Sokram found himself surrounded, necromancers lining every rooftop like a murder of masked crows.

  Five of the six bishops were the closest to him, while Bishop Night Owl carried the Pope back into the church.

  ‘I need to be fast, the Runic Blood Tattoos could last for five hours at this potency, but I still have a stronghold to raid…’

  A Bishop with a butterfly mask drew a sword, which was strange for a necromancer to do, but none of the others batted an eye.

  “I heard you were just a child, and that the Duchess was very protective of you, but seeing you enter this place alone, I guess it was all a lie, hm?” The Butterfly Bishop said.

  His voice was flat, devoid of the tremor of fear or the heat of anger. It sounded like dry leaves scraping over stone. The voice of a man who had forgotten what it felt like to be alive.

  “Children grow, you know? Or have you been hanging around the dead so long that you forgot about that?” Sokram’s tone, however, was full of mockery and provocation.

  Even being surrounded by more than five hundred necromancers, he wasn’t worried. If anything, he was calculating how much time he still needed to buy.

  ‘One minute,’ Sokram thought, then, looking around, he grinned murderously under the mask, ‘Let's see how many of these fanatics I can kill before fleeing.’

  “So, do I do the first move, or…” Before Sokram could finish, ten Death Knights jumped at him from the ground level, surrounding him from every angle. At the same time, the butterfly masked Bishop lunged at him with a downward slash.

  Sokram threw a needle up and swung Draggonia, deflecting the butterfly-masked Bishop’s attack upward.

  “Clang!”

  Steel rang sharply as Draggonia met the Bishop’s blade.

  The impact numbed Bishop’s wrist as his sword flew away. Sokram had just used the same parrying technique Drokmin used against him.

  The death knights closed in, swinging their swords at him, and Sokram teleported away.

  He reappeared above them, and even before their eyes found him again, he cast ‘Reign of Holy Fire – Wave of Destruction!’

  Using his Elemental Control along with his Light Magic Affinity, it was easy to convert Fire into Holy Fire.

  But when the necromancers looked up, sensing the shift in the ambient mana, it was already too late to hide.

  The strongest among them cast their Mana Shields or activated defensive artifacts, recognizing the Holy Fire that would definitely eat away their Death Energy.

  The radius of the wave of fire wasn’t as great as its destructive power.

  The air instantly turned white-hot, screaming as Holy Fire tore outward, the shockwave slammed into decayed and living flesh alike.

  It wasn’t mere heat, but a purifying pressure that made them shiver, and their heart shake in fear. The wave of Holy Fire didn't burn; it erased, leaving behind only the smell of burnt decay.

  Only around fifty necromancers were caught in it, but except for the bishops, all died.

  They didn’t burn slowly. They vanished. The Holy Fire feasted on their Death Energy, turning flesh to ash in a blinding flash.

  The bishops that were hit by the fire didn’t escape unscathed either, having to use their strongest undead to shield them.

  As for the undead, there wasn’t the slightest chance for them not to be turned into ashes.

  Once the bright flash from the explosion of Holy Fire subsided, the only bishops close enough to attack him were the butterfly-masked and another wearing a mask of a purple beetle.

  They looked around for Sokram and found him on the other side of the small city, slaughtering necromancers.

  Dark lightning cracked as it carried Sokram from shadow to shadow in jagged flashes as he began chasing the Crying Witch.

  “You killed my son!” The Crying Witch shouted, releasing a Necrobolt at Sokram.

  He easily dodged it and slashed through an undead warrior with Draggonia coated in Holy Fire, turning the undead into ashes, like every other undead in his path.

  But as the undead burned, Sokram dashed using Swift Wind – Two Steps, One Stride, to kill another two necromancers who jumped between them, blocking his path.

  In the first step, Sokram appeared crouched down, already swinging Draggonia sideways, and split the Necromancer in half, as the Holy Fire took care of the rest.

  In the second step, he emerged behind the second Necromancer. Draggonia flashed with holy flames in an upward arc, and the two halves of the Necromancer fell left and right, but dissolved into ash even before touching the ground.

  But Sokram wasn’t there anymore. As he finished his stride, he appeared right behind the Crying Witch.

  “You killed him yourself, making him join this cult of disgusting fanatics,” Sokram's voice resounded behind.

  Her world tilted violently.

  The ceiling became the floor, spinning in a nauseating blur. Then came the cold, a spreading numbness that started at the Crying Witch's neck and swallowed her consciousness before she even realized her head was no longer attached to her body.

  The butterfly-masked Bishop dashed at Sokram, while the beetle-masked summoned more death knights.

  But just as they were about to reach him, Sokram dashed away in another flash of dark lightning, slipping past them.

  He became a murdering ghost dancing in the blood of his enemies.

  Strike. Vanish. Reappear.

  His chaotic sword dance of death was designed to keep them blind while the runic bombs beneath their feet and above their heads drank every unit of mana toward a critical, overcharged explosion.

  The butterfly-masked Bishop realized something wasn’t normal, and turning to the beetle-masked Bishop, he said, “He is stalling for time for some reason.”

  “He is just a coward who can only kill our weaker members. Focus on killing him. He is trapped with us here. Once he tires, we will dissect his corpse for what he did to the Pope.” The beetle-masked Bishop was too blinded by rage to listen to reason.

  But different from him, the butterfly-masked Bishop wasn’t a mage.

  If he were, with his cool-mindedness and analytical gaze, he would have sensed the subtle shift in the ambient mana, especially near the pillars holding the ceiling above their heads.

  Instead, he focused on trying to intercept their enemy, but how could he when his foe moved around with lightning speed?

  Then, something caught the Bishop’s eye: Sokram threw a needle and vanished, reappearing where the needle landed.

  ‘Teleportation? If he can teleport…’ Sokram’s words resounded in his mind, ‘I’m not the one trapped in a tomb. You are.’

  “By the Nether…”His eyes widened as realization struck the Butterfly Bishop like a lightning bolt.

  It was too late.

  Sokram had killed around thirty necromancers after the blast of Holy Fire. His Runic Blood Tattoos were still at full power, but when he felt his mana close to half, he decided it was time to end this.

  Teleporting back near the church, Sokram made a show of it. Shooting lightning and Holy Fire bolts at every Necromancer and undead he could see, drawing as much attention as he could.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “I may not be able to kill all of you, but I’ll kill your Pope, hahaha!!” Sokram shouted, projecting his voice with mana, and assuring himself that all the necromancers heard him.

  The necromancers dashed toward the church, but just as they reached Sokram, they froze.

  He was merely standing there with his arms crossed, his behavior too strange for someone being chased.

  “This has been quite fun. You’re not my favorite bunch of fanatics, but I loved slaughtering you lot. Unfortunately, I can’t lose any more time with you all. I hope you all enjoy the Nether! Fuckers!”

  And after saying that, Sokram summoned the recording crystals stored inside the golems, swiftly storing them back into his Void Gloves.

  The Butterfly-masked Bishop’s guts screamed at him to either stop Sokram or to run for his life, and he chose the latter.

  Meanwhile, Sokram deactivated the Runic Blood Tattoos and activated the remaining runic bombs, which his golems planted all over the underground necropolis.

  As every pillar sustaining the ceiling of the underground city exploded, he teleported away, flashing in front of the needle in the stairway, and then into the woods.

  As soon as his feet touched the ground, a booming blast of air exploded behind him, coming from the stairway.

  The earth heaved. A concussive roar pushed him in the back, as his feet struggled to keep up with the impulse. It felt like the land itself had coughed, expelling dust and stone with the force of an awakening titan.

  He dashed away, running with steps empowered by his vital energy until he felt the ground quaking under his feet begin to sink.

  Sokram quickly threw a needle ahead with all his strength and teleported, repeating the process twice more as fast as he could to escape the sinking radius.

  Once high enough, he began gliding until he found a safe spot to land.

  A few moments earlier…

  While Sokram was still killing necromancers left and right.

  Inside the small castle's main hall, the Pope lay on the floor, without legs and bleeding profusely, when Bishop Night Owl took off her mask and smiled at him.

  Seeing her beautiful smile, he did his best to smile back.

  Then she asked him, “Please, tell me the keys to the vault weren’t in the boots like always.”

  The Pope grinned proudly, showing her the set of spatial rings and keys on a cord around his neck, “I heard your advice, little girl…ugh!”

  The Pope's eyes shot wide, feeling his heart pierced by a dagger.

  “This is for what you did to my sister, disgusting pig!” Night Owl spat on his face, “She was pure. If you hadn’t touched her, she would remain so!”

  She spat again, and as the light in the eyes of Pope dimmed, she pierced the dagger into his throat all the way to his brain.

  After making sure he was dead, she stole the rings, keys, and mask and ran to the inner chambers of the castle just as everything began to crumble.

  A few minutes later, the land subsidence was finally over.

  Sokram was standing at the edge of the sinkhole where the city had been.

  It was two hundred meters deep and nearly four times wider, a gaping wound in the earth.

  Dust rolled upward in choking clouds from the abyss like smoke from a volcano, hiding the jagged wreckage of the necropolis and swallowing the ruins in gray silence.

  Sokram's lungs heaved, desperate for air as he joked to himself, “Huff… That was… Huff… easy, haha.”

  But despite his good humor, he knew that with this action, he had changed the fates of his beloved city and country.

  No more surprise attacks, now he only needed to deal with mercenaries posing as bandits, and the orcs' attacks on the borders.

  Sokram decided to camp in the woods to get some proper rest, but before leaving, he dropped the Pope’s feet into the sinkhole.

  Sokram sent the mortal remains away with a mocking grin, “Here, let me return this to you, so you don’t have to crawl in the Nether. Be a better person when the Doors of Rebirth open toward you next life!”

  He left and wandered through the gelid woods for a while, looking for a place to camp.

  After finding a relatively safe spot between a group of trees, he summoned a couple of golems to stay on the lookout, raised his tent, and placed his sleeping bag in position.

  After placing a few concealing and barrier runestones around it, he lit a small fire to roast some boar meat.

  The scent of roasting meat and burning pine filled the small clearing, making him forget the stench of rotting flesh, the metallic tang of blood, and the ozone from his lightning magic, grounding him in the living world again.

  The warmth of the fire seeped into his bones, loosening the knots of tension in his shoulders as he relaxed, grinning like a fool at his favorite meal.

  After eating, Sokram slept very well that night, as if one of the many weights on his shoulders had finally faded.

  When he woke up, the sun was high in the sky, but there were still some hours until midday.

  He packed up his camping gear and headed north.

  This time, finding the stronghold was easy; finding a way in was even easier.

  But while watching the stronghold from a vantage point on a cliff nearby, he could see that every bandit there was between Tier 8 and 10.

  And when it came to humanoids, unless they revealed it, there was no way of telling their Level of Existence, at least not at his current level.

  Yet, Sokram's experienced gaze could see that they weren’t Common Existences, and judging by their ugly mugs, they hadn’t reached the Reformed Existence Level yet.

  They were covered in scars, and the dirtiness of their skin only showcased their bad hygiene.

  Their eyes that darted around with the vigilant energy of men who lived by the sword and expected to die by it.

  He had seen eight Tier 10 bandits, bossing the others around, who were twenty Tier 8 and 9.

  Those seemed to be the ones on guard duty outside the stronghold. He had no idea how many were inside.

  Sokram formed his smaller Mud Golem.

  Noticing how much he relied on them, he made a mental note to build a new METRA golem for infiltration tasks and some for combat and diversion as well, when he went back home.

  But right now, his small shadow walker made of mud would suffice.

  Merging the golem into the shadow of a tree, Sokram sent him ahead, jumping from shadow to shadow.

  Sokram’s golem easily sneaked past the guards.

  Although there were a few mages present, it seemed they didn’t bother warding the stronghold properly.

  However, one thing got his attention: they were too organized. With his Killing Blade training and insightful gaze, Sokram caught on to their ready-for-battle stance even while they seemed relaxed.

  Too rigid, too disciplined, for a band of thugs.

  'Too military...' Sokram thought.

  Sokram led his golem further into the three-story small fort, its stairs leading up to the higher quarters. But he also noticed a stairway leading down to the underground levels.

  Dust motes danced in the shafts of light cutting through the arrow slits, illuminating rough-hewn stone walls stained with soot and years of neglect.

  There were many of these old forts around the entire Northern Continent.

  They were built during Drokmin’s rule to serve as bases for the guards that roamed the Empire to protect the populace, and their architecture was very similar overall.

  Sokram knew if there were hostages anywhere in this fort, they would be in the underground level.

  But Sokram needed to know what he was facing before making any plans about rescuing people.

  His primary objective was to exterminate the bandits. The rest was a bonus.

  Sokram, through his golem, scanned the entire floor before going up, scanning the next one, memorizing every face, every name, and every detail that could be used to his advantage.

  He continued to sneak past the bandits inside the fort until he finally reached what seemed to be the leader’s room, but to his surprise, the leader wasn’t alone.

  The man, who was clearly the leader, was a human, 1.9 meters tall, with sandy blond hair and pale skin. His body was well-trained but not overly muscular.

  There was a long sword strapped to his belt, hanging on the bed's headboard. Sokram could see it was clearly a sword forged of pure mithril.

  'He could be a Magic Knight,' Sokram deduced, and seeing the man was unnaturally handsome, made clear he was Reformed-level or above.

  His visitor wore a very familiar outfit, the same white robes that the necromancers he annihilated the previous day wore.

  But this one in question wasn’t wearing her mask, and she and the leader seemed very cozy, as the Necromancer relaxed into his loving embrace.

  ‘So there are more of them spread around, hm? Well, that Cardinal said 684, and there weren’t many more than 500 there.’

  Looking at the Bishop, Sokram had to admit, she was gorgeous.

  But some of her features made Sokram believe she could be a succubus or a nocturnal.

  She had long raven hair and eyes as dark as the night. Her skin was pale, as if she hated the sun, yet perfect and smooth. And a voluptuous body that would put many nymphs to shame.

  It wasn't just her beauty. Her eyes held a depth that felt predatory, pulling the man in like a gravity well, promising pleasure and danger in equal measure.

  Sokram’s shadow golem got nearer so he could hear their conversation, “…I know, I want to stay longer too, but I have to go back and report King Alonso’s message to the Pope.”

  He sighed. “It’s a pity. I love having you here, Mila. But about that message, are we truly betraying Frostaxe once we’re done with Norwinter?” The leader asked, and Sokram could see that his feelings for her were sincere, or he was extremely good at acting.

  Mila nodded, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back in your arms soon, Adrian. And yes, your King is quite ambitious, and he even promised us a piece of land where we could raise our church, in their territory after it’s conquered.”

  When Adrian heard that, his face showed a conflicted expression.

  “Don’t make that face, you knew who I was from the start…” Mila flashed him a teasing smile, and Sokram understood a lot more about them in that instant.

  'This Adrian is clearly a simp,' Sokram thought, pitying the man who was completely wrapped around her finger.

  Adrian leaned into her touch like a starving man offered bread. His eyes tracked her every movement, filled with a desperate, pathetic adoration that made him look less like a warrior and more like a lovesick puppy.

  “You know it’s complicated for me, a follower of Eliora, to be in love with a follower of Macal... Just give me time,” Adrian justified himself while hugging her tighter.

  “Hehe, don’t worry, my love. There is no bigger proof of love than you going against your ideals for me.” Mila teased while Sokram watched the scene, a hint of disappointment blooming in his mind.

  ‘To trade his beliefs for the pleasure of the flesh... Eliora would cut him in half. There is no weakness greater than a man who betrays his own evolution for a pretty smile and a few moments embraced by lust.’

  Sokram watched them talk for a while until Mila asked him, “What about our guest?”

  “She’s being held here for the next step of the plan. We will kill her in the capital, one of our spies will be dressed as a royal guard, and we will kill her during her father’s visit. This will bring Glactos to our side.” Adrian explained, and then something clicked in Sokram’s memory.

  ‘The pavilion was right again, she is here.’

  Princess Amaliah from the Glactos Kingdom, another kingdom that shared its borders with Norwinter, but on the east side.

  In his previous timeline, she had disappeared, and the King of Norwinter was blamed for having kidnapped her because there were rumors that Lucien was obsessed with her.

  But it turned out to be just another plot from Whiteland.

  ‘Another huge client for the future. Now this is no longer just an extermination. The hostage became priority number one.’

  Despite his humorous inner voice, the weight that had been lifted from Sokram’s shoulder came back twice heavier.

  The board had changed.

  This wasn't a hunt anymore; it was a rescue.

  The Princess of Glactos wasn't just a hostage; she was a sword aimed at Sokram's plans and Norwinter's future.

  Glactos was a nation with great military power, one that could threaten the peaceful Empire he promised Drokmin he would build before ascending.

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