Lindarion glided forward like a shadow, slicing through the air itself as he broke past the skeletons.
'I have to give it everything. If we lose here, we all die.'
His sword flashed, carving through bone like a knife through wet parchment. But even as he cut them down, more rose from the ground, their hollow sockets glowing with eerie blue light.
"Don't you dare give up!"
His voice thundered across the battlefield. A shockwave of will.
The archers trembled. They had thought they'd won, but the enemy refused to fall. Now, they stood frozen in fear, their hands gripping useless bows.
198's fingers quivered as the undead lurched toward the archers, their movements stiff yet relentless.
Lindarion's sharp eyes caught the hesitation. His gaze burned with fury.
"If you surrender now, then everything was for nothing!"
The entire unit turned toward him. The swordsmen, mid-slash, faltered for just a second. The archers, whose morale had already shattered, clenched their jaws. Even 112, the support mage, who had been desperately chanting, raised his head.
And Eight, the guardian of the archers, stood her ground—keeping the archers alive but listening.
"Did you just act on impulse back then? Or was 42's death meaningless to you?"
Lindarion's voice cut through them like a blade sharper than his own. He casually bisected a skeleton as he spoke, its bones already beginning to knit back together.
The words reached 198's core. Her hands stopped trembling.
'How the hell is a kid motivating me ..?'
She exhaled sharply and met Lindarion's gaze.
"ARCHERS! SUPPORT THE CAPTAIN! CLEAR A PATH!"
No hesitation. No fear. Only obedience.
They nocked their arrows, their mana surging as the projectiles crackled with power. The air shimmered with volatile energy, and the next volley rained down, obliterating the undead that dared to approach Lindarion.
"112! WE NEED EVERY SUPPORT SPELL NOW!"
Lindarion's command echoed.
112 snapped into action, gripping her staff as she muttered a rapid incantation. Azure light ignited the battlefield.
He danced through the skeletons, his every step fueled by an overwhelming surge of mana. His core burned, the darkness within him spiraling into motion.
His mana was not endless. Not even close.
Mana-enchanted arrows zipped past him, shattering skulls and ribs in perfect synchronization. The path to the Lich was wide open.
The Lich—if it had a face—would have worn an expression of sheer disbelief.
But Lindarion didn't know if this gamble would work.
He had bet everything on this one moment.
The darkness inside his mana core swirled violently, like a planet spinning in an inescapable orbit.
A shadowy mist spilled from Lindarion's feet, creeping like ink bleeding through paper.
The Lich was consumed.
For the first time since the battle began, fear filled the battlefield.
Even his companions stared in shock.
Eight's thoughts scrambled as she barely held the defensive line before the archers.
"Team Leader! We're getting overrun!"
12's frantic voice broke through the battlefield noise. Another wave of skeletons crashed into them, forcing the entire squad backward.
But Lindarion did not stop.
The shadows devoured the Lich whole.
The Lich's shrill, an ear-piercing wail rippled through the air as if the very fabric of reality had torn.
Bone turned to dust, disintegrating like sand slipping through fingers.
Lindarion collapsed to his knees.
Blood trickled from his nose. His vision blurred.
[New Darkness Summon Unlocked!]
[Host Can Now Summon – Wretched Necromancer, Kaelvox Morvain]
[Mana Pool Increased Slightly.]
The Lich itself had never been truly powerful.
It was the endless waves of undead that made it so. If not for that, it was nothing but an overgrown corpse in a robe.
But Lindarion's darkness had erased it.
'In the end… I did almost everything myself.'
So much for teamwork.
Lindarion exhaled sharply, rolling onto his back. His body ached a little here and there, but it was manageable.
His absorption with darkness was too much for his mana pool. It was a really taxing ability, maybe a little too taxing honestly.
When he absorbed Selene it was way easier due to Selene letting herself be consumed. However, the Lich was resisting which made Lindarion exhaust himself even more.
He stared up at the ceiling, breathing heavily.
112 rushed to Lindarion without hesitation.
"Captain…" she knelt beside him, placing a hand over his chest as healing magic surged.
"You big big…don't overexert yourself"
Hearing 112's words made Lindarion smile a little. She was like a child.
In truth, Lindarion wasn't injured.
He had simply burned through too much mana at once.
'Still… this feels nice.'
His exhaustion lingered, but the warmth of the spell was soothing.
The rest of the squad gathered around him, tension still clinging to the air. Then—198 stepped forward.
"That was impressive, Captain." She lowered her head slightly. "If you hadn't been here… none of us would have made it."
Regret flickered across her face. She had doubted Lindarion before. Resented him. But now? It was different.
However, no one blamed him for resenting him.
Some of them had felt the same at some point.
"Y-You are powerful captain, thank you for saving us"
112 said as she looked at Lindarion with an innocent smile. It was warm, extremely so. Her brown eyes were shining endlessly.
"You're ridiculously strong, Captain."
12's voice cut through the silence, matter-of-fact but firm.
Even Eight—silent as ever—nodded.
'I'd like to rest a little longer… but we need to keep moving.'
He steadied his breath, already gathering mana. His Blessing accelerated the process, allowing him to recover far faster than an average person.
Eight offered it without a word.
Lindarion took it, pulling himself up. His body still felt heavy, but it didn't matter.
His gaze shifted past the throne.
On to the gate behind it.
Scribbles were visible all over the gate like they were drawn by some kind of ancient child playing a game.
"We should move. I think we're close to the end."
The others exchanged glances, then nodded.
This could be the final chamber.
But that would mean this is the final challenge.
And the strongest enemy yet.
'I have to be ready.'
Lindarion took a deep breath, then spoke—loud and firm.
He pulled the communication device from his pocket.
{Approaching the third gate.}
The response came instantly.
{Good luck, trainees.}
Magnus didn't hesitate.
Lindarion's grip tightened around the device.
'Luck huh, I guess we will need it.'
He turned toward the massive doors, looming over them like the entrance to another world.
What could be waiting for them inside?
If it was a dragon, they were already doomed from the start.
They didn't have any second chances.
But Lindarion wasn't planning to die today.
And so—he stepped forward toward the large gate.
"Maintain formation. No matter what's on the other side, don't break it at all costs."
The squad nodded, tightening their grip on their weapons. As they reached the gate, its sheer size felt even more overwhelming up close.
'Let this be the last one.'
Lindarion placed both palms against the surface.
Unlike the previous doors, which had been cold and lifeless, this one felt alive. A strange, pulsing heat radiated from it, sinking into his skin.
His instincts screamed at him.
Something was wrong. Way too wrong.
The gate groaned and trembled as it slowly pushed open, shaking the entire cavern.
'Alright… let's see if we live or die.'
A massive hall unfolded before them—far grander than any they had encountered before.
Towering marble pillars lined the chamber, reaching toward a vaulted ceiling that disappeared into darkness. Golden torches illuminated every corner, casting an eerie, unnatural glow over the floor.
At the far end, a throne.
But unlike the previous ones, this wasn't made of some kind of sculpted stone.
A deep, gleaming obsidian-gold, as if it had been forged from darkness itself. This was the real deal.
And upon it—a figure.
Lindarion wasn't sure.
A floating black crown hovered above its head, its edges flickering like a dying flame.
'Not a knight, maybe some kind of king…?'
The figure's armor was entirely black, the metal absorbing the torchlight instead of reflecting it. A double edged sword the size of a child rested in his arms.
Twin voids, endless and empty.
Darkness bled from the gaps in its plate, a suffocating presence that made Lindarion's squad shudder.
"Stay ready for anything—"
Before he could finish—
The throne was empty.
Lindarion's head snapped around, scanning—where? Where did it even go?
A single drop of liquid echoed through the chamber. Lindarion's body froze upon hearing the sound.
None of them could even react to the king's movement.
Then—a gurgle came from behind him.
'You can't be serious..'
Lindarion spun around, his heart slamming against his ribs.
His fingers trembled.
Then—a dull, wet thud.
Lindarion's heart sank, almost like he was thrown into the middle of an endless ocean.
The body lay collapsed on the stone.
The rest of the trainees turned to face the king, their bodies shaking with pure fear.
198 tried to say something as his voice came out shaking like the words of a newborn.
"N-No..t-this can't be.."
Her bow dropped to the ground, the large sound echoing in the chamber.
Lindarion's blood ran cold.
the Black King turned toward them, his eternally dark armored hand gripping the head of its first victim.