Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer-Chapter 87: King of the Scuttlers

At the moment, the Swordsman was weaving through the chaos, his sword a blur of golden light.

⸢Blessed Edge⸥ was the only thing that consistently bit deep. This time, he didn’t imbue it with Soulfire. He was going to have to depend on his Skeletons kills for EXP growth to his Necromancer Class. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

He couldn’t afford to spend any more death mana on the excess beasts.

Lightpiercer slashed and slashed and slashed.

Silver lines filled the Volcanic Stone Land.

Percival killed one, then another, carving a path toward the lava lake.

On his mental map, the HP bars of some of his Skeletons flickered orange, then red.

A Ranger in Silverwrought armor was crushed by two Scuttlers; their pincers sheared through its ribs, and its icon winked out.

Percival frowned. He’d lost a Ranger. To avoid that from happening again, he used ⸢Soul Draught⸥ on the few fallen Scuttlers around him.

Blue flames burst out of the creatures, taking their crab-like form before dissipating, flowing into his most wounded skeletons.

Their HP stabilized, but the relief was temporary.

The truth was, even though his Skeletons were smarter, and more skilled, the Saurian Scuttlers were just stronger. Bigger and more powerful.

They were A-Ranked Gate World beasts after all.

But Percival knew how to end this. How to make sure he didn’t lose any more Soldiers.

He turned to the Magma Elder again.

It merely watched, its stony face now impassive, one hand resting on the crooked staff in its hand.

Suddenly, Percival tried a direct approach.

As a Scuttler lunged, he used its bulk as a springboard, vaulting high over the front line. In mid-air, he triggered ⸢Grave Step⸥, aiming to materialize right on the Alpha’s back, next to the Elder.

He vanished in a puff of blue mist.

The Magma Elder’s head tilted. It lifted its staff and the item glowed an orange light.

Percival reappeared in the air, exactly where he’d intended. But the Scuttler Alpha was no longer there.

The massive beast had sunk into the lake with shocking speed, leaving only a bubbling vortex. Percival was now falling toward a pool of liquid fire.

"Hells!" he grunted.

Percival twisted, throwing his weight, and managed to hook Lightpiercer onto the craggy edge of the lake’s rim.

He hauled himself up, heat blistering his face, as the Alpha re-emerged twenty feet away, the Elder grinning at him with his eyes glowing.

A mocking color.

Percival heard a low, grinding rumble echo through the cavern. That one was a mocking laughter.

Percival took a stance, glaring at the King of the Scuttlers.

’It anticipates. It controls the entire battlefield through the Scuttlers. Their senses are its senses.’

The Elder continued to grin.

However, no matter what it could do, Percival knew that killing it would stop everything.

Because not only did the Magma Elder control the beasts of this Encounter Zone, it was also the source of it.

Percival narrowed his eyes.

The Magma Elder was the Beast Source.

He leaped, evading two Scuttlers and racing to the Elder, his greaves clanging on the scorched earth, Lightpiercer tracing a silver line behind him.

He activated ⸢Bladewave⸥, sending two arcs of sharp silver. The Elder called upon two Scuttlers to take the hit.

Percival continued forward, and once the distance was closed. He slid under both Scuttlers, slicing off both legs with two slashes of his blade.

As they crumbled to the ground, he burst forward to meet the Scuttler Alpha and the Elder, but two more of them were suddenly in his way.

POW!

A pincer slap caught him on his face, and another speared its head into his midsection, sending him crashing into the Scuttlers he had just un-limbed.

Vapor sizzled out of Percival’s chest.

⸢HP -250⸥

That truly, genuinely hurt Percival.

The pain lasted for a while as he struggled to his feet. When the Scuttlers tried to attack again, he ⸢Grave Stepped⸥ backwards.

Then, he used ⸢Sword Projection⸥ to kill the two if them. The legless ones crawled helplessly so he ignored them.

But Percival was getting frustrated. He could feel it in his chest, sharp and hot.

However, he did his best to throttle it.

Frustration was mana wasted, a distraction that led to death.

He fell back, rejoining his skeletal line, which was now bent into a desperate defensive crescent. The endless grind was taking its toll.

Even his Swordsman mana was dipping, his muscles screamed, and the stink of scorched soil filled the air.

He caught the Magma Elder’s gaze again. The molten eyes held a glint of cold, intelligent contempt.

It sat, protected by a line of giant lizard crabs willing to die for it.

The irony was almost beautiful.

One Scuttler randomly attacked, but Percival—consumed by annoyance—made an example out of it.

He leaped, spun, and cut off its head region in a single swipe. Then its legs, one after the other, all ten of them.

Then he dissected what was left of the beast in half.

He stopped, black ichor dripping down his sword. He breathed heavily, steam rising from his lips. The silence was intoxicating.

"You," he muttered to the Magma Elder hidden far away.

The being raised its brows.

"You’re just like me, aren’t you? A commander. An army in your palm."

Another Scuttler attacked. Percival parried a pincer, and stabbed the beast’s midsection. It collapsed.

"These rock-clad fools are your summons. You let them fight. You let them die. You stay... safely... away."

The Elder’s stony mouth curved, wider than before. A smug, silent agreement.

Percival wasn’t. "But you see," he said, channeling ⸢Blessed Edge⸥ to cleave through two Scuttlers at once, "that is where you are nothing like me at all."

He took a final, sweeping look at his legion.

A Skirmisher, its shield melted off, used its own body to block a lunging pincer for a comrade.

They fought with everything he’d given them, without self, without fear.

"I am a Necromancer," he said, his voice rising to a declaration. "But I am a Swordsman first. I do not send my army down a path I am unwilling to walk. I do not lead from the rear."

He kicked a Scuttler’s maw shut, shattering its stone teeth. "I lead from the front!"

The Magma Elder’s smirk seemed to solidify, tinged now with confusion.

Percival reached over his shoulder. With a definitive click, he returned Lightpiercer to its sheath on his back.

His hand closed around the familiar, cold haft of iron.

He drew the War-Scythe.

The obsidian blade drank the hellish red light, promising a deeper darkness. Its immense weight settled into his grip, a familiar and brutal truth.

The Magma Elder’s mocking confidence flickered. It frowned, the cracking of its stone brow like splitting earth.

Percival spun the scythe once, a whispering arc that seemed to cut the very heat from the air. He leveled the colossal blade at the distant controller, his eyes blazing with frigid intent.

"You want distance, you melting coward?" Percival’s voice growled, final and absolute. "Fine. Let’s fight at a distance."