Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer-Chapter 89: Satisfaction in Killing

He yanked the haft backward.

The Magma Elder, a being of stone and ancient fire, was dragged across the black earth like a sack of gravel.

It shrieked. Percival didn’t expect the old looking being to sound so odd, it was like grinding stone on steel as it slammed its fists against the ground.

From every fissure, the remaining Scuttlers went into a mindless frenzy, charging toward their master’s distress.

Percival watched them come. He waited until the first wave was almost upon them, claws raised, pincers snapping.

Then he activated: "⸢Radiant Guard.⸥"

A dome of solidified silver light erupted, encapsulating only Percival and the helpless Magma Elder.

The charging Scuttlers smashed into the barrier, shrieking. They piled against it, hammering with mindless rage, their lava-hot bodies sizzling against the magic.

The dome held, and Percival’s remaining Skeletons slowly gathered around the beasts outside.

Inside, it was suddenly, eerily quiet. The only sounds were the muffled frenzy outside and the low, panicked rumble emanating from the Magma Elder as it tried to push itself away from the man advancing on it.

The aura around him had somehow changed. The color... it shifted.

The silver bled away, replaced by a deep, chilling blue. It was the light of grave-mist, of ⸢Soulfire⸥, the intrinsic energy of his second Class.

A Death Aura.

He approached. The Elder hit the solid of the dome, then it knew there was no other place to crawl to.

It stared up at the blue-lit Swordsman, its stone grin was long now. All there was now was fear. Fear so real Percival could taste it—fear so real it made him stronger.

He returned the War-Scythe to his weaponhold and drew Lightpiercer one last time.

Doing so, the blue Death Aura covered the steel. ⸢Soulfire⸥ raced down the fuller, azure flames licking the blade edge.

Percival’s feet halted. Now, he stood over the old being of stone.

"For some reason," Percival said, his voice quiet, almost conversational in the contained chaos, "you are the first thing I have gotten genuine satisfaction in killing."

The Magma Elder stared at him.

"You’re an intelligent beast," Percival continued, pointing the sword to its face. "Can you tell me why that is?"

The Elder was silent, panting as it gazed up at Percival.

Then, with a sudden, explosive screech, it burst into frantic action. Its stony hand grabbed its staff lying mere inches away.

The moment the stone wood touched its palm, the Elder channeled every drop of its power.

But that was as much as it could do.

Percival barraged the beast with three rapid slashes in the matter of a second.

The Magma Elder froze.

The crimson light in its eyes flickered, then turned a dull, ashen grey.

SLSSSSH! SLSSSSH! SLSSSSH!

Three blue lines of light appeared diagonally around its stone body, leaking cold, grey smoke.

Slowly, the massive entity of stone began to crack.

With a sound like a mountain collapsing, the Elder crumbled. Massive chunks of volcanic rock hit the cavern floor, shattering into fine, obsidian dust.

The once-mighty stone King of Scuttlers was reduced to a pile of cooling rubble, its sentience extinguished.

Percival flicked the blade clean, though no blood remained to be shed.

⸢Magma Elder (Lvl 80) killed⸥

⸢+700 EXP⸥

⸢Title Bonus: +1050 EXP⸥

⸢Beast Source destroyed⸥

⸢+300 EXP⸥

⸢Title Bonus: +450 EXP⸥

Outside, the Scuttlers froze mid-attack. The mindless rage vanished from their postures. They stood, confused, clicking softly, as the driving will that animated them ceased to exist.

Percival withdrew his sword and let the ⸢Radiant Guard⸥ dome fall.

The silver light vanished, revealing the circle of motionless, hostile beasts.

Those that weren’t engaged in clashes with Percival’s Skeletons, blinked their simple eyes, looking from the dead Elder to the blue-aura-wreathed man standing over it.

Percival took a deep, weary breath. His mana pools were shallow, his body ached, his armor was scorched and dented.

He looked at the silent army of stone and lava.

He returned Lightpiercer again and withdrew the War-Scythe of Black Iron.

He raised the scythe, the blue death light making stark shadows dance on his determined face.

"Okay then," he said to the confused Saurian Scuttlers. "Let’s finish this."

—---—

After a very battle, silence fell over the Volcanic Stone Land.

It wasn’t peaceful—the air still stank of sulfur and scorched stone, and the ground radiated a baked, oppressive heat—but the relentless, mindless attack of the Saurian Scuttlers was gone.

The last of their rocky forms lay still, inert stone once more, now that the intelligence that animated them had been extinguished.

Percival stood amidst the wreckage, the blue glow of his Death Aura flickering and dying out.

The only light now came from the sluggish rivers of magma and the eerie phosphorescence of the cavern crystals.

He walked slowly, his boots crunching on cooled slag, and slumped against the massive, cracked shell of a dead Scuttler.

The fight was over. The cost was etched into the dents of his armor, the burn marks on his skin, and the deep, hollow ache in his bones.

Percival sighed.

A golden notification, warm and incongruous in the hellscape, materialized before his eyes.

⸢Encounter Zone Cleared Successfully⸥

⸢Calculating Rewards...⸥

A series of rapid chimes followed.

⸢Rewards: +3000 EXP⸥

⸢Title Bonus: +4,500 EXP⸥

⸢Congratulations! You have leveled up!⸥

⸢Lvl 29 → Lvl 30⸥

⸢Lvl 30 → Lvl 31⸥

The influx of energy was a faint, distant warmth, a trickle of water into a parched canyon.

It stabilized the shaking in his hands but did little to touch the profound fatigue. He was a higher level, but he had never felt more drained.

Following that was the rewards of Mana Coins, more EXP, Skill Points and Summon Spaces.

He summoned his status screens to check his progress.

⸢NECROMANCER CLASS⸥

⸢Name: Percival Nightstar⸥

⸢Race: Human (Outworlder)⸥

⸢Level: 31⸥

⸢Talent: Talent of Necromancy – Mythic⸥

⸢Experience: 131,000/159, 999⸥

⸢Health: 18,550/27,350⸥

⸢Mana: 350/2,250⸥

⸢Defense: 305/920⸥

⸢Attack: 770/2,420⸥

⸢Summon Space: 45/57⸥

His gaze shifted to the second screen.

⸢SWORDSMAN CLASS⸥

⸢Name: Percival Nightstar⸥

⸢Race: Human (Outworlder)⸥

⸢Level: 150⸥

⸢Talent: Talent of Magical Swordsmanship - Special⸥

⸢Experience: 502,610/500,000⸥

⸢Health: 18,550/27,350⸥

⸢Mana: 3210/5000⸥

⸢Defense: 2770/4090⸥

⸢Attack: 3060/7880⸥

The numbers were strong. On paper, he was formidable.

But paper didn’t account for the feeling of lead in his limbs, the grainy static behind his eyes, or the way his focus kept slipping from the shimmering heat-haze.

With a sigh, Percival scrolled to his attributes. There, he saw just how depleted he was.