Leornars lunged toward the princess, his crimson eyes locked onto her trembling form. But just as his jagged blade neared her throat, a silver broadsword swept past his jaw with a lethal hiss, nearly beheading him.
He pivoted instantly, his silver-red hair whipping through the air. Standing protectively in front of Princess Selrose was a female knight clad in immaculate, full-body plate armor.
"Princess Selrose, stay behind me," the knight declared, her voice ringing with absolute authority as she leveled her blade at Leornars. "I'll eliminate this rebellious swine in a flash."
"I'll give you exactly one second," Leornars said, his voice dropping to a freezing whisper as he retrieved a fallen dagger from the floor. He casually stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders, completely unbothered by her weapon. "Move."
The knight charged with a battle cry. Leornars didn't retreat. He dropped into a lightning-fast squat, letting her blade part the air harmlessly above his head, and drove a brutal, mana-infused kick directly into her armored back. The sheer kinetic force sent her stumbling wildly toward the edge of the balcony.
Without pausing to watch her fall, he spun back toward the princess, his dagger poised to strike.
But the knight was highly trained. Regaining her footing with a harsh scrape of metal, she rushed back into the fray. Their weapons clashed in a blinding flurry of motion—steel meeting steel in rapid, rhythmic succession, sparks illuminating the dark room.
*How is this possible?* the knight thought, her teeth gritting against the pressure. *He's adapting to my speed... my exact combat skills! If this keeps up, I'll lose.*
"Physical enhancements—**[Strength of a Doom Troll]**!" she shouted.
A vibrant magic circle erupted beneath her sabatons, glowing fiercely as a brilliant green aura engulfed her entire body. Her speed and muscle density surged. With her newfound strength, her heavy slashes began to overwhelm Leornars, forcing him backward as he frowned at the sudden spike in her parameters.
Without a shred of hesitation, Leornars launched forward in what appeared to be a reckless suicide move. He tossed his dagger straight upward into the air.
As the knight swung to capitalize on his apparent mistake, he fluidly shifted his weight to the left, ducking beneath the arc and striking her exposed knee joint. The joint buckled, forcing her to a kneel. In one continuous, fluid motion, Leornars snatched her sword straight out of her hand mid-air while simultaneously catching his falling dagger in the other—ready to drive both blades through her neck.
Then—
*Click.*
The distinct, mechanical snap of a loaded weapon echoed. A heavy crossbow was pointed directly at his chest. Holding it with trembling hands was Princess Selrose.
"If you miss, you will die," Leornars warned icily, not lowering his blades by a single millimeter.
"Why do we have to fight like this?" the princess asked softly, her eyes searching his dead gaze. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered the weapon to her side. "Can't we simply choose not to kill each other?"
The kneeling knight looked up, utterly bewildered. Leornars, completely unswayed by the sentiment, responded with a swift, brutal knee to the knight's jaw, sending her tumbling across the floor. In the same breath, he lunged forward, his pale hand clamping violently around the princess's delicate neck.
"Don't... please, don't do this," she choked out, her hands feebly grasping at his iron grip.
"And why shouldn't I?" he asked, his voice entirely devoid of human empathy.
"I know you've suffered," she offered, struggling desperately for a breath of air. "I don't know the full extent... but I know you didn't deserve what this kingdom did to you."
Leornars hoisted her higher, his grip tightening.
"There's always another way. I can help you escape this kingdom safely," she rasped, her vision beginning to blur.
"Princess!" the knight cried out, pushing herself off the floor.
"Harribell, don't worry," the princess gasped out, keeping her eyes locked onto her captor.
"And why should I trust a word that comes out of your mouth?" Leornars asked.
"There is absolutely no reason for you to trust me," she admitted, her voice faint. "But... I know of the ancient prophecy. I want this cursed, corrupt land to be pure again. You currently lack knowledge of this world's magic—I can provide you with restricted royal grimoires. Even the ones detailing the dark arts."
Leornars narrowed his eyes. Slowly, he loosened his grip slightly, allowing her feet to touch the floor. "Go on."
"I know a contact who can smuggle you out of the royal capital completely unnoticed. You will be across the kingdom's borders within hours."
He let go of her completely, turning his back to face the balcony wall. Harribell rushed to the princess's side, checking her neck for bruises.
"You absolute monster!" the knight spat, glaring at Leornars.
Leornars turned his head slowly, his eyes reflecting the cold moonlight like frozen steel. He casually spat on the floor near her boots.
"I'll kill you for that!" she growled, her hand flying to her backup dagger.
"Harribell, stand down. You already lost to him in pure combat," the princess whispered, holding her back.
Just then, the heavy wooden doors of the bedchamber burst open. Lady Saphela entered, leaning casually on her staff. Instinctively, Leornars hurled his dagger straight at her throat.
Without breaking her stride, the old oracle fluidly tilted her head, letting the blade whistle past, and brought her wooden staff down with a sharp *thwack* directly onto the top of Leornars' head before he could follow up.
"I see you're all done chatting," she said casually, resting her weight back onto the staff.
"Lady Oracle!" Harribell called out, rubbing her sore jaw.
"Harribell, Selrose... looks like you've had quite the thrilling encounter with the White Plague," the oracle said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
The knight's face flushed a deep red, while Princess Selrose let out a soft, melodic giggle.
"He certainly is fascinating," the princess murmured, adjusting her ruffled collar.
Leornars stood up straight, rubbing his throbbing forehead, and picked up the knight's fallen broadsword. He tossed it casually to the oracle, who caught it effortlessly by the hilt and stabbed it firmly into the wooden floorboards.
"I am not your enemy, son of Emalian," she said softly.
Leornars froze. For the first time, a look of genuine disbelief washed across his stoic face.
"You... you knew my mother?" he asked, his voice tightening.
"Yes. Emalian was a very dear friend of mine," Saphela explained, her eyes softening. "She was born in our world, but she left everything behind to traverse the dimensions to find your soul. It looks like she finally succeeded."
"Emalian? You mean that terrifying Witch of Calamity from the history books is *his* mother?!" Harribell exclaimed, her armor rattling as she took a panicked step back.
"Indeed," the oracle confirmed, stepping closer to Leornars. "And if you come with me, I can grant you her personal grimoire—every single spell and forbidden concept she ever recorded."
Leornars stared at her suspiciously. "What exactly is in this for you? What do you want?"
"Just seeing you standing here... is more than enough for this old soul," she said kindly.
"Fine," Leornars muttered, his eyes narrowing. "But if this turns out to be a lie... I'll kill you first."
She picked up his discarded dagger from the wall and tossed it back to him. He caught it without blinking. Together, the group exited the chamber, Harribell walking slightly ahead in a protective stance, aggressively reclaiming her sword from the floor as they passed.
They entered the grand royal library, a massive archive filled with towering shelves of forbidden knowledge. Leornars moved with terrifying efficiency, grabbing heavy text after heavy text, flipping through the pages at a speed that shouldn't have been humanly possible.
"I see. I understand the baseline structure now," he muttered to himself. He paused, looking toward the oracle. "What exactly constitutes a grimoire?"
"Oh! Dear me," the oracle replied with a soft chuckle. "A grimoire is a condensed manifestation of spells and magical principles. Unlike standard textbooks, each one is handwritten by a high-tier mage or witch, imprinting a fragment of their actual intent into the pages."
She stepped out of the room to retrieve something, leaving Leornars to his frantic reading.
"Elemental magic manipulation... this is significantly easier than I initially calculated," he murmured, his hands moving to the next tome.
*If he truly is Emalian's direct descendant... then he belongs to the Avantris bloodline,* Harribell thought, watching him intently from the doorway. *That explains how horribly fast he adapted to my royal combat style.*
Suddenly, Leornars's entire body began to pulse with a deep, crushing red aura. The temperature in the library plummeted as his eyes turned a vivid, glowing shade of pure crimson.
"Advanced body enhancement... fully mastered," Princess Selrose noted, her jaw dropping slightly.
"That fast?!" Harribell gasped, her hand instinctively dropping to her sword hilt. "He didn't even chant!"
The oracle returned to the room, carrying a heavily worn, brown leather-bound book wrapped in iron chains. She unclasped the lock and handed it to Leornars, who opened it without a shred of hesitation. She glanced at his seamless handling of the cursed object, a flash of surprise crossing her wrinkled face before she composed herself.
*So it's true,* she thought. *The legacy lives on.*
Later, following the princess's guidance, they descended into the deepest, darkest sector of the palace dungeons. As they walked past the rusted iron bars, a weak, gravelly voice called out to them from the shadows of a far cage.
Leornars stepped forward and casually sheared the lock off the door. Inside sat a pale-skinned demi-human, his body covered in horrific scars, featuring two prominent, cracked horns protruding from his forehead.
"His mental resolve is completely shattered. He'll be dead within the day," Leornars stated flatly, stepping closer to the dying form.
The man looked up, his bloodshot eyes focusing on Leornars' silver-red hair, and forced a weak, trembling smile.
"Please... I beg of you... save the white-haired priestess," the man begged, his voice dry and cracked like desert sand.
"The who?" Harribell asked, frowning.
"She is currently held captive in Dregden... at Lord Curzon's private mansion," the demon wheezed, his grip tightening on Leornars' boot. "Ashen hair... two black horns... please..."
Leornars scoffed, callously reaching down to uncuff the man's shackled wrists. "Do it yourself."
"I would... but my body is frailer than a newborn child. I will expire in less than eight hours. Please, scion of prophecy... take my remaining strength."
"He's a demon, isn't he?" the princess asked softly, staring at the floor.
"Yes," the oracle confirmed, her voice laced with profound sadness. "Brutally tortured by your father's inquisitors. This is what our magnificent world has truly become. Humans claim absolute divine superiority and demonize any race that doesn't share their flesh. In the gods' names, they commit the most wretched atrocities."
"Humanity firmly believes it was created by the supreme gods of light, while demons and demi-humans are the defective constructs of the evil god," Selrose added bitterly. "They genuinely believe that myth justifies their endless cruelty."
"How exactly is any of that my problem?" Leornars asked coldly, turning away.
"Because you aren't human either, Leornars. You are an **Avantris**—the apex species of the rare demi-human lineages," Harribell pointed out, her tone surprisingly quiet.
"Avantris, huh," he muttered, testing the weight of the word.
The dying demon suddenly reached both of his trembling hands forward, grabbing Leornars' forearms. "Take it... my final gift to you... avenge us..."
"His gift?!" Harribell shouted.
"Fascinating," the oracle murmured, stepping back.
Before anyone could react, a thick, pitch-black fog erupted from the demon's pores, violently enveloping both Leornars and the dying man. The dark energy swirled in a violent vortex before violently sinking directly into Leornars's chest. The demon's arms went limp, his body collapsing backward onto the stone floor—completely dead.
In that exact instant, the cold, divine voice echoed clearly within Leornars's mind:
> **[System Log: Soul Absorption Success]**
> * New Skills Attained: [Hellish], [Heartless]
> * **Dark Magic Level:** Raised to 32
> * **Necromancy Level:** Unlocked — Level 3
>
Leornars blinked, the massive influx of dark mana settling into his core. "What exactly is necromancy?" he asked, looking back toward the oracle.
"It is the forbidden magic of commanding the dead," she answered, her eyes widening slightly. "Why do you ask?"
Leornars didn't answer. He turned back around, walking up to the fresh corpse of the demon. He extended his right hand, placing his palm directly over the creature's chest. A dense, crackling black mist began to swirl violently over the flesh.
"Awaken from your slumber... and serve me," Leornars ordered, his voice echoing with absolute authority.
The corpse instantly stirred. Its flesh darkened into a shadowed, ethereal obsidian, its eyes igniting with a malicious purple flame. It slowly pushed itself up off the ground and dropped to its knees, bowing its head deeply before Leornars.
> **[System Notification]**
> * Grant a name to the high-tier undead to finalize the contract and amplify its power.
>
"A name, huh? ... I, Leornars, grant thee the name—**Bellian**."
The dungeon fell into a deathly, suffocating silence as the name echoed off the damp stone walls. The undead demon's body suddenly flared with a violent red aura as its parameters spiked, rising to its full, imposing height.
"He's... he's a Necromancer!" Harribell exclaimed, drawing her sword in pure horror, her instincts screaming at her to flee.
Leornars suddenly staggered backward, gripping the stone wall as a surge of foreign data flooded his brain. A cruel, jagged smirk spread across his face. "I see now... when I reanimate them, I gain a portion of their residual trust, their past combat experience... and a baseline stat bonus."
Bellian faded into the shadows, returning a mere moment later dragging the fresh corpses of three royal guards he had slaughtered in the adjacent corridor.
"...I don't even want to know where you just got those," Leornars muttered flatly. He extended his hand again, channeling his dark mana. Within seconds, the three dead guards shuddered, their eyes glowing with the same purple fire as they stood erect. He now possessed four loyal undead knights.
"Bellian, command them," he ordered.
With a silent nod from the demon, all four undead fluidly dissolved into liquid shadow, sinking directly into Leornars's own shadow on the floor.
"What in the gods' names did I just witness?!" Harribell whispered, her hands shaking so violently her armor clacked.
The group quickly moved to exit the subterranean castle complex. Along the grand escape tunnels, they repeatedly encountered clusters of guards—the very men Leornars had slaughtered during his initial rampage hours prior.
Without a single hint of hesitation, Leornars extended his hands as he walked. He raised them—one by one, row by row.
By the time they reached the final threshold of the castle walls, a silent, terrifying army of **120 undead royal soldiers** marched in perfect, synchronized lockstep directly behind his heels.
"...I guess that is precisely why the ancient texts refer to his lineage as the White Plague," Princess Selrose whispered, staring at the monstrous battalion in awe.
Suddenly, the thunderous echoing of thousands of approaching boots vibrated through the stone walls. Royal reinforcements were closing in on their position from every angle.
Lady Saphela stepped in front of Leornars, her wooden staff illuminating the dark tunnel as she began chanting rapidly in a complex, forgotten language. A massive, pristine white magic circle materialized directly beneath Leornars' feet.
Before the vanguard of guards could round the corner, the magic flared, and Leornars vanished from the castle entirely.
The elite royal guards burst into the corridor a second later, weapons drawn, only to find the oracle, the knight, and the princess standing entirely alone in the quiet hallway.
Princess Selrose turned her gaze toward the open sky, watching the rain fall over her kingdom. "Go... with Goddess Minam, Leornars," she said quietly to the wind.
With a violent distortion of space, Leornars reappeared, crashing slightly as he materialized dead center in the middle of a bustling cobblestone street in an entirely different, distant town.
The surrounding townsfolk instantly stopped in their tracks, staring at the sudden newcomer in absolute horror.
His tattered clothes were completely soaked in thick, drying blood. His wildly unkempt, silver-red hair hung loosely over his face, barely concealing the two glowing, predatory crimson orbs beneath.
Without uttering a single word to the terrified crowd, Leornars turned on his heel and vanished into the darkness of a nearby alleyway.