...
At this moment.
Lynch peered through the gaps in the bushes where he hid. He could clearly see the miserable state of Barry and the other three.
Aside from Barry, the Holy Knight apprentice who could still barely fight by swinging his dim Longsword to block their pursuers, the three Holy Light Priest apprentices had almost entirely lost their combat ability.
Thorns had long since shredded their holy white robes, leaving them covered in mud and bloodstains. Their faces were as pale as paper, their lips purple, and their footsteps staggering.
Clearly, they suffered from more than one of the Necromancer's curses. Lynch could identify at least two just by looking: the Weakness Curse and the Pain Curse. Furthermore, their internal Holy Light Power had completely run dry. They could not even cast the most basic Purification Skill.
The Necromancer hunting them down shrouded himself in a large, stained black robe that obscured his exact face and age. He did not rush to the front lines. Instead, he hid behind a massive horde of Skeleton Servants, strolling leisurely. He possessed the unhurried calm of a seasoned hunter.
"HEH HEH HEH."
The Necromancer occasionally let out a villainous, sinister cackle. He then raised his Magic Staff and cast another Curse through the mob of skeletons to land on Barry's group. The massive horde of Skeleton Servants trailed after Barry and the others, constantly entangling and harassing them. The Necromancer displayed extreme patience as he wore down their remaining stamina and willpower, toying with his prey in a sadistic game of cat and mouse.
Lynch scanned the area roughly through the gaps in the bushes, and his heart sank.
The number of Skeleton Servants this guy controlled reached a staggering sixty or seventy. More importantly, these were fresh Humanoid Skeleton servants. They were far superior to the Fishman skeletons under Lynch's command, which merely served to make up numbers.
"Mad..." Lynch felt a chill run down his spine. "How am I supposed to fight this?"
He only hoped his tactic of playing dead would let him slip by unnoticed. At the same time, he prayed that Barry and those jinxes would experience a sudden burst of adrenaline. Even if they only lasted another dozen seconds and ran a bit further away, they absolutely could not bring the flames of war to his doorstep.
Unfortunately, things in this world often worked out so that the more you feared something, the more likely it was to happen.
A mere seven or eight meters away from Lynch's hiding spot, the tidal wave of Skeleton Servants completely surrounded Barry and his team.
"Fight them to the death!" Barry let out a desperate, furious roar. He poured out his remaining strength to squeeze out a faint trace of Holy Light, coating his Longsword. With a mighty swing, he shattered two approaching skeletons.
The Priest apprentices behind him also roused their final dregs of power to cast the Purification Skill. However, the light was as weak as a candle in the wind. It only delayed the movements of a few skeletons for a split second before extinguishing completely.
CRACK! SQUELCH!
The sounds of bones snapping and sharp blades biting into flesh rang out in succession. Despite giving it their all, they only managed to destroy a measly four or five Skeleton Servants in the end. Against an absolute numerical advantage, their desperate resistance failed to make a splash.
Soon, the skeletons hacked the Holy Light foursome to the ground, their blood dyeing the withered leaves of the forest red. Although they did not die immediately, they were breathing their last, having completely lost the ability to resist.
"HEH HEH HEH."
The Necromancer unleashed another string of smug, wicked cackles. He did not step forward immediately. Instead, he cautiously observed the four of them again. Only after confirming they were truly critically injured did he step out of the skeleton mob under the escort of two Netherworld skeletons, slowly pacing over to them.
"Mad!" Lynch's heart sank secretly once more.
This guy actually possessed two Netherworld skeletons, and their auras were incredibly powerful. The dark green Soul Fire in their eye sockets burned brightly. They looked significantly stronger than Bone Jade, likely already at the mid-to-high levels of Tier One.
The only slight advantage Lynch held was his early vigilance. He had hidden himself quickly, and now the vast majority of the Necromancer's attention remained on the Holy Light foursome. He essentially had the element of surprise while the enemy stood in the open.
The Necromancer looked down condescendingly at Barry and his companions, who resembled lambs waiting for slaughter. From the shadows beneath his hood, a pair of greedy, excited eyes peered out.
"Excellent materials... Although the Holy Light is nauseating, once converted into corpse servants, they should be much stronger than ordinary farmers."
"Corpse servants?" Lynch's heart skipped another beat.
This guy actually mastered the Corpse Resurrection Skill? By the looks of it, even if he had not reached Tier Two, he was not far from it.
With his life on the line, Lynch's mind began to race.
The current situation was glaringly obvious. Two entirely different choices lay before him. The first was to continue playing dead and pray that the Necromancer, after converting Barry and the other three into corpse servants, would leave satisfied with his new harvest, thereby ignoring Lynch who was right beside him. The second was to seize the moment when the opponent's attention was fully focused on Barry's group, wait for the critical moment of his spellcasting to launch a massive ambush, and violently spring up to kill the bastard.
Continuing to play dead seemed safe, but in reality, it handed his fate entirely over to luck.
The opponent was an experienced Necromancer with keen perception. Although Barry and the others currently occupied his attention and he had not yet discovered Lynch, what about afterward? Once he regained his focus, what were the chances of him noticing Lynch? Fifty percent!? Or seventy percent? Once discovered, given the overall strength the opponent had displayed, Lynch would absolutely have zero chance of winning. His fate would likely be no better than Barry's.
If he took the initiative to strike, the risk was naturally astronomical as well. A single mistake would doom him eternally. But... at least the initiative over his fate would rest in his own hands. Furthermore, striking an unprepared enemy with a premeditated plan meant he might actually stand a chance.
He weighed the pros and cons repeatedly in a split second. Soon, Lynch's gaze grew resolute.
It was a gamble of odds either way, so why not keep the initiative in his own hands? A clear, simple plan rapidly took shape in his mind: strike the leader first.
If they were to set up their formations, relying on Undead Magic and the Skeleton Servants under their command for a frontal clash between Necromancers, then Lynch had absolutely zero chance of winning. But if it came to close-quarters hand-to-hand combat...
Lynch glanced at the somewhat gaunt figure beneath the opponent's black robe. Well, then he might just have a shot.
The closer he got to the pivotal moment, the more cautious Lynch became. His breathing grew long and faint, bordering on imperceptible. He resembled a patient hunter waiting for the perfect opportunity.
Meanwhile, the Necromancer seemed to have enjoyed the despairing atmosphere of his prey enough. He drew a chilling bone dagger and let out an eerie, sinister laugh.
"Now then, before you become my loyal corpse servants, allow me to taste your pained and terrified souls. This is a top-tier tonic, after all..."
Saying this, he squatted down. He slowly reached the bone dagger toward the throat of the barely conscious Carl. Since it was rare to enjoy such a grand feast, extreme excitement caused the hand holding the dagger—and indeed his entire body—to tremble slightly. All his attention concentrated entirely on the "sacrifice" before him.
Now was the time.
A flash of fierce determination crossed Lynch's eyes, and his adrenaline surged.
He swung his eerie Magic Staff at breakneck speed, murmuring a Spell in a slurred, low chant. The Spell was completed faster than ever before. With a light tap of the staff's tip toward the Necromancer, his Spiritual Power locked onto the target. A small orb of pale-white Curse light shot out from the staff, hurtling toward the enemy at blinding speed.
...