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Monarch Chapter 62
🕑 Added 2025-12-17 10:57:03 +0000 UTCChapter 62
The door creaked open.
And in a single heartbeat, all of them froze as two glowing hollow eyes looked at them.
They were like empty pits of absolute black that seemed to swallow the pale light bleeding in from the moss-lit chamber behind them.
Rayne's breath hitched as he recognised where he had seen eyes like that before.
John took a reflexive step back.
Something moved from inside the room and took a step into the boss chamber.
An undead taller than the ones Rayne had fought. It stood as tall as a troll, wearing dented armour that only covered some parts of its body, the exposed flesh being dark, crude, and moldy. Its ugly face stared back at them with its nose chopped, and parts of its skull bashed in.
It held a sword—long, heavy, and chopped, its blade stained dark with rust—and one look at it was enough to solve the mystery of who had killed the treant.
Nate swallowed behind him. “What in the nine hells is that abomination?”
“An undead lord,” Bran replied. “At least a level forty mons—”
The words barely left his mouth before the thing screeched.
It wasn’t a roar. It was the sound of metal tearing against bone, a shrill, furious wail that vibrated through the chamber and made Rayne’s teeth ache.
The undead lord moved.
It crossed the distance in a blur of motion that didn’t match its size. The massive sword came around in a brutal horizontal arc.
“John—!”
Too late.
The blade smashed into John’s shield and chest at the same time. Wood exploded, armour buckled, and John was sent flying like a ragdoll, slamming hard into the side wall with a sickening crack. He slid down, groaning with blood coming out of his chest.
Shock rippled through the party.
“Move!” Rayne shouted immediately. “Don't fucking stand at one place. Spread around!”
The undead lord didn’t pause. It twisted its neck as if wondering who to strike next. And then turned to look at Rayne.
It chose him.
Rayne felt a suffocating pressure instantly, as if the thing’s attention had weight, and for a second, his legs refused to move. His instincts screamed as the undead lord charged, and only at the last moment did he manage to jump.
The sword came down where he’d been standing a second earlier, shattering stone and sending shards screaming across the chamber.
Rayne rolled, came up low, and sprinted sideways as the undead lord tore the blade free and swung again.
Pure hatred and bloodlust radiated from the undead’s eyes, and he barely managed to dodge under another swing. Parts of the wall came out as its sword smashed into it.
He picked his blade up to strike at its unguarded knee, but then something else caught his eye. Shapes began spilling out of the dungeon core room, and he cursed.
They were undead. The same ones he had fought before. Even wearing the same tattered clothes and holding rusty weapons.
Looking at them for a second was enough to give the undead lord time to smash him into a pulp with its free arm, but Rayne rolled, then sprinted out of its range.
“Bran! Heins!” he yelled between breaths. “Handle the common undead and check on John. Everyone else, help me fight this fucking thing!”
“Shit!” Nate muttered. “Where did these fuckers come from?”
“We will figure that out later,” Bran barked, already nocking an arrow. “We kill first, ask questions later!”
Rayne opened his mouth to say something, but saw the undead lord charge again. He anticipated the strike, but it came like a whirlwind.
He ducked under a sweeping strike, nearly falling on his back. The sword passed so close he felt the wind of it yank at his hair. He slammed his shield up just in time to catch a downward blow—
—and nearly had his arm torn out of its socket.
The impact drove him to one knee. His shield screamed in protest, cracks spiderwebbing across the wooden surface. He really needed a better shield.
Rayne rolled away before the follow-up strike could turn him into paste.
“Too slow,” he hissed to himself, heart hammering.
The undead lord didn’t tire. Didn’t hesitate. It stalked forward relentlessly, sword rising again and again, each strike meant to kill.
Rayne found himself doing nothing but reacting—dodging, rolling, sliding between roots and chunks of broken stone. Some of the shrapnels hit its chest and helmet, but simply bounced off.
But as he lunged back, a skeletal hand suddenly clawed at his leg.
Panic swelled in his chest for a second before Rayne twisted and kicked, shattering the skull of an ordinary undead with a crunch. He barely registered it before the lord’s blade came down again, forcing him to dive aside.
“Rayne!” Kesh shouted from the other side. “You’re getting boxed in.”
“I know!” Rayne snapped. “So fucking do something. Don't just stand there!”
Nate and Kesh finally moved in from the flanks, slashing at the undead lord’s legs, trying to distract it. Their blows barely sunk into the rotten flesh.
The undead lord didn’t even turn.
It backhanded Nate with the flat of its blade. The man flew, hit the ground hard, and didn’t get back up immediately.
Rayne felt something cold settle in his gut and charged at the lord. And seeing him coming, it swung wide. But this time, something pulsed at the edge of the blade.
Black energy gathered there, and all the instincts in his body told him he would be destroyed if he clashed against it. So, he drove to the ground just as an arc of sword-shaped dark energy cracked half the wall into pieces.
“Fuck! What was that?” he cursed, immediately picking himself up as the undead lord cried again.
It turned just as Kesh’s blade dug deeper into its flesh, the man frozen by the sudden show of power, and swung at him. Fortunately, the dark energy coating the blade disappeared, but the strike still caught the man across his shield and shoulder.
He crashed straight into the corpse of the treant, shield broken.
“Kesh, run!” Rayne shouted as the dark energy coated the great sword again.
Kesh scrambled to get away, but he knew he would be too slow. Having no choice, he prayed to the gods keeping him alive till now again, and surged forward, slamming his shield on the back of the monster’s knee.
The lord turned immediately, the burst of energy coming for him. Rayne lunged back as the ground smashed to pieces, but it wasn't done with its attack.
Another arc of death mana came at him, and he jumped. But he wasn't fast enough this time. The edge of it smashed into his side, catching him mid-move and launching him bodily into the wall. Stone cracked as his back hit. Pain exploded across his ribs and spine, and he was sure his armour had been cracked.
His vision went white for a second.
He slid down, gasping.
The undead lord loomed over him and cried out, showing off its toothless mouth.
For a moment, Rayne thought this was it.
Then Bran’s arrow slammed into the side of the thing’s head, sliding into the flesh as dark ichor burst out. The undead lord screeched and turned, momentarily distracted, and swung his sword at the old man.
Bran dodged as the strike cracked stone, then fired more arrows that bounced off uselessly off the lord's armour.
It completely turned its back to Rayne, charging towards Bran.
At that single moment, Rayne saw an opportunity, and despite his body crying out in pain, he pushed off the wall and sprinted straight towards it.
The undead lord swung again, aiming for Heins this time, who had gotten in the way of the charge.
Rayne leapt just then.
He slammed into the creature’s back, arms locking around its neck and shoulder plates. The armour was cold and its flesh felt wrong. It thrashed violently, trying to shake him off.
Rayne gritted his teeth and climbed.
The undead lord screeched and slammed itself backward into a wall, crushing Rayne between stone and armour. Pain flared, but he held on, fingers digging into broken seams in the plate.
“Get down, Rayne!” Nate yelled, staggering back into the fight.
“Not yet,” he snarled.
He hauled himself higher, scrambling like a madman up the undead lord’s back. Its sword carved a trench through the ground as it swung blindly, trying to reach him.
Rayne finally reached the thing's skull and didn't waste a moment.
He drove his sword down with all the strength he had left.
The blade punched into the disfigured skull with a wet crunch. The undead lord screeched, thrashing harder, smashing into walls and roots in a frenzy.
Rayne stabbed again. And again.
Black ichor sprayed, giving a bad taste to his tongue, but he never stopped. The thing staggered, movements growing erratic.
A few of the undead got smashed in its path, and his own party scrambled out of the way, dragging the still unconscious body of John with them.
“Bring it fucking down!” Rayne yelled even as he felt his grip loosening as the undead lord slammed itself sideways again.
To their credit, his party didn't waste a moment.
Kesh and Nate surged in, hacking at the undead lord’s legs with everything they had. Heins drove his spear into the back of its knee, levering with all his strength, and arrows kept lodging in its exposed flesh.
More and more ichor pooled on the ground, and finally the undead lord collapsed on one knee, its great sword falling to the side.
Finally getting a grip on its body, Rayne raised his sword with shaking arms and plunged it straight down through the crown of the skull.
The blade sank deep. And he twisted.
The lord screeched, but the attacks kept piling up until its voice cut off abruptly. The monster convulsed once, then went still, falling on the ground with a thud.
Rayne cursed at the inhuman pain of his shattered bones moving inside of his body as he rolled onto his back. His chest heaved and his ears rang.
He barely managed to take out one of the healing potions from his belt and gulp it down. Cool liquid hit his throat at once, and warmth spread in his stomach.
For a while, he simply closed his eyes.
The only sound he heard was the remaining undead getting cut down. And soon, the whole chamber died in silence.
Finally, he heard Kesh’s voice. “Still alive, Rayne?”
He laughed weakly, opening his eyes. “Barely.”
Notifications flared in front of his eyes the very next second, and Rayne took time to adjust, but when he read through them, all the pain suddenly felt worth it.
You have slain Undead x4. You have contributed to slay Undead Lord x1.
You have gained adequate experience.
You have levelled up. Level 28 reached.
+2 points gained in Strength. +2 points gained in Endurance. +2 points gained in Agility.
He guessed the common undead kills had been because he had been on top of the undead lord when it crashed through them. But it wasn't the end of the notifications.
Skill Stealer Activated.
+2 points in Arcane.
You have stolen the skill Death Strike (Rare). The skill had been registered as a new skill.
At once, relief flooded Rayne.
How long had it been since he had last gotten a new skill? He couldn't remember. And now, he finally had something to show for all the times he nearly died.
He pulled up the skill description immediately.
Death Strike (Rare) - Level 1
Not everyone can have mastery over the aspect of death, and with this skill, you grow one step closer to it.
The skill allows the user to coat a weapon with death-aspected mana and throw it around in destructive arcs. The attack bypasses most magical defences, and drains mana to work.
Gives a strike of death that could puncture through enemies.
Rayne immediately looked down at his chest. Part of the trollskin armour had completely broken due to the undead lord's strike, and blood still leaked out of it, even as the potion and [Lesser Regeneration] knitted his flesh together.
He understood that the undead lord’s skill might have been at a higher level, and what he might be able to do with the same skill wouldn't be so flashy. But just having it meant a trump card that could win him a losing battle.
If he wasn't injured and with his party, Rayne would have already tested it out.
“Rayne, can you walk? You should see this.”
His thoughts were cut short when Nate called him out. He immediately turned and saw his party standing on top of a few undead corpses, peering into the dungeon core room.
“What is it?” he asked, whisking away the notifications and slowly standing up.
Pain flared around his chest, and he groaned, but he slowly moved towards his party, and when he saw what was left in the core room, his face paled.
Comments
Andrew Lechner
He's also a poor man's spellblade by this point. Just needs more arcane and maybe level 30 to make it official.
C
With death strike and regeneration both, gravewalker really is starting to fit him.
Irakli Jishkariani
Plus gravewalker title. It fits him
IdolTrust
That is good. I hope his skill lean more to becoming a death knight.
Johan Timmers
tftc
