Chapter 700: Illusions
During the great assault by the undead, Gale Ketcher led a legion of orc shamans to intercept them. To protect his people, he and the shamans sacrificed everything, chanting a Soulquell Anthem that annihilated over two hundred thousand undead soldiers in a single stroke!
No one expected that after Gale Ketcher's death, his soul would attach itself to the Ancestral Warden Totem.
Given Gale Ketcher's contributions to the orc race, it was no surprise that countless orcs worshipped him. As an Ancestral Warden, his power was naturally immense—at his peak, he was just a step away from the Sky Rank.
Leon couldn't help but marvel, even feeling a sense of respect. Gale Ketcher truly was a shaman worthy of reverence.
Yet when Gale Ketcher heard Leon's praise, there was no joy in his expression. It seemed that chanting the Soulquell Anthem had dredged up some painful memories.
"That was not a Soulquell Anthem—it was a Sacrifice Song..."
Gale Ketcher murmured softly, then turned and returned to the demi-plane...
Leon closed the demi-plane, unconcerned about the two Ancestral Wardens brainwashing the little wolf. In this critical moment, Gale Ketcher had truly been a great help. If Leon had to act alone, it would have been far more difficult—aside from brute force, there were few good options.
Yet in his mind, Leon was still pondering Cooper's true identity. To stand alongside a legend like Gale Ketcher, Cooper could hardly be a nameless figure.
Leon’s expression turned cold.
"If you have a problem, get lost!"
Elsa quickly grabbed the nearly unhinged Jeremy.
"What nonsense are you spouting! The clan records are clear—if we want to leave Nightfall Gorge, we must go deeper. The only way out is there!"
Jeremy tried to argue, but Elsa forcibly pulled him back.
Then Elsa managed a bitter smile, apologizing to Leon: "I'm truly sorry. Jeremy just can't accept what happened to his fellow Dark Elves..."
Leon waved her off, cutting Elsa short, and sneered as he spoke.
"I'll say this just once: anyone who doesn't want to follow can leave right now. But if you try to pin your sins on us again, don't say I didn't warn you!"
Elsa gave a wry smile. She was the only one who truly understood—Leon might seem easygoing, but when he acted, he was ruthless.
Soon, the group set off again. This time, everyone was on high alert.
Their pace slowed considerably, and Leon kept ten Stone Golems scouting ahead at all times.
After traveling more than two li, the black earth ahead suddenly turned into a swamp—one that was nearly invisible from the surface. Not even the mighty Stone Golems could break free; in just a few seconds, the mire swallowed them whole.
Once the Stone Golems were dragged beneath, Leon lost all sense of them.
The sudden change put everyone on edge, but no enemy appeared. Leon tried twice more, casting Levitation on two Stone Golems and letting them float over the swamp.
Both times, nothing emerged from below.
Only then did Leon confirm—there were no enemies lurking beneath. It was just a well-hidden swamp.
The group flew over the swamp, and before long, they encountered a patch of weed-like plants that suddenly twisted into a gaping maw—like a monstrous man-eating flower—swallowing half a Stone Golem in one bite.
A sizzling sound came from within the plant. In seconds, most of the Stone Golem’s body was corroded away.
Everyone shuddered at the sight.
The deeper they ventured, the quieter it became. The air was thick with death—so still it felt as if even the wind had perished, leaving not a trace of movement.
Even as they passed through, the air refused to stir…
Yet, faint wailing drifted to their ears, as if some ghostly laughter echoed in the distance.
Occasionally, they encountered beasts or Dark Elves turned into undead, and even members of other races.
But every creature they saw had hollow eyes—each one a mindless revenant.
The strongest foe they met was only level thirty-seven—far less threatening than Clark at the start.
Each time, the party dispatched these undead quickly, but none felt any relief.
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Halfway through the gorge, Leon suddenly frowned and asked in a low voice: "Do you feel it? My mana’s starting to become unstable…"
As soon as Leon spoke, Seth looked shocked. "So you feel it too? My mana keeps fluctuating. I can’t calm it down at all!"
Leon glanced at the others; everyone was experiencing the same thing.
The air grew heavier with evil, a silent force gnawing away at everyone’s mana. Even without fighting, their magic refused to settle, as if something was constantly eroding it.
Sure enough, the farther they went, the more out of control their mana became. Eventually, everyone had to focus just to keep their magic stable.
A while later, several Dark Elves appeared ahead—followed by a surge of magical beasts, and even some Abyssal demons…
As soon as those demons with two sharp horns appeared, mana surged from Leon’s body. In an instant, he was ready for battle.
Then, the sky changed—a Frostbone Dragon appeared silently overhead, its hollow eye sockets burning with soul fire as it stared down at the crowd.
"Wait!"
Just as the tense group was about to attack, Leon suddenly called out, frowning.
He cast Life Detection and Undead Detection spells, but both showed nothing within ten meters ahead.
"It’s an illusion…"
Those Dark Elves and magical beasts could appear without a sound, and Leon hadn’t noticed any flaws—because they all looked like undead, with hollow eyes and only a pair of gray pupils.
But the Reapers—with their two-meter-tall frames, twin horns, and wicked scythes—glared with pitch-black, venomous eyes, their bodies wreathed in lifelike black smoke.
Leon knew well—Reapers lived for decapitation. It was a bloodthirsty instinct, etched into their very being. Not even a demon lord could curb their lust for heads.
In Abyssal wars, Reaper legions never fought alongside other demons. At the first sign of battle, they’d hack off any non-Reaper head—undead included.
When the frenzy peaked, Reapers would even slaughter each other—claiming not just their foe’s head, but every trophy the loser had collected.
A Reaper’s wealth was measured in heads—their number and rank. All their offerings, sacrifices, and trades revolved around the grisly currency of skulls.
These Reapers clearly weren’t undead. How could they ignore all the heads so easily snatched nearby?
And then, the Frostbone Dragon’s appearance was the biggest giveaway of all…
Far too quiet—so quiet, not even a hint of death lingered in the air…
A Frostbone Dragon was only born from the corpse of a true Frost Dragon—at minimum, level thirty-nine. Most Frostbone Dragons were Sky Rank…
Take Reina’s father, for instance—if he died and became undead, he’d be a Sky Rank Frostbone Dragon. Reina herself wouldn’t even qualify.
Such a powerful undead creature could never appear so quietly, as if conjured out of thin air—nor remain silent after arriving. Impossible!
Hearing Leon say it was an illusion, everyone relaxed at once. The Dark Elves wasted no time preparing to move forward.
Leon, however, kept his expression grave as he sent a Stone Golem toward the illusions.