Academic gathering with a lich-Chapter 890 - 827 Preparation (Part 1)

Crack... crack...

The barely intact skeleton left deep footprints on the muddy ground, the Soul Flame burning silently within its skull.

"Next."

The stationary skeleton moved forward quickly, stepping into the metallic-hued transmission portal. On the other side of the liquid surface—thin as a piece of paper—bulges formed, pulsating for a moment before catapulting the fragmented remains like a slingshot. Bones splintered, joints bore scars from dimensional erosion.

"Coating failed."

A creature made of flesh, already waiting beside the portal, devoured the broken bones. Through a series of internal reactions, it transformed them into foundational materials for Spirit Summoning Studies. The resulting bone powder could stimulate flesh to sprout, reviving tissues like enriching fertilizer.

"Next."

The Lich, standing to the side, made marks on parchment. The queues extended in dozens, the skeletal procession stretching far across the hill-covered plains—now tainted with splotchy white remnants of bone. The Lich avoided tracing where the long lines of skeletons stretched; comprehending the extent of their workload was an agonizing thought.

"Coating succeeded."

A shimmering skeleton passed through the transmission portal intact, its entire body coated in a layer of silver glow—even the loosened teeth in its jaw were no exception. It looked more formidable now and silently moved, under the Necromancer’s control, to stand amongst the other gleaming figures—fifty at a time.

"Batch 13267, 13268, 13269, proceed to the Necromancer Figure Club and transfer control authority to their members immediately. Thank you."

The coated skeletons quietly marched off, their orderly ranks stepping into Andrei Academy.

A scholar, trailing with chains, floated toward the working Lich at the scene.

"What’s the spatial-temporal coating conversion rate so far?"

"About two-thirds success, Professor. It’s low, yes, but each converted skeleton in these batches can resist Corrupt Mud’s erosion for an extended period," the Lich replied.

The ritual site had been deliberately set on the far side of Andrei Castle, away from the Church of Holy Light. Thus, the Lich spoke loud and uninhibited.

"Let’s hope they’re useful." The scholar raised his head, gazing at the Undead Army. He harbored little hope; sheer numbers of skeletons couldn’t boost elite combat capability—only ensure the main force’s numbers remained sufficient.

"They’ll definitely be useful. We’ve never fought a war this well-funded. The Headmaster also ordered us to reserve materials for ten thousand more units to be directly transformed into a Cursed Graveyard at the battlefield’s heart later. If Andrei Castle had legs, I bet he’d turn this expedition into a homeland defense battle. Floating Cities... now those are something to admire..." The Lich cast an envious glance at the scholar.

"Those are incredibly costly. Battlefield maintenance alone would have me bleeding internally."

"Next. So, Professor, are you just here to inspect progress?"

"I’m waiting for an old friend."

Amid the bone heaps, the Skeletal Gate suddenly swung open. The deep green transmission portal expanded fully, and soon skeletons queued nearby were engulfed by its swirling pull. The devastation escalated as a colossal claw emerged through the portal, slapping the ground and reducing vast skeleton piles into fragments. The towering form of the Father of All Dragons squeezed through the Skeletal Gate, unfurling its wings, stirring winds that further dismantled the disorganized lines.

The dragon bellowed joyfully twice before examining the debris-strewn ground beneath its feet, locking eyes with a pale-faced Lich.

"Anla, my friend."

"Anla, Dragon Lord, you’ve just committed the first act of destruction in the war against the Evil God. Losses? Immeasurable."

"Ah, my sincerest apologies." The dragon chuckled, snapping off a few teeth from its maw and tossing them into the soil. The light of the White Bone Spirit Summoning Skill flickered, and Dragon Fang Soldiers, far more powerful than conventional skeletal troops, stepped into formation to replace the lost queue.

The scholar approached, extending a light embrace to the dragon, who had now shifted into human form—gentle enough not to risk an accidental fracture.

"Is the Dragon’s Nest secure?"

"I dragged the Dragon’s Nest into the Elemental Plane. Triton won’t notice it there. Hill is still worried about the Evil God, so I left her there as well. So—is there a bachelor’s party tonight?"

The scholar chuckled briefly at the dragon’s humor, leading him toward a small gathering of the Dragon Priests.

"Don’t forget, even without a husband’s responsibilities, you’re still a father. We also need to discuss battle strategies—you’re the main force fighting the Sleeper."

The dragon exuded supreme confidence, wagging its tail like a massive steel whip, cracking it audibly through the air. "Combat... If I don’t see action soon, I’ll rust. Stepping down as professor of White Bone Spirit Summoning might’ve been unwise after all."

When the two vanished from sight, the Lich left behind began to grumble.

"With so much empty space, why do they insist on squeezing in next to us? If I hadn’t taken their classes, I’d have... fled far away by now."

A nearby Lich, still absorbed in their tasks, commented, "Perhaps the dragon’s reason is same as ours."

"You mean their aversion to the Holy Light?"

"You could be more blunt. We’re all the same here; pretending otherwise just looks pitiful."

The Lich tactfully fell silent.

"So how did the Holy Light become our neighbor anyway? Wasn’t it supposed to be extinguished by now?"

"I heard it was the work of the Literature Club. You know how they’re always full of surprises."

"Speaking of which, has the Literature Club been missing members recently? Should their war quotas be redistributed to other factions?"

"Of course not. They’re always the first to charge into battle, no matter the circumstances. If they’re missing, it’s probably because they’re scheming something."

As they chatted idly, the skeleton coating process continued methodically.

Lyle spent two hours in the Hell Plane assisting Gogallan to fine-tune their Spinal Wheels. Although the Prince of the Black Abyss’s dazzling performance left him with mixed feelings, Gogallan’s unwavering allegiance to the Holy Light was undeniably gratifying. For the first time, he consented to help modify the Demon Race’s war machines through illicit enchantments and personally executed the enhancements. These battle-ready fanatics expressed tearful gratitude for Lyle’s "blessing" of their equipment.

"Try to survive," Lyle mused. "Otherwise, life will be much less entertaining."

Before departing, Lyle observed the Black Abyss faction’s war mobilization: Hell Spikes erected, battalions assembling, Fema Black Abyss roaring commands from the summit. Lyle couldn’t help but feel somewhat moved.

Back at Andrei, brushing off the lingering scent of sulfur from his clothes, Lyle came across a group of luminous skeletons blocking the Necromancer Figure Club’s entrance. The Naslan Sisters were conducting Soul Resonance inside. With nothing better to do, Lyle followed the material supply line inside.

Upon entering the club, he found his companion suspended by tendrils, engraving runes onto a kneeling Flesh Giant. Nia climbed onto Lyle’s back, gasping in awe at the massive entity that filled the entire space—the Necro-Gundam. Despite its flashy name, its appearance was anything but aesthetic. In keeping with the Spirit Summoning Fraction philosophy of practicality above all, its head was a fleshy turret capable of switching freely between cannon barrels. The chassis was covered in bone plating, with the interior filled by Nia’s corrupted Active Flesh. Apart from the pliable cockpit and spine etched with magical neural circuits, the Necro-Gundam could, within a minute, launch all the flesh within its body as ammunition—like a gory scattershot of Flesh Missiles capable of corroding even machinery. Its colossal size sacrificed agility, but given its opponent, the Sleeper Triton, was no weakling, sheer physical force was the preferred countermeasure. The Necromancer Figure Club had envisioned divine warfare as brawling titans with layers of mutual corruption at the microscopic level.

Watching the operator buzzing around the cockpit in excitement, Lyle called out to a descending Flexibility.

"Just so you know, the designated pilot isn’t me—it’s your dear brother."

"Make sure to fix the label on the escape pod—’This Side Faces the Enemy.’ Otherwise, there won’t even be ashes left of you."