Lich for Hire-Chapter 84: Great Force

Within Alkhemia, a fierce battle was underway.

The paladin legion advanced in a formation like a sharpened blade, cutting back and forth through the undead ranks, nearly routing Black Rose's forces outright.

Holy light was simply too terrifying a counter to the undead. Moreover, the paladins' power was perfectly unified, turning the entire legion into something virtually indestructible.

Blades of radiance cleaved through the undead army, shattering it and leaving no room for organized resistance.

James Watson himself did not join the charge. As a legendary-tier combatant, rushing forward with his subordinates would have been a waste of his abilities.

As a priest of light, James Watson commanded more than a hundred divine spells. His role was to hover above the battlefield, continuously layering blessings upon the legion below.

Mass Courage, Healing Word, Death Ward, Chain of Protection... With spell after spell, he augmented the paladin legion's combat strength by more than an order of magnitude. They had not suffered a single casualty and had already slain hundreds of undead since the start of the battle.

If not for the powerful death knights—and an almost absurd number of magical automata—in the enemy ranks, the paladins would already have secured victory. Even so, it looked to be only a matter of time. The undead force was hastily cobbled together, and its coordination was abysmal.

Suddenly, a dark green ray shot in from the side and struck James Watson with pinpoint precision.

Finger of Death was a high-tier necromantic spell infamous for its potential to slay even a dragon outright. If it were successful, it would instantly transform the victim into a zombie under the caster's control.

Yet the corrosive, destructive energy failed to pierce James Watson's magical defenses. It merely shattered one of the enchanted rings on his hand.

James Watson sneered. "I've been waiting for you."

A dazzling radiance flared overhead, expanding outward into a blazing halo.

In midair, Black Rose's figure was violently exposed by the explosion of holy light. Sacred flames surged over her, relentlessly scorching her undead body.

This was a divine spell exclusive to priests of light: Revelation of Dawn. By borrowing the power of the Lord of Dawn, it created a halo capable of dispelling all darkness. That darkness referred not only to the environment, but to every hidden, shadowy being lurking nearby.

Black Rose had been concealed under Greater Invisibility the entire time. She had risked revealing herself to cast Finger of Death, hoping to eliminate James Watson in one strike. Instead, the spell was blocked, and his retaliation came instantly.

Holy light gnawed at Black Rose's body, feeding on the dark magic that sustained her, burning bright until she was completely engulfed.

Had she been any other undead, the pain would have driven them screaming to the ground.

Yet Black Rose seemed utterly unfazed. She allowed the holy flames to spread unchecked, her crimson eyes piercing through the veil of light, fixed unblinkingly on James Watson.

James Watson suddenly felt his body go numb. He sensed dark magic invading him, as if a hole had been torn open in his chest and foul, putrid corpse-fluid was being poured within.

There was little pain. The numbness was far worse, and stiffened his body inch by inch.

He immediately cast Greater Restoration on himself, a divine spell capable of dispelling most curses. The numbness vanished the instant the spell took hold, but as soon as it ended, the sensation returned.

This was a persistent curse. Dark power was continuously eroding his body, attempting to transform him into an undead.

That horrifying realization made James Watson think of a dreadful name.

"It's you, the undead queen who invaded Lyon two centuries ago!"

Black Rose burst into wild laughter. "Haha! The instant your shield shattered, I locked onto your body with my soulfire. Struggle all you like. Your resistance is futile. I will turn you into the lowliest of zombies and hang you from the gates of Lyon's capital."

"Arrogant undead!"

Even when facing a legend, James Watson showed no trace of panic. Instead, he cast a spell so ordinary it was almost laughable: Vapor Form.

It was a common spell, one that transformed the caster's body into mist and rendered it immune to physical attacks and most magic. Typically, it was used to pass through narrow spaces—slipping through cracks in a door, flowing through pipes, and the like.

Ambrose himself had once used this very spell to squeeze through a narrow sewer entrance.

Black Rose's Death Gaze was indeed terrifying. Once she had locked onto the target, it would continuously flood the target with dark power, forcibly converting them into an undead.

But there was one condition: the target had to be alive.

Gaseous Form did not create an illusion. It transformed the caster's body into actual mist.

In that state, no amount of dark power could alter James Watson's body. Black Rose's strongest technique had effectively been nullified.

The price, however, was steep.

While in gaseous form, James Watson lost most of his spellcasting ability. The many blessings he had placed upon the paladin legion weakened or outright dissipated.

The paladins, who had been rampaging through undead and automata alike, slowed noticeably. Having lost their momentum, they could no longer rely on their formation alone to secure victory.

Even so, James Watson remained confident that the paladins' own strength would be enough to slaughter every remaining foe.

Sure enough, once their speed dropped, the paladins simply dispersed, fighting independently with radiant longswords. Sacred Slash rang out again and again, its lethality scarcely inferior to their earlier coordinated charge.

James Watson was not worried that Black Rose would turn her attention to the paladins. He knew that Death Gaze demanded total concentration. If she diverted her focus, he could immediately return to his physical form and resume supporting the legion.

And when it came to battlefield support, the undead queen could not compare to a priest of light.

James Watson thought to himself, "Fortune is on my side. Her army is far too fragile. Once the battle is decided, the paladin legion will be able to focus on destroying her. Even just purifying her body would be a huge boon for us."

But just as his confidence swelled, a thunderous boom erupted like a meteor striking the earth.

A Dullahan riding an eight-legged warhorse burst onto the battlefield, charging straight toward the paladin legion.

Man and mount together stood over ten meters tall. Dense dark power coiled around the monstrous presence, turning him into a smoking meteor hurtling toward the paladins in a frenzy.

The Dullahan, Gareth, was the man who had once brought disgrace upon Lyon.

Back then, he had been nothing more than a lone, insignificant undead, carving out an escape with a single rusted sword. His feat—breaking free from the encirclement of thousands of paladins—sounded impressive, but the reality had been wretched. Gareth survived only through ambushes, traps, and sheer luck, escaping death by the narrowest margins time and again.

Now, however, things were different. He wore top-tier enchanted armor forged by dragons themselves, and rode an undead warhorse bred specifically for him. Together, they formed an unstoppable tide of darkness.

Alkhemia's magical automata were nothing more than insects beneath Gareth's hooves, crushed outright or sent flying on impact. As for the more fragile undead, they were scattered like dead leaves by the force of his charge.

He was forced to trample even his allies; there was no other room for a cavalry charge. Gareth fixed his focus on the scattered paladins.

James Watson stared in shock. Where had this Dullahan come from?

He didn't realize that the captured paladins had all undergone a period of "reeducation" under Ambrose's Charm magic. Every memory related to Gareth had been sealed away. They remembered only that they had been ambushed and captured by Ambrose, but not the specific details as to how.

As a result, James Watson had never even heard of Gareth.

Nor would Alkhemia, eager to trap him, volunteer such critical intelligence. The High Inquisitor had remained completely in the dark.

There simply hadn't been enough time. If James Watson hadn't been forced to fight the moment he entered the city, he might have discovered that his subordinates' memories had been tampered with, and prepared accordingly. But it was all too late now.

With their formation shattered, the paladins had no hope of stopping Gareth. One after another, they were trampled into pulp beneath iron hooves or simply hurled aside.

Gareth employed no elaborate spells—only a pure, brutal charge. That absolute power alone was enough to crush every defense the paladins possessed.

From the air, James Watson saw a swath of dense black mist tear across the battlefield, leaving behind a grotesque trench of devastation.

At least thirty paladins died in that single charge. Many more were grievously wounded after being flung away.

James Watson could no longer stand by. He dispelled Vapor Form and returned to his physical body.

The numbness returned instantly. Black Rose had no intention of letting him go.

James Watson knew he couldn't retreat. If he did not want to turn into a zombie, he would have to reveal his greatest strength.

Ignoring the changes overtaking his body, he recited hymns of praise to the Lord of the Morning with utmost devotion. Countless streams of silver-white light descended from the heavens, enveloping him completely.

A priest's power came from divine grace. And the greatest power a priest could wield was to call upon his god directly.

Divine Intervention was a supreme miracle that even a legendary priest could invoke only once per year.

In utter desperation, James Watson prayed for the Lord of Dawn to cast even a fleeting glance his way.

Holy light poured down. In the heavens, a vast, indistinct figure took shape. The Lord of Dawn answered James Watson's plea, gazing down upon His divine realm.

A deafening rumble followed. The entire city of Alkhemia shook. The ground cracked apart, and massive clouds of dust were hurled into the sky.

James Watson felt a surge of relief. The power of the gods was still as mighty as ever—

No. He suddenly frowned. Unease set in. Divine Intervention had not yet fully manifested. This earthquake had nothing to do with the miracle.

Beneath the city, something was stirring. Something was destroying Alkhemia from below.