"Exchange loyalty for your life?"
The Red-Iron Dragon tilted his massive head slightly, appearing to genuinely consider the lich's proposal.
A few seconds later, he opened his massive maw, revealing a smile.
"That sounds quite appealing, but... I refuse."
There was no complex reason.
Garros smelled lies in the other party's words. He did not believe he possessed some sort of kingly charisma that could make an old monster—once a Legendary human, now a necromantic lich, and filled with resentment—truly submit just by shaking his dragon body.
If the other party were just an ordinary lich, or if he himself were Legendary, he might have considered keeping this dangerous "tool."
But the situation was different now.
A Legendary lich whose Heart-Nature was inevitably twisted by undead transformation and was uncontrollable, a ticking time bomb that might hide unknown trump cards and strike back at any moment.
The risks far outweighed the rewards!
For the sake of safety, Garros decided to adopt the crudest, yet simplest and most direct method—destroying the opponent.
Once and for all, to eliminate future trouble.
Upon hearing the dragon's final words, the lich's face twisted in anger. He began to struggle and resist violently, erupting with the last trace of negative energy from his withered body, attempting a final death throe.
"Foolish! Damned dragon! You have no idea what you are giving up! You will regre—"
Crack! Crackle...!
Garros clenched his dragon claw without hesitation.
Violent, intense lightning and deep black-Red Dragon Qi coiled around his claw, grinding back and forth like a millstone.
Finally, accompanied by a brief and extremely shrill Soul shriek, the lich's fragile body could not withstand this destructive power and turned into powder.
Garros spread his massive dragon claw.
In his palm, only a small handful of ash, mixed with charred bone dust and energy residue, remained. It fell rustlingly, scattered by the night wind at the bottom of the pit, leaving no trace of existence.
"My Lord."
Charles's figure appeared silently. He looked at the scattering ashes and suggested in a low voice: "Both liches and Necromancers are notorious for their endless array of survival methods and devious resurrection abilities."
"Do we need to find a way to purify this area thoroughly once more? Just in case."
The Red-Iron Dragon waved his massive claw dismissively and said: "There is no need for such overkill. I am certain that he is dead beyond death."
Charles seemed to still have doubts and continued: "Forgive my bluntness, but to ensure there is no room for error, I think we had better—"
Before he could finish, he was rudely interrupted by the dragon.
"Hmm? Are you telling me how to do my job? No one—has ever survived under this Dragon's claws!"
"Not in the past, not now, and there never will be!"
Hearing this stubborn and exceptionally arrogant statement, Charles was slightly taken aback, then quickly lowered his head.
"Please forgive me, it was my place to speak."
Shortly after, accompanied by a deafening sonic boom, the massive Red-Iron Dragon spread his wings, soared into the sky wrapped in scorching air currents, and disappeared into the vast night sky.
The Lord of Flowers, Charles, followed closely behind and left.
The giant pit returned to dead silence.
After another moment, a group of diverse Dragonkin dependents of various forms and races flooded into the battlefield like a tide.
They cleaned up the aftermath, collecting scattered, valuable magical items or Materials; gathered the mountain of undead remains; and finally, roaring flames were ignited, completely incinerating all worthless residue, with thick smoke billowing straight into the sky.
Time passed quietly, and in the blink of an eye, it was the night seven days later.
Tonight the moonlight was clear, and the bright moonlight poured down from the sky like mercury, spreading over the devastated land and quietly extending into the giant pit that had taken on a glazed texture.
Everything was silent, with only the slightly cold night wind occasionally blowing by.
More than half an hour passed.
Suddenly, a cold, chilling wind blew out of nowhere at the bottom of the pit.
Strange specks of dust, invisible to the naked eye and containing weak Soul fluctuations, were quietly swept up from the ashes and crystalline crevices throughout the giant pit. As if pulled by an invisible hand, they converged toward the center of the pit's bottom.
These dust particles became more numerous, gradually condensing and outlining a shriveled, withered humanoid silhouette.
The lich Phillips had revived once again.
More accurately, he had not truly died; he had simply deceived everyone with an extremely clever feigned-death Spell, thus allowing him to reappear in the world without relying on a phylactery.
"Foolish and arrogant Dragonkin... knowing nothing of the power of Legendary means."
"Necromancers delve into the mysteries of life and death. Do you think you can really kill me completely with brute force?"
The lich uttered a very faint whisper, and on his face, which was almost devoid of flesh, a trace of smugness emerged, hard to suppress.
The moment his pseudo-Legendary Domain was completely shattered, he had sensed that things were going poorly. Without hesitation, he poured out all his remaining energy to cast his trump card survival Spell, trying his best to preserve this body; otherwise, he would have had to enter a long slumber due to Soul weakness.
But regardless, he had still suffered unimaginable heavy damage this time.
Whatever his original plan was for the future, it would inevitably be severely delayed.
"Damn you, I will remember this debt!"
"I swear on my Soul that the day I return to the Legendary Domain, I will turn you into my most powerful undead servant! I will imprison your consciousness eternally within that powerful dragon body, torturing you daily and insulting you repeatedly!"
"When we meet again, I will surely let you experience what true fear is!"
Phillips gritted his teeth and listed the Red-Iron Dragon as his number one target for revenge, alongside the Holy King of Lothern.
The ghostly blue Soul fire curled weakly. The lich struggled to cast a low-level invisibility Spell to mask his own faint aura, then staggered out of the deathly silent pit and shambled toward the direction of his secret cave in the distance.
Meanwhile.
Deep in the Coniferous Valley, Garros had just completed a set of high-intensity physical training, his whole body steaming with heat.
During a brief rest, he was closing his eyes and focusing, feeling the subtle changes and slow repair of his body after the extreme tempering.
Suddenly, as if he felt something, he opened his eyes sharply and then took out a Communication Stone that was vibrating slightly.
No sound or image appeared on the Communication Stone; it vibrated extremely briefly, and a rune representing the Lord of Flowers, Charles, flashed on its surface.
Then, it fell completely silent, with no further reaction.
As if the vibration just now was just an illusion.
Garros stroked his jaw, which was covered in thick scales. His gaze seemed to pierce through layers of mountains, looking toward the direction where he had previously fought the lich, and he let out a low, knowing snort.
"Tsk."
"Necromancers, truly not so easy to kill completely."
"I just don't know if he has crafted a phylactery. If he really has, hehe, that would be for the best for me."
This was not Garros's first time dealing with a Necromancer.
He still clearly remembered that when he encountered that team of low-level adventurers in the Hemlock Hills, the performance of the Necromancer among them had left a deep impression on him.
If it hadn't been for his caution at the time, decisively following up with a Dragon Breath to whip the corpse, he might have really let that guy escape.
Even the lowest-level Necromancer was so good at playing dead.
A lich transformed from a former Legendary Necromancer? The secret techniques he possessed for survival, feigned death, and shedding his shell would only be more numerous.
Did the other party have any trump cards? What exactly were they?
Garros indeed could not be entirely sure.
But he knew clearly in his heart that the opponent would not be so easily killed completely.
Therefore, at the edge of the pit, he feigned absolute confidence and disdain for Charles's suggestion, rudely interrupting his warning to present the image of an obstinate and arrogant Dragon who believed solely in his own power. In reality, after leaving, he had ordered Charles to lurk near the battlefield ruins day and night, closely monitoring for any anomalies.
As a result, it was just as he had expected—that guy had indeed revived.
"A lich's phylactery, this is an extremely precious item. Perhaps the Dragon-Forged Transformation Ritual can make use of it."
The Red-Iron Dragon shook his massive head, pulling his thoughts back.
The next moment, he spread his dragon wings and gave a gentle flap. His massive body instantly tore through the night, soaring straight into the starry night sky, and then sped off in a certain direction.