Prologue

Jemar propped himself up with his sword, spitting out the dirt from his mouth. The soil of the Plague Lands had a strange texture, like cotton soaked in oil, and the foul stench replaced the natural earthy smell.

Ten meters ahead, Summoner Arlaki grabbed a soldier by the head and tossed him away. Before hitting the ground, the soldier turned into an ice sculpture and shattered upon impact. Unfrozen tissues clung to the ice, resembling a heap of thawing meat on a cutting board. That was Jemar's last remaining subordinate. Many others were still fighting or attempting to fight Arlaki on the battlefield, but all the soldiers wearing the same uniform as him had perished.

The sounds and smells of the slaughter filled his ears. Three warriors felled a abomination and proceeded to hack at its head. The abomination's hooked right hand raised high, as if reaching for an unseen object in the air to accompany it in death. Ghouls crawled through the shadows of the ruins, waiting for an opportunity to pounce on careless soldiers, biting through their throats and devouring them. Skeletal soldiers wielded dual blades, attempting to kill anything that approached, until two spears pierced their ribcage, pinning them to the ground, followed by a spiked hammer shattering their skull. Battles against the Scourge were always chaotic and frenzied, and Jemar had long grown accustomed to this madness.

He charged at Arlaki once again. He couldn't allow the creature's fingers to make direct contact with him; that was common sense with very little room for error. Jemar dodged Arlaki's first swing and positioned his blade horizontally, aiming to wedge it into the creature's ribcage. However, the intense cold caused him to lose his aim, and the blade merely grazed the outer side of the ribs. Arlaki roared and lunged at Jemar's skull, fingers splayed wide as if dealing with another soldier. Jemar raised his sword to block the attack while quickly retreating.

Before his footing had even stabilized, Jemar realized he couldn't see with his left eye. The upper and lower eyelids were frozen together. Although he hadn't taken a direct hit, it seemed that Arlaki's withered fingertips had grazed him. And it wasn't just his eye—his left ear couldn't hear either. He didn't dare touch it to find out what had happened. Though his legs were intact, he couldn't move them. Arlaki approached, and the choice between charging forward to meet the creature or fleeing became irrelevant. Regardless of the command his brain chose, his body was unable to comply. It wasn't because of the damage to his eye and ear, but rather because in that moment of contact, he realized the vast gap between himself as a human and the power of the Lich.

Arlaki grew enraged after narrowly avoiding a strike, and the icy blue glow in its eye sockets intensified. It surveyed its surroundings, with most of its Scourge guards already wiped out, and more and more coalition soldiers attempting to approach. It was furious. How can one tell when a skeleton is angry? No one can explain it clearly, but anyone who has witnessed the Lich's demeanor can strongly feel its overwhelming negative emotions, be it anger or bloodlust.

Nevertheless, Jemar knew that his only way out was to take Arlaki's head, even if it meant sacrificing his own existence.

Just as Jemar was about to take a desperate leap forward, several arrows flew overhead and pierced through Arlaki's robe and the ground beneath its feet. The flames posed no real threat to the Lich, but the dazzling bright yellow color ignited hope within Jemar. As Arlaki waved its hand to break the arrows, he thought that this might be his final chance--

A one-armed skeletal soldier emerged from behind a ruined wall, precisely in Jemar's blind spot of his left eye, and swung his blade, striking Jemar's head. He stumbled a few times and fell to the ground. The surface of his body, once chillingly cold, now warmed up as blood flowed freely. His longsword slipped from his grasp as he gazed at the decaying beef-colored sky of the Western Plaguelands, his mind going blank.

For some unknown reason, the skeletal soldier did not finish off Jemar. He speculated that perhaps the soldier had its own troubles to deal with. The sight before his eyes and the noise around him gradually faded, and he helplessly fell into unconsciousness.

In the darkness, Jemar regained brief consciousness twice. The first time, he saw a man wielding a warhammer crouching in front of him, a face both familiar and unfamiliar. The second time, he realized he was lying on a stretcher, with two people carrying him and engaged in conversation:

"Why bother saving him? Bringing a Bloodscar Crusader back to camp is asking for trouble."

"That's what the higher-ups want, so quit complaining."

"He's so damn heavy. I feel like tossing him here."

"Why don't you give it a try?"

Before sinking into deep slumber once again, Jemar thought, "Just leave me behind. I don't mind. It's what a loser deserves. Besides, I'm tired and just want to lie down in peace."