Black Sail
Chapter 60: LX. Necromancy

Chapter 60: LX. Necromancy

Fen simply couldn’t let these guys get close, even if it meant destroying the pier; when Liszt and the others returned, they would only need to launch a small boat to pick them up, or they could swim over and cast a rope net.

Several more Wind Blades exploded past, the wooden planks of the T-shaped pier cracking and splintering into wood dust, creating a gap over four meters long.

These Heavy Priests simply had no way to jump across.

Marcus muttered his prayers, and to the naked eye, sprouts shot out at the broken area of the pier; then, vines grew wildly, forming a makeshift vine bridge.

Fen, his face covered in blood, frowned tightly. Since they were Priests from the Eternal Sect, knowing some Magic wasn’t anything strange.

Wolman, wielding a gigantic War Axe, leaped down from the pier. Since they were fucking Aran people, it didn’t matter if he died here after slaughtering a few of these useful big guys.

He charged furiously, facing over twenty Heavy Priests he went straight for them, flipping the axe and pounding one’s helmet with the heavy iron block on the back.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Wolman hammered away like a torrential storm, smashing the helmets, several centimeters thick, deep into dents. Logically speaking, the heads inside should have been crushed too.

Marcus sneered.

These Priests had been "Blessed" by the Dragon Lord’s Miracle, and as long as their bodies had enough parts left to move, even with their heads crushed, they could still fight.

Their heavy armor also concealed Magic Rune Constructions that specialized in strength; these Priests from the Aran Headquarters were no mere foot soldiers.

Bang!

A Priest with his helmet caved in half landed a nail head hammer on Wolman’s waist, shattering the scale armor that could withstand metal and iron, blood plasma oozing out.

The other Priests certainly weren’t just going to stand by and watch; they crowded around, some with nail head hammers, others with Chain Maces, greeting Wolman’s body with blows.

With armor breaking repeatedly, Wolman was covered in blood, yet he still withstood it all.

"Fuck your mother..."

Gathering all his strength, Wolman swung his great axe, instantly knocking several Priests back.

Each of these madmen was ferociously strong on their own, let alone more than twenty ganging up.

Wolman too went berserk, throwing down his long axe and empty-handed, as a Priest came at him with a nail head hammer. Wolman forcefully grabbed the man’s wrist, then pressed his other hand against the Priest’s shoulder.

The heavy iron armor was superbly crafted, airtight in defense. If it couldn’t be destroyed from the outside, what about from the inside?

What happened next was too brutal and barbaric.

Wolman tore at the man’s hand, ripping the shoulder blade apart, breaking all the muscles and, together with the relatively fragile joint, tore the whole arm off along with the Arm Armor.

Wolman savagely used this "custom Chain Mace" to lash at another Priest, knocking down his nail head hammer; then he abandoned weapons altogether. With a fierce pounce, he knocked the Priest to the ground, his terrifying weight pressing down hard; two hands directly went for the head.

Incredibly...

He ripped it off and hurled it like a cannonball at another Priest, knocking him into the water. With the armor’s weight, drowning was the only outcome.

Finally, two were taken out.

Even so, facing overwhelming odds, not one Priest was easy to deal with as they all converged again.

Haywood could no longer sit idly by; the backbone of the ship had always regarded themselves as tools, but not because they were useless, just that they were much stronger by comparison. He still had his uses.

Haywood too jumped down from the railing and then... took off his helmet.

"Master Haywood is going to fight too?"

Wolman knew that Haywood’s identity was not to be revealed.

"If everyone’s dead, there are no witnesses, right?"

Upon Haywood’s head sat black goat horns, blood-red skin, and then, surprisingly, three pairs of eyes, each a sinister golden color; from his mouth protruded a pair of insect-like mouthparts. When he smiled, his two rows of teeth were like saw blades.

Not just the Priests, Marcus too was taken aback. Could it be that this creature was the Dragon Lord’s guidance? Whether on the Western Continent or anywhere else, unheard of, yet it closely resembled the devils depicted in evil books.

Haywood didn’t use any weapon as he pounced toward a priest.

Marcus had intended to take prisoners, but now was not the time; he could only let this priest be killed, hoping to at least bring back the body.

The priest’s nail head hammer smashed towards Haywood’s neck.

However, the scene was too bizarre.

Though Haywood was a low-level demon, he was indeed a true member of the Demon Clan.

Suddenly, his belly and chest tore open completely, forming a gaping maw of blood that was terrifying to behold, with layers upon layers of rows of sharp teeth densely packed in a fearsome display, and bone spurs protruding from the center, as horrifying as imaginable.

Haywood leaped directly on top of the priest’s head, and the gaping mouth on his chest engulfed the priest’s skull entirely, his teeth crazily chewing, but the iron armor’s protection was of no use.

Only the priest himself knew what horrors he was experiencing.

The bone spur in the center of the gaping mouth grew crazily, piercing through the eye openings of the dragon-helm helmet and then into his neck, churning violently within his viscera.

Only when the priest completely lost the ability to move did Haywood cease his gruesome attack.

Bang!

Haywood’s arm was shattered by a chain mace, but not a drop of blood flowed; instead, the arm just disintegrated into red sand.

He clutched at the severed stump on his shoulder, stumbling back several steps. He was overexerting himself; if his superior, the Sergeant, were here, these fellows wouldn’t dare to act so recklessly. It would take less than a few seconds before they would be served up as appetizers.

But after so many years, his superiors must have marched to faraway lands, leaving only him behind in this uncharted territory.

Each one of the twenty or so priests was ferocious.

And there were dozens of Constitutional Soldiers and Guardians still capable of action behind them.

They were now all charging towards the ship; the chain bombs were almost loaded, but at such a close range, there was not enough time to adjust the firing angle, and it would cause friendly fire.

Fen had no choice but to begin using necromancy.

The scene from before repeated itself; a phantom walked slowly beside Fen, but this image was entirely made of a deep purple mist. As soon as it emerged, it transformed into a purple fog.

This purple mist, as if alive, rapidly entered the corpses of all the dead on the shore.

Since the number of bodies he needed to control was approaching the critical limit, Fen started to bleed black blood from his nose as his "concentration" was rapidly draining.

Two hundred or more corpses, now decayed meat and shattered bones, rose from the ground. Where they were missing flesh, black tissue grew, their eyes completely a purple hue, not discerning friend from foe, they rushed madly towards the living to kill.

Their physical abilities also seemed enhanced by a Secret Power, turning chaotic. They bit and tore at their former comrades with their teeth, and some, still retaining instincts from when they were alive, could even wield weapons.

"What’s happening?"

One of the Constitutional Soldiers turned his head, only to be scared witless and immediately bitten in the neck by a resurrected corpse, blood spurting wildly.

The morale of the rest plummeted completely.

"Necromancy..."

Marcus saw the tide of battle turning and hurriedly shouted for the giant’s name.

By then, the wounded, demented giant had also risen to its feet again, muttering words that couldn’t be considered language, its vitality unimaginably tenacious.

The giant was still as exaggerated as ever.

In the secret port, there were a few half-derelict ships. The giant roared as it clambered onto a ship, breaking off a ten-meter-long plank, along with the railing, to use as a weapon against the army of resurrected corpses.

At this time.

Outside the secret port, Archer didn’t dare to enter; it was too damn terrifying.

Then, Archer heard the sound of horse hooves.

It was Liszt and the others returning.

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