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Chapter 19 - The Catacombs (4)

*CRACK*

The unexpected camaraderie with the bat was short-lived. A sharp, percussive crack echoed from the tunnel ahead, followed by the unmistakable scent of decay. Greem was on his feet in an instant, his sword already in hand.

Willem's bat took to the air with a silent flutter, vanishing into the shadows of the ceiling. Iriana forced herself up, daggers trembling slightly in her grip. Out of them three, she was the most exhausted.

"Company," Greem said, his voice low, "Not the local wildlife."

They moved forward cautiously.

The scene before them was a macabre tableau.

Four figures in dark, hooded robes adorned with bleached bone charms stood over the twitching corpses of a murloc patrol.

The air hummed with necrotic energy.

One of the robed figures held a staff topped with a small, glowing skull, its eyesockets emitting a faint, green light.

[?? - Lv. 5 Acolyte]

[?? - Lv. 3 Acolyte]

[?? - Lv. 6 Acolyte]

[?? - Lv. 9 Acolyte]

Greem's blood ran cold. The last one was an intermediate-rank acolyte. A newly advanced one, but an intermediate rank acolyte nevertheless. Willem did not seem to have recognized their true strength, and neither did Iriana. The both of them, however, were not hot blooded and stood still, their eyes wandering back and forth.

The [Skull Sect].

Another dark path organization, known for their ruthlessness and affinity for the undead.

It was not like the Black Widow Association was the only magical organisation in the region. It was quite the opposite, actually. Magical organisations followed magical resources like vampires followed high-quality blood. With the forbidden mountains in the vacinity, it was only natural for acolytes to gather. 

Over the past few decades, the Black Widow Association had made Lunia its territory. Greem participated in a couple low-level wandering acolyte assassinations to understand the reason why there were few interactions with other acolytes.

The Arcane Faction, a sub-organisation of the magical court which was very deeply rooted in the Porfield Kingdom, was also present. However, it was smart enough not to challenge the local dark path acolytes and focus on the exploitation of resource points that were not already under the grasp of powerful local magical organisations like the Black Widow Association. The Pyrke mine was one of them, and the recent skirmishes and especially the latest red-star mission were proof of the rising tension between the arcane faction and the black widow association.

Some dwarven clan lived in the depth of the Pyrke mine, making it a challenging place to occupy, and one of the reason why Elizabeth never bothered to occupy it despite the value of fire crystals. At the end of the day, the life of acolytes and their strength was more important than a couple hundreds of magical crystals. 

The arcane faction had no such constraint. With hundreds of acolytes spread across the kingdom, they could sustain losses and absorb them in no time. Of course, the latest defeats must have made them more wary about this region.

However, these were not the only magical organisations. Willem's clan lived in the forbidden mountains. According to Willem, they were in war with elven tribes and their fearsome druids who possessed the ability to heal and take the form of beasts. The battle was never-ending, and this was one of the reason why Willem only seldomly returned to his kin. 

But the acolytes they saw standing belonged yet to another circle. A small-scale sect, insignificant in comparison to the likes of the Arcane Faction, the Black Widow Association, or local clans of elves, vampires or dwarves. 

The lead acolyte, the Bone-Weaver, turned his hooded head toward them. A dry, rasping voice emanated from the shadows beneath his hood. Willem and Iriana failed to make the connection, but Greem's memory was impeccable. He had seen this face before. The dark robes, the magical bone artefact...The description matched perfectly with a bounty he found in the library. 

[Malakor, the Bone Weaver]

He remembered the rewards: 50 magical crystals, 3 tomes of the hunter's choice and a fitting magical artefact. As for the difficulty rating, it was a black-star mission, above the red-star mission they had completed before. Plus, Vanessa was missing, replaced by a cheap blood summoner.

Iriana gulped. She could feel the disparity of powers.

"The Black Widows send their children to play in the dark? How quaint. We are harvesting. The catacombs are huge, yet you encountered me", the man spoke, "How unlucky"

The crack of necrotic energy still hung in the air. As the skeletal hands erupted from the ground, Greem didn't retreat. He charged.

The [Breath of the Dusk Hound] fueled his legs, his sword held in a perfect high guard—Emma's lessons etched into his muscles. He bypassed the lesser necromancers, his focus solely on the intermediate-rank Malakor. He was a preparatory knight, his stats honed to their peak, and with the [Ombre Curse] and [Swordsmanship] 30 points of proficiency, he was no different than a monster himself.

The Bone-Weaver seemed amused, not even raising his staff. As Greem thrust forward, the acolyte simply moved, his hand snapping out to catch the blade. Greem's eyes widened. The man's speed and strength were monstrous.

[Bone-Weaver Malakor - Lv. 9 Acolyte]

[Strength: 6 | Agility: 5 | Vitality: 7 | Magic Power: 9]

The stats flashed in Greem's vision, a terrifying revelation. This was part of the ring's power. A single encounter, a single clash and he could tell his opponent's strength. It had saved his life more than once. 

This was no frail spellcaster; his physical attributes were stronger than the average knight. The only person he knew with higher stats was Vanessa, who was barely superior to him in terms of strength.

Malakor backhanded Greem with the same hand, a blow that felt like being hit by a runaway cart. Greem flew back, his ribs screaming in protest, but he twisted in mid-air, using his agility to get back on his feet. 

"A knightly mouse", Malakor's voice rasped, pulling back his hood to reveal a face etched with dark, scale-like tattoos, "Your sword looks dangerous...Unlike your teammates"

Behind them, the fight was many times more desperate. Willem's bat, Moe, was fighting the Lv. 3 acolyte but the latter seemed equally fast. The other two acolytes were pressing Iriana and Willem hard. Walls of bone and skeletons surfaced. Obviously, they all shared the same magical affinity and...surprising physical fitness.

Greem rose, ignoring the pain. He feinted high and went low, his swordmanship skill allowing him to read Malakor's brute-force counter. He dodged under the sweeping arm, and his [Ombre Curse]-enchanted blade scored a shallow cut across the Bone-Weaver's thigh.

It was a small cut. But Malakor hissed, pressing his leg back as the flesh around the cut instantly darkened, the vitality leaching away.

"The Ombre Curse? A preparatory knight with that level of spell proficiency... and the agility to land a hit?"

He looked at Greem with newfound interest, the amusement replaced by a cold, calculating gleam.

The momentary shock was all Greem needed to create distance. Even if the Ombre Curse was dangerous to regular humans and knights, Greem was not surprised that a monster with 7 points of vitality showed no sign of weakness after getting hit. Vanessa, too, had shown surprising resistance to the stamina drain effects of the ombre curse.

Malakor began to glow with an aura of clinging darkness, scales showing on his skin.

Greem realised. He was no regular acolyte. He was a bloodline type acolyte, part of those who harvested benefits of mixing their blood of magical creatures into their own to strengthen their organ and magical talents. It's not like there were no side effects. Incompatible ones died in the process of becoming one. Others might develop mutations. Successes, however, were often met with more benefits than defects.

Greem attempted to use [Shadow Hand], his trademark spell, but Malakor dispelled it with ease, his bone staff immediately firing a huge breath of fire, replacing the dark elemental particles into crisp.

"Talent," Malakor stated, his voice now devoid of its earlier taunt, "is a commodity the Skull Sect values. Wasting it in a dying hive like the Black Widows is a sin."

He advanced, but not to attack.

He made a complex gesture, and a shimmering parchment of energy appeared in the air between them, "Join us. Your skills are unrefined, but the foundation is... impressive. A knight's body, a shadow caster's soul. We can forge that into something truly formidable"

Greem laughed: "And why would I join you? Don't get me wrong, you are very strong and I am outnumbered, but you won't be able to kill me that easily"

Malakor continued, his eyes flickering to the [Ombre Curse] that was still sipping his stamina: "In return for your fealty and discretion, you will receive a single drop of a Magus-rank bloodline—the very Shadow Wyvern blood that flows, diluted, in my veins. Imagine your power after becoming one of us..."

Greem's mind, ever-calculating, raced.

'A Magus-rank bloodline...tailored to my elemental affinities...', Greem calculated

Infiltration. The rewards were astronomical, the strategic value incalculable. This wasn't a yellow-star mission; it was a reconnaissance failure of the highest order. Elizabeth had severely underestimated the Skull sect. 

He looked at the contract.

Its terms glowed: Secrecy. Fealty. A double agent deeply involved in the Black Widow Association...

He had been wavering recently about joining a new team, but joining the Skull Sect would allow him to gain access to more resources than before. 

He looked past Malakor, to where Willem and Iriana, overwhelmed by the sustained assault, were finally beaten into unconsciousness by a volley of necrotic bolts.

They had lost. It was not surprising. Bloodline type acolytes were monsters on their own rights. The bloodline strengthened the body, magical power and allowed acolytes to possess hereditary bloodline spells that were stronger than the average elemental spells.

The choice was no choice at all.

On one side, he would have to risk his life, fighting tooth and nail, possibly crippling himself with necromancer curses.

On the other, promises of a magus-level bloodline and powerful backing awaited him. 

A blue screen window spawned in front of him, confirming his choice.

[Mission - Skull Sect Affiliation

You have encountered the leader of the skull sect, a small-scale magical organisation that has made the Catacombs its playground, explaining the high death rate in the past few months in catacombs-related missions. The leader of the Skull Sect Malakor has offered you to join his organisation.

Task: Join the Skull Sect

Rewards: 200 EXP, Magus-level Bloodline, Reputation gain with Malakor, Reputation gain with the Skull Sect]

"I accept," Greem said, his voice flat. He reached out and touched the parchment. It dissolved, and a searing heat shot up his arm, stopping on his chest. Burning his skin, Greem groaned, until a skull tattoo appeared on his chest.

Malakor grinned, a predatory sight.

"Wise...The tattoo is one of my trademarks. I used to be just like you. A member of the Black Widow Association. Back then, I had quite a bit of a reputation as one of the strongest beginner rank acolytes. My affinity was of fire, but after receiving the blessing, I became a hybrid elemental mage. The tattoo serves as a curse", Malakor warned, "Fail to obey my orders and...You will die"

[Skull Sect Curse Tattoo - Inferno

Information incomplete...Analysis in progress...]

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