Chapter 884: Revised: Chapter 861 Did it Succeed?

The death of the Lich awakened Lancelot as if from a dream, the fog in his eyes gradually dissipating. His once flawless thoughts now seemed absurd and ridiculous, as if a painting real enough to be true was actually a crude imitation done in crayon.

As he stared in a daze, the Lich’s body began to disintegrate, turning into flying ashes like burned wood. However, beneath those blackish-brown ashes, another figure emerged, like a nut wrapped beneath chocolate. This was a thin, sinister-looking human male, not much taller than little Isa, with skin as pale as chalk and pitch-black pupils filled with a terrifying madness that could make anyone reconsider opposing the owner of those eyes.

Still, the person appeared dizzy, as if he had just been hit on the back of the head with a blunt object. Before Lancelot and little Isa could react to this sudden change, the Trident floating beside the human knight suddenly shot out like an arrow, the tines spreading wide like the jaws of a snake, swallowing the man whole.

It was then that Lancelot finally came to his senses, realizing who the person just swallowed by the Trident might be — the Lord of Lies, Xirei, though it was of course not his true body, merely an avatar descended upon this Demon’s Domain.

He quickly grabbed the Trident, not daring to probe the weapon he had created with his divine sense, only roughly sensing the state of the Trident to confirm that there were no signs of anything amiss.

Because Lancelot had used Shadow Jump to directly teleport to the enemy’s center, almost no one besides himself and little Isa saw what happened here — except for the sharp-sighted Elf Priest and another divine being present. They both showed expressions of surprise. Even the Raven Queen, who had guessed this might happen, did not foresee such a development.

(Sleep now, fix the typos in the morning, everyone come back by noon tomorrow)

Fortunately, the situation Lancelot encountered last time after fighting the Lich did not recur. The undead soldiers around him had no intention of surrounding him, nor did they display any instinctual hostility towards the living, which relieved his companions who had been watching him closely. They quickly realized that not only the undead soldiers around Lancelot, but all the necromantic creatures under the Lich’s command had stopped moving. The scene became even more eerie, as in some ways, the standing still corpses were more terrifying than moving ones.

“Is it over?” Bruto nervously asked Alamir, “It looks like it’s over, right?”

“Sort of…” the elf hesitantly glanced at the Raven Queen, “What do you think, my lady?”

“I don’t know,” the Raven Queen straightforwardly replied, “If you are merely asking whether the Lich is defeated, then the answer is yes…”

Just as the words left the goddess’s mouth, the entrance of the temple on the distant cliff, resembling a giant skull, began to move. A pale glow radiated from one of its eyes, and the voice of the Lord of the Dead floated out with it.

“This is not a place for you to stay, return to your graves!”

The gentle light slowly spread outward, gradually accelerating as it swept over every standing creature present. The previously almost motionless undead began to move again, causing a moment of tension among the crowd, but these zombies and skeletons merely turned around and walked away in different directions, showing no intent to attack anyone, bringing a sigh of relief to everyone.

“Woohoo!! Victory!!!!”

Loud cheers erupted, but from another direction. The companions turned their heads to find that the cheers came from the Raptor people, among whom stood Soveris. They had been harassing the enemy from the side, sharing much of the defenders’ burden, clearly contributing to holding out until now.

In stark contrast to the enthusiastic Raptor people, the followers of the Lord of the Dead appeared far more composed. They were also obviously delighted with the battle’s outcome, but refrained from loud cheering, quietly tending to their wounded companions or collecting the remains of the fallen.

Walking back to their companions, Lancelot and little Isa saw the human knight gripping the Trident tightly in both hands, his expression one of holding a dangerous serpent not yet awakened from its winter slumber.

“Your pitchfork is quite something,” the Goddess remarked with interest, “Did you make it yourself?”

“Uh… that’s not important…” Lancelot replied awkwardly, looking at her, “Please, if he comes out of there, you must help me…”

“Although my initial agreement with Cranvo didn’t include this, there’s no need to worry. Since you can defeat him once, you can defeat him twice…” The Raven Queen smiled gracefully, “However, your trouble should be left to the Lord of the Dead himself, I think he should have the time now…”

The Raven Queen twirled her fingers again, creating an oval of bright blue light in the air. It looked like a portal but was hollow in the middle, seeming unfinished.

“Don’t worry,” the Raven Queen cast a sidelong glance at Lancelot, “We need to wait for the master to open the door for us…”

As soon as she spoke, the portal lit up from within. The Raven Queen smiled slightly, tilting her head towards the human knight, indicating he should go first. Lancelot, not caring for the tradition of ‘ladies first’ in this moment, understood that if the Trident exploded while he still held it, things would turn nasty.

Stepping through the portal, Lancelot stood again on the ancient temple’s somewhat slick stone floor, feeling a sense of relief. But the scene before his eyes immediately caught his attention — the Lich, reformed, knelt on the ground, hands shackled behind by golden manacles, while Cranvo stood on a platform, gazing at him fixedly.

“Peyton Derrick, since you believed yourself to be a deity before death, you are deemed a heretic. As such, your soul will be judged by me… Based on your actions in life, I declare…”

“Wait!” Cranvo was interrupted by a near hysterical voice as an elderly woman, dressed in once luxurious clothing, rushed up the steps, “Please, spare him, my lord! He is still just a child, merely misguided by evil!”

It was the former queen of this land, Peyton Derrick’s mother, Yushiel Derrick. Her husband and daughter, also victims of Peyton, followed her up the steps, although from their expressions, it was clear they had no intention of making the same plea.