Overlord: Welcome the Birth of the King
Chapter 129: Incompatible Opponents: Triple Kill on the “Six Arms,” EXP Breaks 30,000

Chapter 129: Chapter 129: Incompatible Opponents: Triple Kill on the “Six Arms,” EXP Breaks 30,000

Among the infamous Six Arms, only one had managed to evade Lyle’s relentless barrage of attacks—the so-called "Undead King," Davernoch.

"Figures. Undead racial traits, huh."

Lyle looked up calmly at the floating figure suspended in midair. The undead, as one of the most twisted and unique races among heteromorphs, came with a suite of overpowered passive traits: immunity to critical hits, immunity to mental magic, immunity to instant-death spells, and immunity to most negative status effects.

It was enough to make any necromancer—or frankly, anyone—jealous.

The only reason Davernoch had managed to dodge his assault was because Lyle’s debuffs and status effects simply didn’t stick. They bounced off like rubber arrows on stone.

"Our compatibility really sucks," Lyle sighed, watching the airborne sorcerer. "Everything about you—your title, your race—it’s just so damn annoying."

"Bastard!" Davernoch hissed from above, his crimson eyes flickering with both fear and fury. "You think someone who toys with the dead has any right to preach to me?!"

With a furious snarl, the Undead King raised his staff.

"Fireball!"

A fireball the size of a washbasin condensed in the air and hurtled toward Lyle like a meteor.

Then, without missing a beat, Davernoch turned tail and bolted.

He wasn’t staying a second longer. If Six Arms—a group of elite operatives—had been annihilated in seconds by this one lunatic, there was no longer any point in sticking around. The organization known as Eight Fingers clearly couldn’t protect him now.

Damn it! Who the hell pissed off this lunatic?!

As the fireball hurtled down toward him, Lyle pulled out a gleaming, ominous orb from within his black robes—the Orb of Death.

He winced slightly. "Bit of a waste, but I’m not letting you leave."

BOOM.

A massive magic circle flared to life at Lyle’s feet, glowing with spectral energy.

"RRRRAAAAGH!!"

A roar unlike any living creature’s shook the courtyard—part beast, part dragon.

From the center of the circle burst forth a massive creature composed entirely of bones. Wings like shredded sails, glowing sockets for eyes, and an aura of sheer death.

A skeletal dragon.

The fireball struck the beast squarely—and vanished like a raindrop hitting lava. Not even a puff of smoke.

The undead dragon was immune to all magic beneath Tier 6. For most mages in this world, it was less an enemy and more a personal apocalypse.

"Go get him."

Lyle held the Orb of Death in his left hand and calmly gave the order.

WHOOSH!

The bone dragon’s tattered wings beat once, sending a violent gust through the ruins of the manor as it shot into the sky after Davernoch.

Lyle felt his stomach twist a little as the magical drain hit him.

That summon had cost him a full 100 MP.

Normally, it would require 100 units of negative energy—but since he’d infused the Orb of Death with pure mana instead, the cost came directly out of his own magical reserves.

Still... if he was going to absolutely dominate these Six Arms freaks, it was worth the price.

Davernoch wasn’t a threat anymore. Unless he had access to Tier 7 magic, there was no way he could escape a bone dragon.

Lyle turned back toward the battlefield.

The atmosphere had grown disturbingly quiet.

The remaining three members of Six Arms—Succulent, Malmvist, and Edström—had been hoping their "immortal" teammate could turn the tide.

That hope had just been snatched out of the sky by a rotting dragon.

Even Zero, the squad’s leader, was clutching his bleeding chest in silence, pale and grim.

The shock on their faces was genuine. It wasn’t just the strength of the dragon that terrified them—it was what it represented.

After all, Khajiit, their top necromancer, had spent five years in a tomb gathering the energy to summon two bone dragons. With those, he planned to raze the fortified border city of E-Rantel.

To these criminals, a bone dragon wasn’t just a monster. It was a declaration of war.

Of course, the truth was more nuanced.

Bone dragons weren’t actually that strong.

If Lyle had summoned it at the start of the fight, the Six Arms might have taken it down with some effort. But they’d grouped together arrogantly, lacking any curse resistance, and got caught with their pants down.

What looked like a clean sweep was actually just a well-played game of misinformation.

Lyle turned toward Zero, the hulking brute known as the "Battle Demon," and smiled pleasantly. "Next time, try not to act so smug, Lord Zero."

"Who the hell... are you?" Zero rasped, glaring up at him with bloodshot eyes.

"I’ll let you take one more shot," Lyle replied evenly, not answering the question.

He had noticed earlier: among the Six Arms, Zero was the least injured. His skin had an unnatural toughness—his wounds shallow compared to the others.

And when Zero attacked, Lyle could feel it—his fists weren’t just tough, they were reinforced. He could trade blows with enchanted weapons like the ones wielded by the adventurer Brain Unglaus.

No way a basic monk class could do that.

And when Zero had unleashed his special technique, Lyle had seen something else—glowing tattoos of various animals flashing across his skin.

Ordinary beast spirits didn’t grant that kind of power. Lyle was convinced this was the work of a rare and mysterious class—Shamanic Adept.

"One strike, huh?" Zero growled, eyes flaring with rage. No more words. Just action.

"AAAAAAAHHHH!!!"

A surge of muscle erupted from his body. His already hulking form bulked up even more.

"Panther’s Legs!"

"Rhino’s Arms!"

"Bull’s Chest!!"

With each shout, glowing tattoos lit up on his body. Strength poured from his core, fueled by ancient animal spirits.

Lyle glanced at his HUD. The system registered new skill activations.

He sighed.

CRACK.

Lyle vanished in a blur.

SPLURCH!

The roar died in Zero’s throat.

Blood erupted like a geyser as his head was cleanly separated from his shoulders.

His wide-eyed skull landed with a soft thud, rolled twice, then lay still beside his collapsing body.

Lyle stood behind him, sheathing a bloodied iron sword.

"Sorry," he said, voice light. "Your ultimate just took too long. Got bored waiting."

[EXP Gained: 3,653]

[EXP Bar: 24,636 / 10,000]

And then—

WHUMP.

A heavy sound from above. The bone dragon descended with a gust of cold wind, landing gracefully—if such a word could apply to undead monstrosities.

Clutched in its claws was a crumpled, whining figure.

Davernoch.

"Human... human... please... let me go..."

"I can’t die yet!"

"I still have so many spells to learn—so much potential—I can be useful!"

The Undead King squirmed in desperation, voice cracking with fear.

Lyle didn’t even glance at him.

He raised his hand.

CRACK.

The dragon clenched its claws.

Davernoch’s body shattered like dry bone, his negative energy pulsing outward—and then collapsing in on itself, dissipated by the dragon’s aura.

[EXP Gained: 3,251]

[EXP Bar: 27,877 / 10,000]

Lyle took a slow step forward.

At his feet lay Malmvist, gasping, barely alive.

"Tell me something," Lyle said gently. "Do you know what a half-elf is?"

Malmvist trembled, eyes fluttering open, clearly about to say something—

SPLURCH.

Lyle’s iron sword fell again.

Malmvist’s crimson hair flared in the air for a moment before his head thudded between Succulent and Edström, who both recoiled in abject terror.

[EXP Gained: 3,121]

[EXP Bar: 30,998 / 10,000]

Lyle stood still, staring at the absurdly high number on his interface. He resisted the urge to keep going. Barely.

Suddenly—

WHOOSH!

The bone dragon’s wings flapped again, and it swooped into the mansion ruins. Moments later, it emerged dragging out a limp figure.

Peshurian tossed unceremoniously onto the ground.

Lyle looked at the three remaining survivors—Edström, Succulent, and the barely conscious Peshurian.

"So," he said casually, sword still slick with blood, "do you want to live... or die?"

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