Chapter 41: The Corpse Dragon

  "It’s been ages since I’ve seen a spectacle like this," Sandro said, struggling to find footing amid the piles of corpses as he stepped forward.

  The valley between two hills was choked with bodies—so dense they covered nearly every inch of the ground. The stench of blood was so thick it seemed to turn the air into a solid mass, making it hard to breathe.

  These were the bodies of imperial soldiers. The wounds on their corpses made it clear they had died in battle—but there was no trace of any enemy.

  Bishop Ronis’s face was grim. His candle-like eyes scanned the dead as he followed silently behind Sandro, dressed in a plain monk’s robe that made him look no more than an ordinary old man.

  In the center of the valley, a jagged rock jutted upward. Crouched atop it was a figure in a red robe, arranging something. When he saw Sandro and Bishop Ronis approaching, he stood at once and hurried to greet them.

  "Twenty years since we last met—and to see both my teachers still so vigorous fills this disciple with sincere joy," the robed figure said, bowing deeply to Sandro and Ronis. "I didn’t expect this army to march so fast, so the teleportation circle is slightly off. I’m truly sorry you two had to walk all this way."

  "Did you kill these men?" Bishop Ronis stared at him, his voice sharp.

  "I did," the red-robed figure replied respectfully. "They were sent north to scout and harass the orc fortress. They were walking to their deaths anyway—better they die here than suffer more marching and slaughter. I took control of their captain, tricked the unit into this valley, then used illusion magic to make them turn on each other. Dying by their comrades’ hands is far kinder than being torn apart by orcs."

  Sandro noticed the figure’s face was covered. "What happened to your face?"

  The red-robed figure lifted a gnarled, claw-like hand and pulled away the cloth masking his face, revealing half a plain-looking visage. From his cheek to his jaw, there was no skin or muscle—only gray, toilet-wall-colored bone, yellowed teeth, and tufts of sinew like dead grass clinging to the bones. He managed a half-smile with his intact side: "I failed to protect the mask Master Sandro made for me. But the one who damaged it was also your disciple, wasn’t he? My junior brother?" It was the wound he’d gotten when fighting Ethan in the Whispering Woods.

  Sandro thought for a moment, then shook his head. "He’s not my disciple…" Ethan had never called him "master," after all.

  "But I saw him wearing the Robe of the Lich Lord—the one you took with you," the red-robed figure insisted. "And when my magic burned his exposed skin, he was unharmed. Only those who’ve mastered the Meditation of Truth can unlock the Robe’s full protective power… You took the Meditation of Truth over twenty years ago. How could he have learned it if he’s not your disciple?"

  Bishop Ronis glanced at Sandro, who pretended not to notice.

  "If he’s not your disciple… could he be your son?" the red-robed figure asked. "Not long ago, I had no choice but to injure him. I hope you’ll forgive me, Master."

  Sandro shook his head again. "No… he is my disciple." He couldn’t explain it clearly, so he conceded.

  "He’s such a vibrant young man—no wonder you favor him. Though I injured him, he fell into the Sunwell. He should be safe."

  Bishop Ronis frowned. "Is this why you went to such trouble to send us two teleport scrolls? To chatter about nonsense?"

  "Of course not. Teachers, look this way." He pointed to the rock where he’d been crouching. At the center of the magic circle painted on the stone lay a emerald-green leaf—a World Tree Leaf. Even the stench of hundreds of corpses couldn’t mask the vivid life force it exuded.

  "I want to borrow your power, Masters, to perform an unprecedented magic ritual," the red-robed figure’s voice changed—still hoarse and strange, but now tinged with excitement. "Using the life force of the World Tree Leaf as its core, we’ll forge a magical entity from these corpses. It will be the strongest creature the world has ever known. Our three completely different types of magic can weave around the World Tree Leaf’s life force, cycling endlessly, never fading. And with the Leaf’s power, we can even cast the legendary ultimate white magic—Resurrection."

  "Oh?" Sandro’s eyes widened slightly.

  "This ritual will surpass even the power of the ancient gods. It will be magic’s highest pinnacle—a testament to humanity’s challenge of the Creator, a masterpiece of art. This great feat will be carried out by the three strongest mages on the continent." The red-robed figure’s voice grew more hoarse with excitement. Sandro, seemingly infected by his enthusiasm, felt a strange fire ignite in his eyes.

  "Do you think I’ll agree?" Bishop Ronis’s voice was cold as ice.

  "I ask you to keep the promise you made twenty-three years ago. To help me…"

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  "I only remember promising a disciple named Vedenina that I would do my best to fulfill one of her wishes. Unfortunately I never got the chance—she was gone before I could," Bishop Ronis’s voice softened with memory, then hardened into disgust. "But I never made any promises to a monster like a lich." He turned and walked back the way they’d come.

  "Can you bear to watch countless civilians die, countless towns and villages burn to the ground?" the red-robed figure called after him, his voice cracking.

  "What do you mean?" Bishop Ronis stopped and turned around. The eyes in his gaunt face blazed like two flames.

  The red-robed figure said, "I dare not threaten you, Master—I only want to warn you. If we perform this ritual in this wilderness, I swear no innocent civilians will be harmed. If you insist on refusing, I won’t force you. But then I’ll have to hand this World Tree Leaf over to others in the Guild. I’m sure you can guess what they’ll do with it."

  Bishop Ronis said nothing. The fire in his eyes flickered, then died down. Silently, he walked back.

  "I will never forget your kindness, Master," the red-robed figure bowed deeply. Ronis did not acknowledge him.

  "The ritual is based on Master Sandro’s magic," the red-robed figure explained. "Only your Animation can fully activate and synchronize the energy of these corpses. First, please animate as many of these bodies as possible, then gather them to cover the magic circle. Next, I’ll overlap my magic with yours to sustain it. Finally, the most crucial step falls to you, Master Ronis—using the World Tree Leaf’s life force, you must cast Resurrection to unify all our magic into a single living entity. Resurrection may only exist in theory, but with the Leaf’s power and your mastery of white magic, it will work."

  "Will this ritual actually succeed?" Sandro frowned. "I’ve never heard of anything like it. Will this magic circle you drew in haste even work?"

  The red-robed figure smiled. "I’ve always cherished the words you taught me: ‘We learn from the past to surpass it, not to repeat it.’ I’ve been researching this magic for over a decade—at first just out of curiosity. I’ve always wondered what would happen if the three strongest magic users merged our completely different powers. I perfected this circle two years ago, and after obtaining the World Tree Leaf, I studied its power specifically. I’m certain this magic will work."

  "Very well—let’s begin," Sandro said, clearly eager. He raised his hands and began chanting incantations slowly. A cluster of blue-white light flickered between his palms, then spread over the corpses around them.

  The bodies in the valley began to stir. At first, only one or two rose slowly; then more and more followed. In the end, hundreds of corpses climbed to their feet from the pools of blood.

  At first, their movements were slow and stiff. But as Sandro continued chanting, they grew more fluid—moving as if they were still alive. The corpses stumbled toward the World Tree Leaf on the rock, piling on top of one another. As the heap grew taller, the bodies behind grew more agile—leaping and climbing over the others like apes, building the pile higher and higher until it formed a mountain of flesh.

  Sandro’s face showed strain as the pile grew. His raised hands trembled slightly—controlling hundreds of corpses was no small feat.

  The red-robed figure began his own incantation: "Dark Dragon sleeping in the rifts of time, awaken your soul from ancient memories! I summon you in the name of darkness and destruction—reveal your power to the world!"

  As in the Whispering Woods, an illusion of a cyan dragon began to take shape in the air. But this time, the illusion was far clearer—almost tangible. And instead of appearing beside the red-robed figure, it aligned perfectly with the mountain of corpses. The bodies shifted, adjusting to match the dragon’s form. The dragon did not breathe fire; it just stood there, silent.

  "Master Ronis—it’s your turn," the red-robed figure called. But Ronis did not move.

  "Master, please cast Resurrection," the red-robed figure’s voice trembled. Sandro’s hands shook harder. Ronis still didn’t move—he just stared at the pile of corpses and the dragon’s illusion.

  "Master, I can’t hold on much longer," the red-robed figure’s body began to shake. The dragon’s illusion slowly lifted its head and inhaled. A howling wind swept through the valley as air rushed toward the dragon. Sustaining such a spell was an unimaginable burden for any caster—draining both body and mind.

  Sandro’s body convulsed. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, dripping down his beard—only to be snatched away by the valley’s gale and pulled toward the dragon. The red-robed figure swayed in the wind like a dry leaf, his body creaking as his bones rubbed together. He screamed, his voice barely audible: "Master, if you don’t act, we’ll all die!"

  The dragon’s head reared upward. The wind fell silent.

  "Great Mother of Life, let your hand— which breathes life into all things—caress these lifeless forms. Guide their lost souls home," Ronis finally raised his hand. A pure white cross-shaped light descended from the sky, bathing the dragon in its glow.

  The dragon froze. Under the white light, the hundreds of corpses shimmered, writhing like a mass of giant worms. Gradually, they merged—until at last, they fused completely with the dragon’s illusion.

  Sandro and the red-robed figure collapsed to the ground, their bodies limp as if drained of all strength. Bishop Ronis stepped forward, placing a hand on Sandro’s chest and casting a healing spell. Sandro slowly propped himself up.

  A guttural roar—like nothing any living creature could make—shook the sky. The dragon, forged from hundreds of corpses, moved on its own. Its body was covered in the soldiers’ clothes, armor, and weapons, arranged like scales. Blood and entrails dripped from its form as it shifted.

  The red-robed figure lay collapsed on the ground, his empty eyes glowing with what little light remained in him. He stared at the colossal creature made of corpses and whispered: "So beautiful…"

  The Corpse Dragon shook its body, as if confirming its own existence. Then, as if celebrating its birth, it reared its head high.

  Sandro grabbed the red-robed figure and dragged him to his side, then joined forces with Ronis to conjure a spherical magic barrier around them.

  The Corpse Dragon lowered its head and breathed a wave of dark green flame—filling every corner of the valley. When the fire faded, everything was gone; even the hillsides had been sheared away by half. The dragon lumbered its massive legs and lumbered out of the now-unrecognizable valley.

  The red-robed figure lay on the ground, weak but ecstatic. "Did you see it? That’s a true Dark Dragon! Not an illusion made of magic—but something real, a miracle even the Creator couldn’t forge. It’s a masterpiece of magic, the highest expression of wisdom, proof that humanity is greater than the gods!"

  Sandro stared at the Corpse Dragon in horror, shaking his head slowly. "It is a masterpiece of magical wisdom. But now… I’m starting to regret this. I don’t think we can control it."