch of a wraith brushing his shoulder, and an icy numbness spread through his veins, simulating the rapid draining of his life force.

Percival watched it happen with shock. With the Aspect he had claimed from The Rending Marsh, he was completely immune to the environmental effects of the Nightwraiths.

⸢Aspect of the Undying Lizard (A-Rank)⸥

⸢Primary: When entering a hostile environment or encountering a new damage type, gain Primeval Adaptation for 25s. While active, gain +35% Resistance to environmental damage (heat, cold, poison, rot, pressure, corrosion), and take −20% damage from non-weapon sources⸥

But as he witnessed the Wraiths’ abilities take over Lewis, he suddenly remembered the legends of these creatures.

Like other Demons, Nightwraiths were immune to normal weapons. But their most dangerous powers included the ability to paralyze their prey with sheer terror, and to age a victim fifty years in seconds just with a single physical touch.

⸢Threat: Nightwraiths⸥

⸢Level: 60⸥

⸢Traits: Invisibility: Can become completely undetectable for the normal human eye⸥

⸢Aura of Dread: Passively induces paralyzing terror, despair, and severe hallucinations in targets with a lower Constitution stat⸥

⸢Time-Thief’s Touch: Direct physical contact bypasses armor, rapidly draining life force and artificially aging the victim’s physical vessel⸥

The sheer, suffocating panic overloaded Lewis’s nervous system.

He was Level 113, but his spirit was paper-thin.

He fell to his knees, paralyzed with absolute terror. The Golden mana in his hands flickered violently.

"No, no, no..." Lewis sobbed. He looked up at Percival. "Why? Why isn’t anything happening to you?"

With a shattering, his skill deactivated. The yellow light died, plunging the library back into natural darkness.

Immediately, the temperature hit absolute zero.

Percival raised his brows. The Nightwraiths were definitely about to attack.

"REEEEEEEE!"

They shrieked horribly and swooped down from the rafters and the shelves, a tidal wave of grasping, life-draining shadows hungry for souls.

Percival’s mind raced. The dread aura pressed against his own mind, but his armor’s Aspect and his high Constitution buffered the paralysis.

Normal weapons will pass right through them, Percival deduced rapidly, watching his Skeleton Warriors raise their simple swords uselessly.

But this Gate World wasn’t immune to the classic laws of the supernatural. If garlic had worked as a repellent for the Manor Vampires, then the Nightwraiths must surely share the signature weaknesses of their folklore counterparts.

What were the popular weaknesses of Nightwraiths?

Holy or blessed weapons. Sunlight. Silver.

Percival didn’t have a silver sword. He didn’t have the power of the sun. And he certainly owned no holy or blessed equipment.

However, there was one Class that generally possessed all these traits.

Knights.

With desperation, Percival outstretched his hand, fingers wide. He funneled a massive surge of his mana into the depths of his Summon Space, and selected the Brackenbutcher.

"Mercius! Awake!"

Instantly, a blast of brilliant, roaring blue Soulfire exploded outward in the space in front of Percival, carrying with it a shockwave of pure, untainted energy.

From the heart of the flames, a towering figure materialized.

It was the great Knight Mercius, Percival’s elite Soul Soldier. He stood clad in his spectral, heavy armor, glowing majestically, and burning with the blue aura of death.

He didn’t hesitate. At the very moment he appeared, he drew his massive greatsword from his back in a single, fluid motion.

As the blade cleared its spectral scabbard, it ignited with a blinding flash of light. This light formed a localized burst of radiant energy that acted like a miniature sun in the near-black library.

"GRAAAAAAAH!"

The Nightwraiths shrieked in absolute agony. The blinding light seared their shadowy forms. Those closest to the flash began to evaporate, their dark essence burning away like mist under a magnifying glass.

The rest broke their charge, scattering in blind panic, phasing desperately through the petrified bookshelves and sinking into the floorboards to escape the radiance.

Mercius stepped forward, planting his heavy boots onto the rotting wood. He lowered his greatsword, the radiant light washing over the paralyzed Arcanist and the retreating shadows.

He looked up from his dark hair, his eyes burning, his bearded face filled with rageful duty.

"Who tempers my master!" Mercius’s voice boomed, shaking the dust from the rafters.