But even then, they didn’t seem particularly worried. They retreated a few steps back, and then, as Riven watched, two funeral undead stepped close to each other and combined into one.
Another two did the same thing, and another. All around, the funeral undead combined, reducing their numbers to sixteen in a blink.
Riven raised his brows. "Just what are you doing?" he muttered.
It became clear the next moment when Spartacus went after them. Each of their individual strengths had increased. When they ran now, they left behind shadows as their speed exploded.
Even Spartacus couldn’t keep up and was only able to cut down the one that hadn’t combined. His sword could only touch the shadows they left behind.
...
Up above, the faceless man watched everything intently. The green gem on his forehead shone with abnormal light. "Old bird, do you see what I’m seeing? That undead of his—he shouldn’t be able to be like that. I’m actually feeling life force from it."
Old bird shuddered. Only powerful high-ranked necromancers could preserve undead in the way they were when alive, and even then, they could only do so with massive amounts of energy and skill.
Low-ranked necromancers would lose a lot of quality from the undead they turned, only improving as their rank increased.
To have a rank-two necromancer running around with an undead like that was... wrong and fascinating at the same time.
Old bird said, "Is this the trace of your master that you talked about?"
The faceless man laughed. "We have stumbled on something strange this time. I have changed my mind. I will not help him! Let me see what tricks he will show next!"
Old bird grumbled. "Your madness is starting again."
But the faceless man only laughed. "Poisonous worm and jar. Yes! Yes!"
...
For Riven, he had run into a difficult situation. His entire plan was to make Spartacus do his work for him. He never thought about what would happen if Spartacus couldn’t do it.
"Now what? I can’t stay here forever, and I have to save Kivara... somehow... but most importantly, I have to get out of here..."
He sat there with the Grave Knight behind him and just watched the scene play out in front of him. The funeral undead were running from Spartacus.
Not only were they running, but they were also treating it like a joke—coming close to his blade and then slipping away at the last moment. In strength, Spartacus was superior, but when it came to speed, they were miles ahead.
It made his blood boil, and his eyes flashed. Just what sort of joke was this?
"Should I join... no... what type of technique can I use... I don’t have anything that can increase my speed... hmm... then what..."
Suddenly, Riven frowned. "They are undead, right? Then, can I control them? But is that even possible? If it were possible, then wouldn’t necromancers just be robbing undead summons from each other?"
He frowned and concentrated on them, feeling out their aura. He felt the aura that surrounded them, warping around them in bitter coldness.
He saw the faint, sickly green outline and focused on one of them. He reached out with his mind as if he wanted to suck the aura away, but instead, he focused on controlling it.
But it was like trying to push a mountain with a tail he didn’t have. Within seconds, he began to sweat. "I can’t control them. Yes, that’s too much. Controlling others’ undead wouldn’t be easy. But wait, where is the connection between the undead and its master?"
His eyes shrank as he focused more intently, trying to catch where the connection between them and their master was, but he found nothing.
The only thing that became clearer was the aura surrounding them. He became angry as his frustration mounted, and in that millisecond, he felt something give way on the undead he was concentrating on.
It was subtle, and he lost it in the next millisecond, but it was enough to make him sit up with his eyes narrowed. "Something happened!"
He tried to regain the feeling again, focusing on the undead while letting the rest of his body relax as if he were about to fall asleep.
And then, it happened again. The undead froze for half a second before it broke out of Riven’s control and ran.
Riven grinned like a wolf spotting a rabbit. With his connection to Spartacus, he told him to be ready while he focused on one undead.
"Now!" Riven shouted. His body surged as if heat was flashing through it. What he did to the undead was distort the aura in its body. He could only do that for half a second.
But in the world of practitioners, one second is enough to determine life and death. And with Spartacus already waiting, the half-second was well spent.
The warrior lurched forward, the ground beneath him cracking with lines as he shot toward the funeral undead. All of them scattered, leaving behind shadows.
All of them but one. The one that Riven was focusing on froze for half a second. Enough time! The red sword flashed, and the undead was cut into three parts.
Riven smiled viciously, his eyes brimming with a savage light. "Well then, Spartacus the Chain Breaker, let them see what you can do!"
...
The old woman frowned. "How is he doing that?"
The faceless man was also staring intently. "Undead are ’alive’ because of the energy the necromancer provides them. Even when not in use, the energy still remains. Without aura, undead cannot do anything. Likewise, when a necromancer makes a new undead, it will be imprinted with their personal strands of aura.
"What that boy is doing is shaking this imprint. This way, the energy provided to the undead becomes distorted, creating a temporary moment of paralysis, so to speak!"
The old woman sounded surprised. "But they are your undead."
The faceless man chuckled. "Yes. But it’s been so long since they’ve been in use. My imprint must have become shaky. Yes, he is impressive. I am impressed."
Old bird shivered. "That has never been a good thing."