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Chapter 90: Resurrection Magic! The Enigmatic Leader of Zurrernorn
🕑 Added 2025-05-12 17:27:18 +0000 UTCLyle stepped onto the crumbling stone steps of the ruined temple, stopping beside the corpse of Khajit. The stench of blood hung heavy in the air, thick and tinged with rot.
Khajiit's decapitated head had rolled to the side, eyes wide open with bitter resentment, as if even in death he refused to accept his fate.
Lyle let out a quiet sigh—not out of pity, but rather surprise. At some point, scenes like this had stopped bothering him.
Over a month of slaughtering goblins in the Forest Tob had clearly left its mark. He used to balk at killing a chicken back on Earth. Now? After just two months in this world, he'd grown numb to the sight of corpses.
Without ceremony, he reached down and picked up Khajiit's two magical items: the Shadow Staff and a bone necklace. Both radiated necromantic energy. Useful, perhaps, but not for him.
Khajit's blood-red robe had also been a magical item, but unfortunately it had been half-incinerated by the Flame Archangels' assault. A pity—it probably would've fetched a good price.
After examining the items and confirming they were of little personal value, Lyle turned to the four towering Flame Archangels beside him.
"You four, stay here and keep watch outside."
He gestured casually. The flaming guardians bowed slightly and floated into position, their wings crackling with embers.
Then, with two other Archangels following, Lyle descended into the hidden passage beneath the temple.
Roughly seven or eight minutes later, he returned, covered in dust but otherwise empty-handed.
"Nothing valuable," he muttered with a click of the tongue. "What a waste of anticipation."
Waving his hand, he issued the next command.
"Burn it."
At once, the Flame Archangels floated forward and pressed their blazing swords against Khajit's body. In seconds, it turned to ash and scattered in the wind.
One of the Archangels, however, paused and hovered toward Khajiit's severed arm.
"Wait."
Lyle's eyes narrowed. He stepped forward and picked up the charred limb, wrapping it in a torn strip of cloth and stashing it in his inventory.
"We're done here. Time to leave."
He cast one last glance toward the distant city walls cloaked in moonlight, then turned and slipped away the same way he came.
Outside the temple, the city gate remained sealed shut. Twin magical lamps of Perpetual Light illuminated the watchtowers where several jittery guards peered toward the distant cemetery.
"What the hell's going on in there? Why's there a glow?"
"Should we report this…?"
"You idiot!" another snapped, voice trembling. "What's it got to do with us? It's night, and we're not going in there."
"But still—"
"No buts! Our job is to keep undead from breaching the gates, right?"
"Yeah…"
"Then unless one comes knocking, we shut up, sit tight, and report it in the morning. Let the adventurers deal with it."
Their hushed, panicked chatter filled the towers. Meanwhile, Lyle scaled the city wall unseen and disappeared into the night.
By the time he returned to the inn, it was well past 2 a.m.
He crept through a narrow alley and leapt up to the second floor with ease, slipping through the window into his room.
"Woof!"
A low, excited growl greeted him.
The little Barghest stirred from its nap and bounded over, tail wagging furiously.
"Shh." Lyle raised a finger to his lips.
"Woof…?" The creature lowered its voice to a muffled whimper and rubbed its head against his pant leg.
"Good boy, Little Black," Lyle chuckled, patting its head. "You really are just like a dog."
He shrugged off his soot-streaked cloak and dropped the bundle with Khajiit's arm in the corner, then made his way into the cramped bathroom.
Technically, he could've just used Odorless magic to get rid of the stench—but a good shower felt far more satisfying.
Steam soon billowed from the door as he stepped out, towel slung over his shoulder.
That's when he spotted Little Black in the corner, nudging the cloth-wrapped bundle with its snout.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Lyle said dryly. "There's residual death energy in there. Eat it and you'll die even faster."
The hound tilted its head, clearly not understanding the words, but his tone and expression were enough. It let out a quiet whimper and backed away, tail tucked.
Lyle glanced once more at the shriveled, pale arm. He wasn't collecting body parts for some twisted hobby. No—he was testing a theory.
Just before the Flame Archangel had reduced it to cinders, something clicked in his mind.
In the original story, after both Khajit and Clementine were killed by the adventurer team led by the Overlord in disguise, their corpses mysteriously disappeared from storage.
A minor detail to the Overlord—but not to Lyle.
There were two likely explanations: either someone stole the bodies (meaning Zurrernorn or its affiliates had agents in E-Rantel), or...
They had been resurrected.
Lyle had kept the arm to confirm the second possibility. If someone cast resurrection, then any remaining parts of the body would vanish as well—pulled to the caster's location.
Zurrernorn's mysterious leader came to mind.
Lyle had a theory: both Khajiit and Clementine were former members of Slane Theocracy's Six Scripture units. So what if the leader of Zurrernorn was also from Slane?
Of the Six Scriptures, the Black Scripture was the strongest—an elite team composed of the finest members of the other five units. Though publicly each unit was said to worship one of the Six Great Gods, the Black Scripture was a strange amalgam.
Of the six gods, five were human players who died early. Only the sixth—an undead non-human—had survived the longest.
The Slane Theocracy's death god cult was particularly secretive—almost as if it didn't exist at all.
Which was precisely why Lyle suspected the Zurrernorn leader had ties to the Theocracy. After all, resurrection magic was a divine spell—something arcane casters couldn't use.
Even the Overlord himself couldn't cast it natively. He relied on expensive cash shop items and resurrection artifacts.
"Seriously," Lyle muttered, rubbing his temples. "Why are there so many scheming bastards in this world?"
He turned toward the bed—only to freeze.
"Grrr…" Little Black growled softly.
Lyle turned to see the source of its agitation.
The severed arm.
A faint blue glow pulsed from the limb, and within seconds, it dissolved into light like snow melting under the sun.
[Ding!]
[Skill Detected: Modified Resurrection – Dead Revive (Tier 5)]
[Requirements Met: Arcane Spellcaster Level (29–35)]
[Would you like to spend 1 Skill Point to learn it?]
[Skill Points: 40 → 39]
[Skill: Dead Revive – Modified]
Tier: 5th
Mana Cost: 25 (or 50 with penalty)
Description: A modified version of the divine spell Raise Dead, altered to be usable by arcane casters. Consumes double mana and allows limited resurrection with reduced corpse requirements.
__________
Lyle stared at the prompt, face twisted in a mixture of surprise and amusement.
"Well, great," he said with a snort. "I was wrong. This guy's even more of a pain than I thought."
Despite the complaint, his voice carried a hint of satisfaction.
Meanwhile, in an unknown land…
The ground was stained dark brown, as if soaked with ancient blood. A strange, unseen miasma clung to the air, warping the moonlight into a crimson hue.
"Caw! Caw!"
From the sky came the screeching calls of undead birds—no real crows, just twisted mockeries given flight by necromancy.
In this cursed place, no living thing should stir.
And yet…
Rage.
Resentment.
Despair.
All of it churned in Khajiit's mind. He could feel fear creeping into his bones.
Why am I still conscious? Wasn't I dead…?
The moment the thought formed, his body reacted.
His eyes snapped open.
"Huff! Huff! Huff!"
Khajit sat up with a gasp, drenched in sweat. The terror of death still clung to him like a second skin.
"Fascinating," came a cold, grating voice—like metal grinding metal.
"I believe you were in E-Rantel, yes? That backwater shouldn't have anyone capable of killing you."
Khajit looked up—and froze.
A dark figure stood before him, draped in shadows not cast by any light, but emanating from sheer magical power.
The darkness bled from the figure, swallowing the air itself.
"M-Master…"
Khajit's voice quivered as he dropped to his knees and bowed.
