Ashe faced the Trial he dreaded most-a labyrinth.

The twelfth layer of the Silent Spiral was a colossal maze. The walls stretched from earth to sky, leaving no gaps to leap through, and they were seamlessly fused with the ground and ceiling. Any attack on a single point of the wall would have its damage distributed across the entire spiral layer.

Unfortunately, Chikara, the most adept at destruction, was left on the tenth layer. Ashe specialized in slicing, Igor’s imagined adversaries were intelligent creatures rather than walls, and Gwen, despite being a two-wings sorcerer, had lost many spirits due to the recent collapse of the ‘Stars concept,’ rendering her combat strength nearly negligible.

If they truly wanted to brute-force their way through the twelfth layer’s labyrinth, it would require over an hour of intense output. By then, their spellforce would be nearly depleted. Encountering the Mercury Trojan Horse on the next layer would be akin to serving themselves on a platter, practically inviting the Mercury Trojan Horse to tear them apart.

Thus, they had no choice but to navigate the maze honestly. However, the labyrinth wasn’t entirely devoid of clues. At each fork, a question would appear, such as “What is the most beautiful music in life?” followed by three diverging paths, each emitting different sounds: the white noise of rain through the forest, the pure melody of flowing instruments, and a silent passage with no sound at all. Choosing the wrong path would lead them back to the same fork.

Clearly, the Trial’s main theme was to grasp life’s truths and choose the right path in life.

Ashe was evidently not skilled at answering such questions. When faced with “What is the most beautiful music in life?” he would recall phrases like ‘Don’t listen to the sound of rain hitting the leaves’ or ‘The sudden burst of water from a broken silver bottle.’ It wasn’t that he didn’t understand life’s truths; on the contrary, he knew too many of them but simply couldn’t live life well.

In contrast, Igor quickly deciphered the expected answers to these questions. Although they didn’t know which Demi-God had crafted this layer of the Trial, as long as they grasped the questioner’s intent, solving the reading comprehension became traceable.

Ashe wanted to join the brainstorming but found that his answers never matched Igor’s after several attempts. He quietly waited for the Con Artist to provide the answer, then dashed to the end of the passage like a dog, loudly relaying the next question to Igor.

When Ashe made his sixteenth heroic charge down the passage, Igor hooked his finger around the back of Ashe’s collar: “Rushing won’t help.”

“Ashe, sir,” Gwen said, pulling out a notebook, “While you can clearly repeat the question, the passage’s conditions are the crucial answer choices, and your descriptions of the options are slightly distorted. Your advance scouting only optimizes one to three seconds.”

“I waste more than three seconds trying to understand your recounting,” the Con Artist said coldly. “I’ll honestly report your performance to Harvey. I’m sure he’ll be moved to tears by your theatrics.”

Igor expected Ashe to retort, but Ashe merely walked forward silently, without a word. The Con Artist’s expression became somewhat awkward, and Gwen added, “Ashe, sir, we all know you’re just worried…”

“Igor’s right, I am putting on a show,” Ashe sighed. “Thinking about Harvey and Chikara fighting tooth and nail, I feel I can’t just stroll leisurely. I have to act like I’m in a rush, even if it’s pointless… I’m just trying to move myself.”

“Regretting it?” Igor mocked. “You didn’t think this would be a fun little trip, did you?”

“I’m waiting,” Ashe said, his mood sinking. “Like a ball hitting the net and bouncing back, I don’t know where it’ll land… I can only wait for it to come down.”

“I haven’t found Tamashi, nor can I help Harvey and Chikara. Even though I’m no longer the person I was at Shattered Lake, even though I’ve grown stronger… in the end, I’m no different from a Death Row Inmate, powerless against the whims of fate.”

“Powerless rage,” Igor remarked. “It’s one of the top three psychological ailments under the Blood Moon.”

“Got any medicine for that?” Ashe chuckled bitterly.

“Not every illness can be cured; some are curses you can’t escape,” the Con Artist said. “If you were a bit more selfish, many problems would solve themselves. The more you care, the more powerless moments you’ll face.”

Ashe couldn’t help but laugh. “Honestly, I already think I’m selfish enough. If it’s not mine, I couldn’t care less.”

“That just means you’ve defined too many things as ‘yours,’ you fool.”

Igor stopped and looked up at the question on the fork in the road:

“What is the most unrealistic fantasy in life?”

Three paths lay ahead. The first was filled with laughter, birdsong, and the sound of children playing-‘innocence.’

The second path was radiant, with steps leading upward, and the sound of cheers like waves crashing, as if welcoming a king’s coronation or a general’s triumphant return-‘success.’

He glanced at the third path and walked straight into it, saying, “But in your case, the remedy is simple. Just sharpen your observation a bit, don’t treat your eyes as decoration, don’t use your brain as a fishbowl. Look around, think more.”

“Huh?”

“We haven’t found Raven yet, which is actually good news. It means he’s likely infiltrated-you’re aware of Raven’s stealth skills. He wants to kill the Mercury Trojan Horse more than anyone, so he won’t throw his life away easily. He’ll wait for a foolproof opportunity to strike. But before that, we might already find him.”

“Similarly, when have you seen Harvey volunteer for anything?” Igor continued. “To him, whether he dies, I die, or you die, it’s all the same. He might even prefer we die first, so he can collect the corpses.”

“You’re too tense, which is why you haven’t noticed-the necromancer is actually excited,” the Con Artist said calmly. “He’s never hidden his feelings or lied. If he says he’s going to bury a legend, it means he believes he can do it.”

“Just like you believe in how twisted he is,” Igor’s voice was serious, without a hint of humor. “You must also believe in his abilities.”

Ashe paused slightly, suddenly hearing singing in his ears. Along the walls on either side of the road, there were travelers singing joyfully in chorus, comrades fighting back-to-back against countless enemies, adventurers discovering treasures and embracing in celebration…

The third path was ‘Trust.’

“But,” Ashe murmured, “that’s Senlo’s first legend…”

“Ashe, you may no longer be the Cult Leader from Shattered Lake,” Igor said, “but Harvey isn’t the necromancer from Shattered Lake anymore either.”

“Indeed, you’re no longer among the living.”

In the midst of the swirling snowstorm, Harvey, transformed into the Nether Knight Ghost King, pinned Oreyva to the ground. Two ghostly hands emerged from his sides, firmly gripping Oreyva’s arms, while his own hands raised the Scythe of Despair high, aiming at Oreyva’s head, and swung down heavily!

Faced with a lethal strike, Oreyva, his hair disheveled and looking deranged, had a glint of bloodthirsty desire in his eyes. His mouth opened wide, revealing menacing gums, letting out a mournful yet hysterical roar. Yet, his limbs continued to struggle, as if infinite agony was erupting within him!

Clang!

With a resounding explosion, the Scythe of Despair struck Oreyva’s face, the blade nearly grazing his forehead!

Sanctuary!

At the final moment before death descended, this legendary figure finally enveloped himself in Sanctuary, blocking Harvey’s deadly blow!

The Frost Star Ring exploded with a thunderous roar, pushing Harvey back several meters even though he was shielded by Sanctuary. But he swiftly unfurled his Twin Wings and flew away. His maneuver proved wise-the Frost Star Ring, having exploded, began to coalesce again, threatening further damage if he didn’t escape in time!

Meanwhile, Chikara opened his mouth and roared furiously, unleashing a fiery projectile towards Oreyva! The projectile’s speed and intensity were influenced by his voice-the louder the sound, the faster and fiercer the flame!

Miracle: Fiery Explosive Roar!

However, the returning Frost Star Ring immediately formed a Frost Shield Array in front of Oreyva, perfectly deflecting Chikara’s fiery projectile, not even a spark reaching Oreyva!

“This is ridiculous!” Chikara exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief, quickly dodging Oreyva’s counterattack and retreating near Harvey. “He’s clearly lost his mind, relying solely on instinct for spellcasting… yet our situation keeps worsening!”

From the start until now, Harvey and Chikara had mostly held the upper hand in the battle-though Oreyva was a legendary sorcerer, his current actions were incredibly predictable. After several rounds, they could anticipate his moves just by watching his posture.

This was the main reason Chikara chose to stay: as long as they could find a way to neutralize the Damage Chain, Oreyva’s threat wasn’t as significant.

When the orc saw Harvey walking Oreyva like a dog, he realized this-if Oreyva had his sanity, even if he was on the brink of death, Chikara would flee as far as possible; but the current Oreyva was no longer a legendary sorcerer, just a madman with power.

Yet soon, the orc’s newly ignited ‘ambition to surpass’ was cooled by the wind and snow.

Despite appearances suggesting they were beating Oreyva down, in reality, they hadn’t inflicted any effective damage. Meanwhile, every spell Oreyva cast further deteriorated their condition!

The true intricacy lies in the environment!

This blizzard sweeping across the plains, freezing everything in its path, is the real deadly threat!

Every Miracle and spirit Oreyva conjures adds to the blizzard’s fury, and in turn, the blizzard amplifies his Miracles, making them increasingly powerful. Meanwhile, Harvey and Chikara struggle to even move in the storm!

Although Chikara’s spellcasting counters Oreyva to some extent, overall, Chikara is on the defensive, and his attacks are barely effective. Oreyva can easily manipulate the storm to block Chikara’s fiery Miracles, and each of Chikara’s Miracles loses over 30% of its power due to the environment!

This showcases just how terrifying Oreyva was in his prime: he could transform the battlefield into an environment perfectly suited for Frost spellcasting, weakening his enemies and strengthening himself! If his foes tried to flee, the Frost spells, designed to slow and hinder, would make them like lost travelers caught in a blizzard, their body heat and strength steadily draining until they collapsed in the deep snow.

If Oreyva had his wits about him, none of them would escape!

“Mr. Harvey, perhaps we should retreat to the previous level?” the orc tentatively suggested. “He might not follow us…”

“You can reveal your trump card now and leave immediately,” Harvey’s voice came from beneath the Nether Knight’s helmet, cold and inhuman. “I won’t stop you.”

Chikara’s expression remained unchanged as he quickly shouted, “I never intended to abandon Mr. Harvey-“

“Let me guess, it’s a Movement Miracle centered around the Firelight Spirit, isn’t it?”

Chikara froze, the usually jovial and cunning orc losing his composure for the first time, his eyes betraying shock, caution, and a hint of killing intent.

“It’s actually quite obvious. You chose to stay, so you must have a Miracle for self-preservation. The only Miracle that could ensure survival before a legendary sorcerer is a Movement Miracle.”

“We’re familiar with your spirit system, and the most likely candidate for a Movement Miracle is the Firelight Spirit, probably allowing you to escape like a flash of light.”

Harvey spoke calmly, “Once you reach the previous level, you’d likely activate the Movement Miracle to slip out of my sight. By then, even if I wanted to use a slave Pact to stop you, you wouldn’t hear it. Without the constraint of the Damage Chain, Oreyva could unleash his true legendary power, and I’d probably be crushed by him if left behind.”

“Mr. Harvey,” the orc lowered his gaze, “you’ve misunderstood. I genuinely want to leave Senlo with you.”

“No sorcerer would willingly be a slave, especially not a sanctuary sorcerer.” Harvey dodged a distant ice spear storm from Oreyva. “You sincerely want to leave, but you also sincerely want to break free from the Pact.”

“As long as I’m dead and Alice is gone, your Pact will naturally dissolve… In such a short time, you’ve figured all this out and are ready to act on it.” The necromancer remarked, “Your cunning is no less than that of a Con Artist, though he is overtly sharp, while you hide your brilliance behind a facade of foolishness-he was right, staying in the wasteland indeed buries your talents.”

“Mr. Harvey, you deserve that praise more than anyone. Mr. Bukin’s presence has overshadowed your brilliance,” Chikara said, his face now devoid of any smile. “But if you don’t wish to leave, Mr. Harvey, I’ll stay with you to the end.”

“No, you should go,” Harvey replied softly. “Once we rescue Raven, we’ll likely leave immediately. The world is vast, and as long as you don’t encounter us, your Pact is as good as a scrap of paper.”

“Why?” the orc asked, puzzled. He couldn’t believe Harvey would let a Sanctuary slave go.

“Because I don’t care about you. Your corpse is more valuable to me than you are,” the necromancer said. “More importantly, my next attack might not spare you from being reduced to dust along with Oreyva.”

Chikara hesitated, flapping his Twin Wings to dodge Oreyva’s assault, but soon returned to the ground-the wind and snow in the air were too fierce, threatening to blow him off balance.

“Do you have a way to deal with this madman?”

“If it were a living legend, I’d have no solution,” Harvey replied. “But he’s no longer alive.”

“Indeed, he’s a madman.”

“No, what I mean is-he’s an undead.”

Chikara looked at Oreyva, his face full of confusion. He couldn’t fathom how this lively, spell-casting lunatic could be equated with undead like Alice…

“His body hasn’t died, but his soul is completely shattered, and his consciousness died long ago,” Harvey said softly. “What dominates him now is a new soul, a new consciousness.”

“This is the most primitive method of undead creation-a living dead. A creature that should have passed through the veil of death is forcibly kept in the world by a sorcerer’s Miracle, and within that decaying crippled body, a tragic creation caught between life and death is born.”

“He’s mad because his new soul craves rest, but the old personality embedded in the corpse’s neurons possesses a powerful survival instinct. He’s tormented by the desire for death and the will to live, which is the root of all primitive undead’s suffering.”

“That’s why he constantly harms himself, yet protects himself when facing death.”

“Living beings seek life and shun death, undead seek death and shun life.”

“Such a primitive undead will hate all living beings and eagerly drag them into the restful deadlands, which is why he attacks us. The earliest necromancers existed to resolve the disaster of primitive undead, and later began to harness the power of Necromancy.”

“So rest assured, I’m not bluffing,” Harvey said. “I will definitely deal with Oreyva.”

Chikara stared blankly at Harvey, whose black mist churned, with only a pair of green eyes fixed on the raging Oreyva.

“Primitive undead are the most pitiful monsters in the world. Playing a requiem for them, allowing them to return to eternal rest, is the necromancer’s professional duty,” the necromancer said calmly. “Necromancy is a mad power that must be under the sorcerer’s control.”

Though it sounded quite far-fetched, the orc could tell Harvey was serious!

Helping Ashe and the others fend off Oreyva was certainly the main reason, but even without this matter, Harvey would still lay Oreyva to rest!

The necromancer’s voice was calm, yet the unwavering determination within it was so intense that it almost made Chikara feel allergic, reminding the orc of the unshakeable faith he had seen in living Saints.

Even in Chikara’s past view, Saints were incomprehensible madmen. They clung to principles that seemed laughable and engaged in actions devoid of meaning.

So…

“Mr. Harvey, I truly have no intention of fleeing,” Chikara said cautiously. “You don’t need to worry about me; I’ll stay out of the way.”

With Harvey’s words, Chikara was even more reluctant to run. If Harvey won, the slave Pact would still be in effect, and who knows if Igor would find a way to capture him again.

“Is that so?” Harvey suddenly soared into the air. “Then I won’t hold back.”

Chikara watched as Harvey, shrouded in black mist, flew towards Oreyva. Oreyva unleashed a storm of ice crystals, like a spiraling drill aimed at the necromancer.

“Two madmen indeed…” the orc muttered, preparing to avoid the Miracle.

Suddenly, the black mist rose and spread, quickly transforming into a gray miasma that could rival the blizzard! A massive corpse dragon, reduced to pitch-black bones, let out a silent scream, wielding the destructive Corpse Decay Miasma, pressing down fiercely on Oreyva!

Ghost King Shackles: Dragon Lich!

Yet, faced with the Corpse Decay Miasma, Oreyva’s frenzied expression gradually softened, and even his attack slowed, showing a sense of comfort akin to returning to a mother’s embrace.

This was Harvey’s trump card-the Dragon Lich’s Corpse Decay Miasma was poison to the living but nectar to the dead! When necromancy encounters Corpse Decay Miasma, it’s like a Silly woman meeting Igor, falling into a state of enchantment, ready for the Dragon Lich’s mercy!

“Rest in peace,” the Dragon Lich’s green fire eyes fixed on the smiling Oreyva, as its colossal claw descended with a thunderous crash!