Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer-Chapter 159: Graveyard of Dead Grass

At the other side of the yellow swirling portal, the province of Hollowcreek chirped with birds and wailed with winds.

Led by the silent and graceful Messenger, Elara and the anxious but adorned Duke, Ithalan, the twenty Heroes of Evernia moved like a fortress of light and metal toward the A-Ranked Gate World.

Master Omares walked near the front, his midnight-blue robes sweeping over the damp mulch. He had his platinum eyes fixed on the Duke’s back, thoughts in his head.

"How long is left until the Gate breaks and the beasts inside pour into our world?" Nessa thought to ask.

"Less than 20 hours," Elara replied, looking slightly over shoulder.

"Will that be enough time for us to clear an A-Ranked Gate World?" Deron questioned.

"Of course it is!" Aethelstan snapped, not even looking his way. "If the Heroes of Evernia aren’t able to do it. Then who else?"

Everyone felt silent then. But it did not take too long for Omares to speak, his words directed at the Duke.

"It is curious, isn’t it, Lord Ithalan? Hollowcreek believes in tradition and the sanctity of the High Boughs," his voice came like clear smoke. "Yet you allowed an Alpha Gate to fester for six days. Tell me, did you intend to bring ruin upon your own people, or is your negligence born of a deeper folly?"

Duke Ithalan did not turn. His shoulders, draped in velvet, remained stiff. "You do not understand the politics of the frontier, Great Scholar."

"Is that your excuse? My naivety?"

"I don’t have an excuse," the Duke almost snapped. "I am merely telling you what happened. You think it is easy for us?"

He cursed. "To have called for aid from our neighbors in Neverglades would have been to hand them the keys to our city. They have long coveted our autonomy. They would have used our ’weakness’ as a pretext to install their own rulers, their own laws."

"So you chose the risk of annihilation over the loss of a few abstract rights?" Omares countered, his shadow stretching long and dark. "You were willing to die for a shadow of independence."

"Some values, Master Omares," Ithalan whispered with, "are worth the sacrifice of the self."

"A prideful sentiment," Omares hissed. "But if you all die to the beasts, then the Glades would have just taken your land. No one to oppose them."

Ithalan grunted. Elara looked at her Lord and returned her gaze ahead.

Further back in the column, the atmosphere was even more stifling. Nessa walked in her path, distant from her friend, the Prince.

Her eyes drifted, almost against her will, toward the front of the line where Aethelstan marched.

He felt her gaze but he didn’t look back, instead tilting his chin higher, proudly donning his new gold armor.

When Nessa finally looked away, focusing on the path ahead with a tightened jaw, Aethelstan’s head turned just enough to catch her profile.

He scoffed, a quiet sound of derision, and intentionally lengthened his stride to put more distance between them.

"Do not waste your thoughts on her, my Prince," Liraeth said, appearing at his elbow. She kept her voice low, honeyed like a sycophant. "She is but a shadow that refuses the sun. We all know the truth. You are the leader this team requires, so lead us how you see fit; the rest of us understand the weight of the crown you carry. We will follow."

"Liraeth is right," Dagna chimed in.

When Aethelstan turned to his left, the Dwarf shot him a smile as she adjusted her grip on her weapon.

"Why should a Prince care for the daughter of a mere noble?" she said. "Not even any prince, but the prince of the human kingdom. I am an Elf and even I know that Valoris is the greatest kingdom in the realm."

Liraeth, an Elf herself, shot Dagna a look.

"You aren’t just a warrior, my Prince. You are the representative of your father’s legacy and the human kingdom. Don’t let them down for the sake of friendship. Take charge of this team and lead us to victory against the Demon Lord."

Aethelstan gave both of them quick glances then straightened his gaze. Unexpectedly, their words had warmed his chest.

The internal doubt that had been gnawing at him since Omares’ words receded completely, and now he was certain of himself.

The Elf and the Dwarf were right. He was a Prince. He was the leader of the Heroes’ Party. All the power was his and no one could say different.

All he needed to do now was make sure that all the glory was his too.

A few steps back, Princess Corisande stepped alongside Corvell, her fellow Healer Mage and friend, whose expression she could see was gloom.

"How are you doing, Corvell?" she asked softly, inspecting her friend’s face. "I know the Prince’s decision to deny you that Gate World Aspect was... difficult. It would have accelerated your leveling up significantly."

Corvell offered a humble, weary smile. "It is the Prince’s prerogative, Princess. I am here to support the party, not my own ambition."

"You shouldn’t have to choose between the two," Corisande whispered, her Serene Chakrams clicking softly at her waist. "If you still want it, I can get it for you."

Corvell looked at her. "How? The Prince has made his stance clear."

Corisande’s starfilled eyes snapped to Aethelstan’s back. "The Prince has been attempting to convince me to align my interests more closely with him. I have refused him thus far, but perhaps a favor from him could change my mind."

Corvell raised his brows. "Heh. You don’t... have to do that, Princess."

Corisande flashed him a smile. "I’ll do it anyway, Corvell. It’s only a small game."

They reached the clearing. It looked like a graveyard of dead grass; the only interesting thing about the place was the twenty-foot tall Alpha Gate dominating the center.

"The Haunting of Suicide Manor," Aethelstan read out the description. "An unusual name."

Others stood around preparing to enter and fight.

Omares planted himself by the Gate, his eyes narrowing at the crimson distortion within it. "This is your second chance, Prince Aethelstan, to prove that you are a leader worth following."

Aethelstan glanced briefly at the Scholar, then puffed his chest, his Solar armor flaring with light. "Follow me," he commanded his team. "We shall make a plan inside."

Seeing as there was not enough time, this was a reasonable order. Omares understood.

One hand rested on the pommel of his sword, Aethelstan marched toward the Gate, and others followed. But as he reached the threshold and attempted to step through the red light, he discovered that he couldn’t.

The magic had repelled him and Aethelstan hit the Gate like he had blindly walked into a shut door.

Ithalan, who had been watching with wide, terrified eyes, felt his brows shoot upward.

"What is the matter?" Omares demanded softly.

"It’s sealed," Aethelstan spat, his face flushing red with embarrassment and rage. "The energy is solid. It won’t let me in."

"That can’t be right," Nessa said, stepping closer to the swirling red mass. She didn’t touch it, but her eyes scanned the fluctuations of the mana. "A Gate can only be sealed if the Gate World has already been cleared."

Omares turned a terrifying gaze toward Duke Ithalan. "Did you fail to tell us something, Duke? Has this Gate long since been cleared? Or did it happen while on the way here?"

Ithalan stared at the red light, his hands shaking within his emerald sleeves. He looked at the Heroes, then back at the Gate.

"I... I did fail to tell you something. An Awakener entered. Which is why I said there’s nothing to worry about."

Aethelstan let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. "An Awakener? One? You expect me to believe an A-Ranked Gate World was cleared by a single person? Unless it’s a Legacy Awakener, if not, you are a liar, Lord Ithalan."

The Duke attempted to retort but he was cut off.

"Something is happening," Bromm growled, his hand tightening on his shield. "The Gate is rippling. Look."

The churning red of the Gate began to pulse, like a river after a stone had been dropped. They saw a silhouette appear within the light, and watched it growing larger and more distinct with every passing second.

The black lightning at the edges of the Gate hissed and died down as the figure stepped through the veil and onto the dead grass of Hollowcreek.

"..."

Everyone froze, inspecting him.

He stood roughly around 6’2", his shoulders ruthlessly broad and covered in a suit of black, interlocking metal armor like the rest of his lean, muscly body.

His hair reached his shoulders, and long bangs partially obscured eyes of a piercing, cold blue. A Swordcase poked from his back which seemed out of place for his demeanor—this terrifying, odd demeanor. Like an aura of death.

Stenya, Liraeth, and Vadrian gasped almost in unison. "You!"

Percival shifted his gaze, his blue eyes landing on their familiar faces of his past, then narrowed. "You."