Stacian gently set Leornars down, her hands still trembling from the residual shock. As she moved him, a folded piece of parchment slipped from his inner coat pocket and fluttered to the stone floor. Picking it up, she scanned the contents—it was the confidential message sent directly by Prince Edward, detailing Princess Alisha Montgomery's frantic escape route.
The letter explicitly noted that the princess was a high-tier telepath and an expert martial artist who used her mind-reading abilities to predict and counter every physical strike. Reading it over, Stacian realized with grim clarity that Leornars had calculated everything well before the confrontation. Alisha was a powerful telepath, but she lacked offensive spellcasting capabilities, capping her physical movement at a maximum of 126 miles per hour.
*Against someone running at Mach 8, it wasn't even a remotely fair fight,* Stacian thought, shaking her head.
Suddenly, a strange green aura began emanating around Leornars' body, catching her off guard. She blinked in confusion.
*Is he using Light magic? No... Healing magic. But he has never attempted to heal himself before—doing that without proper mana balance is extremely dangerous!*
As Stacian immediately began channeling her own high-tier Dryiand mana to stabilize his core and replenish his exhausted mana reservoir, his self-inflicted wounds began to knit back together at a visible rate. But as her consciousness dipped into his inner soul space to direct the mana flow, a sudden, suffocating cold sweat broke across her neck. Her eyes dilated in absolute terror.
Deep within the abyss of Leornars' soul, a colossal, pitch-black figure—nearly 400 feet high—stared down at her with hollow, cosmic eyes. The sheer pressure of its existence slammed into her mind, freezing the blood in her veins.
She opened her mouth in a silent scream of primal horror before the shadowy titan dissolved back into the dark recesses of his psyche.
"What... what kind of living nightmare was that?!" Stacian gasped out loud, dropping her hands as her fingers went completely numb and shaky. "That... that was a walking apocalypse. Something like that shouldn't even exist... No, it isn't supposed to exist even in the darkest ancient folktales!"
She pressed a hand to her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I've lived for 2,800 years. I've traveled across continents, encountered entities that defy explanation—Demon Lords, Heavenly Kings, primordial witches, spectral horrors... but *this* is far beyond my knowledge and comprehension. Add in the fact that he tanked a 45,000°C point-blank solar explosion and walked away breathing... He's stopping being a hero and becoming a world-ending calamity."
Leornars let out a low grunt, his eyelids fluttering. In a flash of dark mist, Bellian materialized at his side and carefully lifted his master's limp form.
"Take him directly to his private quarters in the castle," Stacian ordered, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
Bellian gave a silent nod and vanished into the night at Mach 6.
Stacian watched the empty air where they had stood, letting out a long, weary sigh. "He possesses an impossible memory, terrifying adaptability, unmatched strategic intellect... and now he harbors a entity like *that* inside his soul. I genuinely feel bad for the human race."
She flexed her trembling fingers and leapt into the air, following close behind.
Meanwhile, far to the south in the Kingdom of Durmount...
Sahara Kurnov and the remaining squad of summoned heroes were clearing out massive monster infestations along the kingdom's perimeter, slaying wyverns, rogue goblins, and stray orc platoons. As they wiped the blood from their blades and sat down to rest near a ruined outpost, Princess Selrose materialized behind Sahara.
"So, did you hear the latest report from the northern border?" Princess Selrose asked, her tone grave. "Apparently, Crown Princess Alisha of Lurtra has been assassinated."
Sahara looked up, her eyes wide with shock. "She visited our royal court just a few weeks ago alongside the elven princess... How could that happen? Don't tell me..."
"That's exactly what I'm thinking as well," Princess Selrose replied, her expression darkening.
"Leornars," both whispered in unison.
Selrose looked up at the cloudy sky, a bitter, uncertain shadow crossing her face. "Is he truly still a hero... or something else entirely?"
Farther north, near Durmount's outer frontier...
Kyle stood in the center of the abandoned, desolate ghost town where Leornars had once been left to starve. The empty streets were silent, save for the howling wind kicking up dust through broken window frames.
"I heard the local merchants were slaughtered and the regional lord was executed by the surviving commoners..." Kyle growled through gritted teeth, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his sword hilt. "Dammit, Leornars... I'll kill you for destroying everything in your path... Even if it's the very last thing I do in this life... I will cut you down!"
His voice echoed with pure, unadulterated hatred through the silent, dead town as he marched northward.
Back inside the grand castle's secluded courtyard...
Leornars stood examining his summoned undead forces under the moonlight. Bellian, Ascian, and several unnamed shadow soldiers stood rigidly in a line before him. He lifted Bellian's arm, twisting the joint slightly like a craftsman inspecting a tool.
"Hmmm..." Stacian hummed as she approached from the corridor.
Leornars turned his head slightly toward her. "The banquet begins tonight," he noted casually, lowering Bellian's arm.
Stacian's eyes widened slightly as she looked at the shadow knight. "Please be careful with him... That's my late uncle, Belluahn."
"Why would I destroy my most valuable asset?" Leornars replied calmly, dusting off the knight's shoulder plate. "Bellian is vastly superior in combat output compared to every other undead in my current arsenal. He is far too precious to waste."
Stacian let out a soft sigh and turned her head away.
*Heh... heh...*
A dry, raspy chuckle suddenly resonated through the quiet courtyard.
Both Stacian and Leornars froze.
Leornars' heterochromatic eyes widened in genuine, rare surprise, his usual icy composure cracking for a fraction of a second as they both slowly turned their attention back to the shadow knight.
"He... he can laugh?" Stacian stammered, taking a cautious step toward Bellian.
At that exact moment, a crisp, ethereal voice resonated directly within Leornars' mind:
> **[System Notice: Unique Skill - Necromancy (Level 8) Unlocked]**
>
"I see... I understand the underlying mechanic now," Leornars mused aloud, his expression returning to its cold, analytical state. "Once my Necromancy skill crosses a specific threshold, high-tier undead begin to recover their original personalities and cognitive identities. That is a useful development."
Stacian stepped closer, her eyes welling with sudden tears as she wrapped her arms around the tall shadow knight's armored frame. "Father..."
Leornars blinked, looking thoroughly confused. "Father? I thought you literally just said he was your uncle... Whatever."
He turned away and began casually patting the dense black fur of the inferno wolf, Ascian.
"Hi... Stacey..." Bellian whispered in a raspy, echoes-from-the-grave voice, his armored hand awkwardly resting on her shoulder as tears trickled down her cheeks.
Leornars walked away quietly, stepping back inside the castle and retreating to his private quarters. He sat on the edge of the master bed, staring blankly at the far stone wall.
"I wonder... When I renamed Belluahn to Bellian, his base combat authority scaled significantly higher," Leornars calculated softly. "Is this a passive perk of higher-level Necromancy, or something else entirely?"
He stood up, holding out his right hand as dark mist pooled across the floorboards.
"Awaken, Alisha," he commanded coldly.
A thick, violet-tinged fog erupted from his shadow, coalescing into the form of the fallen princess. She was still wearing the travel gown she died in, her head neatly restored to her neck. She instantly dropped to one knee before him.
Leornars stepped forward and placed his pale hand atop her head.
"From this day onward, your original identity is permanently forfeited," Leornars declared, his voice echoing with dark mana. "You are no longer Princess Alisha Montgomery... Your name is Zhylyena."
A surge of dense, dark evolution mana engulfed her body. Her physical form began to shift rapidly—her skin turned a flawless, porcelain pale, her golden hair transformed into shimmering snowy white, and her vibrant blue eyes shifted into a striking, crimson-and-black hue that subtly mirrored Leornars' own heterochromatic gaze.
"Speak," Leornars ordered.
Zhylyena raised her head, her voice smooth, melodious, and devoid of her former doubt. "I... Zhylyena, dedicate my absolute existence unto thee. I pledge my dreams, my intellect, and my power for the total advancement of thy grand design. From the darkest days to the coldest ages, I shall serve as thy unyielding shadow."
Suddenly, Zhylyena's eyes narrowed. She detected a faint, nervous heartbeat hovering just beyond the heavy wooden door.
In a fraction of a millisecond, she vanished, bursting through the doorway and grabbing the eavesdropper firmly by the throat. She dragged him back into the room like a ragdoll and slammed him onto the floorboards.
It was the royal chancellor.
The chancellor looked up, trembling in sheer terror as his eyes locked onto the white-haired entity before him. "P-Princess... Princess Alisha Montgomery?!"
"I no longer answer to that dead title," Zhylyena stated coldly, her crimson-black eyes staring down at him. "I am Zhylyena, loyal retainer to the White Plague."
The chancellor gasped, turning his horrified gaze toward Leornars, who stood calmly by his desk. "I knew it! You came here to completely destroy our kingdom from within! You murdered the crown princess, framed the Black Acers, and then profited off the very bounty placed on them! You are pure, unadulterated evil!"
Leornars tilted his head, a faint, humorless smile touching his lips. "When you lay it out so concisely... I suppose I really am, aren't I?"
"I'll report this high treason to His Majesty immediately!" the chancellor shouted, scrambling to his feet and lunging toward the open doorway—only for Zhylyena to instantly materialize in front of him, blocking his path like an impassable wall.
Leornars began to laugh—a low, quiet sound that quickly grew into a dark, mocking chuckle.
"Do you truly believe I would allow a bureaucratic worm like you to walk out of this room alive?" Leornars asked smoothly, stepping forward. "How delightfully naive."
Before the chancellor could react, Leornars delivered a brutal, lightning-fast punch straight into his ribcage.
*CRACK—!*
The impact shattered several ribs instantly, sending the chancellor collapsing back onto the floor, clutching his chest and wheezing in agony.
"W-Why... why are you doing all of this?!" the chancellor wheezed through blood-flecked lips.
"Since you're going to die in a few moments anyway, I'll indulge your curiosity," Leornars said, looking down at him with utter disgust. "I despise humanity. And as I recall, the prince recently informed me that the king was secretly plotting to betray me and deport me back to Durmount once the harvest was finished. So... consider this personal."
Leornars turned and walked toward the exit, adjusting his black silk cuffs.
"Zhylyena... kill him and dispose of his corpse where no one will discover it until tomorrow morning," Leornars commanded coldly as he stepped into the hallway.
"As you command, my Lord," Zhylyena replied.
A single, piercing scream echoed briefly behind the closed door, instantly cut short into absolute silence.
Leornars walked down the grand, lit corridor toward the main ballroom, a dark smirk settling across his face.
"Time for the banquet."