Wrapped in a tattered robe, Hades hurried down the street with his head down, passing a group of patrolling soldiers. He could feel a few of these pairs of eyes casually sweep over, and then move away boredly at the sight of the parchment and quill he was holding in the crook of his arm. They certainly wouldn't be interested in an ordinary scribe, which was exactly what Hades wanted.

A gust of night breeze blew in his face, and a trace of coolness poured into his cuffs, he shivered, and hurriedly quickened his pace.

Turning the corner, the gravel-paved road came to an abrupt halt and was replaced by a muddy dirt road. The sides have also been transformed from neatly planned brick houses into dilapidated shacks nailed haphazardly with wooden planks. Hatis carefully picked a place to stay, knowing what was in the foul sludge. When a person has exhausted all their efforts to survive, they will never have the energy to pay attention to hygiene.

Most of the wooden houses are pitch black, making the area much darker and more dead and silent than the rest of the city. The drunken drunkard collapsed at the door of his house, and the children gathered around like crows seeing corpses. As Hatis approached, they scattered clutching their booty, hiding in the shadows and peering out, their eyes full of greed and hunger.

Hatis walked indifferently past the drunkard, who was already naked. He doesn't like trouble, as long as these little wolf cubs don't come to provoke him.

After crossing almost half of the slums, he finally reached his destination. Against the backdrop of the crooked wooden sheds around it, this old wooden house can be said to be inconspicuous. The only difference was that there were no crevices to peep into, but the cobwebs on the window edges, the marks of axes and crumbling wooden doors on the facades, and the deliberate image of Hatis as a scribe whose daily income was barely enough to make ends meet, and who was grumpy and ready to pick up an axe, were enough to discourage any interest that might arise. Poverty and irritability can make others not want to come to trouble, and the scribe's thin and weak constitution is both in keeping with his appearance and does not attract too much suspicion when trouble does occur.

He stepped over the threshold with his head down to avoid the cobwebs above. After closing the creaking wooden door, Hades looked around the room. The dust from the windows had not changed in the slightest, and it seemed that some people had learned not to waste their efforts, realizing that it was almost empty except for the wooden beds and rotten tables that could not be removed.

But it's not empty.

Hades took three steps along the wall, then crouched down and groped his fingers for a while on the ground to find a plank. He picked up the plank, revealing the dirt underneath it—or what looked like dirt. Hatis said a word, and the small piece of ground flickered, then dissipated, revealing the deep hole and ladder below. Before climbing down, he didn't forget to pull the plank back and put it away. The circle carved into the back of the board lit up, and a new apparition once again covered the entrance.

He descended slowly, and it took a few minutes before he regained his ground. Hatis let go of the ladder and snapped his fingers, and a dark blue flame burst out of thin air, illuminating the underground space. What appeared before him was a sight that not even the ignorant on the ground would have seen in the deepest nightmares.

Several disemboweled corpses were placed on the stone platforms side by side, and the magic circle on the ground spit out a cold breath from time to time, making the living organs still beating in the air. The zombie minions stood as expressionless as he had left, still holding a whole plate of blood-stained surgical tools in his hands. Manuscripts littered with frenzied handwriting and graffiti were scattered on the desk, and several skulls of various sizes were casually held to hold them down. The dark green potion reacted slowly in the glass jar in the corner, and the various organs soaked in it had undergone terrible distortion. Next to the debris, two gargoyles stand silently like real sculptures, almost completely hidden in the shadows. Their eyes lit up a terrible red light at the sight of Hades, and it wasn't until the mage said the right command that the dead silence returned, and the Death Hound with acid dripping from the corners of its mouth fell prone with it. Everything in this room does not have the fanaticism and madness that cultists cannot comprehend, but is terrifying because of the strict and meticulous orderliness, as if some being with a higher authority condescendingly looks down on and studies man, just as man looks down and studies a mouse.

Hades liked the idea.

This is exactly the room that a necromancer owns. Truly sane researchers, not fancy gimmicks to fool the ignorant inferior preachers. Sadly, many of his colleagues have confused the two because of their research and missionary duties. That's why Hatis was never willing to accept a higher position. He didn't need to look after the altar, to compile scriptures, to preach aloud to the eager and ignorant peasants—and if he did, he would be no different from a follower of the Light.

The Light is hypocritical and ethereal, stingy in giving but greedy in return. And the Lich King, their master, is true and wise. Hatisbay fell under his vast knowledge and might. The Light is not salvation, but only the consolation and forgiveness of the cowardly. But through the death brought about by the Cult of the Damned, they will be freed from the limitations of being mortal and ascended to a higher realm.

As long as he and his colleagues can get the job done.

Hatis walked over to the operating table and took a closer look at the internal organs. The speed of the lesion was fast, or rather too fast, and the Cultists of the Cursed were deeply distressed by it. This is a great trait if used against armies, but it shouldn't be too violent if you want to spread it around the city. The High Ranks pointed out that it was best for the plague to have a full day of incubation, so that as many people as possible could eat the specially prepared food without realizing it. The existence of the plague cannot be detected in any way until it occurs.

The necromancers and apothecaries were frustrated. They have no trouble making violent poisons, and transforming the user into a brainless zombie is just the icing on the cake. But it is quite difficult to make peace between the power of death and fragile life, even for a few short hours.

Just a month ago, word came from the Church brethren of the Hills Bred Hills that they had some clues. But before the exact conclusions and results could be delivered, Hatis learned that they had been struck by an accident. First the adventurers, then the army of Nanhai Town, and then the unintentional attack of the rebellious orcs. The serial calamities were so coincidental that it almost made one wonder if someone had set their sights on the Cursed Sect. But they have never been able to find a connection between these events—a traveling paladin and his companions; an unknown number of fanatics who dared to openly threaten the nobility of the kingdom; There were also two fugitive gladiators who worked as spies for the orcs. How do these disparate identities relate to each other?

Hatis was more inclined to his colleagues to be overzealous. Perhaps it was the imminent success that made them lose their cool. It's a shame – he's talking about the valuable results. He now had to start over with the words that had been revealed for show-off. Pressed for time.

At the sight of the third corpse, the necromancer's face finally improved a little—he seemed to have found the right path, and at the same intensity, the internal organs were significantly less corroded. He took off his blood-stained gloves and walked over to his desk to begin recording and calculating.

The Death Hound stood up and let out a slight whine. The sound of air flowing through those teeth of varying sizes sounded like the wind blowing through a rusty iron railing. Hatis put down his pen and turned his head to look outside.

Hades's laboratory clings to Stratholme's old, dilapidated sewage system, making it easier to dispose of the waste and making use of the sewers that run through it. But the project was time-consuming, laborious, and meaningless – as soon as the plague spread, Stratholme would soon become a dead city – so he chose to give up. As for the occasional tramp and thief, Hades' guards were prepared to deal with these wretched creatures.

He made a spell gesture, and the gargoyle's eyes immediately lit up red. Due to the small space, they can only crawl on the ground with their claws, but it is enough to deal with ordinary people. Skeletons and gargoyles were more suitable long-term guards than perishable flesh creations, and Hatis tolerated some shortcomings. Maybe he could go back and visit one of the pharmacists and ask about preservatives. Of course, after the Lich King's great plan has been completed.

He walked out, the gargoyle following closely behind, his claws scratching white marks on the stony floor. The noise was so loud that the necromancer temporarily halted its movements. It wasn't long before he heard footsteps and talking from the quietest passageway, sounding like a lot of people.

Hades wasn't going to rush straight out. Although he has the absolute upper hand in power, new conjectures need to be tested by new experiments. He wanted healthy humans intact, not a bunch of severed limbs. So he listened intently and judged the best time.

"Is there really no exit to the outside of the city?"

Although the echo slightly interfered with the judgment, the clear voice and eager tone clearly belonged to the teenager. Hatis nodded slightly. His colleagues were more than happy to treat children as ritual sacrifices. He hadn't encountered such a test subject in a while.

"Maybe there is, maybe not." A gentle, but deeper, adult voice replied, "We can try, but don't get your hopes up." ”

"But I've seen a lot of knightly novels that write about escaping from this place." Another teenager's voice.

"Move your fingernail-sized head, are we living in a book?" The fourth man growled under his breath, a clear sign of mockery and impatience.

"Partner." The previous one raised his voice a little.

The reprimanded man muttered something in reply.

A new voice joined in, also belonging to the boy: "If this place can really lead to the outside of the city, then the exit must be guarded by someone." There's no way they don't know this. ”

This sentence ended the argument, and they fell silent, leaving only the sound of footsteps approaching.

But Hatis was a rare distraction. He was thinking about something he didn't understand—no, not not, the man's pronunciation was so clear that Hatis could easily repeat it, but he couldn't understand it, indicating that it wasn't a lingua franca. But this rough, powerful syllable always gave him a sense of familiarity.

Then he remembered. The necromancers and pharmacists of the Hillsbrad Hills would sometimes bring orcs from concentration camps as their test subjects. During his brief visit to Hades, he had seen the tenacious humanoid beasts behave in the face of plague and spells. Unexplained laziness is replaced by mad bloodiness at the time of the NDE, roaring, cursing, and struggling until the very last moment. An experiment requires hours of noise, and Hatis is familiar with orc pronunciation patterns.

So, that's also an orc language.

Hatis was astonished by this conclusion. Why would anyone want to learn the language of the green locusts? No one, not even the lowly servants of the concentration camp, would bother to communicate with the orcs.

Such a deviant behavior, but the others who traveled with him didn't seem to hear it, or were they used to it? Hatis suddenly became curious about the origin and purpose of these people. He wondered if it was possible that they had anything to do with the "tribes" of the Hills Brad Hills, and whether they could act as mediators in the middle. After all, there was no need for the Cursed Cult and the Orcs to clash - at least not yet. There will be no more plague and death when they are rampant on the earth.

So he walked out.

The gargoyle's voice was as loud as ever, a statement that couldn't have been more obvious. When Hatis walked out, the visitor had already taken his position and was no longer moving forward. It's nice to leave a safe distance between them.

The moonlight fell through a gap in the overhead, allowing them to observe each other. Hades glanced at the other side cursoryly. Three teenagers, guarded behind. Three adults, the tallest one was cloaked but bare-handed, and a blonde young man with a hammer on his back, his appearance and temperament made Hatis very naturally think of a paladin, and the necromancer was a little uncertain for a while, but when the last man stepped forward, his doubts suddenly disappeared.

This man is clearly the leader of these people. He stepped forward while everyone else shifted out of the way, like a wolf coming out of his pack. His golden eyes glittered in the shadows, his gaze was as hungry and ferocious as that of his prey, and his lips were slightly curled to reveal sharp canine teeth. His steps and something about him reminded Hatis of the violently reacting potion in the crystal bottle, the terrifying power that was about to burst out in a second after being confined to a thin wall of the bottle—and he seemed happy to do so.

But the most important thing is that Hatis knows the face. Just ten hours earlier, he had seen the Church of Light and the Silver Hand disgrace the Church of Light and the Silver Hand in the face of a solemn courtroom that had turned into a farce, and the powerful jurors had to swallow the wounded majesty and the verdict in order to uphold their so-called sacred faith—the only thing that could keep Hatis from casting his spell under that devouring gaze.

"We've got to talk." He said.

The other man had a strange expression, and Hatis couldn't tell if he was laughing or growling, or both.

"I'm listening, necromancer."