UH CH 10 (Patreon)

I leveled my rifle again.

Jana screamed.

Her back hit the floor as she scrambled away, heels kicking uselessly against the stone. Richard raised his shovel, hands shaking. Iron Fist stepped forward, but even he hesitated.

The figure in black raised a single hand, palm open.

Dozens of corpses jerked upward like puppets on invisible strings. Some wore cleaner uniforms, half-rotted. Others were fresh—our attackers, the ones we fought on the way here. One still had a hole where I’d shot him in the thigh.

It was clear now. We never stood a chance. We were just prey, caught in a dark web. 

They were grinning now.

“Tch.”

My hand clenched around the rifle. One mag left. No spare. I could create more, but it wouldn’t have mattered against things that didn’t care about pain or bleeding out.

The Necromancer tapped his staff once against the floor. The spectral boss beside him stirred.

No… not stirred. Shifted.

The black sludge peeled away from its body like rotting muscle, sloughing off in slow waves. Beneath it was something that should never have belonged to a slime.

A ribcage. Metal plates grafted into bone. Mana lines glowing like veins.

This wasn’t a slime king.

It was a corpse golem made from hundreds of adventurers, dissolved and compressed over an unknown period, perhaps years, animated by the will of something far worse than simple mutation.

Necromancers. Beings who profane the dead and manipulate the soul. Closer to mad biologist than true magicians. Creators of abominations.

It was one of the highest-tier class advancements for the Dark Mages and was recognized as a one-man army class since the potential of the Necromancer was nearly unlimited, and they could advance to Undead Emperor. 

Since it was a class that could only be obtained after advancement, all Necromancers were at minimum D rank, and Necromancer Litches would also start at a minimum of D rank. 

Yet to subdue a necromancer who transformed into a lich, it was advised to have a full party with a cleric who was at least one rank higher than the lich. For the simple reason that Liches were very hard to kill if one did not find their phylactery. The source of their immortality. 

What made Necromancers so dangerous was that, with enough preparation and time, even a D-ranked Necromancer could cause significant damage. This was why all people who advanced to this class were under strict regulation, while gates that had Necromancer-type monsters were immediately destroyed regardless of how profitable they were.

This was what the Necromancer represented in this world.

But what did we have against such an opponent?? A group of 7, five of whom were not even hunters. One severely wounded, one F-rank healer who couldn’t heal because of some PTSD. A retired ex-D-rank hunter and an I-rank hunter. 

[The Silent Watcher observes with bated breath.]

Whether the one facing us was a Hunter or a Monster, it did not matter. What mattered was that escaping was nothing but a dream in this situation. Death would not even be an escape.

The Necromancer gestured toward us lazily, like a man inviting guests to sit.

“I suggest you don’t run,” he said with a faint chuckle. “The door won’t open again. And I’d hate to waste good material by damaging it too early.”

Material.

He meant us.

“What do you want from us?” I asked, my mind working furiously even as I tried to buy us the smallest second.

“I see. You wish to try negotiation. A commendable albeit futile effort. Negotiation is only possible between equals or when the strong give mercy to the weak. Sadly, I have no intention to grant such mercy.”

“Yet. You are still talking with us. This means you want something or you are simply bored.”

“Farmers still talk to the cattle they will kill the next day. See it as nothing more than boredom.”

Negotiations broke down, or perhaps never existed in the first place.

I lowered the rifle slightly and activated [Focus] again. My vision narrowed. Pulse slowed. No time for panic.

I counted nine undead between us and the back wall. Three ranged. Two close combat. Four wild cards, slower but bulkier. The boss was behind them—massive, unpredictable.

And the Necromancer…

Too calm.

That meant he wasn’t worried about us at all. He seemed more intrigued than anything else, tilting his head as he sized me up with what I could guess was curiosity. Deciphering the expression of a skeleton was not exactly easy. 

Iron Fist stepped in front of us, cracking his knuckles. His breath was calm. Controlled.

“You kids get behind me,” he muttered, eyes never leaving the enemy. “Richard. Any traps left?”

“One,” He said. “Acid burst. But you know it won’t be able to do much here.” 

“Good. Use it when I say. Cain, what about you? Ready for one last round with me?”

I gritted my teeth, knowing that we were walking toward certain death, and yet, how could I say no in the face of that old man? 

“I am sorry.” If only I didn’t insist on becoming a cleaner. Perhaps this situation would not have happened. 

“Apologize after we escape.” Even in this situation, Iron Fist did not show despair. He had already done too much. Fought too long. To just break down in the face of adversity. 

The moment he said that, the air thickened. 

“How rare, usually people give up the moment they see me.” He chuckled.  “This opportunity is quite hard to come by. Well then, amuse me until the end.”

With a flick of his fingers, the corpses charged. Their movements were completely different from what they showed earlier.

“NOW!”

Richard slammed the activation rune. It was a simple talisman that did not even require mana. But it had low utility. 

A hiss. A burst of green vapor erupted from the floor, catching two of the fast ones mid-leap. They shrieked as the acid chewed through their flesh, though it didn’t kill them, it made them stumble.

Iron Fist moved like a tank. His fist caught the nearest undead in the face, caving it in. His Gatling whirred to life again and tore through two more.

Richard jumped in beside him, shovel swinging hard. It wasn’t elegant, but it bought us space. The other three were useless. One was still down, the other was trembling and shivering. As for Marquez, he simply stood behind us. This was the best choice. They would only be liabilities if they stayed. 

Jana? She didn’t run. She didn’t cry either. She stood steadfast.

Her hands shook. But she raised them. And light—pure, bright—gathered in her palms.

“Light of Life… mend this world, guide the fallen, burn the rot—”

The spell ignited. A wave of holy light spread out, not strong enough to kill the undead outright, but it staggered them. Their corrupted mana recoiled.

Even the golem stopped moving for a beat.

But the Necromancer… he smiled. The fire in his eye socket flickered. 

“I suppose I should get a little serious.”

He tapped the ground with his staff.

The world warped.

A glyph spread out from beneath his feet, so dense with magic that I could feel my skin itch. Not a simple death spell. A domain.

“Fuck!” I shouted. “He’s anchoring!”

If he finished the cast, we were screwed. No escape. No mana regen. We’d be sitting ducks inside his world.

I decided before I could regret it.

Dropped the rifle. Drew the knife. Bit the tip of my thumb.

“Cain—what are you doing?!” Jana shouted.

I ignored her. Blood welled on my hand. I poured it into my [Maker] skill—no time for safety, no time for subtlety. If I did not have enough mana, I would simply use my life force. What did burning a few years of life matter when death was at the gate? 

I shaped it into a bomb. A crude one. The mana density nearly shorted my already useless circuits. But I didn’t care.

I sprinted forward, straight at the golem and the Necromancer.

One shot. That’s all I had left.

Iron Fist, understanding that it was our best action, provided fire support. Jana’s light covered me, healing my wound even if slightly. 

I hurled the bomb, using every ounce of strength in my body. The glowing red orb arced through the air, sizzling as it flew.

The Necromancer’s head turned toward me.

“Oh?”

It exploded just before impact. A well-timed bullet from me, making sure that he wouldn’t be able to escape.

A wave of heat, pressure, and searing light blasted the chamber. Bones shattered. Limbs flew. Even the boss reeled, its upper half torn apart by the blast radius.

I felt my body lift and slam against the far wall. My ribs cracked. Vision swam. Sweet taste of blood rushed in. Many of my internal organs were most likely ruptured.

I was nearly fully incapacitated now. I did not bother wondering if what I did had an effect. I knew it was nothing but pure futility, and indeed. 

“My…I must admit. I am fairly surprised. Young hunter, you have my respect. I will make sure to create a beautiful death knight from you.”

The necromancer walked out, completely unharmed. The destroyed undead stood up, as if time had been rewound, their bodies reconstructing.

This was one of the horrors of necromancers. As long as they had enough mana, they had an immortal army at their disposal. 

From the very start, our chances of winning had been zero. Our struggles were nothing but a game for a bored immortal.