"Who?" In a dark, cold castle, a lich with a head wrapped in purple soul fire lifted his head, sensing that the soul imprint he had planted had been forcibly erased by an entity no weaker than himself. "Who dares touch the imprint left by Yoram?"
As the great lich Yoram's anger surged, the roars of countless undead creatures echoed outside his dark castle. A terrifying storm of wraiths radiated from his castle, causing the undead in nearby settlements to tremble in fear. Some weaker skeletons had their soul fires extinguished by the storm.
After venting his anger, the lich closed his eyes and pondered. "To erase my imprint, they must at least be legendary. There's no need to confront such a foe over a soul-tier lich. Let it be."
...
"It was easily erased. The imprint seemed intimidating but was simpler than I imagined." In the soul space of the dragon lich, Muria used overwhelming mental power to forcefully erase the imprint left by the Death God's attendant and then planted his own.
The new imprint alternated between a dragon and a titan, emitting golden light that illuminated the desolate soul space.
"Master!" Witnessing Muria's forceful erasure of his former master's imprint, the dragon lich became much more submissive.
"Give me your phylactery," Muria demanded directly, asking for the lich's most essential possession.
The dragon lich's soul fire flickered violently with anger. Even his former master had not asked for his phylactery. To a lich, this request was excessive.
"If you don't, you can die!" Seeing the dragon lich's hesitation, Muria's eyes turned cold. Although liches were hard to find, they could still be located with enough effort. A mere soul-tier lich was not irreplaceable, and it dared to act proud before him.
"I never said I wouldn't give it. Spare me, master!" Seeing the coldness and killing intent in Muria's eyes, the dragon lich hurriedly offered his phylactery. He had no choice if he wanted to live.
"Pack your things and go in." After the dragon obediently handed over his phylactery, Muria opened the entrance to his half-plane.
"Next." As the dragon lich and his high-ranking undead entered the half-plane, Muria, based on the coordinates in the intelligence, tore open a space rift and stepped through.
"That's the second one. Is someone targeting me?" In his dark castle, sensing the loss of control over another soul-tier lich, Yoram began to consider whether to take action.
Crack! The third soul imprint shattered and disappeared.
"Damn it! Who is it? Who keeps challenging my authority? Do they think I won't fight back?" Having initially tried to suppress his anger, intending to endure given the opponent's strength, Yoram now roared in rage. Losing control of several soul-tier liches in succession infuriated him and made him slightly fearful, realizing this was a direct challenge to him.
"I need to see who has such strength to dare oppose me. If pushed too far, I can always give up my freedom." Yoram pulled out a purple-black invitation from his black robe, the soul fire in his head flickering violently.
"They should be losing patience." After erasing the imprint from the sixth soul-tier lich's soul space, Muria's face showed anticipation. These six liches were part of the same group, led by the legendary lich Yoram, known as the Shadow of Death.
"Is it the living who oppose me? Do you not know who truly rules this continent?"
In an underground cavity filled with destroyed undead buildings, a three-meter-diameter black eye appeared, overlooking the scene. Noticing the legendary aura emanating from Muria, Mikaela, and Irvista, it was initially surprised but soon became excited sensing the intense blood energy they carried.
Space rifts spread from the central eye, spewing forth vast amounts of death energy. From these rifts emerged death dragons formed from black mist and skeletal dragons with withered muscles, followed by an endless tide of undead.
"Death dragons, excellent!" Seeing the ultimate creations of the undead appear, Muria's eyes turned cold. He understood this was an inevitable issue. Dragonkind had a high growth potential, but the process was long and fraught with danger. Most dragons didn't live to ancient stages, often dying prematurely due to various reasons.
To mortals, dragons were objects of awe. To powerful beings, dragons were prime material sources. Dragons inhabited various realms—sky, land, sea, desert, even heaven, and the abyss. They could be found everywhere.
"Should I act, or will you?" Muria asked, looking back.
"I will!" Mikaela volunteered.
"This lich is quite powerful, fifth-tier legendary. Irvista, back her up."
"Alright." Irvista, though unhappy with the assignment, couldn't refuse. "And what about you?"
"I'll deal with his undead army." Muria's eyes filled with killing intent. He summoned a staff glowing with tricolored light, which attracted visible elements around it. To Muria's surprise, small-winged elementals appeared, entities born only in high-element concentration environments, instinctively circling the staff.
"Alright," Mikaela nodded at Muria's arrangement. Ten crimson wings unfurled from her back, and pieces of exquisite armor began covering her perfect body.
"Seraphim!" A soul wave filled with panic came from the space rifts. "Why are you targeting me? I've done nothing wrong. There are so many liches in Obistor. Why me?"
In Muria's sensory perception, malicious mental powers had been approaching. But upon Mikaela revealing her true form, they all vanished like avoiding a snake.
"Trying to escape? Not so easily!" Mikaela, showing her full form, grew angry and turned into a fiery streak, charging into the space rift. Irvista hurriedly followed.
Muria, gripping the staff, struck it on the ground. A temporary teleportation array connecting to Synapse's military camp appeared, tearing a vast area of space. Sunlight streamed through the rift, followed by mighty giants stepping into the light to stand by Muria.
Above the rift, multicolored dragons flew out. Without waiting for Muria's command, these new-generation dragons, trained in Synapse, saw the undead dragons and attacked without hesitation. No dragon could remain indifferent seeing their kin's desecrated remains.
"Obistor's ruler? I didn't know such a thing existed!" Muria smirked, surveying the scene as undead remains rained down. The bravest dragons had already charged into the space rift, battling the undead tide.
"Your Highness!"
A massive ancient green dragon emerged from the rift behind Muria, who lightly landed between its horns. Grasping his staff, he waved forward.
"Let's go in and ask who the ruler of Obistor is. And while we're at it, let's see if they know who rules this world!"
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