Chapter 278: The Lich King's Authority

  "Are all the people from Diya Valley so ungrateful? He could have killed you just now." Talise put away her sword and the crystal in her hand. She could see now that Ethan had actually been treating the old man's illness. But in that situation, if the energy surging from Ethan's hands had been Battle Qi instead of magic, the old man could have been instantly shattered.

  "It's you who's ungrateful, little girl. What the Church's fools lack most is judgment. It's not that he couldn't, it's that he didn't dare. Even if he could kill me, I guarantee you wouldn't live either." Valthor glanced at Ethan and sighed, "To be honest, I truly didn't expect you to be able to do it so fast, to be able to subdue me. You've already mastered the Meditations on Truth? I've practiced for so many years, yet I'm still no match for a brat like you."

  "But as you said, even if I can subdue you, I don't dare to kill you," Ethan replied.

  Just now, he truly could have killed the old man at any moment. No matter how strong a mage is, when caught off guard at such close range, they're no different from a chicken. But Ethan also knew that the moment the old man died, all the human organs and corpses in this room, and perhaps the countless corpses buried outside, would instantly trigger a Corpse Explosion. Even if Ethan himself could barely survive, it was absolutely impossible for Talise and Aimee to withstand it.

  "This illness should be caused by forcefully practicing the Meditations on Truth, right? You didn't die from the forced practice, just ended up half-dead. Master Valthor's skill in magic is truly on another level," Ethan smiled, looking at Valthor on the bed. He had learned about the old man's chronic illness from Aunt El long ago. It was originally considered incurable, but Ethan, who was also practicing the Meditations on Truth, had the endless life force from the Leaves of the World Tree within his body. He was the only one who could cure this ailment.

  "Are you praising me or mocking me?" Valthor sat up straight, but couldn't help but sigh again. "These throat and lungs have tormented me for over thirty years. Many times I wished I could just take them out and throw them away. I had almost forgotten what it felt like to speak properly. Even if you had ill intentions, I still have to thank you." He paused, then added another sentence, "I've also forgotten what it feels like to thank someone. The last time was probably forty or fifty years ago, wasn't it?"

  "Then, Master, you agree to let us..." Aimee asked cautiously. The scene of all the corpses in the house coming to life had frightened her badly.

  Valthor still shook his head, without the slightest hesitation: "No. This is a rule left by Archibald. Only the acting guild master can take this path. This is a place only an acting guild master who has mastered the Meditations on Truth can go. Although you have mastered the Meditations on Truth, you are not the acting guild master. I cannot let you pass. Even that girl Agrael, I did not permit her to pass back then. She took other paths to get there."

  "Then what will it take for you to let us pass? Name your conditions," Talise said coldly.

  "There are no conditions. I will not let you pass." Valthor coughed lightly again, the topic returning to its initial state. "Or you can kill me, and then you can pass."

  Ethan sighed deeply and said no more. He took out the small pouch containing the hilt of The Black Star from his robe.

  When Valthor saw this pouch, his cloudy eyes lit up for a moment, then grew even cloudier. He also said nothing.

  Ethan untied the pouch and reached into the Sunwell's well water to take out the hilt. Although its aura had been contained by the effect of the ring, the entire room was instantly enveloped by that unique, pitch-black, and gloomy aura.

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  It seemed like an illusion, but the limbs, organs, and corpses that had been so lively just now all regained their vitality under the influence of this aura. Although they still did not move, they were letting out silent breaths and roars.

  Talise felt the skin on her entire body break out in goosebumps. Aimee, curled up in her arms, was swaying as if about to collapse. Her constitution simply could not withstand this aura.

  "I am not the acting guild master, but I have this. Will this let me pass?" Ethan gripped the hilt of The Black Star. His voice seemed to have changed.

  Valthor did not speak. His eyes were narrowed, the contents within as murky as a puddle of sewage, with strange fluctuations flashing from time to time, like bubbles rising from the depths of memory's mire. He saw clearly that there was not the slightest bit of Battle Qi or magic on this person's hand. He was truly holding the hilt with just his physical body. And this was a person who had successfully mastered the Meditations on Truth.

  After a long silence, he slowly spoke: "You have mastered the Meditations on Truth and can lift the hilt of The Black Star. Even if you are not the acting guild master of Diya Valley, you surpass the acting guild master."

  "Archibald said that the one who could master the Meditations on Truth and lift The Black Star would be the Lich King, and all Necromancers should submit and gather around him, to change this world with him. Although this is just the hilt, you are indeed the first person in five hundred years to meet this requirement. You are qualified to become the Lich King. The acting guild master of Diya Valley is but a preset position to become the Lich King. I should be the one to pledge my submission to you."

  "I don't need your submission. I just need you to let us pass," Ethan said. His voice had become deep and distant, his eyes had completely darkened, without a trace of light, as black as the black mist emanating from The Black Star.

  He was desperately suppressing the surging killing intent within him, a killing intent as deep and profound as this aura, not aimed at the old man before him, but at all things, including Talise and Aimee behind him.

  It was not a killing intent carried by malice. He had no malice toward any person or thing. He only had killing intent, or perhaps, the intent for death.

  "If he refuses to let you pass no matter what, then take out the hilt of The Black Star before him. That is an authority that no Necromancer can resist. But... unless there is no other way, it's best not to do this..." Aunt El had said this to him when she told him to come here.

  Ethan truly could not act. He could sense that the old man before him might be of a similar level to Sandro, perhaps even higher. Even though he had the advantage at such close range, his chance of winning was not more than half. The crucial point was that Talise and Aimee were here; they could not withstand the aftermath of a fight between the two of them. So he could only use this final method that Aunt El had told him about. He just hadn't expected that completely gripping the hilt would result in this state.

  Unlike his time with Aunt El, this time he didn't just touch it, but completely gripped The Black Star. The endless aura from the hilt continuously poured into his consciousness. In response, a desire and impulse welled up from the depths of his body, from the depths of his consciousness—the desire and impulse to die.

  Die. Go die. The result of life is to die. All the struggle to survive is just a struggle to die. What is gained will eventually be lost; what grows will inevitably be destroyed. No matter what it is, in the end, it is death. All life is accumulated from countless deaths. Life is death. Death is peace, death is rest, death is tranquility. It is the eternal cradle that nurtures all things, the final destination, the ultimate purpose of all paths. Death is irresistible; there is no need to resist. To resist is pain, is torment, is futile. Only to accept is peace, is the right path, is fate...

  Even his thoughts automatically produced these countless ideas related to death, urging him toward it. The impulse and desire in his body were all to die. It was an impulse automatically emitted by every cell, by the most minute sensations. It was the origin hidden deep within his body and soul, now merely drawn out by this aura.

  Valthor got down from the tattered little wooden plank bed and laboriously moved the bed aside. Beneath it was a massive stone slab. Valthor waved his hand and chanted a spell. The stone slab let out a dull grinding sound and moved aside on its own, revealing a dark passage below.

  "The path is here. You may go," Valthor said, as if he had overexerted himself and started coughing again.

  Go where? To die? Ethan did not move. The only thought in his mind was, yes, isn't going anywhere just death? So tiring. Better to just die. Everyone should just die...

  I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die... I don't want to die... I don't want... This other instinctive voice was also gradually drowned out by the endless deathly intent, will for death, and thoughts of death from both outside and within.

  Valthor coughed twice, looking at the motionless Ethan. He saw the layer of blackness gradually thickening in his eyes and sensed the aura beginning to emanate from him. He was also someone who had practiced the Meditations on Truth and had accompanied that dark artifact in Diya Valley for decades. He could sense it and knew what was happening. So his wrinkled, bat-like ugly face revealed a wry smile.

  The dark aura was no longer just emanating from the hilt; it had begun to emanate from Ethan's body. And it seemed that because it had passed through his body, the aura was stronger and denser.

  A faint, almost imperceptible stir rose within the room. It seemed there was one outside as well, and it was even bigger. It was unclear if everyone was having an illusion at the same time, but the corpses were cheering, rejoicing in this continuously spreading aura. This was an aura that belonged to them.

  "What are you doing? Get going."

  Suddenly, a voice rang out, breaking the oppressive, deathlike silence. This voice was high-pitched and clear, full of vitality and emotion. Like a bolt of lightning, it tore an opening in the thick, suffocating aura of death.