Chapter 1493
Within Gimble's territory, more than a dozen hills—each tens of meters high—stood silently. Undead creatures continuously appeared beneath the hills, dropping copious amounts of Necrotic Essence.
The death energy here was so concentrated it was nearly solid. Leon could even sense that inside each of these hills, new undead were already being incubated. In no time, they would crawl out, and their starting rank would be high—at least level ten or above. And they definitely wouldn’t be some lowly skeletons.
Perhaps the undead that emerge will be Black Knights or similar; Death Knights are unlikely, but at this rate, even spawning a Death Knight isn’t out of the question.
More than a dozen hills, each tens of meters tall, piled entirely from Necrotic Essence—Leon was utterly stunned by the sight.
Low-level undead creatures don’t always leave Necrotic Essence when destroyed. Only those above level ten have a high chance of dropping it, and for those above level twenty, Necrotic Essence is guaranteed upon death.
But a single piece of Necrotic Essence is only about the size of a fingernail. Only for undead above level thirty does it get slightly larger, but even then, the increase is limited—the quality improves, but the size doesn’t change much.
In these hills, the amount of Necrotic Essence was beyond Leon’s ability to calculate—far too much, an astronomical figure. Conservatively, there must be at least ten billion pieces here, which means at least ten billion undead creatures died, and their Necrotic Essence was gathered here.
And not every undead leaves Necrotic Essence behind, especially the lower ranks. Plus, Gimble’s subordinates might not have collected every piece after a death.
In less than a year, the number of undead creatures that have died here may have already reached a hundred billion...
Even if every living being in the Northend World died, it still wouldn’t reach this number!
Seeing this for the first time with his own eyes, Leon finally understood why, in the Undead Plane, a war between two Lords isn’t even considered a real war unless at least a billion undead creatures die.
Leon remembered reading that in the Undead Plane, a skirmish between two Undead Lords could involve a billion undead, with the bones of the fallen piling up into a mountain—and that’s just a minor conflict.
In the Northend World, that would be like a brawl between two neighboring villages at best...
Leon used to think that was just sarcasm, but now he realizes it was pure realism. A billion undead thrown into war—in the Undead Plane, that’s just a village squabble, barely worth mentioning, something even the Lords themselves hardly care about.
On this battlefield, there are at least dozens of Undead Lords, and if you’re below level forty-four, you don’t even qualify as a Lord here—at best, you’re a subordinate of one of the stronger Lords.
So many Undead Lords fighting over a territory just a few thousand kilometers wide—it’s no wonder the battles are so brutal. By all estimates, the fighting here is far bloodier than anywhere else in the Undead Plane.
It’s been ages since dozens of Undead Lords fought over a single territory in the Undead Plane, especially one only a few thousand kilometers wide. Any strong Lord here usually commands lands far larger than this.
The number of undead in the Undead Plane is beyond counting, but the realm itself is terrifyingly vast. Each Undead Lord rules over a huge domain, and wars between Lords rarely happen just for territory. Most of the time, their conflicts are about other things—personal grudges, soul fire, or...
All sorts of reasons, really—but pure territorial disputes are actually the rarest cause for war.
When Leon found Gimble, Gimble had just returned from the battlefield, holding a unicorn-adorned skull in his hand. The Soul Fire inside the skull still flickered, meaning this undead wasn’t dead yet—Gimble had simply twisted its head off.
Gimble grinned wickedly, inhaled toward the skull, and the Soul Fire inside turned into wisps of blue light, streaming out from the eye sockets. Mouth wide open, Gimble devoured the blue strands. The skull struggled, its Soul Fire fought not to be consumed, but it was all in vain.
Once there’s nothing left but a head, no amount of struggle matters—you can only watch as your Soul Fire is devoured completely.
As Gimble finished consuming the Soul Fire, the once-glossy skull seemed to decay thousands of years in mere seconds.
Cracks spread across the surface of the skull, its luster vanished. When the last trace of Soul Fire was devoured, the skull suddenly shattered into fragments—like rotten bone unearthed and exposed to sunlight, crumbling at the touch of air.
The fragments hit the ground with a soft crack, turning to ash. Grinning, Gimble sifted through the ashes and fished out an irregular piece of Necrotic Essence, tossing it onto a nearby hill.
After all this, Gimble finally noticed Leon approaching from afar. His small body erupted with terrifying strength, and in an instant, he appeared right beside Leon.
"Oh, Bawdy, my dearest friend—wait, is that how you say it? Whatever, Bawdy, it’s been so long! Come, you must see my masterpiece!"
With that, Gimble dragged Leon forward. Leon thought he was going to show off those hills made entirely of Necrotic Essence, but instead, Gimble led him around them to the far side.
Behind the hills, a cluster of bone cages formed a mound several meters high. Inside each bone cage was a flock of living Mourning Vultures.
The Mourning Vultures erupted into shrieks at Gimble’s arrival, screeching out their final cries of terror.
Gimble grinned, hand outstretched, his voice still laced with that deep-seated hatred.
"These damned birds must die. Mourning Vultures must die, must die..."
As he spoke, flames burst from Gimble’s arm, tongues of fire curling around every bone cage. Crimson fire roared and raged, engulfing all the Mourning Vultures. Their piercing, agonizing screams echoed within the flames, every vulture struggling in agony, but none could escape.
One by one, they were burned alive, reduced to ash that sifted through the cracks of the bone cages...
Leon stared blankly at the scene, at a total loss for words.
Those bone cages were conjured by at least a Sky Rank Bone Mage. Who knows where Gimble found such a mage to create so many cages.
The cages didn’t seem that strong—any undead above level forty could break them easily—but Gimble’s flames couldn’t destroy them. The faint scorch marks and the thick layer of bone ash on the ground showed just how many Mourning Vultures Gimble had burned here lately.
Gimble’s hatred for Mourning Vultures was etched into his very soul. The flames he just cast were no stronger than a third-rank spell, just larger in area and continuous, but if you measured his mana expenditure, he’d used enough power for a sixth-rank spell—a high-cost spell at that.
Talk about using a magical cannon to kill a chicken...
Gimble danced with glee as the Mourning Vultures burned to ash, dragging Leon along to watch—just like a boastful kid showing off his revenge to a friend.
Leon honestly had no idea what to say...
"Gimble, your fire magic’s not bad. Really, you’ve improved—keep it up..."
"Heh, Bawdy, I knew you’d notice! Now I can burn those damned Mourning Vultures to ash. You have no idea how many times I’ve tried—couldn’t do it before, but after lots of practice, I finally managed..."
Gimble chattered on for over ten minutes before suddenly remembering something and dragged Leon to a hill made of Necrotic Essence.
"Bawdy, look—this is my gift for you. I’ve been preparing it for ages. You like it, so I got these for you. It’s not much, I wanted something bigger, but since you’re here, I’ll give it to you now. I’ll get you a bigger one next time..."
Leon looked at the delighted Gimble—still a gnome ghoul at level forty-seven, ugly as ever. His intelligence had improved a bit, but in the Northend World, he’d be about on par with Hubert.
But Leon couldn’t help but feel a bit sentimental. Gimble was truly a simple soul—even as a ghoul, he was a remarkably pure one. In Gimble’s heart, there was no good or evil, just a simple rule: treat him well, and he’ll treat you well. The simplest kind of morality.
Leon stared at Gimble in a daze until Gimble tugged his sleeve, snapping him back to reality.