A Necromancer Who Just Wants to Plant Trees - Chapter 1065: Burier’s Well and Skeleton Prince Rick

Dale Mitchell, your average guy in a below-average job. But, what happens to him is anything but average. After hitting someone in his truck, his world was turned upside down, inside out, and more than fifty shades of grey.

Now, he seems to be something called a World Keeper, and must create and manage his own world. Is this his afterlife, or something else entirely?

This is the story of a young slave gladiator in an underground arena. He doesn’t know about his past or how he got to where he is, only that his name is Aegir, and that he is strong.

It was in the middle of the night that the woman who would be the Duchess came to see me.

She said my father and mother died, and my kind uncle became king.

She said it’s not worth it for me, the crown prince, to be living in hiding, too.

“A while ago, Your Highness had been hiding from me. With all due respect, is that for the sake of survival? Just because your parents died doesn’t mean you have no reason to survive. Actually, that fact alone made it all the more reason why you should live. If you die now…”

If I died now?

When I asked her while looking at her eyes, the woman eventually brought out the harsh truth with empathetic eyes.

“It’s like a dog’s death.”

“That’s rude….”

It’s been a long time since I said that. In a short while, he has been treated as a madman and beaten to death just by saying similar things. She loosened her arms that held me and I suddenly stiffened up due to it. Because I thought she might have loosened her arm to hit me. But she didn’t.

She knelt down with one knee in front of me, just like a knight.

“Hastred’s Sarian raised her salutations. May you accept it gladly.”

My first knight is beautiful and kind.

“Are you on my side?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

It was all a lie.

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”