Chapter 60: Avangard Empire
The air in the newly established Avangard Empire was a confusing mix of fresh-cut stone dust and ancient graveyard rot—the scent of ambition and undeath. Towering over the organized chaos was Castle Avangard, its white walls and slate turrets catching the pale sunlight. It was a declaration of power, not just a fortress.
The streets were not paved with gold, but with meticulously laid cobblestones, currently occupied by lines of Undead laborers. Skeletal hands, eternally grasping, carried large granite blocks and heavy, ornate wooden beams, shuffling past with a rhythmic, click-clack of bone on stone. They paid no mind to the living.
Leading the procession was Stacian, her blue dress the richest color on the street—a sapphire against a backdrop of dust and bone. She walked with a purposeful, measured stride, the silver clasps of her blue ornaments and jewelry flashing. She carried a single, expensive-looking leather suitcase, holding it like a prized relic.
Trailing just behind her was Zaryter, his eyes wide and glued to the immense structure. Clenched tightly in his hands, and looking quite uncomfortable, was Shullah, a small, furry creature who seemed to wish he could melt into Zaryter's palm.
"Truly," Zaryter breathed out, his voice a low, reverent whisper, "this castle befits our lord Leornars."
A few steps further back, the sound of polite complaining drifted on the breeze. Salene, bundled in dark, practical traveling clothes, sighed loudly. "I still don't understand why we couldn't have just teleported the last mile. My feet are numb, and that constant clicking of bone is starting to grate on my nerves."
"And what about the laboratory room?" asked Ayesha, her voice edged with impatience. "Is it secured? Is it ready? I swear, if they put my reagents in a dusty pantry, I'm going to have words with whoever designed this infernal travel plan."
Stacian didn't slow or turn. "The lab is secure and prepared, Ayesha," she called back, her voice calm and carrying a hint of finality. "And we walk because this, Salene, is how one arrives."
She stopped then, directly before the great oak doors of the castle. As she looked back at her weary companions, a faint, proud smile touched her lips as the undead shuffled past, indifferent.
"I don't have any stamina left, carry me Ayesha," Salene dramatically declared.
"Hell no, even I I'm tired," Ayesha retorted. "We've walked for over 30 miles. We'll rest soon."
Just then, Bellian emerged from the castle doors, his expression one of weary duty. Salene, seeing her chance, flung herself toward him in a tired heap.
"Huh? What's going on?" Bellian asked, catching her clumsily.
"She's too dramatic," Stacian said flatly.
"Dramatic my ass! We walked thirty miles in a day—no, less than a day! I'm no camel, Stacian," Salene shouted, panting.
Zhyelena suddenly materialized behind Zaryter, a mischievous grin stretching across her face.
"It's just you, moron," Zaryter said, terrified and immediately defensive.
"Moron? You damn lizard!" Zhyelena snapped.
Before their predictable brawl could erupt, Zhyier emerged from the castle, his eyes scanning the group with an air of superior annoyance. He deftly plucked Shullah from Zaryter's grasp.
"I'm surrounded by idiots," Zhyier muttered, turning toward the castle interior to let Shullah explore.
Zhyelena and Zaryter turned to Zhyier, their previous argument forgotten as they grabbed his shoulder simultaneously, both smiling darkly.
"Care to explain what you mean?" they asked.
Zhyier turned to them slowly, an exasperated sigh escaping him. He quickly erected a shimmering magic barrier over himself and Shullah. "I'm not getting dragged into more shenanigans." The two immediately began to try and bypass the barrier, hissing in frustration.
Stacian looked at the chaotic scene and sighed. Ascian, the inferno wolf, emerged from the castle's shadows, taking in the spectacle. Stacian shook her head. "I know. No wonder Lord Leornars said he felt as if he was babysitting a preschool." Ascian simply went and lay on the cool stone floor by the entrance, a picture of exhausted resignation.
The Decor of Avangard Castle
Inside Castle Avangard, the decor was not opulent in the traditional sense, but purposeful. The floors were polished obsidian tiles, reflecting the tall, Gothic windows like dark mirrors. Instead of tapestries showing pastoral scenes, the walls of the main hall were adorned with enormous, detailed schematics carved into dark wood panels—blueprints of future conquests and magical fortifications. Light fixtures were made of silver, shaped into intricate, stylized dragon bones that cast a cool, steady glow, and the air was subtly scented with a mix of ozone and old parchment. It was a laboratory, an armory, and a royal residence, all in one.
Two days passed by as Stacian was able to forge alliances with the neighboring villages, successfully incorporating twelve communities into the growing empire. Avangard had risen to power with over nine hundred newly constructed houses built by the massive influx of undead labor. The original construction team of two hundred had been augmented to a thousand undeads to expedite the work.
Stacian sat alone in the castle's vast dining hall, a cup of coffee at hand, quietly reading the financial records of the imported foods. She rose and walked to the balcony for a breather. Below, the previously empty city was now filled with citizens: Elfs, Beast-kin, and even a few stoic Dwarves walked the streets.
"Lord Leornars will be pleased," she murmured, setting the coffee cup down. Her silver dragon earrings glimmered in the moonlight, her blue dress waved gently in the cool wind, and a blue crescent moon necklace rested against her collarbone. She took a slow sip of tea, sighing contentedly. "Truly amazing indeed."
Her peace was interrupted as she saw Ayesha pass below, covered in soot, her usually immaculate hair a wild mess. Salene followed close behind her, also looking like she'd been struck by lightning.
Stacian calmly raised one eyebrow. "I guess their research for whatever it was hasn't worked. I'll never understand those two."
The Descent: Ninety-Ninth Floor
Meanwhile, far from the castle, Leornars sat on a plush sofa in the Lord of Vurnam's manor. He radiated a calm, almost icy aura, sipping tea and slowly reading a thick spellbook.
Rachel Suvallina walked in, her face etched with a mixture of disbelief and grudging respect. "You are back so soon. How did it go with the villagers?"
"I just talked to them, and they agreed to be unified with Vurnam," Leornars said, his tone utterly neutral. "It was a simple thing to do."
She looked at him, her brows twitching with fury. "Simple thing?" she repeated. "I tried talking to those people for over two years, and none listened to me! And you just talked to them? Unbelievable." She sat on the sofa next to him.
"There's some coffee on the kitchen table," Leornars offered, not looking up.
She took a folded map from her pocket and handed it to him. He took it, putting his teacup down, his gaze sharpening.
"I do hope it's the correct... one," Leornars said, his voice dropping slightly.
"It's the original one my father found," she confirmed.
Leornars pocketed the map and placed the book on the table before vanishing in a silent, instantaneous warp.
He reappeared deep within an ancient, forgotten structure. This was the Dungeon of the Forsaken. The air was thick with ancient, stagnant magic, and the stone walls were slick with iridescent moss. The scenery was one of escalating peril: rusted, oversized weapons lay abandoned in corners; the skeletons of colossal, unknown creatures were fused into the floor; and the only illumination came from eerie glowing crystals embedded in the ceiling, casting long, distorted shadows.
Leornars ran, floor after floor, until he reached the ninety-ninth level. The walls here were pulsing faintly with an ominous red light, and the passage twisted into a suffocating, narrow chute. He took the map out, glanced at the specific point, and instantly unleashed a casual but devastating kick against the solid stone wall.
The wall buckled and crumbled, revealing a hidden alcove holding a large, iron-banded chest.
He walked toward it, and as he approached, a nearly invisible wire trap sprang out, drawing a thin line of blood across his cheek. A single drop of his blood fell to the ground, and with a low, grinding sound, dozens of concealed traps throughout the room deactivated.
He recalled his conversation with Rachel: "There are over forty traps that killed over two hundred of our adventurers. It's a very unsafe chest. The most logical thing to do is go to floor one hundred, defeat the boss, then you can get to see the chest."
Leornars walked to the chest and opened it. A brilliant, blinding crimson light shone forth, leaping instantly over his face and sinking into his skin like a burning liquid.
Leornars's Transformation
A low, guttural roar escaped Leornars. His body locked up, his jaw clenched, and his serene, pale complexion began to deepen to a vivid, startling deep red, like cooling magma. Veins of shadow-black energy momentarily pulsed beneath his skin, giving him a terrifying, demonic aspect. His eyes flashed from their usual calm gray to a burning amber.
A voice—cold, formal, and internal—spoke to him:
> 'Unique skill Althelia has been activated. Gate Keeper has been leveled up to Level 9. Helvecklev skill obtained. Flight Magic obtained. Purgatory Flames evolved to Purgatory Blaze. Touch of Decay requires sufficient mana to activate and evolve to Touch of Death. Mana level significantly increased.'
>
The transformation subsided, leaving his face a striking, subtle shade of red, his features sharper, and his presence intensely powerful. He reached into the chest and withdrew a stack of ancient tomes written by his mother, Emalian Seers Avantris.
"I guess that it was real," he said, his voice deeper and resonant. He looked down at the empty space where the light had been. "You are lucky, Rachel Suvallina. If it weren't... I'd kill you." He spoke the threat nonchalantly, as if commenting on the weather.
"Now, let me begin the plan."