Back then, the power Sandro possessed was known as the Undead Pact.
At that time, Sandro could form pacts with almost any undead creature. Sometimes, he could even ignore the gap in rank. Everyone knew that even when Sandro was just a Magus, he had a Bone Dragon fighting alongside him—a formidable force at the Titled Magus level.
When Sandro became a Titled Magus, his undead legion was enough to drive any enemy to despair. It was the strongest undead army in Northend World's history. With this overwhelmingly powerful force, Sandro conquered dozens of planes over several centuries—including the infamous Undead Plane.
For a necromancer, the Undead Pact was truly an ability that defied the heavens.
Even Leon himself thought that if he ever obtained such power, he would probably be unable to resist the temptation and would choose to become a necromancer.
But an illusion is always just an illusion—it can never truly be real. As Leon stood there, his eyes saw a stone wall, but the magic he sent out met no resistance. For a mage, Leon trusted his magic above all, even more than his own senses.
Leon knew that for a mage, your eyes might deceive you, but your magic never will.
Leon put the Soul Essence of the Blood Wraith into his pocket, then took out a bottle of Ink Spring Potion and drank it. Only after finishing all this did he slowly walk to the end of the corridor. Under the glow of the Light spell, Leon could see clearly that, apart from a hanging oil painting, there was nothing unusual at the corridor’s end—just thick stone walls covered in dust, looking no different from the rest of the corridor...
But Leon knew—this place was definitely different.
Leon remembered clearly that the vision of the stone golem had suddenly changed right here...
Leon stared at the thick stone wall for a long time, then suddenly a faint smile appeared on his face. "So that's how it is..."
After saying this, Leon didn't hesitate any longer. He strode toward the end of the corridor. Strangely enough, though there was clearly a stone wall there, when Leon walked up to it, his entire body passed through as if the barrier before him was nothing but empty air.
Throughout Northend's history, many have entered the Death Garden. Of them all, Sandro was the most influential. In fact, when Leon first saw the Death Garden, the Lich King was the first person who came to mind.
The stone golem hadn't experienced any of this simply because it had no soul; illusions had no effect on it.
But what Leon saw was a long corridor and a stone wall at its end.
Once Leon was certain he hadn't misremembered, he took a deep breath, drank another bottle of Duskwell Elixir, and finally stepped forward.
Almost the moment Leon took that step, a wave of thick, putrid stench hit him. In an instant, the lush garden turned into a hellscape strewn with corpses. Rotting bodies surrounded him, and the ground was slick with congealed blood. Each step made a sickening squelch that sent chills down his spine.
Above him hung a cold crescent moon. Ahead was a steep slope, and behind Leon yawned a bottomless cliff.
Worst of all, Leon could clearly see a mass of skeletal warriors at the bottom of the slope, clumsily and painfully climbing upward.
Now, Leon stood at the edge of this garden. All it would take was a single step forward—and he could experience everything Sandro once did.
But Leon stood there for a long time, and that step forward never came.
He was recalling everything he knew about the Death Garden...
Throughout Northend's history, quite a few people must have entered the Death Garden. Of course, Sandro was by far the most influential among them. In fact, when Leon first saw the Death Garden, the Lich King was the first to come to mind.
Leon remembered the craftsman once wrote that the Death Garden is a real yet dangerous illusion, and that everyone who enters faces their own unique trial. Years later, in the last pages of his journal, the craftsman speculated that every choice made within the illusion might determine the final reward.
That one insight alone was worth a hundred times more than Sandro's empty words.
Once Leon was sure he hadn't misremembered, he took a deep breath, drank another bottle of Duskwell Elixir, and finally stepped forward.
Compared to Sandro, conqueror of the Undead Plane, this craftsman barely left a mark on history. Honestly, if he hadn’t helped build the Sanctuary Spire, his journal probably wouldn’t have even made it into the library.
And the master's harvest from the Death Garden was nothing compared to Sandro's.
When Sandro entered the Death Garden years ago, he not only gained the power of the Undying Pact, but also acquired the Soulstone every necromancer dreams of—a legendary artifact that can convert soulfire into mana. With the Soulstone in hand and his undead legions behind him, Sandro wielded near-limitless magical power.
As for that master craftsman...
Yet another roll at 5:30 in the morning...
Same garden, worlds apart—the difference was staggering.
Still, Leon found that unlucky craftsman far more endearing than Sandro. No matter how misfortunate, at least he left some clues in his notes—unlike Sandro, who only spouted empty platitudes about danger and opportunity.
Leon remembered the craftsman once wrote that the Death Garden is a real yet perilous illusion, and that everyone who enters faces their own unique trial. Years later, in the last pages of his journal, the craftsman speculated that every choice made within the illusion might determine the final reward.
That one insight alone was worth a hundred times more than Sandro's nonsense.
Once sure he hadn't misremembered, Leon took a deep breath, drank another bottle of Duskwell Elixir, and finally stepped forward...
Almost the instant Leon took that step, a wave of putrid stench assaulted him. The lush garden transformed into a hellscape littered with corpses—the ground covered in congealed blood, each step squelching underfoot, sending chills down his spine.
Above him hung a cold crescent moon, ahead lay a steep slope, and behind Leon yawned a bottomless cliff...
Worst of all, Leon could clearly see a swarm of skeletal warriors clumsily clawing their way up the slope below.
*************
Yet another early-morning roll at 5:30...