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Reborn as a Banished Noble

In the imperial capital, the once-noble house of Igor falls into disgrace when Lord Vincent Igor is convicted of leading a failed rebellion against the crown. His only son, Elliot Igor, is stripped of title, lands, and wealth, and sentenced to exile in the perilous wastelands of the south. a barren wasteland teeming with bandits from the Federation, demons, and displaced humans. Elliot who was suffering of prolonged illness just a few days after leaving the capital, was reborn with a soul of another person from earth 'Oliver' due to a spell gone wrong, in summoning outer god. Oliver who was now thrust in to this dangerous world had to do everything to reclaim his honor and avenge Igor family's downfall, discovers ancient texts about necromancy among his hidden possessions during his journey to exile. With nothing left to lose, He delves deep into the forbidden arts, seeking the power to raise and command the dead with the blessings of the Death God. Under the pale moonlight, he successfully revives his loyal Knight and guards who perished at the hands of a zombie horde, creating a undead army bound to his will. As Oliver now Elliot masters his newfound abilities, news of his dark powers spreads across the land, reaching the ears of the crown and rival exiles alike. A complex game of power ensues, as various factions either seek to harness or destroy Elliot’s necromantic forces. #Zombie #Kingdombuilding #LORD # MedievalFantasy

Rqmk · Fantaisie
Pas assez d’évaluations
161 Chs

A Horde of Porcupines

"Master, are we here to kill people or porcupines?"

Ethan Garcia, deputy commander of the "Pride of the South" knights from Rock Creek City, asked this with a wide, amused grin. His heavy boot pressed down on the bloated belly of a "Spine-peaked Arrow-bearing Porcupine," a magical creature known for its deadly wind-blades. In one swift motion, his sword cleaved through the porcupine's thick neck.

The monster's blood spurted out like the juice from an overripe watermelon, splattering across the ground in sticky, dark streams. The sickly liquid bubbled and soaked into the yellow wasteland dirt, thick and reeking. Garcia, dressed not in his usual gleaming Knight armor but a scuffed, worn leather coat, was drenched in the foul substance. His appearance was far from knightly, he looked more like a savage than a commander.