An ancient corpse, a diary full of secret knowledge, the legendary Prism of Death… This hidden cave contained a treasure larger than anyone had ever imagined—only Marcus was disappointed, as there were exactly zero taels here.

“Don’t worry, Marcus, I’ll compensate you,” Jerry said and laughed as if reading Marcus’s thought.

“Hmph, you better!” He snorted, but a smirk adorned his lips. “Now, history is nice and all, but can we focus on the Archmage who’s out to get us?” Indeed; the past was fine, but they had to focus on the present if they wanted to have a future.

“You’re right,” said Horace. “Those undead will be looking for us at the shores by now… We should surface and run in the opposite direction.”

“What if they’ve left guards above us?”

“Then we run faster.”

Axehand grunted a chuckle. Boney shrugged. “Sure thing,” he said.

“And then what?” said Laura. “I and Marcus can’t run for long. Even if we escape the lake, the death knights will catch up to us.”

Horace explained, “The airship is not—”

“Victoria,” Jerry interrupted him with a smile. Horace looked over and sighed.

“Victoria is not far away,” he continued. “If we make it there and keep the death knights at bay for long enough, you can escape.”

“That’s—wait. ‘You?’”

“Yes, you. I will stay.”

Everyone looked at Horace, who kept his head high in pride. “That’s stupid!” said Marcus. “If you stay, you’ll die. We can’t fight that guy anymore.”

“I have a duty to my tribe.” Horace’s tone contained warning. “This Archmage has declared himself our enemy, so I will slay him or die trying.”

“It’s hopeless, Horace!” Laura insisted. “You’re just going to your death.”

“Perhaps, but I will never betray my people.”

“Your death won’t help them! You can go back. Even if Arakataron sends the Wizard Order after you, at least you can be there and protect them.”

Horace shook his head. “I know my place. I am a guardian, not a caretaker. This is my duty. If Arakataron survives, my tribe will be annihilated, so I will kill him or die trying.”

She tried to speak again, but Horace raised an open palm. “I’m not discussing this, just letting you know. When you guys are safe, I will return to fight.”

They went quiet. From the side, Axehand nodded in agreement. That was how a warrior should act. He’d had the same plan, actually.

“Axehand,” said Boney, as if reading his thoughts, “don’t get any ideas. We must protect Master.”

Axehand faced Boney, and their two skeletal gazes met in mid-air. If Boney had eyes, they would have gone wide with surprise. Undead never leave their Masters!

“What the hell is wrong with you, Axehand!?” he asked, but Axehand only grunted a bit. He didn’t need to be understood, nor did he particularly care about the opinion of others.

He would do whatever he wanted.

Axehand and Horace exchanged a glance while everyone thought them fools. They nodded faintly to each other.

“I still want to leave,” said Marcus. “I’m not a fighter. I would love to help, but I won’t participate in a suicide attack.”

“Maybe Axehand and Horace can try to ambush Arakataron again and serve as a distraction while we escape,” said Laura. “It’s riskier for us, but they can have a better chance like that.”

Marcus thought about it. “I can take that risk,” he finally agreed.

“Then, how should we time it?” asked Boney. “Let’s hurry; there’s no telling how long the air here can last you.”

While the rest were planning and discussing, Jerry sat by himself. He held the pearl and stared at it, trying to see through its secrets.

What are you, little pearl… he wondered. A weapon? An ornament? A pretty little disaster? Or maybe shiny fish bait?

Of course, he could still listen to the others, he just didn’t participate in their conversation. Axehand and Horace’s decision pained his heart, but he understood.

Axehand was a proud individual. The only time he’d backed out of a fight was when Jericho first assaulted them, and Jerry had sensed the burning shame that flooded Axehand for the next few months.

Horace seemed to be similar. He was led not by pride, but an unwavering devotion on what he considered his duty… Jerry could not share that emotion, nor could he understand it, but everyone had their own paths. If Horace wanted to follow it, Jerry would be sad but accept it.

Axehand and Horace… These two were different, yet similar in how they placed something else above their lives—or unlives. Besides, Axehand had escaped Jerry’s control long ago. They were peers, and each could make their own decision.

Jerry could only sigh in sadness. He couldn’t understand…or could he?

Death wasn’t terrible. It was unavoidable; if one could make it count, why fear getting there earlier? Why devote one’s entire life to delaying death?

Life was a long series of enjoyable moments. Death was the ultimate explosion of beauty.

Something clicked in Jerry’s mind. He’d had those thoughts before, but phrasing them in this way felt different, as if he’d untied a knot and could suddenly see clearly. It was like he’d guessed a secret phrase of sorts. He gazed at the silent pearl before him. Did you influence me, little pearl?

It did not respond, but Jerry understood. It hadn’t influenced him. It had shown him a million visions before, and through them, he’d comprehended some things.

Jerry smiled—and the pearl was satisfied.

Suddenly, their connection deepened. Jerry’s soul perception couldn’t see through the pearl’s exterior, but a faint link stretched from his soul to inside the pearl. That link had been created while he experienced the visions, and it represented the pearl’s approval.

Now, it became something more.

A sort of power pumped through the link. It was minuscule, barely noticeable at all, and it fed into Jerry like he pumped power into his undead.

When that tiny fraction of magic entered Jerry’s soul, he instantly drew a deep breath. Something had changed. He didn’t know what, but something had. The world felt purer, more welcoming. Jerry looked around until he realized it.

The death energy was his friend. There was no better way to put it.

Being a necromancer, he’d always been sensitive to death energy. His soul contained some of it, as did his undead or corpses. The air also had death energy, though it was extremely sparse and unusable.

When Jerry manipulated death energy, it felt exactly the same as manipulating goat skin to create shoes. It was there, and he just shaped it. Being a necromancer felt like having an extra set of hands that could work with death energy.

However, as he felt around him, Jerry realized that was not the case anymore. Death energy wasn’t an ambient material he worked with. It was alive, and it liked him. It was willing to help him—not much, but enough to matter.

He raised a finger, and the specks of death energy in the air formed into a small butterfly. It landed on his finger gently and waved its dark wings.

“Hey, guys, look!” he exclaimed, not moving, so he wouldn’t scare it. Everyone turned around, and Marcus let out a tired sigh.

“What is that, Jerry?” he asked.

“Remember how I told you the Prism is my friend? Well, so is death energy! Look!” He used another finger to pet the little butterfly. It stayed still for a moment, then dispersed, obviously annoyed. Jerry looked at his finger with disappointment.

“Are you sure it likes you, Master? Maybe you’d just accidentally some touched polen.”

“It does, Boney! I can feel it!” He looked around again, exploring the sensation. “I mean, not too much…but it likes me!”

“Are you finally going insane, Master? I always knew this day would come.”

“Hmph. You just wait and see.”

Jerry closed his eyes and delved into his soul. The death energy there was far more willing to be shaped. He willed it to move and it obeyed directly, following his command without needing more energy.

In fact, he could even draw energy from the air and refill his personal reserves, albeit at a slow pace—a process that usually happened naturally and much, much slower. However, even this much regeneration was enough to allow him to control a few extra undead. His undead demanded a steady flow of energy, and his recovery had matched it. Now that this recovery had increased, he was unstoppable!

In fact, Jerry even realized that, maybe, he could use the ambient death energy to augment his magic. If that worked…

Hehehe. He couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Oh no, Master lost it. Should we go crazy and kill everything?” Boney asked with a straight face.

“Not everything, no,” replied Jerry. “But I do have an idea…”

At the next moment, his soul perception expanded. It passed through the stone—death energy and soul perception were different things, so he could see through stone—and reached the lake of death outside. Jerry took a deep breath. He was shook.

The entire lake was choke-full of death energy. In Jerry’s mind, this was a collection of innumerable tiny dots that all cheered when they saw him like he was their best friend.

At the same time, a large number of soul-fish were arrayed around the rock, and more were frantically swimming towards them every second. There were hundreds of fish, if not a thousand, and they gazed at him like soldiers awaiting orders. He could feel a burning desire inside them; they weren’t his friends, like the death energy was, but they wanted his help to achieve something.

Hope… What do you want from me, little fish? he asked, but they did not reply. They had lost their memories and were only acting on instinct; they didn’t know what they wanted, but their desire was so great it had seeped into their souls.

Jerry was stunned. This was all too magical—and that was coming from a necromancer! It was like a shoemaker suddenly discovering that shoes could talk and make themselves.

Jerry’s soul scanned these fish again, and he suddenly realized that they were a force to be reckoned. Each was individually small, but if all of these small souls teamed up…and if the entire lake’s death energy was willing to help him…

He even felt a much larger soul hiding deeper in the lake—or maybe that was just his excitement acting up.

A shiver ran down Jerry’s spine.

“Guys,” he said, “I don’t want to ruin your noble sacrifice, but I think we have a chance.”

This lake was the perfect environment. Anywhere else, the death energy in the air wasn’t dense enough to form a connection with him, nor were there rows upon rows of soul warriors ready to fight by his side.

Jerry smiled. How strong was Arakataron, really? Time to find out.

“Did the Prism really empower you so much!?” asked Laura.

Jerry looked at her. “With a little practice, even two-feather wizards won’t hold a candle to me—and, in this place, I’m almost invincible.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

Two-feather wizards were the elite, the cream of the crop. There weren’t more than a few hundred world-wide. To say that these people couldn’t hold a candle…

Laura shook her head. “No wonder you dare fight Arakataron.”

Jerry gave a toothy grin. “Prisms are awesome.”

“And Dorman had collected all five,” said Marcus, looking at the ground. “Here I thought he was just an explorer… If Dorman didn’t live in the period of the Great Enigma, he’d be known far and wide by now.”

“He kind of is,” Laura replied with a smile. “Everybody knows him, right?”

Marcus paused. “You’re not wrong.” Laura continued.

“Still, having all five Prisms… Imagine how strong his team must have been—but why did he scatter them?”

“Who knows.” Everyone looked at each other and shrugged. Jerry laughed. “But whatever the reason, he clearly intended for someone to regather them. There’s a riddle pointing to the next hiding place, no?”

“Who the hell was Dorman?...” Marcus wondered aloud, his brows furrowed.

“While I appreciate history,” Horace spoke up, “can we get going already? Dorman is dead, and so will we if we don’t hurry.”

Everyone looked at each other and nodded. They had already taken everything they could from here. Only Shelia’s corpse remained, and they all agreed to seal the cave back up after they left so the body would be preserved. They owed it to her.

With steady steps, Axehand walked to the gap they’d made before and tore it open, revealing a waiting darkness full of glowing white fish. He jumped in without a second thought.