Although he was far away and she couldn't see his face clearly, she wouldn't mistake the silhouette of that figure.

"It's Lord Lin." Jiang Zhaoyue's voice carried a hint of relief.

"He killed Mordred."

Everyone was stunned for a moment, then erupted into cheers.

Tie Dun was the first to rush toward the high platform, shouting as he ran, "Lord! I'm coming!"

Feng Qingyan followed behind him, the flames on her staff dancing joyfully. "I knew Lord Lin could do it!"

Tie Dun was the first to reach the platform. He circled Lin Feng once, and only breathed a sigh of relief after confirming the Lord was alive and had all his limbs intact.

Then he saw Mordred's corpse on the ground, his eyes widening in shock:

"Lord! You killed him all by yourself? That was a Level 35 Rare Boss! The kind that can cast curses and summon over two thousand lackeys! You just stabbed him to death alone?"

Feng Qingyan ran up behind him. She froze for a moment upon seeing Mordred's corpse, then turned to Lin Feng, her eyes sparkling with admiration:

"Lord Lin, you're way too fierce! How long has it been since we retreated? Ten minutes? And you've already finished off this old guy? I thought I'd see you being chased around by a swarm of undead when we came back up!"

She grew more excited as she spoke, waving her staff in the air. "No way, I have to tell my sister when we get back. Lord Lin soloed a Level 35 Rare Boss—she definitely won't believe it! I barely believe it myself!"

Jiang Zhaoyue walked at the back, her silver moon sky spear already slung across her back.

She walked up to Lin Feng, her gaze sweeping over Mordred's corpse before looking at the traces of battle left on Lin Feng.

She wasn't as excited as Tie Dun and Feng Qingyan, only giving a slight nod. Her tone was calm yet solemn: "Lord Lin, I am impressed."

Lin Feng smiled and waved his hand. "Alright, take a look at this first."

He took out a purple Memory Fragment from his robe and held it in his hand.

The crystal shimmered with a cold luster under the pale white light of the soul fire, and the images sealed within were faintly visible.

A battlefield strewn with corpses; a person knelt in the middle, clutching their head with both hands.

A line of small text appeared on the surface of the fragment: 【Memory Fragment: Battlefield - Betrayal】.

"Another Memory Fragment."

Zhao Hu walked over and stood beside Lin Feng, his gaze falling on the crystal. "Is it like the one Gruen had?"

Lin Feng nodded without further explanation. With a thought, he activated the fragment.

The images unfolded before everyone.

Light erupted from the crystal, enveloping the entire platform in a ghostly blue halo.

A massive holographic image appeared in the air. It wasn't like watching a screen; it felt as if they had been pulled into another world. The sound of the wind, the smell of blood, the dampness of the earth—everything was within reach.

On the battlefield, the Black Tide surged forward. Mordred stood at the very front of the line, the necronomicon flipped open as ghostly green light burst forth.

Countless Undead Warriors crawled out from the ground, their white bones gleaming. With cold fire burning in their eyes, they silently formed ranks and charged toward the Black Tide.

Behind him were the soldiers of Elderland, wearing deep blue battle robes with Silver Oak Leaf Badges pinned to their chests.

The first battle.

A young soldier asked with a smile, "Lord Mordred, with the Undead Army blocking the front, what should we do?"

Mordred's lips curled up. "Watch. Once they've been mostly worn down, you go in and finish things up."

The soldiers burst into laughter.

The second battle.

The losses among the Undead Warriors were too great, forcing Mordred to send the living soldiers into battle early.

That young man charged at the very front, his blade covered in black slime.

After the battle, he sat by the campfire staring at his hands, his gaze vacant. "Those things... they aren't human. When you cut them, they don't feel any pain at all."

Mordred remained silent for a long time before placing the necronomicon between them. "That is why we need it. To use the power of the dead to protect the living."

The young man nodded.

The third battle.

The Black Tide grew fiercer. Black patterns began to appear on Mordred's face, spreading from the corners of his eyes to his mouth, and his eyes turned from deep brown to a ghostly green.

That young man died, torn in half by a monster.

Mordred rushed over, only managing to catch half of his body.

Blood welled up in the young man's mouth. His eyes remained open, but he couldn't say a word.

That night, Mordred sat beside the corpse and flipped through the necronomicon all night long.

The fourth battle.

Mordred began to avoid his comrades, spending entire nights alone in his tent flipping through pages, with occasional whispers drifting out.

Adjutant Raynard pulled back the tent flap and saw him sitting cross-legged on the ground, surrounded by a dozen extinguished candles. The black patterns on his face had deepened.

"My Lord, you should rest."

"Raynard, if I awaken all the dead on this battlefield, will the Black Tide be unable to pass?"

Raynard was stunned. "What would be the cost of that?"

Mordred looked up, no light left in his ghostly green eyes. "The price has already been paid."

The fifth battle.

The Black Tide was more ferocious than ever before. The Undead Army was crushed, and the Black Tide surged toward the army of Elderland.

Raynard led his men to form the final line of defense, turning back to shout, "My Lord! We can't hold out much longer!"

A voice echoed in Mordred's mind—a low, oily whisper crawling out from the deepest depths of his consciousness: "Use that... the one you know... you know what I'm talking about."

Mordred gripped the necronomicon tightly, his knuckles turning white.

"My Lord!" Raynard's shield shattered, and a monster's claws pierced his shoulder.

"Use that... you don't want to lose them again... do you remember that young man? His name was Abner. He didn't even close his eyes when he died."

The voice was ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) like a cold snake slithering into his mind and exploding.

The ghostly green in Mordred's eyes grew brighter and brighter as the black patterns covered his entire face.

He looked up and saw Raynard's blood-stained face—young and panicked, but with light still in his eyes.

The necronomicon flipped open. His fingers turned precisely to a certain page, and his lips moved as he recited a spell never heard before.

Ghostly green light exploded, sweeping out in all directions.

It swept over Raynard; his voice cut off abruptly, his skin turned from wheat-colored to deathly gray, his eyes became hollow pools of ghostly green, and the blood flowing from his wounds turned into black slime.

The light continued to spread, sweeping over every living Elderland soldier on the battlefield.

In that moment, everyone turned into undead.

The Undead Army faced the Black Tide. They raised their chipped swords and shattered shields, opened their lip-less mouths to let out a silent roar, and then lunged at the Black Tide.

There was no fear, no pain, and no retreat.

As one fell, ten more trampled over its body to charge forward, forcing the Black Tide back by sheer force.

The battlefield fell silent as the Black Tide receded, and Mordred regained his senses.

He knelt amidst the mountains of corpses and seas of blood. The necronomicon lay on the ground while he clutched his head, a raspy, silent howl escaping his throat.

He picked up a broken longsword and plunged it into his own chest.

He fell, but his soul found no rest. At the moment he ended his own life, the Black Tide consumed his mind once more.

Those ghostly green eyes opened again, but there was nothing left inside them.

He stood up once more, but he was no longer himself.