Academic gathering with a lich-Chapter 885 - 822 War Mobilization

The scholar stepped through the portal, emerging in his room. The Magic Lock latched onto the books blown off by the wind. This chamber was filled with his research and memories, but there was no time to enjoy the peace now. He pressed the switch, and the door to the chamber swung open. A cacophony filled the hall, momentarily giving him the illusion of being back in the Secret Pivot Council’s hall in the City of Wandering. But it was only an illusion—in that tall tower, his presence would calm the unrest; here, however, he was just an ordinary Lich.

The members of the literary society and the executive committee stood together—a rare sight indeed. They were under the protection of Andrey’s enforcers, giving speeches of war in the Andrey corridors. The scholar drifted afar, propelled by magic, but the structured yet inciting speeches still reached his ears. The literary society seemed deeply invested in the war against the Evil God, which was, admittedly, a good thing.

"Research? Shut yourself inside and fantasize? What are you dreaming about? Go bid farewell to your experimental subjects, because soon, you’ll be fully integrated together, with no boundaries between experiments and experimenters!"

"The gods will forgive you! Why not affix your pelvis to someone else’s spine? That way, you can share a single buttocks—brilliant! Waste discharge will directly be halved!"

"Ah, yes! Everyone is dead! That merciful Creator will gleefully welcome you rummaging through corpses within His body—He may even invite you to reside in His stomach. Of course, He doesn’t secrete digestive fluids, so you rotting dregs can serve as His probiotics."

"Oh, what a catastrophe! Mr. Raymond is now our enemy! Did he used to wrap his arm around your shoulder and sleep under the stars with you on the lawn? Or are you just uncoated lucky ones? Our boss is gone too—you think we’re elated about it? Fantastic! We can gleefully rebel against authority and still comply with Andrey’s Standard Code! Now you have a chance to kick those big shots right where it hurts, and afterward, they’ll have to thank you!"

"The Holy Light is dead! We shall revel, spread plagues, conquer death, and profane gods! By Andrey above, are we actually following our racial instincts and doing something proper? I think Mr. Dean should set up checkpoints near the battlefield—such an exhilarating party should require paid entry!"

Amid the clamor, there were also a deluge of flyers and synchronized war-winner casinos, with odds tentatively set at 1:1. Bet your life; the Evil God’s side wouldn’t be taking bets—after all, Triton wouldn’t be paying you any winnings.

The scholar could feel the restlessness infiltrating Andrey Academy—freed from the suppression of the Holy Light, Liches were starting to act wild. He greeted a few familiar students as he made his way through the corridors into the courtyard. The permanent portal had been removed and relocated; instead, a large round table was placed in the courtyard’s center. Around the black Cursed Spirit Wood table sat only one person.

Mr. Dean occupied the chief seat. He beckoned the arriving scholar and then buried himself in his tasks, resembling a weathered old farmer tending to his harvest.

Gripping his harvesting tool—a bone-handled scythe gleaming with cold light. A fearsome weapon, the Harvester of Suffering. Merely glimpsing its blade’s glimmer inflicted a piercing ache within one’s soul.

Beside him sat a dog, wildly barking. The Andrey Lich Crown—the essence of the clan unleashed. The Lord of the Lich’s influence pervaded everything around, weaving feral magic into beast-like forms. At this moment, the Andrey symbol resembled a rabid dog, sometimes climbing up the scythe’s tip to howl, sometimes diving into piles of bones, scattering skulls across the ground.

Next to Mr. Dean was a heap of skulls stacked into a small hill, its height surpassing the tip of his hat and completely burying his shoes. Smiling gleefully, he sifted through the skull pile as though selecting walnuts, leisurely taking up the scythe and using its radiant blade to prod a skull engulfed in blazing Soul Flame.

"Have you made your decision, Mr. President?"

"Mr. Dean, you promised us—we still have the right to choose."

Mr. Dean nodded as he smiled.

"Yes, you may choose: choose to participate in the war or choose to become wartime resources."

"This isn’t what we envisioned!!!"

"Heh-heh-heh, Andrey must certainly follow *my* vision. Your society is disbanded, Mr. Consumable—you may choose to flee, but my hounds will retrieve you." The Soul Flame within the skull was drawn toward the scythe, erupting into soul-wrenching screams as his essence was harvested, leaving the skull a hollow shell.

Mr. Dean turned and greeted the scholar.

"Peace be with you, scholar."

"Peace, Mr. Dean."

"Do you need something, my friend? Present circumstances have rendered the undead somewhat unsettled; we must now unify." Mr. Dean snatched a skull from the Lich Crown’s tendrils.

"The residents of the City of Wandering—other races—have been filing complaints with the Arcanists. Their community graveyards have faced rampant thefts recently. Ancestral remains are missing; some witnesses claim to have seen their great-great-grandfather, stark naked, queuing by the portal in Dark Zone Seven..." The scholar noticed the Lich Crown approach him, opening its tendrils in a defiant gesture, resembling a blooming rafflesia.

"Tsk." Barely audible, the scholar wondered if he’d misheard the sound. Mr. Dean chuckled as he pulled out an application letter from his pocket. "Scholar, I intend to submit this to you—a request for the usage rights of the idle remains of temporary residents in the City of Wandering during wartime. According to Andrey law, bodies interred for over fifty years lose their ownership rights, much like intellectual property left by the deceased... The dead belong to the dead, just as Liches belong to Andrey."

I don’t recall them signing any Andrey enrollment contracts during their lifetimes—they probably never dreamed that, even after death, they’d still be subject to legal regulations they didn’t write themselves, the scholar thought.

"I cannot approve your request. The City of Wandering guarantees autonomy to every member of its community. And retroactively charging tickets is unacceptable."

Mr. Dean laughed, tossing the document aside. The Lich Crown shredded the discarded paper into scraps.

"I understand—hence why I deployed those Grave Robbers. I fully respect the Arcanists’ neutral stance. My friend, I won’t make things difficult for you. Andrey is willing to take full responsibility for all incidents of stolen remains. Please inform them that we’re prepared to resolve the inter-clan disputes through legal channels—after we achieve victory."

Mr. Dean’s laughter didn’t cease, nor did the screams emanating from the skull in his hand.

"Mr. Dean...I...clearly...agreed...to fight..." Before his soul was fully extracted, Mr. Dean heard the remnants of a last plea.

"Too slow." Without hesitation, he tossed the skull aside. "Your ideological maturity suggests you’re better suited as cannon fodder... Your society is gone, too."

The scholar tilted his head, staring at Mr. Dean with an odd expression.

"They’ve been reckless enough—I suppose it’s my turn to be reckless now."

As a Dragon Priest, the scholar was firmly a pro-war advocate, aligned with Mr. Dean in position, so he reassured him: "You’re right; Andrey Academy is certainly no democracy."

"Indeed. We are a family enterprise; Andrey is a loving, harmonious extended family."

The scholar coughed twice, still needing work on his outward decorum.

"We are one family. I am the patriarch. Until my bones are dust, they must obey me."

"Correct, fair."