Void Beetle Evolution Guide

This is Mordekaiser's calculated strategy—launching a war would strengthen the Underworld Legion; maintaining peace would inevitably lead to Noxus's gradual decline.

Although Mordekaiser gave him some time to find a way out, the dead have no shortage of time. He can't possibly win a time war with a dead man.

Now, with his hair turned white, he is entering his twilight years. Even if Mordekaiser is not released now, the tyrant will emerge on his own through his corpse after he dies.

Chapter 765 A Group Attack

Faced with the questioning, Swain showed no intention of explaining. Instead, he retorted, "You'd rather believe the undead's lies than look at the facts right before your eyes. Everything I've done is to make Noxus stronger. Isn't that enough?"

Darius was speechless for a moment, because Noxus had indeed become stronger under Swain's leadership, something he, as one of the three members of the Council of Noxus, saw most clearly.

If Swain hadn't overthrown Darkwell's rule and implemented a merit-based military system that didn't discriminate based on background, he, a soldier from humble origins, would never have been able to reach this position.

Riven was equally speechless. If it weren't for Swain's strategy of consolidating the front lines, Ionia would still be under Noxus's fierce attack and would not have had time to recover.

"I don't care what happens to Noxus, I only care whether everything you've done over the years has benefited that person!" LeBlanc accused.

Do you think I have a choice?

Enraged, LeBlanc lowered her voice and threatened, "I should have just killed you back then."

She swung the chains, but the one who attacked was Thresh, who was sneering from the side. With the sound of the whip cracking, the eerie undead crashed heavily against the dark wall, echoing the ancient power contained within the monolith.

Then LeBlanc looked at the disheveled Thresh and slowly said, "But before that, I'll take care of these damned undead first."

She doesn't easily show emotional fluctuations; if she does, it's just an act. How could she guard the millennium-old well of souls within the immortal fortress if her mind wasn't steadfast?

“Very good. Very good.” Thresh gritted his teeth and got up, a sinister, expectant smile spreading across his face from between his excessively sharp teeth, disgusting green light constantly gushing from the back of his neck. “Go ahead and kill me if you dare. Once my soul goes to the underworld, I’ll still find a way to open the Dark Portal.”

"He's cheating. I'm the one who sealed that person. Does anyone know better than me how to unseal him?" Thresh tried to get the others to stop attacking, but his lie was immediately exposed.

The first to respond to LeBlanc was Vladimir, who was standing next to her. He was able to cast the same black and red chains as before, which entangled Thresh's wrist as he tried to swing his Spectral Scythe in retaliation. It seemed to be Black Rose's signature spell.

Vladimir also cast his blood magic, splattering blood that landed in front of Thresh's eyes, but it was quickly burned away by the ghostly fire. Blood magic had little effect on the undead, he shook his head. LeBlanc had summoned him to deal with Swain; he should save his energy for dealing with humans.

LeBlanc wielded her chains, lashing Thresh's body and causing his wounds to erupt with corpse-green flames. He hastily raised his lantern, unleashing a burst of black light to defend himself. But black roses were already sprouting from his wounds, making his body begin to spiral out of control.

To escape LeBlanc's harassment, he simply tore off his human skin, uprooted the roses from his body, and returned to his previous desolate and dilapidated state. The Chain Warden was back, his head full of hooks hanging down like braids, his withered skin covered by a tattered hooded cloak, and the lantern in his hand faintly illuminating the remaining flesh on his body.

"Kill them all, leave no one alive." As the spirits rose again, Thresh floated up slowly, groans of agony emanating from within his rustling robes. He released all the souls he had imprisoned in Noxus during this time, not even sparing the boatman who had ferried him ashore.

The howling undead storm engulfed the Soul Well, and the Netherworld Prison suddenly became crowded, forcing the Wild Hunt to retreat to a corner with Cassiopeia.

Without the black mist obscuring their vision, the undead's outline didn't become clearer; instead, it blended subtly into the blue-green miasma emanating from the giant well. (A series of seemingly unrelated phrases follow: "You Mei are here, are you free? You Lin are here, are you...?")

The undead legion, composed of Trevor's soldiers, was the most sinister and powerful, radiating an almost tangible killing intent. They retained their fighting spirit from their lives, the ends of their halberds striking the ground in unison, creating deafening echoes and their battle cries shaking the heavens.

"Listen to the lament of the lost, may death release us all." Karthus sang a requiem in a soaring voice. All the dead were awakened at once, their eyes burning with ghostly fire, and they pounced on the nearby living, plunging the scene into chaos.

"Attack!" Darius roared. Leading the remaining soldiers into battle, he charged into the pile of corpses, spinning his axe on his heels to wreak havoc, the surrounding undead immediately wailing and dissipating.

A ghost, claws outstretched and a mouthful of cold, sharp teeth, burst forth from the surging mass of the dead. Darius's battle axe fell like the guillotine, striking it squarely in the face. The ghost was cleaved in two like firewood, turning into a cloud of dust that was scattered by the cold wind.

The soldier, who had previously suffered at Vladimir's hands, knelt on one knee, his face ashen, breathing rapidly as if he had been working on the docks all day. Wisps of mist clung to him like spider silk, draining his dwindling life force and leaving his limbs feeling as cold and numb as if they were soaked in ice water.

"Facing the enemy, fight or die!" A heavy hand landed on the soldier's shoulder, dispelling the fog, and Darius's roar echoed in his ears: "Noxus has no cowards!"

Watching him wield his axe, the soldier suddenly felt anger—anger at the undead, at the sorcerer, at himself, and at his own fear. As if injected with power, he rose again in a final burst of energy and followed Darius's steps, charging together into the whirlwind of Noxian steel.

But soon, the spirits that had been dealt with slowly regrouped. The dark clouds gathered again, and the spirits rose once more.

These remaining soldiers, even if they burned their lives, could not possibly withstand so many undead. Some people's blood froze into icicles, while others watched as their hearts were ripped out of their chests.

Seven men died, their souls ripped from their corpses and becoming part of the undead. Darius's face contorted with suppressed rage as he turned to Riven and hissed, "Noxians who try to escape die. Deserters, if you want your freedom, show me what you've got!"

The word "deserter" stung Riven, and in her slight distraction, a ghostly Trevor soldier rushed in front of her, his spectral halberd slashing down onto her broken sword.

At such close range, Riven could even see translucent flesh hanging on ethereal bones through the gaps in his armor. He pressed closer, screaming at her face, his rotting lips emitting a nauseating wail that sent shivers down her spine. His claw-like hand reached for her throat, but she swiftly turned, using the ghostly momentum to shove him against the nearest wall.

The scene before her reminded her of the battlefield, where every soldier was an enraged beast.

"I'm not a deserter..." she murmured, her voice turning into a roar: "It was the Empire that betrayed me!"

Chapter 766 The Blade of Exile

Anger surged within Riven as she raised the broken sword high, sending fragments flying from the cloth bag behind her, each shimmering with a vibrant green light.

The shattered blades of the broken sword swirled and intertwined above her head, then pieced together, runic energy crackling with lightning, fixing all the fragments together into a massive, cracked whole.

Riven's gaze swept past Darius and landed on LeBlanc across the well.

This runic greatsword was LeBlanc's creation, and the imposing presence it emitted drew the sorceress's attention.

Riven tried her best to avoid eye contact with him; that person controlled her life, and she was terrified of his unpredictable and treacherous schemes.

Right now, all she wants is to fight this battle cleanly and efficiently, like a mercenary, get rid of the stigma of deserter, and then return to Ionia to retire and live a peaceful life.

The undead soldier she had previously slammed against the wall stood up again, leaped forward, and his halberd transformed into a streak of steel, accompanied by a gust of cold wind.

Riven quickly retreated, using the length and width of her sword to deflect the rapid attack, sending sparks of metal and emerald runic energy flying.

The undead soldier leaped to the side, hurling the handle of his halberd forward to knock Riven's greatsword aside, then stepped forward to seal her throat.

Riven roared and swung her greatsword in a sweeping motion, creating a powerful gust of wind that pierced through the undead soldier and shoved him aside. The latter slipped on the ground, staggering backward a short distance, using his free hand to grip the ground and slow himself.

The fighting instincts of these undead soldiers deeply impressed Riven. In life, they truly lived up to their reputation as the elite soldiers of the Trifarian Legion, the most elite troops in all of Noxus. Even in death, they hadn't forgotten their combat skills; their bodies, having become ghosts, were even lighter and more agile.

The undead soldiers rose again, fearless of swords and blades, their offensive was extremely aggressive, and they were adept at coordinated attacks, making them a force to be reckoned with. Riven faced immense defensive pressure, playing a very conservative and restrained game.

The blade flashed, she maintained her distance, wielding her sword until her muscles burned and her palms ached from the repeated impacts. With each all-out attack, she reminded herself: Survive. Win. Then return to Ionia.

As the battle progressed, Darius noticed that Riven's defensive facade was beginning to crumble. Something within her was awakening, a fighting spirit that had propelled her into the ranks of Noxus's strongest soldiers. Slashes, parries, counterattacks—she was no longer passively responding. Darius saw a change in her posture and expression; she was no longer calm.

He saw the anger.

Riven launched her attack, displaying her superior combat skills. Her runic greatsword resonated with a powerful melody, relentlessly pounding and slicing through the undead army's lines. It was as if she had eyes in the back of her head, seeing through every undead that tried to flank her defenses.

Darius joined the army before he was ten years old, and now, in his middle age, he has served for at least thirty years. Riven, on the other hand, is in her prime, not even thirty at most. She has certainly not been on the battlefield as long as he has, but her skills are no less than his. No wonder Draven speaks highly of her.

I heard that Riven wasted a lot of time in the fields a few years ago. If she can persevere in training and practice, she can definitely become a great general in time. If she knows how to lead troops in battle, it's not impossible for her to replace him as the next Noxian Hand.

Darius was delighted to see such talent and shouted, "Riven, how about you consider joining my ranks? You can start as a swordsman captain and lead a hundred-man battle group."

Riven remained silent, absorbed in the battle. The army had once been her home, but now her home was in Ionia. Perhaps only after she had seen the old man to his death and atoned for the sins she had committed in Ionia would she consider returning to Noxus.

Pretending not to hear, Riven plunged into the undead's ranks like a sharp knife. Her target was the two abominable undead; if she could take down one of them, she should be able to get a ticket home.

Led by Karthus, the undead unleashed their icy claws and weapons at Riven. Riven's greatsword flashed with emerald light, its soul-shaking roar repelling the surrounding undead. A sharp shriek echoed in their ears, and the undead instinctively dodged the blades, their magical enhancements proving deadly.

However, she underestimated her opponent. As Karthus's song filled her ears, familiar faces—faces she didn't want to see—began to appear before Riven's eyes. (The remaining text appears to be nonsensical and unrelated to the initial statement.)

Those women were sworn sisters forged in fire and blood; their souls were clear and unmistakable before Riven. But each of them had changed, bearing many scars that Riven did not recognize.

They were all survivors of that betrayal, their faces or voices burned by the alchemical flames. Riven thought they were all dead, but if she had left just a little later, she would have discovered they were still alive. Now they've returned to her, demanding to know why they ran away that day.

Fragmented images flashed through her mind, and her ears were filled with flames and screams. The smell of burning flesh and poisonous fumes stung her nostrils. Pain, pressure, fingers gripping her boots, cries for help.

But there was no one she could save.

Now, Riven is certain they are truly dead. They were the ones who came to bring her back to Noxus, she clashed with them, and then she killed them with her own hands.

Riven wanted to shake off these painful memories, but the battlefield illusions put her in danger. Frozen claws scratched her back, and Riven instantly felt her limbs filled with icy water.

She snapped out of her daze and tried to shake off the surrounding undead, but Karthus's necromancy exploded beside her. Struck hard, Riven tumbled to the edge of the well, breaking several ribs, and nearly fell into the miasma vortex.

Riven coughed up blood, emitting wet, choking sounds. The sound of dragging chains rang out; the warden had come to reap her soul, raising his ghostly scythe high. Powerless to resist, she closed her eyes.

That moment never came. The scythe struck the side of the axe blade and bounced off. Darius had come to her rescue. "Don't rush in. I'll cover you as you get back to the rear. You just need to protect the Grand Commander."

Darius cut down the approaching undead, allowing Riven to break through with him. Thresh couldn't bear to let a living soul escape his blade, but LeBlanc's chains ensnared him again, dragging him into a phantom space entirely made of chains, buying them a chance to escape.

Riven turned around and saw the Pale Lady giving her a barely perceptible, cold smile. Faced with this "goodwill," Riven couldn't help but shiver and immediately looked away.

Chapter 767 Soul-Suppressing Bell

Dark clouds reappeared, and spirits rose again. Thresh imprisoned everyone in the Netherworld Prison, intending to let the undead wear them down.

A cold, deathly dirge lingered in the air, accompanied by the cacophony of screams and wails from the dead. Swain remained silent, leaving Darius's side barely able to defend themselves. Wave after wave of undead attacks were repelled, but each time several fell. The wolf spirits did not grant the dead a quick death; summoned by the requiem, their souls rose from their corpses and joined the ranks of the dead.

LeBlanc knew she couldn't afford to drag this out, so she relentlessly attacked Thresh and Karthus, the leaders. Her magic tore their ghostly forms apart several times, but she couldn't hold out alone. Without someone to help her seal the two ghosts, she herself would be in grave danger if the fight continued. [The last two lines appear to be unrelated and possibly machine-generated text.]

She turned her head and warned in a harsh tone, "Vladimir, stop holding back. Quickly take out the Soul Bell you brought back from the Shadow Isles, or we'll all be doomed here."

"You even know about it?" A strange look appeared on Vladimir's face. He had never taken it out since he got it, and he didn't know how LeBlanc found out.

"I am everywhere." The pale lady sneered. "You give me all those useless trinkets, but keep the most important Soul-Suppressing Bell for yourself. What are you really up to?"

“Heh, if we ever face Ironclad Netherworld, this will be our lifeline. Who could resist taking it for themselves?” Vladimir said. “Besides, I risked my life to rescue that bell from that Nemesis. There’s no reason for me to just hand it over to you.”

"Hmph, don't you even think about why Kalista would come after you? She hates betrayers the most."

"I still need to learn more from you. If my schemes and tricks were flawless, I wouldn't have been exposed and cursed."

Vladimir responded politely to LeBlanc's sarcastic remarks. His eyes gleamed with a bloodthirsty light, and a perpetual smile played on his lips, like a demon in human skin.

“Master truly knows everything. Even at a critical juncture, they have the mood to argue. They really are as estranged as you said.” Cassiopeia observed the two from Black Rose with great interest. “Why don’t you guess how things will develop next?”

"You came here with the script to ask me questions, right?"

Hearing Wild Hunt's question, Cassiopeia chuckled and said coquettishly, "Just guess, and I'll kiss you if you guess right."

Wild Hunt, not wanting to miss a kiss, casually replied, "If your goal is Mordekaiser, then Thresh has to win, and the turning point is Swain."

"Master, you see things so clearly." Cassiopeia kept her promise and tiptoed to offer a sweet kiss.

Then she noticed the dampness around her feet and heard a gurgling sound. Although she didn't turn her head, she could see from the edge of her vision that blood was flowing unnaturally down the ground.

"Fine, fine, let me show you the power of this bell. It can even repel the goddess of vengeance, so dealing with these undead is a piece of cake." Vladimir's voice was sticky and slick, and a vortex of blood followed behind him. When he raised his arm, the blood danced in the air.

A crimson vortex spewed out a massive bell, taller than a person, covered by a blood-stained canvas. As soon as the bell hit the ground, it struck with a soul-stirring sound.

The sound injected energy into the spiritual realm, disrupting everything, and hundreds of spirits wailed simultaneously. Instead of going out of control due to the tolling of the bells, they became even more powerful.

They charged at Vladimir, tearing his fine robes to shreds and leaving his skin ashen and pale from blood loss. Karthus's chorus grew ever louder, Thresh swung his scythe relentlessly, leaving wounds on LeBlanc's body.

LeBlanc, who also possessed the body of a lich, felt the magic surging within her. Her pupils shrank to pinpoints, revealing large patches of white in her eyes. She was overjoyed, unable to contain her excitement. The power of the bells had made her stronger.

She unleashed several magical seals, the clash of spells blasting a crater into the magical monolithic wall. Just then, the sound of bells crashed down like giant waves, followed by a terrifying silence. Like a tidal wave crashing against the shore, it quickly receded.

In an instant, every soul here froze like a statue, the only sound the echo of weapons hitting the ground. The spirits beside the Great Well of Souls were all frozen, frozen in the moment of running and screaming, like a gruesome wax museum in Bilgewater.

Not only Thresh and Karthus, but even LeBlanc was affected; her helmet rolled to the ground as she lost her grip. The humans on the other side of the well, however, were largely unaffected, and Swain, witnessing this, couldn't help but be moved.

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. We have to get our hands on that helmet.” Swain limped toward the other side, with Riven and the others following closely behind. They nervously circled around the stiff ghosts, their eyes fixed on their menacing postures, their faces filled with disbelief.

Just as Swain was about to pick up the helmet, a pale arm snatched it away first.

It was Vladimir. Although he looked somewhat disheveled, after absorbing the blood from the corpse into his body, not only were his wounds repaired, but he also looked radiant.

"Ah, Commander-in-Chief, you can't just take this away like that." Vladimir clutched the helmet, strands of blood flying toward the ring beside him, the stench of blood so strong it was suffocating.

"Are you going to oppose me?" Swain's hawk-like eyes narrowed slightly, his imposing presence radiating authority.

"What a joke! I arrived in Noxus before you were even born!"

Vladimir's laughter abruptly stopped, only to be gripped by Swain's inhuman grip on his throat. The Grand Commander lifted him up with a demonic hand, his feet off the ground, and he did not appear as old as he looked.

"Ha, I underestimated you..." Vladimir's eyes widened, blood gushing from his seven orifices. In the blink of an eye, he became a blood-soaked figure, slipping away from Swain's clutches like a slippery eel.

He went to the Soul-Suppressing Bell, ripped off the blood-stained canvas, and slammed it down with his palm.

Then—bang! The bell rang again, its sound louder than a cannon.

The sound infused the undead with energy, and they began to move again. LeBlanc's awakening also caused Swain and the others to temporarily halt their pursuit and prepare for battle.

The surrounding raging undead immediately devoured them, and in the chaos, Swain's eyes were fixed on Vladimir.

He knew the bell wouldn't keep ringing forever; the next time it stopped would be his chance to seize it.

Chapter 768 Unexpected Changes

The sound of the bell echoed continuously in the well, and countless vengeful spirits gathered into a huge mass, emitting a ghostly light, stretching out their ghostly claws, and rolled over like a stone.

LeBlanc bound the rolling stones with chains, but they immediately scattered into countless individuals, sweeping over like a tsunami and indiscriminately attacking everyone.

"Why didn't you tell me about the side effects of the Soul-Suppressing Bell?" LeBlanc cursed under her breath, casting a spell with her hands to guard her mind and prevent the magic from running rampant in her body, because she didn't want to fall into that eerie stillness again afterward.

"You're the one who told me to use this." Seeing that Vladimir couldn't come up with anything good, LeBlanc reached out to take the helmet back, but Vladimir deflected her hand. "Hey! Let me keep this helmet for now, so it doesn't fall on the ground again."

A barely perceptible glint of anger flashed in LeBlanc's eyes, but in the end she chose to endure and compromise.

Now she's in a bind. If she doesn't use the Soul-Suppressing Bell, she can't outlast the undead. If she does use it, she'll be affected and Swain will steal her helmet.

If Swain were trustworthy, then handing the helmet to him would be better than having Thresh steal it. But the demon on him is a gift from Mordekaiser, and could turn against him at any moment. [The last part is a nonsensical string of characters and doesn't translate directly.]

Riven, supporting her broken ribs with one hand and gripping her broken sword with the other, tried her best to fight off the undead. She broke her fingers and cracked open the wet skull, but the undead continued to leave wounds on her body.

Even a light touch felt like some of her heat was being drained away. But she didn't hold back, attacking the undead with a mix of stabs and slashes.