Supreme Archmage:Deathbringer

Mana and willpower were intrinsically linked—two forces intertwined in harmony.

The upper limit of one's willpower determined the maximum depth of their mana. Meditation, in turn, refined and strengthened mana, thereby increasing its limit. As mana grew, it naturally pulled willpower along with it.

Even with an offensive spell at his disposal, Lucian Vale couldn't consider himself safe in the perilous Ethereal Plane.

If he ended up surrounded by Goblins or a horde of corpses, a few Bonefangs wouldn't get him out alive.

He'd been observing for a while, and for now, there was no sign of Goblins on his trail. Finally, the knot in Lucian's chest began to loosen.

Leaning by the window, he entered a state of shallow meditation to restore his mana and willpower.

There were two types of meditation: shallow and deep. In a shallow state, Lucian remained aware of his surroundings—if anything happened, he could react immediately.

In deep meditation, however, all perception of the outside world was sealed off. He wouldn't awaken unless the meditation ended or he was physically attacked.

Naturally, shallow meditation was far less efficient compared to its deeper counterpart.

Lucian had always practiced deep meditation—until now. He had identified two imminent sources of danger.

If Goblins or Walkers came while he was deep in meditation, it would be the end of him.

There was, however, a silver lining: both forms of meditation could serve as a replacement for sleep.

Mana coursing through his body swept away physical fatigue with ease, a discovery that genuinely delighted Lucian.

Now, not only could he rest, but he could stay alert to his environment while doing so.

…

As the night deepened, soft rustling sounds stirred once more on the otherwise silent streets.

He peered through the window but couldn't immediately pinpoint the source.

Lucian paused, then smiled faintly as he remembered his enhanced willpower. He activated a scan.

There it was—a small rat on the ground floor of the building across the street.

A rat? In this city of death? The fact that something other than Walkers was still alive came as a surprise.

Unlike the Walkers—who, though mindless, instinctively absorbed mana from the Ethereal Plane to sustain their physical functions—the rat clearly lacked such ability. So how had it managed to survive here?

Lucian didn't have time to answer that thought. A faint tapping of footsteps echoed from afar.

Looking up, he spotted another Walker horde approaching.

Walkers almost never traveled alone. Their sharp hearing picked up a wide range of sounds, even the footsteps of their own kind. To them, that noise was indistinguishable from prey.

So when one Walker started moving, others inevitably followed. One by one, they gathered—until a full horde had formed.

Lucian's heart tensed again as the mass of corpses began to pass beneath him.

This city really was a city of the dead. Every night, without fail, the Walkers would rise and wander.

Lucian, careful to remain hidden and silent, was a stark contrast to the oblivious rat below. The little creature continued to scurry around, squeaking now and then.

A grin played across Lucian's lips.

That rat was about to be in serious trouble.

And sure enough, just as he had predicted, a group of Walkers—more than a hundred meters away—suddenly stopped and lifted their heads.

They stood still, ears cocked toward the sound.

Within seconds, they locked in on the rat's location and began charging toward it with long, pounding strides.

These Walkers were naked and emaciated, but their lean bodies were packed with corded muscle. Their skin, untouched by sunlight, was a deathly pale white.

When they ran, they moved like arrows loosed from a bow—white blurs streaking forward like ghosts, racing toward the unsuspecting rat.

And the moment the first few Walkers charged, it was like lighting a fuse.

The rest of the horde followed.

RUMBLE.

The thunder of the dead in full sprint shook the ground, their footfalls like an oncoming storm.

The terrified rat darted toward its nest as fast as its tiny legs could carry it.

But the leading Walkers were already on it, tracking its every step into the building.

RUMBLE.

The rest of the horde surged after them, cramming through the entrance like a living flood.

Lucian quickly swept the area with his willpower scan, following the rat's desperate flight.

It was clambering up the stair railing, shrieking in panic.

Behind it, several Walkers stormed up the steps, their massive feet kicking up clouds of dust.

The poor thing had barely rounded a corner—only halfway to the second floor—when a massive hand reached out from the shadows.

SMACK!

The rat was caught mid-stride.

It let out a final shrill, "Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!" before its short life came to an end.

A wide, yellow-toothed maw opened, and the rat was shoved inside in one bite, its tail left dangling from between cracked lips.

CRUNCH!

Teeth clamped down. A jet of rodent blood sprayed from the Walker's mouth.

Lucian could almost hear the tiny bones and sinew being pulverized as the creature chewed.

Even the splattered blood didn't go to waste—a Walker dropped to its knees and lapped it from the dusty floorboards.

Only after some time did the frenzied horde begin to settle.

Lucian had already recoiled from the window the moment they charged. The entire scene had chilled him to the bone.

The thunderous stampede of hundreds of Walkers—chasing, swarming, hunting—had been utterly horrifying.

Usually, Walkers moved like geriatrics—shuffling along, one dragging step at a time.

But once they had a target, they ran like sprinters. And fast ones at that.

Lucian had no illusions: if even a single Walker chased him, he wouldn't outrun it.

If they found him, he was dead. Simple as that.

With the horde still swarming below, Lucian didn't dare move a muscle. All he could do was occasionally pulse his willpower scan for updates.

The Walkers gradually began to quiet.

After that rabid chase, hundreds of them were crammed into a chaotic clump.

They loitered for a while, then slowly began to drift apart, ambling once more down the road.

Only then did Lucian allow himself to exhale.

The pressure of that many Walkers just meters below had nearly broken him.

He hadn't even dared to let his heartbeat race for fear the sound might carry. He didn't dare sweat either.

If the scent reached them… who knew if those Walkers could smell?

It took more than an hour for the horde to fully disperse—one by one, they staggered off into the night.

…

As the Walkers gradually moved away, Lucian wiped his forehead, brushing off the cold sweat that wasn't really there.

He had to admit—he'd underestimated the Walkers.

This wave wasn't even that large, only a few hundred of them. None seemed to possess the strength of a Black Iron-ranked professional either.

And yet, even ordinary Walkers had caused such a terrifying commotion. It was hard to imagine the horror of tens of thousands—maybe even hundreds of thousands—of the dead moving as one.

Tonight was clearly not going to be peaceful. Whether it was the lingering scent of rat blood in the air, or the thunderous footsteps from earlier, all of it would gradually draw more Walkers to this area.

Once they'd passed, Lucian Vale began shallow meditation to replace sleep.

But every now and then, he'd hear the telltale signs of more Walkers approaching. Whenever that happened, he had to stop and wait for them to pass before returning to his meditation.

The waves of the dead varied in size. The larger hordes had two to three thousand Walkers, while the smaller ones numbered in the hundreds. The smallest groups had barely a dozen.

Those little groups probably hadn't formed long ago—or maybe they'd simply fallen behind the main horde.

Some of the swarms just passed by, but others had Walkers that began dragging themselves up the same building where that rat had died.

Watching the scene unfold, Lucian could only think of one thing: as soon as daybreak came, he was moving out. No one could survive a night this nerve-wracking.

Who would've thought that just the scent of a single rat's blood would be enough to draw so many Walkers upstairs? And what about the six Goblin corpses left behind after the fight earlier that day? How many more would they attract?

The thought was terrifying. To a Walker, that must be a feast.

After the latest group passed, Lucian Vale shook his head and slipped once more into a shallow meditative state.