Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer-Chapter 96: Sleeping Necromancer

"Speak, Shedrock, speak," Eutheo urged. "You weren’t short of tongue and will a moment ago. What other way is there?"

The old man licked his dry lips. "When you left for the Summit, your spy, the Wind Assassin, returned with news."

Eutheo looked confused. "I sent the spy to follow the Hero. To let me know what he’s doing in our city."

"He’s clearing a Gate World," Shedrock replied, "Just as he said."

Now, Eutheo was even more confused. "I do not see how this helps me, Shedrock."

"The boy is not in the Gate World Hall," Shedrock stated.

Eutheo paused. "Then where else could he be?"

"A newly opened Gate World, one that tore right in the farmlands close to the outskirts." Shedrock took a dramatic pause before continuing. "He says that he watched the Hero settle his bone horse in the farm and waited for the Gate to open."

Eutheo chuckled briefly. "What? How’s that possible? What is he, a Portal Mage? Even Portal Mages can’t fully detect when or where a Gate would open."

"The Wind Assassin swears that he saw it happen," Shedrock assured. "The Hero waited, and once the Gate appeared, he stepped right in, unafraid and barely surprised. He knew it was coming."

The Baron narrowed his eyes as he thought about it for a while, wrapping his head around the possibility that the summoned Hero could predict Gate Worlds.

"Okay," he said when he had reconciled with the information. "The Hero can predict Gate Worlds. How does this help my plight, Shedrock?"

"Oh, there’s more, my Lord." Shedrock leaned in and ambled closer as though to whisper. "He says he’s cleared most of the Gate World on his own. An A-Ranked Gate World."

"Surely nonsense!" Eutheo refused to believe with wide eyes. "A Lvl 28, if I remember clearly, solo-clearing an A-Ranked Gate World? Something that cannot easily be done by even a Lvl 150?"

"It is true, my Lord!" Shedrock said. "The Guilds inside sent their Messengers to relay the news. Each Encounter Zone they enter is filled with corpses and claimed loot. He’s a rupturing tide washing away a Gate World that should be infinitely difficult for anyone in his level."

Eutheo was silent for a while, staring at his advisor, then through him.

He’d never heard of any such thing before. Everyone knew the difficulty of Gate Worlds, they knew who would and could survive in the depths of those unforgiving realms.

A Lvl 26 should definitely not survive an A-Ranked Gate World.

If this is true... if this is what the Hero was capable of now, then what would he be able to do in the future?

At that moment, it was clear to him. The best move was to make sure he was on the good side of such a person.

That way, he could ask him for a favor.

A favor like clearing an A-Ranked Demon Gate World.

He locked eyes with Shedrock.

"You are... thinking what I’m thinking, Lord Eutheo?" the advisor asked.

"If he can clear an A-Ranked Gate World that easily, he could do the same with an A-Ranked Demon Gate World. Even if it’s with a little help."

Shedrock nodded, his weathered lips stretching to an ugly smile.

Eutheo let out a deep sigh of relief, of hope. "When the Hero returns from the Gate World, see to it that guards summon him here. Make sure they’re respectful."

Shedrock bowed. "As you command, Lord Eutheo."

Clang. Clang. Clang.

The old man’s cane hit the floor as he shuffled out of the courtroom.

Eutheo placed a thinking finger on his chin. ’Solo-clearing an A-Ranked Gate World as a Lvl 26? Unbelievable, dear Hero. Just unbelievable.’

He shook his head. ’Hmm. I wonder what he is doing now.’

—---—

Percival was fast asleep.

He hadn’t been some moments before. Moments before, he had just summoned his Soul Soldier, Mercius Seagrave.

Blue fire, deep and grave-cold, erupted from the spongy ground before him. It did not roar; it consumed the sound, leaving a vacuum of silence in the oubliette.

From the heart of the silent inferno, Mercius Seagrave, the Brackenbutcher, stood fully formed.

The azure flames clinging to the edges of his Descending Steel Lotus Armor guttered and died, leaving only the spectral sheen of the ghost and the terrible, solid reality of his presence. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

His Paragon Blade, point driven into the root-flesh, and his Paragon Shield, held at his side, were anchors of a power that made the very air shudder.

His glowing blue eyes found Percival, collapsed and breathing in shallow rasps.

"Master," Mercius’s voice was a low rumble, a stoneslide in the quiet.

Percival didn’t lift his head. The word was a ragged exhale. "I need rest, Mercius. Kill it."

He didn’t specify. He didn’t need to. The colossal serpentine deity coiled in the black lake was the only possible target.

Mercius turned his head, his gaze sweeping over Percival’s broken form—the scorched armor, the tremor in his hands, the utter depletion.

A flicker of something that was not quite pity, but a warrior’s recognition of cost, passed through his spectral eyes. He dipped his head in a sharp, unquestioning nod.

"There is nothing I will not do for you."

He turned fully to face the Swamp God Dragon, his broad back becoming a wall between his master and the ancient horror. He wrenched his blade free from the ground.

The Dragon had watched the summoning with its amber eyes, its great head tilted in deep, analytical fascination. Now, the voice vibrated through the water and fungus again, rich with disdain.

"A GHOST. A MEMORY GIVEN A SWORD. YOU HIDE BEHIND A REFLECTION OF A DEAD MAN, LITTLE WANDERER. IS YOUR WILL SO FRAIL? YOUR STRENGTH SO SPENT?"

Its gaze shifted to Mercius. "AND YOU. A LEGEND, THEY NAMED YOU. I SMELL THE BLOOD OF DEMONS ON YOUR SOUL. YET YOU KNEEL. YOU ANSWER ’MASTER’ LIKE A TRAINED HOUND. WHAT IS YOUR PURPOSE, PHANTOM, BUT TO BE THE SLAVE OF A COWARD?"

Mercius began to walk forward. His stride was not the fluid advance of a duelist, but the inevitable, ground-shaking march of a siege tower.

Each step thudded into the soft earth, a declaration of weight and intent. He did not rush. He simply closed the distance, his shield rising to a guard position, his blade held low and ready to sweep.

"You speak of purpose, lizard," Mercius said, his voice carrying easily, devoid of anger, full of a simple, brutal truth. "I had a purpose. To protect. To stand. I failed."

For a moment, the image of Alenya’s silhouette might have flashed in the blue of his eyes. "He," a slight tilt of his head back towards Percival, "gave me a new one. He burned the wolves who threatened my heart’s oath to ash. He completed my story."

He was within fifty yards now, well within the range of the dragon’s lunge.

"So tell me," Mercius boomed, his pace unchanging, "what greater purpose is there for a knight, than to serve the man who freed him?"

The dragon moved.

Like a thunderbolt, one moment it was resting; the next, its upper body had crossed the distance, its vast, horned head driving down like a falling mountain, maw wide enough to swallow a house, lined with teeth like cracked stalagmites.

Mercius did not dodge.

He braced. His shield arm came up, and he activated a skill. Not a flashy one. A foundational, brutal one.

⸢Iron Hold⸥.

His body seemed to fuse with the ground. His shield glowed with a dull, immutable grey light. The dragon’s head smashed into it.

BOOOOOOM—!