The long lance was held horizontally, its tip concentrated with enough negative energy to pierce through a city wall, forming a deathly web covering the dragon's torso with a ghostly blue aura.
Seeing this scene, the Necromancer's lips curled into a hideous smile, highly satisfied with the result.
Although his realm had fallen, having become a Witch Demon, he gained a deeper understanding of the undead's thought processes. His control over the Undead Legion did not diminish; instead, it reached new heights, orchestrating them like a form of deathly artistry.
In his mind, whether the dragon chose to clash head-on or evade, at least a few of the lances would strike from its weakest angles.
"Charging alone... Do you think you're the Saint King? Only a rare few could hope to challenge the Undead Legion with just themselves; such folly only leads to death."
"Foolish dragon, you'll soon become my toy."
The Necromancer focused his mind to command the army.
