Chapter 89: Undead Wyvern
"More importantly," Jovie said, "if your understanding of death is too shallow, the undead will only follow simple orders: walk, attack, stop. But if your understanding is deep…"
She turned toward Raven. The moonlight reflected off her cold blue eyes.
"…you can speak to them. Command them. Let them think on their own. If they get enough awareness and retain their memories, the undead will further evolve and become skeletons capable of commanding an army. They can use skills, sword aura, even magic."
"Like these guys?" Raven asked while glancing at both sides.
Jovie nodded and continued.
"This method has both plus and minus. If an undead managed to recall its memories and has unfulfilled desire or resentment, it will try to resist and chase after its desire. If the necromancer is weak, the soul enslavement may break, and the undead becomes a rogue undead. But if the necromancer resolved its problem, the undead would become completely loyal and serve under him for eternity."
Raven stared at the undead knights.
One of them turned his head slightly and seemed to nod at him.
"Let me finish my job first," Jovie said as she touched the wyvern's corpse and started reciting a strange incantation in nether tongue.
The wyvern's corpse twitched.
A moment later, a dark-red magic circle flared to life beneath its charred remains, its glow pulsing like a heartbeat soaked in blood. Ancient symbols whirled and twisted around its perimeter, resonating with a guttural hum that pressed against Raven's chest like a war drum.
Jovie knelt beside the corpse, her expression calm and cold. She produced a fist-sized black crystal from within her robe, its surface veined with flickers of crimson lightning.
She placed it gently near the wyvern's chest.
A low growl rumbled through the air, not from the corpse, but from above it.
Raven's breath hitched.
A ghostly form of the wyvern, foggy and translucent, emerged above the corpse. Its spectral wings unfurled, vast and majestic, eyes burning with resistance and confusion.
Then came the chains—glowing reddish-black, jagged and ethereal—snapping upward from the magic circle like vipers.
They wrapped around the wyvern's soul.
The beast roared silently, struggling against the chains, its form rippling and cracking like unstable mist. But the magic held firm. Inch by inch, the soul was dragged downward, its fury dimming into desperation.
And then—compliance.
The ghost melted into the corpse.
Jovie's incantation also ceased.
"If I had tried to bind its soul to another wyvern's body," she explained, her voice soft and clinical, "it would have fought until the end. But this—" she gestured to the corpse "—was its original vessel. The soul recognizes the corpse and accepts it."
Suddenly, blue fire erupted from the wyvern's body.
Not from outside, but within.
The rotted flesh ignited, peeling away in flakes. The burning didn't consume the wyvern, but it purified it. In moments, all that remained was a gleaming wyvern skeleton, towering and majestic, veins of faint blue fire coursing through its bones.
Raven also noticed strange words were engraved on the bones, which looked eerie and mysterious.
Its hollow eyes glowed like twin sapphires in the dark.
Then, with deliberate grace, it lowered its head to Jovie, like a knight swearing fealty.
Raven's heart raced.
She didn't stop there.
Wordlessly, Jovie moved to the next wyvern corpse. Once again, the red circle ignited, the soul emerged, the chains bound, and the corpse was consumed by holy-blue flame.
One by one, she repeated the ritual. Each time, the soul fought a little less.
Within thirty minutes, five skeletal wyverns stood before her.
Their bones gleamed like polished ivory, eyes aflame, tails swaying behind them like waiting hounds. They moved with terrifying discipline—not like puppets, but like trained war-beasts awaiting command.
Raven watched in breathless awe.
[That's how strong a necromancer is,] Zera murmured in his mind.
Jovie closed her eyes and raised her hands. Crimson magic circles reappeared beneath the wyverns and the surrounding skeletal knights.
A pulse of red light enveloped them—then they vanished.
Gone.
As though they had never existed.
Jovie dusted her gloves, turned, and began walking toward the camp.
"Let's go back."
Raven silently fell into step behind her, still absorbing what he had witnessed.
Halfway through the return, Jovie spoke, pride lacing her voice. "A necromancer's strength lies not in spells or incantations... but in the power and quality of the undead they command. Though weaker than when alive, these wyverns are still powerful enough to threaten an Expert Knight."
She paused to glance at him with a smirk. "I could take down a Rank-3 magical beast alone with five."
Raven blinked. "Even though they've lost their flesh?"
"They've lost weight, not power," she said. "But they're faster now. They don't feel pain. They don't tire. And more importantly... they're loyal than any knight."
She continued without waiting for his reply.
"I could've animated dozens of lesser undead, but I prefer quality over quantity. Strong souls, bones, and proper soul-body alignment—only then do you get true monsters."
They passed under the night canopy in silence.
Crickets chirped. The wind had stilled.
"Doesn't it cost you?" Raven finally asked. "To maintain them?"
Jovie's steps didn't slow. "Only when summoned. While dormant, they rest in a sealed pocket dimension of mine, waiting for my call. That's what the Soul Anchor Crystal is for." She tapped the black gem on her necklace. "A soul-binding artifact of my design."
Minutes later, the protective dome of the campsite came into view—a translucent shimmer over the forest clearing.
They entered without resistance. The runes sensed Jovie and allowed her passage.
Lanterns flickered. The wounded still groaned. The air had grown damp with nightfall.
Inside the camp, nothing had changed. But Raven had a completely different perspective.
He now knew what true necromancy looked like—not the clumsy, sluggish corpses of amateurs he had seen when battling the undead in Azmar, but the elite, terrifying might of a true death mage.
Inside their modest tent, the two sat once more.
Raven reclined onto his cot, fatigue dragging at his limbs.
And yet... he couldn't sleep.
His mind replayed the wyverns rising, one by one.
…
By dawn, the skies had cleared. Silver mist clung to the trees as the convoy stirred.
Orders were given, tents collapsed, and the Radiant Knights packed to move.
Despite the lingering exhaustion from the previous battle, the expedition team marched forward.
Their next destination was the Agith Ruins.
The journey began smoothly. Although a few Rank-2 magical beasts emerged from the woods—a scaled lynx here, a tusked badger there—they were dispatched without issue. None dared challenge the full might of the expedition team.
But something shifted as the morning hours passed and the mist faded into daylight.
The air grew colder, the birds stopped singing, and the forest seemed to watch.
Raven felt watched, though he saw nothing.
Around midday, the first ambush came.
Dozens of kobolds burst from the brush—scrawny, sharp-toothed, and silent.
Kael burned them to ash with a single wave of his sword. The Radiant Knights barely needed to act.
But the next wave came sooner, a mix of goblins, orcs, and even two trolls, all from different directions.
"Scatter formation! Protect the rear!" Count Alden barked.
The Radiant Knights broke formation with practiced precision—but the monsters fought like they wanted to die.
An orc charged headlong into Nash's spear, impaling itself with a guttural grunt and swinging even as it died.
A goblin ran straight into a fireball, dagger raised—Delilah used her spirit power to restrict it before killing it.
"They're not even trying to survive," Veyra muttered as she sliced through three more.
It wasn't the strength of the monsters that disturbed them—it was their silence.
Not a single one screamed, nor did anyone cry out in pain.
Even the trolls, notorious for their rage, fought without a sound.
[Something is wrong with these monsters.] Zera's voice stirred in Raven's mind.
Raven, panting after skewering a hobgoblin, furrowed his brows.
'You mean… mind control?' He also noticed the oddness and felt something was off.
[Check the corpses.]
Without wasting time, Raven knelt beside a fallen goblin and flipped it over.
There, just below its scalp at the nape of the neck, something twitched.
'...What the hell?'
It was a thin, eerie black worm with countless microscopic eyes lining its body. Black thread-like veins extended from its body into the skull, pulsing faintly.
Zera confirmed grimly.
[A Mind Worm parasite. It hijacks weak minds and turns them into weapons.]
Raven nodded stiffly and moved to the next corpse. Then another. A hobgoblin. An orc. Even the troll.
Every one of them had a similar parasite—embedded in the nape, temples, or along the spinal cord.
Raven stood up with a grim look. "This doesn't look good."
[These are already half-dead when they rushed earlier.]
The convoy resumed moving, but Raven's mind was occupied with thoughts.
'How dangerous are these Mind Worms?' he asked.
[If only a Rank-2 Mind Worm controls them, this group will be fine. But if it's a Rank-3…]
Zera paused. Her voice darkened.
[Then half of this convoy will die before they even realize they're under attack.]
Raven furrowed.
'We have three Expert Wizards and five Expert Knights. That should be more than enough, right?'
[You don't understand, lad. A Rank-3 Mind Worm doesn't fight in the open. It attacks from within.]
'Within? What do you mean-?'
Before he could ask, the ground trembled.
"Prepare for battle!" Nash's voice boomed.
The forest exploded into motion.
Wizard Ariel extended his hands and cast a detection spell.
"A large horde from the east! Smaller groups approaching from the northeast and southeast! Another group closing in from behind!"
"They're trying to surround us—cut off our retreat," Count Alden growled, eyes narrowing.
The eastern front burst open.
A line of Orcs, each mounted on massive black wolves, charged forward with deafening speed. Their armor was crude but heavy, their weapons rusted but brutal. Their eyes were wide, unfocused, glazed over like broken dolls.
Raven sensed it immediately. 'They're infected too.'
"Rank-2 mutants," Kael muttered beside him. "Twenty… no, twenty-four of them."
His eyes drifted to the one at the center—a towering orc, three meters tall, wielding a massive hammer, black spikes growing from his spine.
Raven touched the monocle and inspected it.
It was a Rank-3 Mutant Orc Commander!
'Even a Rank-3 Orc was infected?'
[The mind worm must have sent this orc to gauge the strength of this convey.] Zera muttered.
Nash and the other Expert Knights clashed with the mounted orcs, blades gleaming with aura. Flames, ice, and wind exploded across the field. The black wolves snarled and lunged—some breathing fire, others emitting frost.
In less than a minute, a dozen mutant orcs lay dead.
But it wasn't over.
The left flank broke next.
Hundreds of goblins rushed in, led by hobgoblins and a goblin shaman weaving crude spells. The goblin's magic was chaotic but dangerous—exploding roots, mind-numbing fog, corrosive slime.
"Right flank—kobolds incoming!" a knight shouted. "And... wolves?!"
Raven's head turned sharply.
From the right, a band of kobolds with crystal spears and howling wolves burst through the brush. They weren't as strong, but the sheer number made it overwhelming.
The battlefield turned chaotic.
Even as they fought off wave after wave, the enemy's silence never broke.
After fifteen brutal minutes, the monsters finally fell.
The soldiers, soaked in blood, panted like they'd been fighting for hours.
Nobody even had the strength to speak.
Raven slumped against a broken tree trunk, spear dripping crimson. Around him, knights dragged wounded comrades from the front lines.
[This is just the beginning.] Zera said in his mind.
The convoy moved again after a brief rest.
They pressed on, deeper into the forest where sunlight barely reached the ground.
And then there was a deep silence.
No rustle of leaves, chirp of crickets, or hum of insects.
Just the sound of boots crunching dried leaves and the quiet breath of tension building.
"...Why is it so quiet?" Delilah whispered, her voice barely carrying in the eerie hush.
No one answered, as the same question echoed in everyone's mind.
It wasn't long before the path opened, revealing the edge of a clearing, overgrown with vines and half-buried in roots. What stood beyond it wasn't a forest, but a ruin.
Old, crumbling buildings peeked through the greenery—walls cracked, rooftops caved in, moss eating at once-grand columns.
"We've reached the Agith Ruins," Wizard Ariel said, almost reverently.