Academic gathering with Lich colleagues

"There's an ambush! Danger!"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than twenty meters away, some people dressed in dirty green cloth emerged from the bushes, brandishing knives and swords menacingly, and charged straight at the three.

First to approach were the flying crossbow bolts, which moved through the bushes like sharks lurking underwater, only revealing their sharp edge when they got close to their prey.

The gleaming crossbow bolt filled Kevin's entire field of vision in a second, then grazed his cheek and plunged viciously into the neck of the horse William was riding.

The horse let out a pitiful neigh and fell to the ground, dragging William down with it.

"Dismount quickly! There are crossbow bolts coming from the other side!"

The rugged terrain beneath their feet meant the three could not escape; the horses had lost their purpose and were now only used as cover, just like they were now.

Arrows pierced the horses' bellies, and Lyle and Kevin's mounts finally collapsed in defeat.

The three men hid behind the corpses. William flicked his wand, and a blazing fireball shot out, turning one of the bandits nearby into a torch, but the rest remained unaffected. They emitted unpleasant noises, like records worn down by mischievous cat claws; their battle cries sounded more like ghostly wails than battle roars.

"There are still twelve left. I can't protect you all by myself while dealing with them, Lyle, we..."

Lyle remained calm, completely undisturbed by William's agitation.

"We're retreating."

"Retreat? Retreat is pointless; we can't outrun them!"

"There's no need to outrun them, just waste time."

……

Scarface is the leader of these twelve people.

When he and his men approached the horse carcass, the three pigs had vanished without a trace. But it didn't matter; he and his men were excellent hunters, and the tracks left by those three young lads were as conspicuous as the midday sun.

Scarface revealed a ferocious smile; the scars on his face, pulled by his muscles, resembled another hideous maw.

cough cough.

Scarface couldn't help but cough. What happened? He looked at the hand he was using to cover his mouth; the fabric was stained with blood—his own blood.

Did I cough up blood?

Just as Scarface was feeling panicked, some warm liquid was poured onto his head.

The red liquid flowed into his only intact eye, staining his vision red as well.

Looking back.

From the horse's wounds, a black, tentacle-like monster emerged. Its tentacles, like manipulating rag dolls, hoisted its minions into the air, where they struggled until they gradually died.

Another tentacle coiled around their necks, its hooked suckers slashing open wounds, spraying blood onto Scarface's face, just as he had done to innocent travelers. Like cotton being squeezed out of a tattered rag doll, the black tentacle monster watched all this with amusement.

The huge yellow eyes were looking at me, and it was the voice of a cute little girl, just like the one I killed the day before yesterday.

"You're going to break too! Come play with Nia!"

Chapter 161 Strange Tales and the Words of the Dead

They were careless. Their long history of bloody exploitation of the weak had led their minds down a dark path; they were bloodthirsty yet foolish. They failed to examine the horses' wounds, which were far more serious than the crossbow bolts, nor did they notice the black blood flowing on the ground. They were only searching for the three boys who had fled like rabbits, their bloodshot eyes seeing nothing else even a moment before the black noose was wrapped around their necks.

Nia stood in the woods like a tree. Her branches were stained with the blood of sin, soaking the soil. The dim light filtering through the leaves shone upon her, making her appear like a bizarre yet sacred cross, offering final relief to the terminally ill.

This was merely the thought of the three people hiding behind the bushes. The scene was so shocking that even after fifteen minutes, none of them wanted to come out, and it certainly wasn't because they were frightened. Especially when Nia's eyes swept over, the bushes where the three were crouching visibly trembled.

"Lyle, were you shaking just now? Look at you, scared by your own clone."

"Pah! Kevin was the one who pushed me, and he's the one who's shaking! You should have some sympathy for this frail nobleman."

“That’s slander! William clearly pushed me! I’m a seasoned hunter, I’m in great shape, unlike this frail mage with his skinny arms who have no strength at all!”

"I wasn't shaking! I... I was just disturbed by my own rampaging magic, that's right, I was too excited! Look! It's all its fault." Kevin showed his hand, which was half frozen in ice.

"It's just my powerful magic interfering."

Finally, feeling ashamed, the three boys all walked out of the bushes at the same time.

Kevin turned around. "Remember, Lyle, we weren't afraid. It was William's magic that was interfering."

Lyle turned around. "Remember, William, we weren't afraid. It was all your magic that was interfering."

William turned around, but there was no one there.

He held up the ice cube in his palm. "It's all your fault."

“Gulp! Nia is the best!” Nia excitedly shook the last corpse on her tentacles. It was a scarred man, and blood was gushing out of him like a bottle of champagne being opened.

"That's enough, stop, put it down, you're the best!" Lyle reassured Nia, and the three of them then approached.

Lyle bent down and began examining their bodies.

The cause of death was excessive blood loss from the carotid artery, and perhaps also suffocation, Lyle wasn't sure, because one of the poor guys had his neck twisted like a rope.

Their faces were gaunt, their eyes still gleaming with terror, their skin rough, and they reeked of decay, suggesting they had been outdoors for a considerable time. Their eyes were bloodshot, but if it was merely suffocation, it would be more than that. Looking into their eyes, Lyle felt he had overlooked something, but he couldn't quite place it.

"Kevin, come take a look." Lyle called over the team's Lucky Star, pointing to the robber's eyes. "Kevin, can you see anything wrong? I feel like I'm missing something."

Kevin leaned forward, stroking his slightly curly mustache. After a moment of thought, he exclaimed, "I know, Lyle, they're like you!"

Lyle's face darkened instantly. "Are you asking for a beating, bro?"

"What I mean is, they're a lot like you used to be. Remember the final exams in your second year of school at the Eiffel Tower?"

"I remember the time I studied for three days and three nights straight, and my total score was the same as yours. The reason was that you guessed the answer correctly."

"The point isn't the exam result, but that you stayed up all night. Did you notice the dark circles under this person's eyes? It's like they had coal dust smeared on their eyes. They definitely didn't sleep all night either, maybe even longer than you used to. That's the key."

"The key question is, why would these desperate criminals, who live on the edge of death, choose to stay up all night? What are they guarding against at night?"

Kevin shrugged. "Who knows? Heaven knows, Earth knows, he knows, but I don't. You know, the dead can..." Kevin paused, as if thinking of something, and looked at Lyle.

Lyle said what he expected.

"Dead people can talk."

Driven by sinister incantations and chilling magic, these souls that had fallen into hell were once again conscripted.

His body, emaciated from blood loss, convulsed, and with cracking sounds of bones twisting inside his flesh, the scarred bandit rose again.

He looked around with his dry eyes, his gaze settling on Lyle. Unlike the corpses Lyle had revived with unusual vitality in the past, this corpse looked more like an idiot, or a patient who had suffered severe mental trauma.

"How many of you are there?"

The corpse's teeth were grinding together, and a severed piece of its tongue fell out of its mouth.

"Fifty, sixty?" The strange corpse uttered the language of Emor, but fortunately Lyle was a top student in the Necromancer discipline, so it did not affect normal communication.

Why don't you sleep at night? What are you afraid of?

The corpse lowered its head, its voice barely audible. Just as Lyle was about to approach and listen, the corpse seemed to lose control. It lunged at Lyle, but was quickly pierced by Nia's tentacles, the straight tentacles pinning it to the ground. It continued to writhe wildly, "Madness! Madness! The heavens are mad! The earth is mad! The animals are mad! Man is mad! Hamlet! Madness! We're all mad, we're all going to die!"

The scarred corpse's features began to contort, and with a loud bang, his head exploded like a watermelon.

The headless corpse immediately became docile and became a puppet in Lyle's hands.

"Lyle, are you alright? What's wrong? You seem quite surprised?"

"The corpse's head exploded!"

Kevin covered his mouth in surprise. "So that's not normal? I thought you'd blow it up."

"How could that be? Didn't you hear the string of crazy things he just said? He lost control."

“Nonsense? But I can’t understand what he’s saying. All I hear are dark and strange syllables.”

"Sorry, I forgot, you don't understand Emmo."

Kevin was completely confused. He leaned closer to William and asked, "Do you mystics have to know a foreign language?"

William shook his head. "I don't speak any foreign languages. Magic itself belongs to humans. But it's understandable that Lyle can speak the language of the dead. He is a necromancer and often deals with the dead. Emmo language is probably another name for the language of the dead among necromancers. After all, no one wants others to know that they can speak the language of the dead."

"The language of the dead? The language of Emor?" Lyle's eyes widened as he stared intently at William.

"You surely know this, don't you? The incantations and language you recite are the language of the dead. Legend has it that every living being belongs to their own kingdom and has their own language. But after they die, they all belong to the Goddess of Death, and the dead are categorized together. The language of the dead is the language that the Goddess of Death teaches her subjects. No matter where you were born, when you die, your soul will use the language of the dead as your mother tongue, while the languages ​​you learn in your memory will be your second or third language. The language of the dead possesses the magic of the Goddess of Death, causing any creature that recites it to gradually move closer to death."

"This is all information I gathered from different sources, after all, my friend is a necromancer. And you didn't know? You should know that your so-called Emor language can have an effect on your body."

Lyle knelt on the ground, the information he was receiving was far more bizarre than the fright he had just experienced.

"Mr. Dragon never told me any of this. Emor is Andre's first official language..."

Chapter 162 The Surge of Powerful Luck

"Relax, Lyle, everything will be alright." Kevin didn't know why his best friend had suddenly become so distraught. Having no knowledge of the occult, he could only offer some useless words of comfort.

Seeing Kevin's concerned look, Lyle forced a smile. "I hope you're right."

Kevin wasn't satisfied with Lyle's reaction. He patted Lyle's shoulder forcefully, revealing a knowing smile that only men understand. "After this trip, come to the banquet I'm hosting. I'll prepare a perfect encounter for you at Borui Manor, where you'll swear an oath as Lyle's best friend. That will wash away all your fatigue. Trust me, I'll use my talents to protect you, although I don't know which unlucky soul might get hurt in the process."

Watching Kevin's exaggerated performance, Lyle couldn't help but smile. A warm feeling welled up inside him, dispelling some of his dejection, and Lyle stood up.

"Don't cast a curse here, I still want to go back home safely." A joke from the 21st century left Kevin completely confused, but with Lyle's smile, Kevin understood.

He tossed his blond curly hair, finally fixing his gaze on William standing to the side.

“William, you’re being really unfair. Your own brother is giving up, and you’re just standing there doing nothing.”

William's expression did not change.

“That’s because I have complete faith in Lyle. The dangers we’ve been through together tell me he can handle crises well. As a friend, I can only have a drink with him afterwards. As for comforting him, that’s a girl’s job. By the way, that can happen at your party.”

Kevin's eyes darted around. "Hey, William, do you know any potions that can turn people into women?"

"Yes, there is, but the aftereffects are troublesome. I've heard that witches can turn men into witches, which might be simpler. What, you don't want to be a man anymore?"

"William, become a witch."

"Kevin, it's time for you to become a witch, transform into the girl Warm Lyle!"

Kevin's eyes gleamed with arrogance. "Want to bet with me and see who ends up unlucky?"

"Tsk."