Chapter 473: Conquering the Darklands
Darklands, Dragonshadow City.
This place is eternally shrouded in darkness, never knowing the light of day.
Once ruled by the Shadow Dragon, the city hangs above a massive abyss, through which cold winds eternally howl.
The city is filled with charred remnants and heavy ashes, recording the brutal past when the Red Dragon burned it down, burying its history in ruins.
"Hoo—"
The cold wind howls through the city's cracks, making a sharp, piercing wail, as if the souls of the dead were lamenting.
On this wasteland, a brand-new city has arisen, its architecture simple, grand, and powerful—bearing a distinctly imperial style.
In this new city on the ruins, it is common to see half-dragons, humans, and hobgoblin soldiers coming and going. However, the most prevalent are mindless low-level undead skeletons.
Even small vendors have appeared in the city, selling lanterns, staffs, boots, and other items commonly used in the Darklands.
"Hiss hiss hiss"
A hair-raising sound.
Outside the city, massive skeletal blue-legged dragon-serpents writhe and crawl across the ground, tearing any intruders to pieces like a moat of destruction.
On the newly constructed city walls, Hart stands silently, gazing into the bottomless Howling Abyss.
"I once had a beating heart. I once savored fine food and wine."
The lich sighs.
He retains all of Hart's memories, obsessions, and even hatred, yet he has lost his living body and original emotions.
A lich—a being that awakens a shattered soul and sustains a decayed body through lingering obsessions and hatred.
Hart's lips tremble, his two pitch-black eyes flickering in the darkness.
"But… this isn't so bad either. Immortal and unkillable, slaying enemies one after another, conquering the vast Darklands for my master."
He is something entirely new.
Neither the original Hart nor an ordinary lich.
Hart's pale lips stiffly curve into what might be called a smile, though the expression seems eerily grotesque to onlookers.
"General… Hart."
A familiar voice calls out.
"What is it?"
Hart turns his head and speaks calmly.
—It's one of his colleagues, a living being, more precisely a half-dragon, and also one of the emperor's chosen ones.
His name is Zajko Granger, an elder member of the empire who joined during the Ember Nest era, now holding the rank of imperial count, equal to Hart's status.
Interestingly, he was also one of the former slave traders, once subordinate to Hart.
Because of Hart's undead nature, he was not appointed governor of the Darklands. The cabinet ministers preferred a prosperous Darklands—not a lifeless undead domain.
If Hart were still alive, he would be furious. But the "Hart" with a cold, dead heart doesn't care anymore.
From the rear, these considerations are left to others; he needs only to lead the undead army, throw himself fully into battle, and obey orders. The rest is for others to worry about.
Zajko, flipping through some documents, mutters: "Lady Ingrid is returning to the surface soon. She's already dispelled the Shadow Curse over Dragonshadow City."
"According to the strategic plan, we will build near the Howling Abyss."
Ingrid.
Hart—or rather, the lich—remembers the name.
He's seen that woman, exuding a holy aura that disgusts him. Her hostile gaze also made him uncomfortable.
If Ingrid weren't an imperial envoy, he would have gladly severed the priestess's head and displayed it on the city walls.
With that thought, Hart bluntly interrupts.
"You know, Zajko, I don't care, nor do I need you to tell me any of this. I don't want to hear about that damned priestess."
"All I need you to tell me is one thing—where does His Majesty want me to conquer, and where can I slaughter living creatures at will?"
The lich's pitch-black eyes glimmer faintly in the darkness, sending a chill down even the battle-hardened Zajko's spine.
"Ha."
His lips move slightly, but no words come out.
Of course, Hart is brutal and selfish, but to those former slave traders from humble origins, Hart played the role of "family" in their eyes.
The lich lets out a self-deprecating laugh, then croaks hoarsely: "Hart has long since died—at least the Hart you knew."
"Now, what stands before you is merely an undead monster born for His Majesty, hungry to slaughter the living."
"..."
After a long silence, Zajko pulls out a document and slowly unfolds it:
"Near Dragonshadow City, there's a place called the Black Wing City, ruled by the offspring of Mortiferr—the shadow dragon-descended drow family, the Jezleid clan."
Mortiferr. He had heard the name before.
Known as the "Emperor's Nemesis," Mortiferr once held vast influence in the Darklands before being torn apart by Emperor Cassius in New Era 1785.
"After Dragonshadow City's fall, the Jezleid clan, under shadow dragon rule, began rapidly expanding. They took over the Shadow Dragon's former holdings and trade networks. Their scouts have even appeared near Dragonshadow City."
"This is undoubtedly a provocation to the empire, an insult to Emperor Cassius."
Zajko closes the document and solemnly speaks.
This is a declaration of war—though he knows that scout was captured hundreds of miles away.
The Ember Empire just needs an excuse to assert itself in the Darklands and eliminate Mortiferr's descendants to prevent future threats.
Zajko says: "General Hart, you should know what to do."
The lich simply turns his head, fixes Zajko with those pitch-black eyes, and casually asks: "Can I raze the city?"
Zajko doesn't answer directly but explains: "Black Wing City is the shadow dragon-descended drow's stronghold, with sixty percent of the population being shadow dragon-descended drow."
He takes a fresh document marked "Top Secret" from his pocket and hands it to the lich.
Hart opens the envelope, immediately seeing its contents.
[Imperial Mandate]
[Permission is hereby granted to carry out a thorough purge of the shadow dragon-descended drow. Do it cleanly.—Prime Minister Langpu]
"Very well, I understand."
Hart's bloodless lips curl slightly, and his pitch-black eyes form a strange arc.
He draws his skeletal staff from his waist, ascends to the city wall's summit, and raises it high.
In an instant, hundreds of skeletal blue-legged dragon-serpents and tens of thousands of undead skeletons outside the city converge into a bone-white torrent.
The old bones grind together, producing a crisp, chilling "clack clack" sound.
Hart leaps off the city wall into the sea of bones, perching atop the largest skeletal blue-legged dragon-serpent, waving the skeletal staff.
"Boom!"
Hundreds of skeletal blue-legged dragon-serpents emerge simultaneously, slithering and roaming the land.
The ground of the Darklands trembles, and the black sky seems to wail, the white torrent starkly standing out against the dark earth.
"Come on, undead legion."
"Slay every living being that dares block the empire's path of expansion."
So spoke the lich.