Chapter 184: The Dead Rise

The Lich’s crimson eyes narrowed as Valdris surged forward, his form blurring with impossible speed. The Light Core artifact blazed on his chest, a brilliant crystal that pulsed with each heartbeat, flooding his body with enhanced reflexes and acceleration.

"Futile," the Lich murmured, already weaving defensive magic. A shimmering barrier of darkened air materialized before him, layered and dense.

Valdris’s light-blade descended in a blazing arc with a cascade of them, each flowing into the next with the fluid grace of someone moving faster than thought. The first slash tested the barrier. The second probed for weaknesses. The third, fourth, and fifth struck the same point in rapid succession, each impact weakening the magical defense.

"I’ll make you regret ever showing your face in my kingdom!" Valdris’s voice rang with royal fury.

The barrier cracked.

Reinfort moved.

While Valdris occupied the Lich’s attention, the old knight had circled wide, his ancient body gathering power that belied his years. His sword shifted in his grip, the blade seeming to catch light that wasn’t there—a technique passed down through generations of Solaria’s finest warriors.

"Star Style: Piercing Void."

Reinfort became a streak of silver, his form aligning with impossible precision. The technique wasn’t about brute force—it was about finding the gaps, the moments of inattention, the spaces between an enemy’s defenses. And the Lich, focused on Valdris’s relentless assault, had left one such gap.

The blade struck.

Not deep—the Lich twisted at the last instant, avoiding a killing blow—but the edge caught Elise’s shoulder, slicing through fabric and flesh. Crimson blood, real and warm, sprayed across the stone floor.

The Lich’s cry of surprise and pain was Elise’s voice, but twisted—layered with that ancient, malevolent echo. He staggered, one hand flying to the wound, his concentration shattering for just an instant.

"You... DARE?!"

The barrier collapsed. Valdris’s light-blade swept through empty air where the defense had been, the prince pressing his advantage without hesitation.

But the Lich was already recovering. Dark energy exploded from Elise’s form in a radial wave, hurling both attackers backward. Valdris crashed into a wall, the Light Core flickering dangerously. Reinfort rolled with the impact, coming up in a defensive crouch, his blade still raised.

The possessed princess straightened, her crimson eyes blazing with a fury that transcended mortal emotion. The wound on her shoulder was already closing, dark energy knitting flesh with unnatural speed.

"Impressive," the Lich admitted, his voice cold as a grave. "You actually drew blood. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since someone managed that?" A horrible smile curved Elise’s lips. "I will savor killing you both."

He raised his hands, and darkness gathered within him, pouring from Elise’s very soul. The room grew cold. The shadows deepened. And at the center of it all, the princess’s possessed form began to change.

"Necrotic Lance."

Spears of concentrated death shot from his palms, each aimed with murderous precision. They sought Valdris, Reinfort, the scattered soldiers who still breathed. They sought anyone who might stand against him.

Valdris’s Light Core blazed as he dodged, twisted, wove through the barrage with speed that should have been impossible. But one lance caught him—a glancing blow, but enough to send him spinning, his light-blade guttering as agony lanced through his side.

Reinfort met two lances with his blade, deflecting them with techniques honed over decades. A third slipped past, tearing through his armor and leaving a burning gash across his ribs. He grunted, stumbling but not falling.

The Lich laughed—a horrible, triumphant sound that echoed through the ruined room.

"Is this the best Solaria has to offer? A prince who relies on toys, and an old man past his prime?" He spread Elise’s arms wide, drinking in their despair. "I have waited centuries for a vessel like this. Do you truly believe I would let two insects stop me?"

Valdris’s chest heaved, each breath a battle against the burning pain spreading through his side. The Light Core on his chest flickered—still active, but dimmer than before. His light-blade wavered in his grip, the holy fire guttering like a candle in a storm.

"Don’t... underestimate me..." The words came through gritted teeth, his violet-blue eyes still blazing with defiance despite everything. He tried to push himself upright, to raise his blade, to do something.

Reinfort’s hand clamped down on his shoulder, steadying but firm.

"Your Highness, wait. Do not be reckless." The old knight’s voice was calm, measured—the voice of someone who had faced impossible odds before and survived by knowing when to hold back. "We need to wait. The elite mages and royal guards are on their way. If we can hold out until they arrive..."

Valdris’s jaw tightened. He wanted to argue, to prove himself, to show this monster that Solaria’s prince was not so easily dismissed. But the pain in his side, the flickering of his artifact, the cold reality of their situation—they all conspired to force the truth upon him.

"It will take too long." His voice came out rough, stripped of its usual confidence. "This room is too far from the main garrison. By the time they reach us..." He looked at the Lich—at the horror wearing Elise’s face, at the darkness coiling around her form like a second skin. "...we’ll be nothing but corpses. Or worse."

He swallowed, the admission bitter on his tongue.

"I hate admitting this, but... he’s strong. Stronger than anything I’ve ever faced." A pause, heavy with meaning. "This is the first time I’ve truly lost."

Reinfort studied the young prince—the boy he’d watched grow from a spoiled child into a capable warrior, the prince who had never known defeat because he’d never faced an enemy like this. Pride flickered in the old knight’s eyes, mingled with something almost like grief.

’Prince Valdris has always been confident,’ Reinfort thought, watching the way the young man forced himself to stand despite his wounds. ’He’s never lost—not in sparring, not in politics, not in anything he truly set his mind to. He’s talented. Gifted. But talent means nothing against something like this.’

He looked at the Lich—at the possessed princess, at the darkness that seemed to hunger as it moved.

’This isn’t just an enemy. This is a terror that could tear the kingdom apart.’

The Lich watched their exchange with evident amusement, Elise’s crimson eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction. But as they spoke, something else was happening—something none of them had noticed.

His free hand, the one not raised in threat, was moving in subtle patterns. Necrotic energy flowed from his fingertips, seeping into the stone floor, finding the bodies of the fallen soldiers who lay scattered across the room.

Reinfort’s eyes widened as he felt it—a shift in the room’s energy, a wrongness that crawled up his spine.

"No..."

The first body twitched.

Then another. And another.

Soldiers who had fallen in the initial assault—men Reinfort had trained, had fought beside, had trusted with his life—began to rise. Their eyes, where eyes still existed, glowed with the same malevolent crimson light that now filled Elise’s gaze. Their movements were jerky, unnatural, puppet strings pulled by an unseen hand.

Skeletons pulled themselves from their own flesh, bones knitting together with horrible crackling sounds. Zombies lurched upright, their wounds gaping, their expressions slack and empty. The dead now stood among them, their allegiance utterly clear.

The Lich’s smile widened as he watched his new army assemble. Elise’s hands—the hands of a princess, slender and elegant—had begun to blacken at the fingertips, the corruption spreading slowly up her fingers like ink through water.

"Now," the Lich murmured, his voice layered with ancient satisfaction, "the second round begins."

Reinfort’s expression didn’t change—his weathered features remained calm, controlled. But beneath that stoic mask, something burned. A cold, focused fury that he had not felt in decades.

"You’ve gone too far, Lich." His voice was quiet, but it carried weight—the weight of a man who had seen too much death to tolerate the desecration of the fallen. "These were my men. And you dare raise them as puppets?"

The Lich laughed, the sound horrible and triumphant.

"Your men?" He spread Elise’s arms wide, gesturing at the shambling horrors. "They are mine now. Just as this princess is mine. Just as this kingdom will be mine." His crimson eyes fixed on Reinfort with predatory glee. "You should thank me. I’m giving your fallen comrades a chance to serve a greater purpose."

A skeletal soldier lurched forward, its jaw creaking open in a silent scream. Another followed, then another—the dead advancing on the living with terrible, mindless purpose.

Reinfort’s blade rose, steady despite his wounds, despite the horror before him. His voice, when it came, was steel wrapped in ice.

"Then I’ll put them down again. As many times as it takes."

Valdris straightened beside him, the Light Core flaring brighter despite his injuries. His light-blade blazed to full intensity, holy fire pushing back against the encroaching darkness.

"Second round it is." A grim smile touched his lips. "Let’s show this rotting corpse what Solaria’s royalty is made of."

The dead charged.