Chapter 73: The Warning
Deep within the heart of the Morveth horde, Vorgath slowly rose from his throne. The scent of fresh blood drifted through the forest with the cold night wind, and his crimson eyes narrowed the moment it reached him.
"What is this?" he growled.
A scout rushed into the command camp before dropping to one knee, his entire body trembling.
"My Lord... we’re under attack."
Vorgath didn’t answer. He simply walked past the kneeling scout, his massive figure forcing every Morveth in his path to lower its head instinctively. Without another word, he headed toward the eastern edge of the encampment.
Silence greeted him.
The forest was eerily still. There were no battle cries, no sounds of retreat, and no traces of a struggle that should have shaken the entire camp. Only hundreds of corpses lay scattered across the ground, as though death itself had passed through the area and vanished without leaving behind a single witness.
His gaze slowly swept across the battlefield.
Not one corpse belonged to the attackers.
Every body littering the ground was that of a Morveth.
Whoever had launched this assault had walked straight into the heart of the horde... and walked out again without losing a single soldier.
Then his eyes stopped.
At the center of the battlefield stood a grotesque mountain of corpses. Hundreds of bodies had been stacked together with deliberate precision, forming a monument that could be seen from every direction.
Before it, carved across the blood-soaked earth in enormous crimson letters, was a single sentence.
BLACKTHORN SHALL BE YOUR GRAVE.
Vorgath remained silent.
His crimson eyes lingered on the blood-written message before shifting back to the mountain of corpses. He had witnessed kingdoms fall, cities burn, and battlefields where the dead outnumbered the living. Yet this scene stirred a feeling he had not experienced in a very long time.
This wasn’t chaos.
It wasn’t the desperate resistance of cornered prey.
It was a declaration of war.
Someone had entered the center of his army, slaughtered hundreds of Morveth, killed one of his commanders... then calmly left behind a warning before disappearing into the darkness.
A nearby Fallen lowered his head.
"My Lord..."
Vorgath raised a hand, silencing him before he could continue.
His expression remained calm, almost indifferent, but every commander present felt the temperature around them plummet.
Those who had served under Vorgath for years understood exactly what that silence meant.
The calmer he appeared...the greater his anger.
Finally, his gaze settled upon one of the Fallen commanders standing behind him.
"Go."
The Fallen immediately stepped forward.
"Inspect the pile."
Vorgath paused for a brief moment before adding one final word.
"...Carefully."
The Fallen bowed before advancing with slow, cautious steps. Every instinct screamed that something was wrong, yet he continued toward the mountain until he stood only a few meters away.
Then...
The corpses began to glow.
A faint emerald light spread from one body to the next, racing across the mountain faster and faster until every corpse shone with the same eerie radiance.
The Fallen’s eyes widened.
"My Lo—"
The world exploded.
A deafening roar shook the forest as the mountain of corpses erupted into a storm of black mana. The shockwave swept across the battlefield, consuming everything in its path. Hundreds of Morveth were swallowed instantly, their bodies torn apart before they even had time to scream.
Blood rained from the sky.
Fragments of armor, shattered bones, and burning flesh scattered across the camp as the explosion carved a massive crater where the mountain had once stood.
The Fallen commander was hurled dozens of meters through the air before crashing violently against the ground. His armor had melted into blackened scraps, and large portions of his flesh had been burned away.
Even so...he was still alive.
Barely.
Vorgath never moved.
The edge of the explosion reached him before dissipating into nothing, stirring only the hem of his dark cloak. His crimson eyes remained fixed upon the smoking crater, unreadable as ever.
A trap.
Hidden within the dead.
His enemy hadn’t merely defeated his soldiers.
He had predicted exactly what would happen after the battle ended.
For the first time...
Vorgath realized he wasn’t facing a reckless warrior.
He was facing a hunter.
Without taking his eyes off the ruined battlefield, he spoke in a calm voice that echoed throughout the silent camp.
"Gather every commander."
A brief silence followed.
"No one leaves this camp... until I know who dared challenge me."
Earlier that evening, in the Vesperion Duchy...
The observation hall had fallen silent.
Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the magical screen, where the battle had just reached its climax. The massive Morveth commander—Gravios—had collapsed. But it wasn’t the wounds on his body that had killed him. It was something else entirely.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Darian exploded.
"HE COPIED ITS SKILL! ACTUALLY COPIED IT! I DIDN’T KNOW THAT WAS EVEN POSSIBLE!"
Daria was already on her feet, still holding her snack like she’d forgotten she was eating. "Forget copying—did you see that green fire?! He didn’t touch him! Not once! The Morveth just... dropped!"
"Wait wait wait," Darian said, spinning toward her. "That flame—what even was that?"
"I don’t know but I like it."
Velrosa didn’t move from her seat. Her crimson hair caught the torchlight as she tilted her head, watching the twins with an expression that was equal parts amusement and warning.
"If you two break anything," she said, her voice calm, almost sweet, "I’ll deduct the cost from your allowances. Assuming you survive my reaction."
Darian froze mid-step. Daria’s hand stopped halfway to her mouth.
The twins exchanged a glance, then slowly lowered themselves back into their seats.
"...We’re good," Darian said.
"We’re very good," Daria added quickly.
"Good. I’m glad we understand each other."
The Third Banner Bearer leaned forward, his voice quieter, more measured. "That wasn’t an ordinary skill. A soul-targeting ability capable of bypassing every physical defense..." He slowly shook his head. "That’s an Epic-rank skill at the very least."
The Fourth Banner Bearer’s eyes remained fixed on the screen.
"What’s truly frightening... is that he used an Epic-rank skill as though it were nothing."
Daria finally lowered her snack, her excitement cooling into something more serious.
"So the kid we all thought was a weak mage... can copy abilities, attack souls directly, and turn corpses into bombs?"
Alex Vesperion had remained silent throughout the entire exchange. His green eyes never left the screen.
"He wasn’t just killing them."
Everyone turned toward him.
"Everything he did tonight..." Alex said calmly. "The message. The corpses. Even the explosion..."
"It was all meant to leave an impression."
The Third Banner Bearer slowly nodded as realization dawned on him.
"He’s making them fear Blackthorn."
Alex gave a slight nod.
"From this moment on, every reckless assault on Blackthorn will carry doubt. They’ll hesitate... wondering if another trap is waiting for them."
The Fourth Banner Bearer folded his arms, a faint smile appearing on his face.
"He didn’t just kill hundreds of Morveth..."
"...he planted the seeds of fear and division within their ranks."
The elders exchanged quiet glances, each replaying the battle in silence. None of them had expected the youngest to reveal so many secrets.
Helena Vesperion remained seated gracefully, her hands folded in her lap as her emerald-green eyes stayed fixed upon the magical screen. She watched the undead standing behind Malrik for several moments before finally breaking the silence.
"Did anyone notice something strange about the youngest’s undead?" she asked softly. "When he resurrected those Morveth... the corpses themselves never moved."
Several brows furrowed as everyone looked back toward the screen. Only after Helena pointed it out did they realize what she meant.
Elder Rhazakar slowly nodded, his aged eyes studying the undead with unusual interest. "She’s right. He never revived the original corpses. Instead, something emerged from them... perfect replicas with flawless bodies, untouched by broken bones or even the injuries that had killed them."
"A Necromancer raises the dead by restoring the corpse itself," Helena continued, her expression growing increasingly thoughtful. "But the youngest’s undead are entirely different. They are not repaired corpses... they are completely new bodies."
Silence settled over the hall once again. It was a detail so subtle that not a single one of them had noticed it during the battle, yet now it was impossible to ignore.
Helena’s gaze shifted back toward Gravios before she spoke again. "And then he copied Gravity. Skills capable of manipulating the natural laws themselves are extraordinarily rare. House Evermont is one of the very few ducal families whose bloodline inherited abilities—and even Laws—connected to rare elements such as Gravity."
She gently tapped the armrest of her chair, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Yet the youngest shattered that rule completely. I have never heard of anyone capable of copying a skill with such precision. What conditions could possibly make such a thing possible... beyond merely observing it?"
She fell silent for a brief moment before continuing. "It has to be one of three possibilities. A unique skill... an extraordinary artifact... or perhaps a Legendary Weapon. Only an existence of that caliber should be capable of achieving something like this."
Turning toward Elder Eldric, Helena’s calm gaze sharpened. "Tell me exactly what the youngest received from the vault."
Eldric blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sudden question. "Great Lady Helena, the youngest received nothing from the vault except a single Spirit Crystal."
For the first time since the discussion began, Helena frowned. "A Spirit Crystal? Why would someone who was still at Mortal Rank need one?"
Eldric could only shake his head helplessly. "I have no idea. That was entirely his own choice."
Before Helena could ask another question, Rhazakar’s deep voice echoed quietly throughout the hall. "There may be another explanation. Many years ago, I came across an ancient chronicle describing a race capable of changing its appearance and wielding the abilities of those whose identities it assumed. They were known as the Identity Devourers."
The atmosphere in the hall immediately changed. Even Helena’s usually calm expression showed a hint of surprise as she turned toward the old elder.
"You believe the youngest could be one of them?"
Rhazakar slowly raised a hand, stopping her before she could continue. "No. I do not. That race vanished thousands of years ago, and no one has heard so much as a whisper about them since. It is far more likely that the youngest simply acquired an extraordinary artifact or weapon—perhaps during his advancement trial. I cannot allow myself to reach a conclusion based on nothing but speculation."
The Duke finally broke his silence, his deep voice carrying an authority that immediately brought the discussion to an end. "Elder Rhazakar is right. We will not rush to judgment, and this matter will not leave this hall until we know the truth."
The elders silently nodded in agreement.
House Vesperion had stood at the summit of the Empire for countless generations.
Within these very walls sat four Supreme-ranked powerhouses, each possessing enough strength to bring a small empire to its knees.
Any one of the three elders gathered in this hall could have established a duchy of their own had they ever desired such a thing.
None of them ever did.
For every member of House Vesperion, family had always come before power, wealth, or territory. Everything else was secondary.
The same was true now.
Whatever the youngest had used tonight was undoubtedly no ordinary power. Abilities capable of overturning common sense had a way of drawing the attention of those who should never be allowed to notice them.
Throughout history, countless extraordinary talents had disappeared long before reaching their full potential, not because they lacked strength... but because they had revealed it too early.
House Vesperion feared no enemy.
But the youngest was still far too weak to stand beneath the gaze of those monsters lurking in the shadows of the Empire.
Until he possessed the strength to protect himself, the fewer people who knew the truth about his abilities... the better.
None of them—not even those who had watched him grow since childhood—could say with certainty where the limits of his abilities truly lay.
Every answer they found seemed only to uncover another mystery waiting beneath it.
He was supposed to possess nothing more than a Hidden Class... Necromancer.
Yet everything they had witnessed tonight had already surpassed the boundaries that title was supposed to represent.
His undead were unlike anything recorded in the Empire’s history. Rather than reanimating damaged corpses, they emerged with flawless bodies untouched by the wounds of death, carrying strength that rivaled—perhaps even surpassed—the living Morveth they had once been.
Nor did the abnormalities end there.
He possessed a skill capable of ignoring every physical defense to strike directly at the soul itself.
He had demonstrated an ability to perfectly replicate powers that should have been impossible to obtain. And finally, he had transformed an entire mountain of corpses into a devastating trap powerful enough to annihilate hundreds of Morveth in a single instant.
No one in that hall could remember ever witnessing a Hidden Class capable of such things.
Yet what troubled them most wasn’t what the youngest had revealed.
It was what he hadn’t.
Throughout the entire battle, not once had he looked cornered. Not once had he been forced into desperation. Every decision had been deliberate, every movement measured, as though the battle had unfolded exactly the way he intended from the very beginning.
Which left only one question.
Had they truly witnessed everything he was capable of...
Or had the youngest merely revealed the cards he was willing to show?
No one could answer that.
But every instinct they possessed told them the same thing.
This was only the beginning.
The Duke finally turned his attention toward Helena, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever.
"What do you see?"
Helena slowly closed her emerald-green eyes, her breathing becoming steady as her slender fingers drifted gracefully through the air, weaving invisible threads that no one else in the hall could perceive.
The entire hall remained perfectly still. No one dared interrupt whenever Helena invoked her Gift, knowing that even the slightest disturbance could break her concentration.
Several long moments passed before her hands finally came to a stop.
Then...
Helena slowly opened her eyes.
A faint smile spread across her lips.
"Soon..."
She looked toward the magical screen once more, her emerald eyes gleaming with quiet certainty.
"...Very soon."
******
Author’s Note : Sorry for the delayed Chapter. I’ve been dealing with a fever recently, but I didn’t want to keep you waiting any longer, so I pushed through and finished this Chapter.
I’m feeling better now, so updates should become more frequent again.
Thank you all for your continued support! ❤️