Chapter 1484
Aside from the Elder Gods and Demons, any creature that catches the attention of the Lord of Misfortune—well, ending up as a miserable undead is probably the best outcome you could hope for...
Everything that happened before—there’s really only one explanation left: our luck is just that bad...
And for luck to be this abysmal, there’s only one reason: a Curse of Misfortune cast with the Lord of Misfortune’s flesh as its material. With the Blood Lich’s power and the Lord of Misfortune’s flesh combined, it’s no wonder things have gotten this bad.
Agalon looked at Alonzo, his face grave but his eyes quietly asking a question.
Alonzo’s face was dark, as if he hadn’t seen Agalon’s look at all.
“Aside from tearing this guy apart, there’s no way to break this curse…”
With that one sentence, everyone fell silent. Trying to take down the Blood Lich in this situation? That’s a joke. But unless they ripped the Blood Lich to shreds, there was no other way to break the curse...
In an instant, they were trapped in a deadlock. Leon watched the Blood Lich’s indifferent expression and knew—the enemy felt utterly secure, or maybe just certain he could finish them off whenever he wanted. There was no reason to rush...
Leon knew so much about the Lord of Misfortune because of the Curse of Misfortune—a spell mages universally rank among the most disgusting curses, and it easily makes the top ten.
Curses themselves are inherently unpleasant things—strange, evil, and insidious. The Curse of Misfortune, on its own, isn't even considered a particularly high-level curse; it’s more of a prank spell. The cursed will suffer some minor bad luck, and the stronger the victim, the weaker the curse’s effects. For a Heavenly Mage, even if another mage of the same rank cast the Curse of Misfortune, it would barely do anything at all.
But everything changes when you compare materials. If you use a soul fragment or flesh of the Lord of Misfortune as the casting material, this spell becomes at least a tenth-tier magic. And if you’re exceptionally lucky and find a fusion of the Lord of Misfortune’s heart blood and soul fragments—a priceless substance that could even partially revive the Lord of Misfortune—the Curse of Misfortune cast with that is an eleventh-tier spell!
It’s said to be the strongest curse in its class—bar none.
In battle, there are always ways to measure and counter the strength of spells—elemental mages are the prime example: one is one, two is two. But once you’re hit by the Curse of Misfortune…
It’s pure luck—something even godfire mages can’t control.
There was once a peak Heavenly Mage who, while exploring a ruin, found a transcendent magic artifact and grew greedy, killing all his companions. But one lucky fellow had a mysterious artifact and didn’t die completely—he preserved his soul and eventually became a lich.
Hundreds of years later, the lich finally reached level forty-seven. Hounded by those mad mages, he was nearly at his limit.
After all, during the maddest age of mages, even the most notorious liches—masters of dissection, once synonymous with terror—ended up as ingredients in alchemists’ labs.
So the lich launched his revenge. He found a drop of the Lord of Misfortune’s lingering heart blood, which still carried a trace of god-demon soul fragment’s aura—just a trace, not an actual fragment.
Even so, the lich sacrificed his own body—hundreds of years of effort gone—to cast a Curse of Misfortune. That greedy ninth-tier Heavenly Mage ended up suffering catastrophic misfortune.
The strengths and weaknesses of a lich are painfully obvious: as long as no one finds his soul, he’ll never truly die—he can’t be killed for good.
But if his soul is found, even a level-forty-something lich can be killed by a titled Archmage. It’s happened more than once or twice.
The Blood Lich knew his soul was special—part of it was a god-demon soul. Anything tied to god-demons is basically cockroach-like: almost impossible to kill completely.
If it were anyone else, the Blood Lich wouldn’t care—no one could destroy his soul. But here and now, there were two level-nine Heavenly Mages and someone with the Book of Death…
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And his soul was bound to the Blood Chapter—the Blood Chapter was his phylactery. Now, he had to care, because there was a real chance his soul could be destroyed.
So the Blood Lich just waited, using the perfect strategy. In a head-on fight, he’d lose, but he couldn’t surrender either—he had to snatch the Book of Death. He’d thrown out his trump card, the Curse of Misfortune, and now he’d just wait. As long as the curse was in play, even dying by your own magic wasn’t impossible. Dragging things out was the best option…
The Blood Lich understood this, and now Lin Yun and the others did too. All they could do was wait—no one dared to make a reckless move.
Only Andefa, like a mad dog, kept unleashing torrents of spells with the Wheel of Ten Thousand Spells—even though it was useless against the Blood Lich.
Lin Yun quietly sidled up to the scowling Alonzo. The tattoos on Alonzo’s face seemed even more menacing than usual. He’d always disliked Agalon, and by extension, Lin Yun too. But this time Lin Yun had saved him, and by seniority, Alonzo was Lin Yun’s elder. No way he’d show Lin Yun a sour face now.
After everything they’d been through, Alonzo had let go of a lot. Agalon was Agalon. A disciple was a disciple…
So when Lin Yun came over, Alonzo, though still scowling, looked much softer—at least compared to when he saw Agalon. Whenever he saw Agalon, it was always with a sneering smirk.
“Merlin, do you have any ideas?”
Earlier, when they were trapped in the Nightmare Realm, not a single one of them could find a way out—until Lin Yun came to their rescue. Now that Lin Yun was a Saint Alchemist, he surely knew things they didn’t. Alonzo’s tone was actually friendly, treating Lin Yun almost as an equal.
Right now, their levels didn’t matter at all—unless they’d already ignited their Pyroflame. Only then would they have a chance to tear the Blood Lich apart.
Lin Yun glanced at Andefa. Andefa caught on immediately and roared, ramping up the spell torrent until it nearly drowned the Blood Lich. Whatever they discussed here, the Blood Lich wouldn’t know—and truthfully, he didn’t care.
A Curse of Misfortune cast with the Lord of Misfortune’s flesh can’t be dispelled until the caster dies—or is killed, at least once.
Lin Yun and Alonzo huddled together, and Agalon couldn’t help but come over. Seeing Agalon, Alonzo’s already grim face turned downright gloomy.
“Agalon, you idiot, get away from me! I don’t want to get killed by you before we finish off this damned lich…”
Agalon just smiled and said nothing, but he came over anyway. Others might not know Lin Yun’s secrets, but as his teacher, Agalon knew very well.
Others might not be able to break the Curse of Misfortune, but Lin Yun just might have a way.
Lin Yun glanced at Alonzo, thinking to himself: Agalon and Alonzo weren’t mortal enemies, just rival disciples from the same sect. They’d competed since childhood, and by now it was just habit.
Don’t be fooled by how they always try to one-up each other—even Agalon, who seems to never care about winning, always has to compete with Alonzo. But their relationship is actually quite strong.
Neither of them ever really wanted to kill the other. Alonzo might act like he’s ready to take out Agalon, but if Agalon were in danger, Alonzo would stand by him without hesitation—and vice versa.
Respect for Agalon, and respect for Agalon’s senior too. Besides, Lin Yun had heard the rumors about the Academy of Mysteries. By now, it was almost certain that its enigmatic founder—about whom almost no records remained—was Alonzo. Many of the future hallmark mystery artifacts would be his creations as well.