CHAPTER 11: TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO!

Dante smiled just as the first flood of experience poured into his body.

[10 x F Rank Jungle Wolf Killed - 500 Experience]

[10 x F Rank Moonclaw Monkey’s - 500 Experience]

[4 x E Rank Duskfang Bats - 400 Experience]

[2 x D Rank Shadow Panthars - 400 Experience]

’Bring the bodies back to me,’ he ordered his army.

While waiting, he thought for a second. ’I can get rid of the F Rank Death Goblins as I have the warriors and the lord, Raoul, can command them thanks to being my first Death Knight.’

The Death Wolves returned, dragging four massive dog-sized Duskfang Bats, making his eyes widen in awe. Each bat had tattered, leathery wings. ’’Impressive,’’ he muttered. ’’But still too weak to bear my weight.’’

Dante extended his hand toward the three fallen monsters. Before he did anything, he dismissed four F Rank Death Goblins so he could recruit these beasts. With a voice that carried the weight of death itself, he cast his ability. ’’Arise.’’

A surge of necrotic energy erupted from his palm, a writhing torrent of shadow and malice that slithered through the air like a living thing. It poured into the lifeless forms before him, seeping into their flesh. As his power took hold, a pulsating red glow enveloped the bodies, bathing them in an otherworldly light that flickered like embers of a dying star. The air grew thick thanks to the scent of decay and power.

Minutes later, the Duskfang Bats rose as Death Bats and bowed to him as he ordered. ’’Go into the Domain. I’ll call for you when needed.’’

Following that, Dante sat back down as the Ghoul Warrior and Plague Maiden caused chaos across the Dark Forest. They were driving the monsters toward the human settlements on the coast. He had remembered Nemaroth was anchored by four great cities, each teeming with thousands of souls. Established decades ago by the Darkmoore Kingdom to reap the numerous resources.

There was Blackharbor sprawled in the far south, its shadowed docks notorious for its dark trade. Dreadport loomed in the north, a fortress city shrouded in grim whispers. Port Veil clung to the western coast, its misty harbors hiding secrets, while Duskgate stood in the east, its gates glowing under eerie twilight. The heart of the Darkmoore Kingdom rested on the southern continent of Dawnfen, a land steeped in ancient lore and uncountable monsters.

Exhausted from his journey. He slipped into his tent, nestled beneath the sheets, and surrendered to sleep. As Dante lay in a deep sleep, a cruel dream dragged him back to the day of his execution. His heart shattered anew as he watched Luna, his fiercely loyal wolf, stand defiant beside him. The spearmen closed in, their cruel lances piercing the beast’s flesh.

Its piercing cries echoed in his soul, each thrust tearing at their bond as the wolf chose death over abandoning its master. A guttural of snarls and growls ripped Dante from his restless slumber as sweat covered his body. His head throbbed as he shook off the fog of sleep, his senses sharpening with each passing second. The air felt thick, charged with an unsettling energy that set his nerves on edge.

Rubbing his eyes, he staggered to his feet. The noises outside grew louder, more feral, like a pack of beasts tearing into their prey. Curiosity, tinged with dread, pulled him toward the tent flap. Stepping into the dim twilight, Dante’s gaze locked onto the source of the commotion. The Death Wolves huddled in a tight circle, their sleek, obsidian fur glinting under the faint moonlight.

Their jaws worked furiously, ripping and tearing at something obscured in the shadows. The wet, crunching sounds of their feast annoyed Dante, but it was the glint of something unnatural that froze him in place. ’’What the hell are you chewing on now?’’ he called out, his voice rough with irritation, though a thread of unease wove through his words.

Dante took a step forward, his boots crunching against the earth. The wolves didn’t pause, their glowing red eyes flicking toward him for only a moment before returning to their prize. As he drew closer, the faint outline of their meal came into view. It wasn’t just any carcass. The thing sprawled across the ground was a mockery of a human, its limbs longer than usual, its flesh mottled with sickly gray patches and pulsating, tumor-like growths.

Empty, milky eyes stared skyward, frozen in a silent scream as a horrible aura radiated from the corpse. The sight hit Dante like a punch to the gut, igniting a spark of rage deep inside his chest. This wasn’t just some random mutation. This was the work of dark sorcery that he’d seen a lifetime ago. ’’Son of a bitch,’’ he muttered, his voice low and venomous.

Without hesitation, he stormed forward, shoving the wolves aside. They growled in protest but yielded to their master. Dante crouched beside the mangled corpse, his fingers hovering over the creature’s distorted features. The stench of decay and something fouler clogged his senses. His jaw clenched as he confirmed his suspicions. This was a Necromancer’s handiwork.

Rising to his feet, he seized the body by its tattered clothing, his muscles tensing. Moments later, he hurled the corpse over the edge of the nearby ravine, watching it tumble into the darkness below like discarded refuse. The wolves whined, their meal stolen, but he ignored them, his mind racing. ’’Another Necromancer,’’ he growled, his eyes scanning the horizon.

The air felt heavier now, as if the very land held its breath, waiting for the next move in this deadly game. He clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking. ’’If they’re out there, they’re gonna regret crossing my path.’’

Dante’s gaze lingered on the spot where the body had disappeared, his thoughts a storm of questions and resolve. The Death Wolves circled him, their low growls echoing his simmering anger. Whoever was responsible for this abomination was close. And he wasn’t one to let a threat fester as he fought the sly bastards in his previous life. With that, he summoned the Death Bats and ordered. ’’Find this Necromancer’s hideout and report back.’’

The Death Bats tore through the night, their wings a blur, as Raoul strode forward, his tone heavy. "My Lord, is it wise to challenge such a formidable enemy? The one lurking in the Dark Forest wields fearsome power.’’

Dante’s laughter erupted, a defiant roar. Gripping his dagger, its edge glinting, he grinned, a predator’s smile appeared as he responded. ’’I may bear the lowly F Rank, but my blade cuts far beyond. That Necromancer will never see me coming for his throat!’’

His aura erupted, a searing tempest of raw power that forced Raoul and the Death Wolves to recoil, lest they be scorched by its ferocity. He shook his head, the fire in his crimson eyes dimming to a smolder. ’’I’m going to sleep,’’ he declared. ’’Wake me when the Plague Maiden and Ghoul Warrior return.’’

Following that, he crawled inside his tent as his monsters searched for an old acquaintance that Dante knew from his old life. While he slept, the Death Bats flew across the Dark Jungle looking for the Necromancer. As he sat in contemplation, his mind lingered on the Death Knights, particularly how he had transformed the Goblin Scout into one and not the others. With a shrug, he resolved to experiment further when the Plague Maiden, the most formidable among them, returned.

When he thought about that, something pinged inside his mind as notifications popped up in his vision.

[Death Knights are selected by your choice, but it will cost you a

capacity slot. The Goblin Scout was needed to activate it]

[Death Knights: 1/3]

[Increase Capacity: 2000]

’Interesting,’ he mused. ’Maybe I can turn the Maiden into a Death Knight until I find someone stronger.’

***

Velmorath, the dreaded B Rank Necromancer whose name still haunted Eldoria as a child’s story, had once terrorized its lands, siphoning the lifeblood of villagers to defy death itself. Centuries ago, a legendary hero cast him down, yet his mana preserved his existence. Now, toiling in the shadowed depths of his cave, he wove necromancy and the dark arts to birth a war machine from tortured human souls.

A piercing screech shattered his focus, clawing at the air outside. Sensing a chilling aura of death, Velmorath rushed out from his lair, his robes billowing like a storm of decay. Before him hovered a Duskfang Bat. But this was no ordinary beast, its skin gleamed a sinister crimson, its fur a ghostly pale, radiating unnatural strength. Yet it was the mana pulsing from the creature that froze him.

’’Another Necromancer?!’’ he hissed. ’’I fled to this forsaken abyss to escape the world’s gaze, and now one of my kind dares track me here?’’

An evil aura pulsed through the air, and Velmorath’s blood turned to ice as his eyes locked onto its source. There stood Dante, not the hero of legend, but a twisted specter of madness, his face contorted into a jagged, unhinged evil smile. ’What’s wrong! Why does he feel like a Necromancer but worse!’ he internally panicked.

His eyes burned with a sickly, red glow, radiating a hunger, making Velmorath’s soul recoil. ’’H-Hero... you... You died over two hundred years ago! I watched the flames consume your body!’’ he stammered, his voice cracking, dread clawing at his throat.

Dante’s laughter erupted, a guttural sound that echoed like shattering glass, nothing human left in it. It wasn’t joy, it was a promise. His head twitched unnaturally as if he were holding something back, his gaze boring into him like a predator savoring its prey’s terror.

’’Velmorath, you pathetic worm,’’ he hissed, his tone a venomous rasp. ’’When I died, I never expected to see you here, but now? Oh, now I’m gonna rip your soul apart, stitch it into my collection, and make you dance as my eternal slave!’’

His grin widened, impossibly wide, as he stepped closer, reality itself seeming to warp around his unhinged presence, leaving Velmorath trembling, utterly consumed by primal fear when looking at the hero. ’Those fools created a fucking Demon!’ he thought, but calmed down when he realized the young man was only F Rank thanks to his aura.

Velmorath felt his warp twisted heart pounding with desperate defiance, raised his trembling hands, dark energy crackling as he began weaving a forbidden spell to counter Dante’s malice and summoned an army of zombies. They appeared all around him, giving him some confidence, only for it to fall short seconds later. Two sinister auras, each more oppressive than the last, slammed into his body like a tidal wave, snuffing out any fight he had in him in an instant.

His knees buckled, and his eyes widened in terror as two shadowy figures materialized, encircling the once loved hero, who was now as much as a villain as he was. Their forms twisted thanks to death, their faces obscured by writhing darkness, save for glowing, predatory eyes.