Supreme Archmage:Deathbringer

As the horde of Walkers slowly dissipated, Lucian wiped sweat from his brow—even though it wasn't real sweat, the tension was.

He admitted to himself—he had underestimated the Walkers.

That group had only numbered in the hundreds, and none seemed strong enough to qualify as Black Iron-tier. Yet even they made unbelievable noise. Lucian could only imagine the terror of tens—or hundreds—of thousands.

He had predicted tonight wouldn't end quietly. The lingering scent of the rat's blood and the earlier cacophony would almost certainly draw in more Walkers.

Once the horde passed, he reverted to shallow meditation again. Every time he detected approaching footsteps, he halted and waited until the threat passed before resuming.

Horde sizes vacillated across the night—some numbered in the thousands, others in the hundreds, and some as few as a dozen. Those smallest groups probably formed late or had fallen behind the main mass.

While many simply passed through, others had Walkers dragging themselves up the same building where the rat died.

Lucian watched, heart pounding. If dawn came and he was still here, he had to move. No one could endure a night like this.

He thought about how just one rat's scent had pulled Walkers upstairs—how long before the six Goblin corpses he left would attract even more?

That thought chilled him. To a Walker, the Goblin bodies would be a banquet.

Eventually, the Walkers dissipated again, and Lucian resumed shallow meditation.

⸻

At dawn, Lucian became aware of sunlight filtering inside. His expression soured—dozens of Walkers remained below, having stopped at the same building where the rat died, and now more had detected the blood scent and were investigating upstairs.

Dawn lit their bodies. Though sunlight didn't harm them, Walkers abhorred it. They tilted upward, emitting quiet hisses. Then they staggered into nearby buildings to find shade. Some even entered Lucian's own building.

He froze in fear: moving could draw attention. Fortunately, he'd chosen a higher floor. The Walkers lingered on the first and second levels.

He used willpower to scan—five in total: three on the second floor, two on the first.

What now? Wait for nightfall and hope they leave? That option felt too uncertain. Who knew if more would arrive or if they'd venture upward?

Falling or lowering himself via rope from the fourth floor? He had a rope. But nothing in the battered room looked sturdy enough to support him. The supports were skeletons of rusted metal—hardly reliable.

It seemed clear: he'd have to fight his way out.

He sat, breathing deeply and scanning downstairs intermittently as the sun climbed. The Walkers flinched at the light and settled into shaded corners.

Lucian thought: maybe he could sneak past if he stayed quiet. But a lone Walker remained trapped between the first and second floor—directly on his path. An hour passed with no sign of it leaving.

He couldn't wait any longer.

He strapped on the backpack, gripped his two-meter spear made from the dagger and shaft, and lifted the fire axe. Then he slipped out the door.

He still had magic: too bad Bonefang traveled only in a straight line—might've taken out that Walker from above had he had an angle, but there was no clean shot.

Daytime Walkers mostly kept their eyes closed to conserve energy. Only when exposed to sunlight did they shift to seek shade.

On the third-floor landing, Lucian peered through the stairwell gap—and there it was. The Walker wedged in the stairwell. Thanks to light from both sides, it couldn't move into a room.

No way he could sneak closer.

In his mind's eye, he traced runes. Three seconds later—a tiny Bonefang hovered beside him.

Whizz.

It whistled through the air.

The Walker's ears twitched, as if reacting to the sound—but before it could open its eyes, the bone shard struck its head.

Bang!

The Walker's skull shattered, brain matter and blood flying. The coppery stench filled the stairwell.

Lucian froze—eyes wide, pulse pounding—then activated his willpower scan at full strength.

The other Walkers froze too: apparently alerted by sound or scent, but still without opening their eyes or moving.

That gave Lucian hope. In daylight, with sunlight present, Walkers were far less dangerous.

A faint glow rose from the decapitated Walker and entered Lucian's body.

Another Potential Point?

He summoned the panel:

Name: Lucian Vale

…

Mana: 18/21

Skill: Breath of Darkness – Tier-0 Spell: Bonefang

Potential Points: 0.5

Yes—he had gained 0.5 Potential Points.

Lucian's heart raced. Potential Points were amazing. Goblins had yielded full points—Walkers less. Maybe because they lacked intelligence?

He imagined slaying them all to harvest Potential—those nasty creatures now seemed oddly precious. He fantasized about multiple points beckoning to him.

But he forced the thought away. He was still in danger. No point risking all for fleeting gain.

Better to live and hope for more opportunities later. He was still too weak.

With that, he crept quietly downstairs, careful not to make a sound. He stepped over the shattered Walker skull, avoiding the bloodstain.

He reached the ground floor, shifted direction to avoid the corpse-littered cluster, and headed toward the route he came in.

But unexpectedly, a sound echoed ahead—Goblin voices, identical to the ones he'd heard before.

Could Goblins have found his tracks from yesterday and come for revenge?

It made no sense. Hours had passed, and many Walkers had trekked through the area in between.

No time for speculation—Lucian turned and ran, not even concealing his footsteps this time.

Surrounded by Walker territory, by day this path was safer.

After a hundred meters, he glanced back—and saw a green line of figures ahead.

He couldn't outrun them, so he cast his willpower scan and identified a nearby building without Walkers. Through a broken window he climbed inside.

He reached the fourth floor after careful climbing. There, he found a room and sank down by the window.

Looking out, he could see over twenty Goblins moving through the street—boisterous, obscene in their volume, sometimes roughhousing.

Weapons looked identical to the ones he'd encountered before. Several even wore feather grass necklaces—those must be leaders.

Too many Goblins. He dared not move—he was still a rank-zero apprentice mage. Even if he stood in the center of all they did, he could barely dispatch seven using Bonefang in perfect conditions.

Close combat was unthinkable—three Goblins flanking would overwhelm him.

All he could do was hide and pray they didn't see him.

The Goblin horde marched past his building, making noise by banging on walls and windows. Occasionally, one or two would enter a building before emerging later.

What were they doing?

Lucian was puzzled—wouldn't Goblins in a dangerous area try to stay quiet? Why were they so brazen?

Soon they passed the building he had taken shelter in—where dozens of Walkers lay dormant.

He watched silently through the gap.

Twenty Goblins walked in a long line. Two split off, entering that same building.

Lucian tensed. That building still held the trapped Walkers.

Minutes later, the two Goblins emerged—noisy and excited.

Lucian cocked his ear. Although he couldn't understand their speech, their tone crackled with excitement.

Their cheering prompted the others to shout in delight as well.

They charged into the building, and Lucian's willpower scan failed to reach inside—he couldn't detect what happened yet.

Ten minutes passed. The Goblins emerged again—some with blood-streaked spears. Their mood was jubilant.

The last pair came from inside carrying bound bodies.

Walker bodies.

These undead had been pierced with spears, black ichor dripping from their wounds. Their limbs had been tied to poles and hauled out on display.

All three Walkers inside that building were dead.

And that wasn't all. Goblins had cleared several nearby buildings, killing Walkers and carrying their corpses down skewered on spears.

From his vantage point and with his willpower scan, Lucian followed every movement.

When Goblins discovered a Walker inside a building, they cheered and rushed seven or eight strong into the room.

They exchanged grins as they confirmed the kills.

The Walkers remained motionless—hearing, smelling, but unfazed—until stabbed.

One Goblin, smiling broadly, raised his spear and drove it into the chest of a Walker.

Only then did the victim open its eyes and flail—but it was too late.

Shattered chest, one spear. Then another Goblin skewered the corpse again to finish it off.