Chapter 36: Chapter 36

The robed man, with a hint of amusement in his voice, speaks as if he could sense the confusion etched on my face. A gentle chuckle escapes his lips, as he begins to explain, "Do not be confused, they are exactly what you might be thinking. They are the undead, the very same creatures that you and your companion, Carl, have fought against." He then proceeds to showcase his power by materializing a chair before him, intricately crafted entirely out of earth, with every detail and nuance perfectly formed. 

He sits upon it with a grace and ease, as if it were a throne fit for a king. He then points towards me and Carl, his gaze and voice filled with conviction as he confirms his previous statement, "They are the exact same undeads you two had fought against, reanimated corpses brought back to life through dark magic."

As the robed leader sits confidently before his assembled army of undead, a sense of eerie harmony fills the air. Each of the robed figures, dressed in tattered and frayed garments, falls into perfect formation without a single mistake. Their eyes, dull and lifeless, are fixed upon their leader as they kneel in unison behind him.

The leader surveys the scene with a massive grin on his face, clearly pleased with the precise movements of his undead minions. "See," he declares triumphantly, "aren't they just perfect?" The assembled army, being undead, do not respond but their perfect formation and synchronized movement alone, speaks volumes of the leader's control over them.

"How truly horrid and repugnant you are," exclaimed Carl, his voice filled with disdain and disgust. His muscles tense as he tightly grips his spear, the metal glinting in the light as mana radiates out of him in powerful waves. The anger on his face is clear for all of us to see, his eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, and his body language exuding rage. He seems to radiate fury like an aura, and it is evident that he is beyond furious.

The knight standing beside him is also in a state of fury, his face contorted in anger. His armor clinks and rattles as he shifts his weight, his gauntleted hand tightly gripping the hilt of his sword. He seems to be ready to strike at any moment, his eyes locked on the robed man before us. I can't help but feel a sense of revulsion as I grip my sword tightly with my right hand, my mind completely consumed by the insane actions of the robed man standing before us.

The robed man, adorned in rich, velvet robes that cascade down his tall and slender frame, stands up from his throne with a fluid grace. As he rises, the undead minions that stand guard behind him, also stir to life. Their eyes, once dull and lifeless, now gleam with a malevolent intelligence as they mirror their master's movements, rising to their feet in unison. The robed man's voice is low and commanding as he speaks, "Why do you allow such emotions to cloud your judgement towards your enemies? In the grand scheme of things, their ultimate fate was already sealed."

"Whether it be today or tomorrow, death was inevitable for them. All I have done is simply altered their form, giving them a far more remarkable existence. They are now immortal, unyielding and powerful, serving me in death as they could not in life." He continues, "Death is a natural part of life, and it is a transition that all living beings must inevitably face. Instead of mourning their passing, you should celebrate the fact that they have been given a new and extraordinary form, one that transcends the limitations of the mortal coil."

My anger is like a raging inferno, consuming me from within as I let out a deafening scream, my fury causing the solid concrete beneath my feet to crack and shatter. The very ground trembles beneath me, as if in sympathy with the intensity of my emotions. "You are no longer human," I bellowed at the robed figure standing before me. He looks at me with a disdainful expression, as if I am nothing but a mere insect to him. His eyes are cold and calculated, like those of a predator sizing up its prey. 

"I have never been human," he replies, his voice as cold and emotionless as the winter wind. "Not since the world rejected and cast me out. Do you truly believe that one would simply ignore the presence of maggots thriving in their food?" His words are like a sharpened blade, each one chosen with precision and delivered with deadly intent. The disdain and contempt he holds for me and for humanity as a whole is written plainly on his face.

"Take these fools for example" the speaker begins, his voice carrying an air of authority. He extends his arm, pointing towards the group of undead individuals who stand motionless, their eyes empty and their skin pale. "These individuals, like myself, were once nothing more than lowly maggots, scurrying about and polluting the sustenance of others with their mere existence. But now, through the arcane arts of necromancy, they have been granted a new lease on life, and with it, a new level of existence far superior to their previous, insignificant state." The speaker's eyes seem to gleam with pride as he surveys the group of undead, a sense of accomplishment in his voice.

The knight, with a determined look upon his face, strides forward as he unsheathes his sword and holds it aloft, pointed directly at the robed man before him. His voice is filled with conviction and a hint of confusion as he speaks, "I must know, why do you partake in such heinous acts as the abduction of innocent children and the taking of my lady? Explain yourself, for I cannot fathom the reasoning behind such vile deeds." The knight's expression is one of clear confusion, as if he cannot comprehend the reason for abducting children. He stands ready, sword at the ready, as he awaits an explanation from the robed man.

The robed man, garbed in a flowing robe of deep burgundy, stands tall and still before the knight. He brings his hand up to his forehead, his fingers splaying across his brow as if deep in thought, contemplating whether or not he should reveal something to the knight. He stands in silence for a moment, his eyes closed as if lost in deep contemplation. 

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After a moment of contemplation, he turns his gaze back to the knight and speaks, "There is only two reasons for this, my dear knight. I must ask you, do you believe that the undead beings behind me possess the capability of following orders with great strength and efficiency?" The robed man's voice is measured and thoughtful as he poses his question to the knight, his hand still resting on his forehead.

The knight, standing before the robed man, remains silent and unmoving, unable to respond to the question that has been posed to him. The robed man, his eyes scanning the group before him, waits patiently for a moment before speaking once more. "But of course they can," he begins, his voice calm and measured, "they follow my orders to the letter without fail. However, there are only two flaws to something as that. Can you tell me what they are?" he asks, his gaze now fixed upon each member of the group, his eyes searching for an answer.

With a confident and assertive tone, I raise my voice to share my knowledge. My words are spoken with conviction and authority, as I am certain that I possess the necessary understanding and expertise to address the issue. "One of the underlying causes of this particular predicament," I begin, elaborating on my thoughts with precision and detail, "is the fact that it is impossible to maintain the functionality of the undead indefinitely. Their bodies may still be animated, but they are no longer alive in the traditional sense, and as a result, will eventually deteriorate and cease to function." The robed man, who had been silent up until this point, now grins widely, clearly impressed by my insight and understanding of the situation. 

The robed man, with a grandiose gesture, brings his hands together with a thunderous clap that echoes through the area. His voice is deep and commanding as he speaks, "Indeed, you have spoken with great wisdom. The undead creatures that I have brought to life through my magic, though they may seem invincible, will inevitably deteriorate over time. The very essence of their being, held together by the threads of my magic, will slowly unravel, leaving nothing but dust and bones in their wake. But this is not the only limitation that I must contend with."

He pauses, his gaze shifting behind him towards the undead robed men who were once his comrades in arms. They stand, motionless and unyielding, a silent testament to his power. The robed man continues, "My own mana, the source of my power, is not infinite. I must be cautious with how I use it, for if I were to exhaust it, my magic would falter and the undead under my command would cease to function. Imagine if I had an endless supply of mana at my disposal, I would have an army of undead soldiers at my beck and call, ready to do my bidding at all times. But alas, that is not the case."

He turns back to face all of us and adds, "And yet, there is another reason why I cannot simply continue to create more and more undead soldiers. Even if I were to have an endless supply of mana, the undead that I control will never become stronger than they are at this moment. They will remain as they are, unyielding and unchanging, forever bound to my will. Their strength does not increase with time, and their abilities will never evolve. They are forever frozen in time, a reflection of the moment they were brought back to life."

As the individual finished speaking, my mind begins to race with a troubling realization. I can't shake the feeling that there is a sinister purpose behind the abduction of the children. I hesitate for a moment, unsure if I want to know the answer to the question that is forming in my mind. But eventually, I muster the courage to speak up. "Please tell me I'm wrong," I say, my voice filled with a mix of hope and fear. "Are you planning on using these children in the same way as the undead creatures standing here before us?" The thought of such a heinous act make my stomach churn with disgust and dread.

The man before me stands tall and proud, his face a mask of stoicism. But as I spoke, a subtle shift in his expression caught my attention, a small smile began to form on his lips, a gesture that I took as a sign that my words were true. I can feel the energy coursing through my body as I focuse my mind, infusing my feet with a powerful surge of mana. I can feel the ground beneath my feet rumbling as I launch myself towards him. My sword, held high above my head, shone with a brilliant light as the mana that I had imbued it with radiated outwards. 

The robed man, seeing my attack, quickly drew his own sword, the steel glinting in the sunlight, and brings it up to block mine. But he is taken aback when, with a single swift strike, I not only shattered his sword with ease, the shards of steel flying everywhere, but also managed to inflict a deep and serious wound upon him, his blood spilling out and staining his robes.

He is on his knees, clutching his injured right shoulder, his face contorted in pain. I speak with conviction as I tell him, "This has gone far enough, you are dead." I take a moment to survey the scene, taking note of the blood and debris scattered around us. The sound of my breathing is the only noise that can be heard as I prepare to deliver the final blow. But just as I am about to strike, he looks up at me and I see a hint of a smile on his face. It's a small, almost imperceptible gesture, but it's enough to make me pause and wonder what he could possibly find amusing in this dire situation.

As he is on his knees, his eyes lock onto mine with a fierce intensity. "How many times am I going to have to remind you?" He exclaims, his voice rising with each word. "I will not die and instead, it will be you who will meet your end." His words are cold and calculated, sending a chill down my spine. As he speaks, the undead horde behind him begin to stir, their decaying bodies slowly lurching forward as they prepare to make their move.

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