Pope Dussel Ratzinger appeared on Level 7 of the Tanazk Great Mine.
This level was a massive man-made pit, now piled high with skeletal remains. Countless miners had met their end here, victims of either extreme exhaustion or infection by necromantic magic.
Over the years, the great noble Campbell had amassed incredible wealth. Thanks to the convenience provided by the Pope, his monopoly in the first continent was unshakable.
A shameless capitalist like him would never miss an opportunity to squeeze every last drop of value from his workers.
Above the great pit, an altar constructed on a temporary mining platform was hosting a bizarre, unknown ritual.
The participants of the ritual were dressed uniformly in white jumpsuits and thick white hoods that completely obscured their faces.
It was a display of the collective drowning out the individual.
The scene bore no resemblance to a standard religious service. More than 100 blood-red candles flickered on the altar, surrounding a chalice of unknown purpose filled with blood. A dagger lay beside it.
The members alternated between lying flat on the ground, letting out loud cries, and performing strange, rhythmic dances.
In the pitch-black depths of the mine, the combination of claustrophobia and the eerie movements created a sense of being surrounded and watched by a malevolent will.
The member leading the ritual wore a skull mask that radiated an aura of decay. With a loud shout, he grabbed the dagger next to the chalice and slit his own throat.
Dussel picked up the bloody dagger, letting the gore from the blade flow into the chalice.
Suddenly, the remaining dozen or so members tore off their hoods. With exaggerated, hideous smiles, they leaped from the high platform, their bodies shattering upon the floor of the pit.
In the center, Pope Dussel activated the massive necromantic magic circle covering the entirety of Level 7.
The self-sacrifice of the leader stirred the countless lingering spirits within the mine. A visible mist of death and decay swirled above the magic circle.
At the same moment, the connection between Sindar Town and the necromantic array on Level 7—activated by Bishop Aeneas—began to glow. This was a plan the Bishop and the Pope had prepared for a very long time.
Pope Dussel struck his scepter against the altar floor. He was about to begin the final stage of this grand necromantic sacrifice.
He channeled his entire reservoir of mana into the center of the array. Countless dark energies flowed from the circle, condensing and transforming before a thick stench of death erupted from the depths of the Tanazk Great Mine, surging toward the surface.
The necromantic array and the large-scale linking array Aeneas had set up in Sindar Town were forcibly activated. Many civilians in the town collapsed, wailing as blood leaked from their eyes and ears. Their lives were snuffed out in an instant, their life force sucked away like gas.
More than 2,000 civilians in Sindar Town were being sacrificed. The town would no longer harbor any living breath.
In their place, all 2,000 civilians would be turned into zombies.
Furthermore, the dead rose from nearby graveyards and cemeteries, their spirits dragging broken skeletons from their tombs.
Tyron and his subordinates, who had been hastily buried by Marcus not long ago, also returned to the surface. The incredibly dense necromantic magic forced their rotting bodies out of the dungeon traps.
“Such wonderful power! I need more! More!” the Pope shouted excitedly, his face twisting into a manic, distorted expression.
He was unaware that half of his face had already turned into a bare skull, while the other half lacked the healthy color of human skin. A pale blue flame flickered within the hollow socket of his skeletal eye.
His chest was hollowed out, devoid of flesh. Nestled within his ribs was a deep-red orb—the phylactery that housed his soul.
Dussel had prepared for this for a long time, and today, he had finally achieved his goal. He had entered a state that was neither life nor death, the very thing he had sought.
He still believed that only necromancy could resurrect the former High Priestess Felicitala. His madness and obsession were finally yielding results.
**[Dussel Ratzinger: Race change from Human to Undead; Class change from Priest to Necrolich]**
“I want more! More! Praise Adomili! Praise Morvana!”
In truth, the Creator Goddess Adomili was a lie used to deceive the world. She was actually Morvana, the Goddess of Death and Decay.
In the current first continent of Disoreon, under the high-pressure theocratic rule of the Pope, a policy of keeping the masses ignorant was rampant. The Pope constantly glorified Morvana under a false name; after all, no commoner could feel Morvana’s power, nor could they become her worldly representative.
Bishop Aeneas, the Pope’s favorite, had gained much under the Pope’s protection and naturally knew his secrets. However, he feared the power of death. Even though he constantly begged for the Pope’s magical protection, he refused to become a lich.
He would maintain his close partnership with the Pope, but he would never cross the line of changing his race.
Back in Sindar Town, countless innocent civilians had turned into zombies—Dussel’s masterpiece. From a high bell tower, Bishop Aeneas watched the scene of living hell with a furrowed brow. He felt powerless; he could not defy the Pope’s will, especially since the Pope had placed a restriction on him. If he violated it, his body would explode.
Aeneas could only use a teleportation scroll to meet Campbell at his villa and prepare for the next phase of the plan.
Hordes of zombies swarmed out from Sindar Town, mindlessly attacking the surrounding villages. Large numbers of civilians fled in terror, but those who couldn’t escape became food for the zombies before being turned into monsters themselves.
The guards in the surrounding villages lacked the strength to stop them, and their reckless attacks only resulted in them joining the undead ranks. Ordinary physical attacks were useless against these creatures; only light-attribute purification magic was effective.
“Ah! This power is truly exhilarating! Just a little more, just a little bit more! Onward to the next town; the necromantic energy here has been mostly drained.” The withered, skeletal creature’s eyes glowed with a deep-red, evil light.
“I will leave the rest of the plan to Aeneas, Altair, and Campbell. They are excellent pawns; they won’t disappoint me.” Pope Dussel activated the teleportation array beside the altar and vanished. No one knew where he had gone.
—
The Captain of the Death Knights, Altair, had long since distanced himself from that cursed place. He and his unit had hidden on the slopes of the Peak of Phantoms.
‘Damn it, it is a good thing I move fast. Otherwise, if I got caught in that damn array, I would be just like those living dead!’ Altair cursed the despairing aura of the necromantic array before complaining about the Pope under his breath.
‘The Pope sure knows how to work people to the bone. Lately, I have been stuck guarding this massive array in the middle of a pile of corpses. I cannot go anywhere. I am sick of it!’
‘I wonder how Tyron is doing. He said he was going to investigate the Resistance’s base, but I have not heard from him in half a month.’ He was deeply concerned about Tyron; after all, they were brothers who had faced life and death together since they were children.
Altair looked down at the foot of the mountain. He stared blankly at a group of zombies in the forest, and a familiar figure among them made his heart stop.