Academic gathering with Lich colleagues

"Your Majesty Atlach."

“My faith in the Holy Light is weak; I have never received revelation.”

"His Majesty George pulled me out of the darkness and put us on the battlefield time and time again, which made me understand something."

"The Legion of the Judges never fights a prepared battle. We cannot foresee victory, and victory is not the driving force behind our struggle."

"It doesn't matter what faith we have, it doesn't matter what advantages we have; all we have is the rage to cut off the enemy's head."

"Evil may be numerous, but we should face it head-on."

Atlach released his grip, and the halo fell. Perhaps stained with holy blood, it sprouted thorns in an instant, its power engulfing Algernon, whose screams echoed through the church. The dome was shattered by the rampaging holy light, and the pope and priests guarded the burning, charred stain at the center, protecting the stigmata they saw.

A massive cross-shaped ring hovers above his head, his left side shattered, a giant lightsaber wielded in one hand and one foot, his features vanished, light particles spraying from the edges of his broken wings, his tattered armor melting into shadows entwined around his body. Hanging before the primordial church, the angel Algernon wields his sword, the blade of light cleaving the black tide in two. He roars, scattering the black mud surging towards the church.

In the lonely darkness, applause softly resounded.

Triton's incarnation appeared before the fallen angel, a broad smile on his face.

"My child, you have exceeded my expectations. You have broken through the shackles with a mortal body and reached the level of an angel, the seventh rank. Look at your appearance, so beautiful. Without the help of an external force called Raymond, humans are truly an interesting species."

The angel spread his wings, and behind him, darkness tore through space, from which countless black-winged humanoids crawled out, wielding swords. The afterimage of the Judge pounced on the God of All Evil.

"However, the game is over, Algernon."

The festering tentacles instantly seized the angel, an even larger, corrupted angel. One head wept, one roared, and one remained silent, easily suppressing the shattered angel and pressing Algernon into the black mud. The wings of light broke under the impact, slamming against the angel again and again.

“That’s life, my dear,” Triton said with a helpless smile, gesturing for the corrupting angel to tear him apart.

"It's a pity your rank is a bit too low. Merging you with the angels would actually reduce the purity of your power. Otherwise, I really wanted you to merge with them. The four cursed angels are still missing one."

"The final judgment has not yet come... but you will not see it..."

“Again…” Triton stopped speaking. He raised his head and looked at the top of the original church. On the broken dome, the broken remains stood holding the banner of holy light. The other half of Algernon was broken, the other half was pitch black.

Miracle: The Dark Ark

A dark rift opened, the black angel shattered, and the void power bursting from its body covered the entire cathedral. The entire building was swallowed by the void and disappeared from the encirclement of the black tide.

"It's been moved. What's the point? When the final judgment comes, all the remaining embers will be extinguished."

Triton looked at the fragment in the corrupted angel's hand; his light had been drained, revealing a mutilated head.

“Even meaningless things will be done. And for me, it’s not meaningless either.” The commander of the Judgement Legion, the final judge, is dead.

But Triton did not obtain his soul, because something else got there first.

The vexing black rift opened again, and within the dark prison, a ball of black flame devoured the judge's soul. It burned silently through the rift, spewing out mechanical language from the void.

[Detection: Black Archon, silent; Legion Darkslayer, silent.]

[Awaken the next level of Avengers: Legion of Guilt.]

[Concept: Revenge, Level Three, Execution Begins.]

Darkness is immortal.

Chapter 827 The Calamity of the Undead

He pushed open the cold iron gate. The damp moss covering the railings made his fingers tremble. He took a deep breath, nervously watching the hinges turn, and gently, without making a sound, stepped into the area. He pulled his robe tighter, the cold wind blowing the hem, and he took hesitant, light steps, his thin back showing a hint of panic.

Like a thief stealthily moving forward in the dead of night, the slightest sound would make him shrink back and nervously pull his hat brim down. He looked around, observing the desolate, flat landscape, held his breath, and turned sideways, making his way through the empty land as if he were passing through a crowded throng.

"It's so cold..."

"It's so cold..."

He muttered ominously, dragging his shivering body toward the small wooden cabin with its light shining through the window in the park. The closer he got to the light, the more violently he trembled, as if he were truly frozen. He reached the window, pressed himself against the mottled, cracked wooden wall, and began groping inside his clothes. A faint sound came from inside the cabin, like a mouse scurrying about. His movements quickened, and before the sound grew louder and louder, before the string snapped, he found it.

A small glass bottle, its brown surface stained, completely obscuring the label. He gently tapped it a few times with his fingertips, then gave up. The cork popped out with an unexpectedly loud "pop," and the "rats" in the cabin seemed to fall silent as if startled. He panicked again, forgetting his warning, spilling the liquid onto the windowsill and shaking it violently, nearly throwing the bottle in. Then, he crouched in the corner, making unnatural gestures as he nervously prayed.

"Get it working quickly..."

"Get it working quickly..."

Boom!

There were sounds and slight vibrations coming from inside the room; it seemed the big rat had been poisoned.

He breathed a sigh of relief, only then realizing he was almost collapsing to the ground, his robe already stained with mud. He stood up, leaning against the wooden wall, the wind still howling fiercely. He pushed open the window and stretched his slender arm into the wooden house.

"...Good night, sir."

He stole a portable oil lamp; the bright yellow flame was blocked by the lampshade. Holding the lamp in the darkness, he felt as if he had found courage. He walked a few steps deeper into the garden, striding proudly like a victorious general.

A gust of wind blew, and the flame in the leaky lamp began to flicker. He was brought back to reality, nervously holding the lantern, covering it with his clothes, and taking small, shuffling steps forward with his head down.

"It's so cold..."

"It's too deserted..."

He was still muttering, his voice a little louder. The panic gradually dissipated, and now what surged in the cemetery was more of an unease, accompanied by a chilling power of death, as frost and mist rose in the darkness.

His figure appeared tall and slender in the thick fog, the thief seeming to have transformed into the master. He picked up the withered flowers, placing the lonely stems back into the bouquet; in a short time, frost formed on the petals on his fingertips. He righted the toppled stone tablet, the spreading frost seeming to sing a song. He walked on the cobblestone path, the bright yellow flame in his lantern turning an eerie blue-green, just like the cold light emanating from his hood.

"The tranquility of settling down, the coldness of eternal slumber..."

"It's too deserted..."

"My friends won't be here..."

"This is not a good place to recruit students..."

He sighed, his breath blowing away the mist from his tightly closed robes. The lamplight illuminated his skeleton, devoid of any flesh. The lich with the lantern stood in the center of the cemetery.

"I'm sorry to meet you all in this way..." He bowed, facing the rows of tombstones.

"I am a necromancer, and I have come only to disturb your peaceful slumber." From the lantern, a silken mist spread out from the eerie flame, drifting through the cemetery. It seeped into the soil, and the power of the dead knocked on the coffins like fingers knocking on doors. The cemetery began to stir, and the necromancer was still complaining in the center.

“I often work in mass graves and various wastelands strewn with corpses. With excellent professional skills and proficient spirit-summoning techniques, I love this job and take pride in guiding the dead. Because they wish it to be so, I always believe it is a virtuous act of helping others.”

“I should never have stepped into this gloomy garden. The air here is stagnant, filled with sorrow and regret. You must have been buried before your families, bearing the eulogy of a pastor. You must have given up your attachments to die peacefully. To be honest, I prefer a noisy atmosphere, like the college I serve, a place where vengeful spirits howl. Awakening the dead should be a matter of mutual consent. I don't like to force things, but reality always forces us to…”

The soil was loosening, and a knocking sound came from the earth, growing more and more intense. Soon, the first hand emerged from underground. Then countless hands followed. The cemetery came to life; it was awakening.

“The situation is different now, Sleeper.”

"An ancient god has climbed onto the land, bringing with him a great flood of cleansing. We need to struggle, we need to resist, we need strength. Think of it, when the god comes, no one can escape. Your offspring, your remaining bloodline, everything that allows you to sleep peacefully will be overturned by the tide."

They poked their heads out, lifted their bodies, opened the tomb, and climbed the tombstone.

"In the name of Andrei, you who die in peace, you will be conscripted by us."

"Your decaying bones, your lingering souls, will become the power of the dead, the battlefield of the departed."

The necromancer held aloft his lantern, its pale flames blazing fiercely. In each raised head, their souls were ignited, wailing as enslaved corpses. Thick fog enveloped everything, keeping death confined within its embrace.

"Stand up, bones!"

“Every bone and every soul of yours will be put to good use, and your passing will bring life to the living.”

"The living will continue to exist through the sacrifice of the dead!"

"Get up, you dead!"

"Fight for what cannot be lost."

"Fight for the children, fight for the living."

In every human settlement, similar undead uprisings are unfolding, with people hiding anxiously in their homes, watching as the bones of their relatives and friends form armies of the dead and march into the distance.

When the holy light fades, death begins to dance.

Chapter 828 War Mobilization

The scholar passed through the portal and found himself in his room. A magical lock held the books that had been blown away by the wind. This secret chamber was filled with his research and memories, but unfortunately, there was no time to enjoy the tranquility now. He pressed a switch, and the door to the chamber opened, the noise echoing through the hall, giving him the illusion that he was back in the Hall of the Hidden Council in the City of Wanderings. But it was just an illusion. In that tower, his appearance would quell the commotion, but here, he was just an ordinary lich.

The members of the Literary Society and the Executive Committee stood together—a truly rare sight. Protected by the Andrei Enforcers, they delivered war speeches in Andrei's corridors. The scholar was carried away by magic, but the incessant, inflammatory, and clearly articulated words still reached his ears. The Literary Society's deep concern for the war against the evil gods was a good thing.

"Research? Working in isolation? What are you dreaming of? Say goodbye to your experimental supplies! Because you will be forever one, with no distinction between test subject and experimenter!"

"God will forgive you! Put your pelvis on someone else's spine! That way you can share one butt, fantastic, and waste emissions will be halved!"

"Oh right! Everyone's dead! The merciful Creator will welcome you with a smile as you search for bones in his body, and may even invite you to live in his stomach, since he doesn't secrete digestive juices and needs you, a bunch of mostly rotting excrement, to act as probiotics."

"Oh! This is terrible! Mr. Raymond is now our enemy! Did he used to put his arm around your shoulder and sleep on the lawn counting stars with you? Or are you just lucky ones who weren't gilded? Our boss is gone too, and guess what we're thinking? Great! We can commit blatant insubordination, and it's all in accordance with the Andrei Standard Law! You now have a chance to kick those big shots' asses, and they'll thank you afterwards."

"The Holy Light is dead! We must revel! Spread the plague, conquer death, blaspheme God! By Andrei, we actually want to follow our racial instincts and do something worthwhile! I think the Dean should set up checkpoints on the edge of the battlefield; you should have to pay to enter this party!"

Along with the commotion came a deluge of flyers and the simultaneous opening of the winning side's casino, with odds tentatively set at 1:1. It was a gamble with your life, and betting channels for the evil god's side were not yet available, since Triton wouldn't be paying out any prizes.

The scholar sensed the restlessness throughout Andre Academy; without the suppression of the Holy Light, the liches had begun to act recklessly. He greeted several familiar students and walked through the corridor into the courtyard. The permanent teleportation portal had been removed and moved; a large round table was placed in the center of the courtyard, and only one person sat around the black cursed wood table.

The dean sat in the head seat. He waved to the arriving scholars and then buried himself in his work, like an old farmer busy with the harvest.

Holding harvesting tools, a gleaming bone sickle. A terrifying weapon, the "Harvester of Suffering"—just a glance at its blade's light is enough to send a shiver down your spine.

A dog was leashed beside him, barking wildly. [Andrei, Crown of the Lich King], the power of his tribe ran rampant, the lich lord's authority influencing everything around him, wild magic weaving a beast-like body. Andrei's symbol now resembled a mad dog, sometimes climbing to the top of the scythe and barking, sometimes lunging into piles of bones, smashing skulls to pieces.

Beside the dean lay a pile of skulls, stacked into a small mountain, taller than the tip of his hat and completely submerging his feet. He chuckled as he picked through the skulls, as if selecting walnuts, then slowly took down his sickle and pressed the gleaming tip against a skull burning with the flames of a soul.

"Have you made up your mind, Mr. President?"

"Dean, you promised us that we have the right to choose."

The dean nodded with a smile.

"That's right, you have a choice: choose to participate in the war, or choose to become a war reserve resource."

"This is not what we imagined!!!"

"Hehehe, of course Andre will do as I imagine. Your gang is disbanded, Mr. Consumables. You can choose to flee, but my hounds will retrieve you." The soul flames within the skull were drawn to the scythe, and accompanied by a soul-crushing scream, his soul was harvested, leaving the skull an empty shell.

The dean turned around and greeted the scholar.

"Peace and happiness, sir."

"Anle, Dean."

"Is something the matter? My friend, the current crisis has made the undead somewhat restless. We need to unite now." The Dean snatched a skull from the tentacles of the Lich King.