Far away from somewhere in the spatial void of the Pan Continent, across a distance that cannot be described by numbers, there is a plane that is inaccessible, and its spatial synchronization rate with the Pan Continent is surprisingly low, unless the mages are willing to spend a lot of expensive materials to actively establish a plane channel, it will rarely have a link with the Pan Continent, only a few people who don't know whether they are lucky or unlucky will fall here through the occasional coordinate overlap, most of them have not heard from each other since, leaving only endless absurd and terrifying legends to the Pan Continent.

The Explorers Guild, which is keen to discover new planes, has commissioned a team of archmages to survey this plane, an organization of mages dedicated to exploring the unknown, hoping to find new magical resources from here to make up for the increasingly tight magic ore reserves in the pan-continent.

“...... Even though we set up camp in the canyon, the cold wind of black sand still swept through our camp day and night, and the dust in the turbid air and the thick clouds rendered the sky a dull gray, and we weren't even sure if there was a sun behind the clouds, because the clouds were so thick that only the gods knew where the light came from! The suffocating necromantic energy nourishes countless undead, roaring around the canyon we live in, thirsting for flesh and blood, where it is so difficult to gather magic, like a desert of magic. ”

It is a forbidden place that has been passed down by word of mouth, a nightmare that eats away at hope, a paradise for dark magicians and lichs who have gone astray, a place for the souls of all living beings in legends, a breeding ground for evil, a place of blasphemy and terror, and this is the underworld of the dead.

"That's why legends are so unreliable, they're all used to scare children, and it's not just a dirty way for the church to expand its members," said a dazed Roger at the bar, patting the shoulder blades of Skeleton Jack at the same table, if there were muscles there.

"In addition to the scarcity of magic here, there is nothing wrong with the enrichment of necromantic energy. With that, Roger threw up his head and poured a large sip of rye wine, choking on Roger with a rough taste, making him cough, and the liquor ran down the corners of his dry mouth, dripping on his dirty linen clothes, and as expected, Roger would go home drunk again.

Roger didn't look very old, about fifteen or sixteen years old, he had a neat short brown hair, which slightly blocked his pointed ears, and his not so white arms had a circle of vine-like magic patterns, which stretched all the way down his arms to his neck. It was a testament to the elves' favor in the forest, and the strange ornamentation was now ruined by the ugly, narrow scars, the stumbling of knives obscuring the lines that should have been crooked.

Poured another large sip of ale wine, feeling the sour liquor churn in the empty stomach, Roger stared at the small wooden barrel-like wine glass, and his young face seemed to have experienced the vicissitudes of time.

In fact, Roger did live for a very long time, and if you were honest about it, you could even find his active shadow in the twilight age of the elves, which of course had nothing to do with his half-elf bloodline, which Roger was forced to get from someone later, and more importantly, even the half-elf could not experience the long time of nearly 10,000 years.

Of course, no matter what glory Roger has experienced, at least for now, he has been reduced to this barren necromantic underworld, with a muddy face and a decadent face lying on the bar, and spending his days in the company of a group of undead creatures.

The skeleton Jack sitting next to Roger had a soul fire in his eyes flickering, and he wanted to speak but couldn't make a sound, Jack scratched the smooth and smooth skull, and then remembered the dislocated mandible, clicked and bitten, and the flow of undead energy was recoherent, Jack regained the ability to speak, and said regretfully while holding the cup: "Ha, I only know our benefits when I come here, and I don't know why every meat person who falls into our pit is scared away, it is clear that we are very enthusiastic, and we have prepared a welcome party for them." He took a sip of the red liquid from his glass.

You guys are also called a party, Roger asked for another glass of rye wine, but he couldn't help muttering in his heart, you are all standing at the mouth of the pit and posing collectively to be scary. You can imagine such a scene: you are alone in an unfamiliar plane, the cold wind is whistling around, you resist the wind, you finally find a sheltered tunnel, you are ecstatic and you run in, turn your head and look at a group of skeletons, TMD is exciting to think about.

Of course, this is not told to Jack in person, and every time a frustrated Jack sits at the mouth of the cave and plays his bone flute, the voice of grumbling makes the tunnel residents, including Roger, want to tear down its bones.

"That's what they don't know how to appreciate, I think your welcome ceremony, well, it's very creative" Roger clinked glasses with the relieved Jack, and silently added in his heart, "Of course it's for the dead." ”

"Those legends shamelessly tarnish our image, and describe us as bloodthirsty devils!" said Jack, taking another sip of the red liquid, staining his teeth with a blood-red color.

Don't get me wrong, the liquid in this glass is actually tomato juice, and Jack is a devout follower of Voss, a nature watcher, a staunch vegetarian. Yes, that's right, Jack is a strange creature, a skeleton who is a necromantic creature who believes in the Order camp and prays for pleasure every day.

Drunken and groggy Roger looked up with difficulty, under the swaying dim oil lamp, there was a pothole earth wall inlaid with white bone pillars, and the front door frame was inlaid with burning skulls, this is a tunnel tavern located underground, in the necromantic plane, most of the gathering places of creatures are located in underground tunnels, so that in addition to being able to avoid the wind and sand on the surface, the dim environment can also bring the warmth of the home of the necromantic creatures.

The tavern seat sat silently with all sorts of necromantic creatures, skeletons, zombies, and necromantic knights, and abomination was not welcome here, as the big guys would always break the door frame, and Rick the skeleton who was put into the door frame as a building material often protested against this.

Rick was the burning skull on the doorframe, and every clumsy abomination would break his bones, but Rick still liked to break up his bones and inlay them in the wall, which according to him gave it a feeling of stretching into his bones, which Roger couldn't understand.

In this way, in this necromantic plane, the undead have their own hobbies, and will drink and communicate in the tavern like the living, all of which is very different from the impression of mortals.

Generally speaking, mortal beings are remembered as monsters who have abandoned their faith and the afterlife, from souls who have fallen in response to the call of necromancers, who are bloodthirsty, vicious, and can only bring death and desolation.

There is nothing wrong with this understanding, but it is not absolute.

The group of necromancers who fell in pursuit of power are the most notorious group of people in the pan-continent, they steal corpses, disturb the rest of the dead, desecrate death, and the magic model constructed by them has no mercy at all, and the magical structure of 'erasing the spirit' and 'hating the living' is widely used in all kinds of necromantic summoning, and the creatures born from this will become their vicious minions.

However, the naturally born undead are a group of people who wander in the world because of their obsession before death, and after death, their souls wander to the underworld, unconsciously absorbing huge necromantic energy and turning into all kinds of undead, and continue to exist like this, until they forget their obsession will be completely dissipated.

For countless years, there have been undead beings born here, and undead souls have continued to die again. Of course, not all the undead will let go of their obsessions, and over time, a large number of them will form a society of the undead here, becoming the soul destination of the living and the purgatory of the unbelievers propagated by religion.

In fact, the undead are mostly lazy guys, they prefer to nest in the pit than wandering in the wasteland, and they are idle and eager for the occasional human appearance to bring them outside news and new entertainment, for example, Roger taught poker to the undead, and received unanimous praise.

However, most of the time, their warm invitations will scare the unlucky people who have fallen here, and not all humans can calmly accept the residence of the necromancy, after all, not only this tavern, but the entire city is built with dry bones and wood chips, and there are also guys like Rick who are idle and volunteer to be building materials, and the result is that you often have door frames or walls on the road and suddenly chatter with you, such a strange atmosphere, even if a class of Holy Light Priest beautifies it, no one dares to come in.

"the legend!" Roger decided not to expose the tragic reality, raised his glass and toasted loudly, causing the undead to scream in the tavern (unmistakable), and then Roger raised his head and drank the wine in one gulp, "Let the scum of order indulge in sweet dreams"

Skeleton Jack also drank all the tomato juice, the ghost knows what kind of structure in the skeleton's body can keep the liquid from leaking out, Jack wiped his mouth casually, wrapped his arm wrapped in rags around Roger's shoulder, just wanted to speak, Roger's head slammed on the counter, and soon a dull snoring sounded.

"Click, and get drunk without paying for the wine, does rye wine have such a strong strength? Jack straightened his dislocated chin again, and after pushing Roger twice, seeing that he was completely drunk, Jack threw out two soul shards to help Roger settle the wine account, in the underworld, the soul is the hard currency here.

"Next time I'll find this kid to pay off the bill, hey!Rick, come over and do a favor and carry Roger back"

Skeleton Jack lifted Roger's arm and put him on his bone frame, then turned his head and shouted to Rick, who was acting as an ornament on the door frame, "This kid is too heavy, I can't move it alone, my leg bones were removed and maintained before, and this thing that replaced it can't be handled."

"Okay"

Rick, who worked part-time as a bartender for the door frame, climbed out of the mosaic wall, and to be precise, the bones that made up the skeleton came out of the wall one after another, and assembled them on the ground into a skeleton wide skeleton, one of which hit the bell made of bone on the door frame, and there was a dull sound of 'dong dong'.

"Meat man is trouble, how can we have a brisk bone shelf, by the way, Jack, have you tried throwing yourself into the water, you can float up" While gossiping, Rick, who walked a few steps, always felt that something was not right, and only found out under Jack's reminder that there was a piece of bone stuck in his ribs that I don't know who was stuck, presumably when he climbed out.

It was easy to break the weathered dry bones, and Rick, who had removed the burden, stretched his waist and stepped forward to hold Roger's arm, and the two skeletons supported Roger and walked out.

"It's good to go out once in a while."

"yes, yes, and your arm is off"

"Oh, thank you, by the way, do you think we'll be blown away by the wind outside?"

“........”

The two skeletons walked awkwardly through the dark tunnel, carried Roger back to his lodgings at the edge of the tunnel, pushed open the rusty iron door, and threw Roger onto the debris-filled bed, and then clicked away, leaving Roger alone on the bed to sleep until he was awakened by a rapid knock on the door.