Chapter 1508
Leon had no need to intervene in the front-line battle—the situation was stable enough. The space here had been reinforced to withstand even the full force of an Eighth Rank powerhouse, but rarely did anyone above Fifth Rank appear at the front.
With no powerful undead making a move, the Northend Allied Forces kept their own elites in check, careful not to provoke the undead. After all, the current situation favored the Northend side.
With nothing pressing to do, Leon considered returning to the Natural Semi-Plane to contemplate the laws of magic. But after some thought, he decided to seek out Prometheus.
After tagging along with Prometheus for a few days, Leon was even more convinced—this guy was a saint through and through. Back when Uther’s soul was split, it wasn’t just a simple division; his good and evil sides were completely separated into two distinct beings.
The evil half became the Blood Lich, feared by even the most mindless undead of the Undead Plane for his brutality and malice. The other half? That became Prometheus.
Looking at Prometheus’s life, you couldn’t find a single blemish on his record. If he had a flaw, it was only that he was too much of a saint—otherwise, he was basically flawless.
All the virtues of a Paladin—Prometheus could be the template for every single one of them.
Ever since the corridor space could withstand Eighth Rank power, Prometheus had stationed himself at the front lines, guarding against any unexpected threats. Across thousands of kilometers of battlefront, he tirelessly rushed back and forth, healing the wounded and purifying those corrupted by Necrotic Power.
To put it simply, he was always doing the dirty, exhausting work—leading by example. The Sanctum of Light used to have such a terrible reputation that the mere mention of their name made people think of a pack of mad dogs...
Thanks to the Sanctum of Light’s infamy, even the reputation of Lightbearer Mages was ruined. In many places, Lightbearer Mages were equated with mad dogs. Plenty of young mages, despite having strong affinity for the Light, chose to become ordinary Elemental Mages instead of pursuing a future as pure Lightbearers...
The Sanctum of Light had thoroughly destroyed the reputation of the entire Lightbearer Mage community.
Yet, after an internal purge and with Prometheus released and elevated to the Sanctum’s top seat, the Sanctum of Light’s reputation began recovering at a frightening pace.
It can take years to build a good name, but only a few years to utterly destroy one. Once a reputation is truly trashed, restoring it demands far more effort—and sometimes, it’s simply impossible.
But even in such circumstances, Prometheus managed to restore the Sanctum’s reputation at breakneck speed. Even those who still cursed the Sanctum of Light as mad dogs would show deep respect when Prometheus’s name came up. Some even thought he deserved better, and that the Sanctum was just dragging him down.
Prometheus led by example, and the people within the Sanctum of Light didn’t dare challenge the new rules. After a few were made examples of, the organization’s culture changed completely. Now, the Sanctum was an indispensable part of the battlefield—and when fighting the undead, the greatest danger wasn’t being killed outright.
It was being corrupted by Necrotic Power—that was the real headache. In a war of this scale, almost no one escaped its touch; the only difference was how much you got.
Using potions to counteract it required far too many resources. The best solution was a Lightbearer Mage—a simple Radiant Expulsion could solve the problem perfectly. Even if someone was deeply corrupted by Necrotic Power, as long as they weren’t dead or fully turned undead, Light magic could bring them back.
Just think about how many people fought here—every day, at least twenty rotations of fresh soldiers went to the front. In those death-soaked zones, corruption by Necrotic Power was inevitable. Afterward, hundreds would gather, a Lightbearer Mage would cast a Fifth Rank Radiant Benediction, and everyone could go rest. If there were injuries, a Mass Healing spell would finish the job...
If you were lucky enough to run into Prometheus, as long as you were still alive—no matter how badly mangled, even if you’d been chopped to pieces—he could regrow your limbs. Even those half-turned into undead could be saved, as long as the transformation wasn’t complete.
It’s no wonder Prometheus is so respected. On the front lines, mages might be the main force, but when it comes to charging into battle, that job falls to alchemical golems and swordsmen. Missing limbs are just par for the course for those sword-wielding chargers.
Out here, if you lose a limb, forget about getting it back. The undead, crazed at the sight of blood, will tear it to shreds in an instant. If you run into a Zombie Beast or a Ghoul, they’ll devour it—bones and all.
Even if you’re lucky enough to recover a lost limb, it’s useless. Without magical protection, it’ll be quickly corroded by Necrotic Power and end up just a bare bone.
In Northend World, limb restoration spells start at Eighth-Rank, and finding a Lightbearer Mage of that caliber is no easy feat. Since the Sanctum of Light ruined their reputation, only their own people are seen out in public.
For most people, losing an arm or leg means you’ll never find a Ninth-Rank Title Archmage to cast Limb Restoration for you. The Sanctum of Light sets a steep price—and even a Ninth-Rank Sword Saint might not be able to afford it.
Besides, Eighth-Rank Limb Restoration leaves you weak for a long time—the stronger you are, the longer it takes to recover. You have to let your new limb adapt and gradually train it; the process is so slow that a single misstep could ruin the whole thing.
[Irrelevant system message skipped.]
The best solution is a Ninth-Rank Transcendent Spell—that’s the only way to restore a limb perfectly. But ordinary folks never get that chance; Eighth-Rank Lightbearer Mages won’t burn that much mana for just anyone. If it happens even once, you’re lucky...
But here on the battlefield, so far, as long as you’re alive, not a single person is missing an arm or a leg. Every last one has been healed by Prometheus. Yes, all of them—by Prometheus alone.
Prometheus has racked up thousands—maybe tens of thousands—of favors here. Just thinking about how he single-handedly pulled this off is insane. Only someone like him, an Eighth-Rank Lightbearer Mage, could withstand the mana drain. Ever since the Sanctum of Light released him, he’s been getting stronger and stronger. Now, he’s not far from reaching Ninth-Rank.
A Ninth-Rank Lightbearer Mage in a war against the undead could replace an entire army. If Prometheus really reached Ninth-Rank, this war wouldn’t be so drawn out. With the undead we’re facing now, Prometheus alone could purify every last one of them—including the undead lords—across thousands of kilometers in a single day.
But for now, Prometheus hasn’t advanced to Ninth-Rank, and his understanding of the Light isn’t yet complete. Using those large-scale spells drains too much mana—unless it’s absolutely critical, it’s better not to use them.
Everything here is running smoothly. If nothing unexpected happens, all that’s left is to wait.
Even so, Leon couldn’t shake a sense of unease. The Blood Lich might be evil and ruthless, but his intellect was top-tier—even among master mages. There’s no way he wouldn’t have prepared for his own downfall.
With the Blood Lich’s personality, he’d never assume that merging his soul with the Nightmare Lord’s divine soul made him invincible. Even in death, he would have set up contingencies for revenge.
If he went down, he’d take others with him. That’s just how the Blood Lich operates. Historically, he’s notorious for holding grudges—he once spent thousands of years getting payback for a single defeat. Normal people just aren’t wired like that.
But after all these days, nothing unexpected has happened. Leon started to wonder if he was just being paranoid—maybe the Blood Lich really believed he couldn’t die.
Time ticked by, and everything continued smoothly. The war might end sooner than expected—if nothing goes wrong, it’ll be over in just three years from start to finish.
Leon hardly needed to act personally anymore. Sometimes he’d disguise himself as undead and slip over to Ymir, collecting the Necrotic Essence Ymir had stockpiled. The Northend Allied Forces also had plenty of Necrotic Essence, but it was a consumable for many mages, so Leon could only buy a portion as a supplement. Besides, Ymir’s stash was much larger.
After collecting Necrotic Essence several times, the Ninth-Rank Limit Spell Slot on the Sage’s Chapter was finally about to manifest. According to his calculations, it wouldn’t be long before he truly acquired it, and Leon was already pondering which spell to imprint there.
From the look of things, once the Ninth-Rank Limit Spell Slot appears, he’ll only be able to cast one such spell for a long time—the amount of Necrotic Essence needed is staggering. Preparing a Ninth-Rank Limit Spell takes years, and only in a war of this scale, with countless undead falling every day, can enough Necrotic Essence be gathered.