Chapter 92: The Root of the Necromancer’s Unpopularity

Although the victim had already left, the three demon swordsmen who committed the crime still received a fair trial.

However, the Storm Sorceress’s mood remained low; after returning from the Mage Guild, she went off alone to hunt in the secret realm of Lion Island.

“Should we go check on her?” The Wilderness Huntress asked, sounding concerned.

“Let her have some time alone. In a low-tier secret realm, she can protect herself. No need to worry,” said Wendy.

“So, that Ice fellow just left like that?” Elia looked at Royon.

“He just couldn’t get over it. I didn’t say anything to him.” Royon shrugged. “You can find out for yourselves what he’s been up to lately, if you have the time… tsk tsk.”

Everyone fell silent for a moment. Suddenly, the Barbarian Priestess stood up, left the camp, and walked toward the open wilderness.

“Amman, where are you going?” Elia called out.

“To practice casting spells on the move,” the Barbarian Priestess replied without turning her head.

After learning about the Ice Archer’s fate and Royon's battle with him, the beautiful teammates all grew restless.

In terms of combat strength, they were on par with the Storm Sorceress, only differing in their professions. Yet, that same strength meant nothing before the three demon swordsmen—they were utterly obliterated in an instant.

No wonder the Ice Archer was mercilessly beaten into the ground.

“I’m going to practice too. Royon was right; standing still to cast spells makes us far too weak!” The Wilderness Huntress said, heading off in another direction.

“Uh… although I… never mind, I’ll practice some close-combat skills as well!” Mira hesitated briefly, then followed suit.

Lilian remained silent, simply walking out after Mira.

The rest exchanged glances with Royon.

The Fatty, catching Royon's gaze, suddenly jumped up and went off to practice the moves taught by the Elf Lady.

“By the way, Royon!”

Suddenly, Wendy seemed to remember something and took an item out of her storage space, handing it to him: “This is… uh, something… a rather odd hero entrusted to me. He said he wanted to meet you.”

“What is it?” Royon took it and saw it was a small square box, protected by a layer of magical wards that could be easily broken.

“No idea. The person who gave it to me said only that you should open it yourself—nothing else. It’s been a while, actually. I meant to pass it on directly, but with everything happening lately, I accidentally forgot.”

At this, Wendy looked embarrassed.

“Heh heh…”

Royon couldn’t help but laugh; he never expected the always steady and dependable Wendy to have such moments.

Snap!

He squeezed his fingers, breaking the ward, then opened the box.

Inside lay a small iron bear token.

It was the very one Royon had obtained before.

“What’s going on here?” Royon quickly closed the box, looking at Wendy in alarm.

“What’s wrong? Is there something wrong with what’s inside?” Wendy asked, puzzled.

“Who gave it to you and what did they say?” Royon pressed.

“A fat man!”

Elia jumped in, gesturing with her hands. “A fat man, as wide as he is tall!”

“???”

Royon’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Were there really creatures like that in this world? Isn’t that basically a ball?

“Did he say what his name was?”

“No.”

…

Leaving the Lion Island secret realm, Royon opened the box again and lifted the bear token, finding a piece of paper beneath it.

“See you at Sorcerer’s Canyon!”

Fortunately, recently Royon had learned some of the world’s script from the Elf Lady. If she hadn’t been so busy, he’d have learned not just common writing but even Elven language!

As a Blue Star transmigrant, if nothing else, he certainly had that skill.

“Sorcerer’s Canyon?”

Royon glanced back at the giant stone formation behind him, circled the area, but saw no one.

He flipped the paper over and found a crude map on the back.

“Tsk tsk!”

Not only was the handwriting crooked—never mind, even the Elf Lady’s beautiful script was crooked—but the drawing was so rough it left him speechless.

Sorcerer’s Canyon—Royon had heard of it.

It was almost legendary…

He hadn’t expected this world to have a place by that name as well.

He knew of it, but it was quite far away. Royon returned to camp, prepared a few scrolls, activated a portal, and appeared in Sorcerer’s Canyon.

Deep in the canyon was a circle of massive stones, like the work of ancient giants.

Under one of those stones, Royon saw a ball-shaped creature.

At the same time, the creature spotted him and floated over.

Royon squinted, examining it closely. The creature alternated its legs quickly, walking upright, but with its round shape and slight swaying, it looked just like a ball rolling toward him.

“Royon the Magic Swordsman, I am Sreven, a Shadow Stalker, and I have been waiting for you!”

The ball-shaped creature spoke as it moved, coming up to Royon with speed rivaling his own Flash ability.

“A Shadow Stalker? Why are you looking for me?” Royon asked.

“Hmph. You know exactly what you’ve done, don’t you?” Sreven snorted, gazing at him coldly.

“…”

“Ahem. Could you lower yourself a bit? Having to look up at you is exhausting!” Sreven said weakly, plopping down on the ground, his expression wilting.

“Can you people ever be punctual? How long have I been waiting? Why did it take you so long to get here?”

Sreven truly had been “waiting for a long time,” yet Royon had only just arrived.

“So, what do you want from me?” Royon repeated.

“Ahem, actually, nothing much. I heard you defeated that bastard Ivan, and Ervan was scared off by the Elf Judge. So, as ‘Thirdven,’ here I am! Heh heh!”

He forced a laugh, but seeing Royon not amused, quickly hid his smile.

“Actually…”

He looked around, found no one else, and whispered, “I heard you’ve learned necromancy?”

“No,” Royon replied flatly.

He didn’t need to guess—this rumor surely came from Ivan.

“Ahem, no matter. Just give me the secret realm key. I have proof; it’s mine.” Sreven produced a receipt bearing a special magical brand from the black market.

“You don’t seem like someone lacking secret realms. What would you want with a low-tier one?” Royon asked.

“Well, too many people have died lately!” Sreven sighed, sounding almost compassionate. “I don’t want more people drawn into this mess, losing their lives over a low-tier secret realm key, so I had to intervene…”

“Well, if that’s all, I’ll be going.”

Royon tossed over the box with the bear token and prepared to activate his portal scroll.

“Wait!”

Sreven caught the box, hurried to block Royon, and sighed again. He said, a bit helpless, “Actually, my true name is Pontin, of the Pontin family, though they no longer acknowledge me as heir…”

“But that’s not important. What matters is, I need your help—if you really have learned necromancy!”

“Your profession—is it genuine or not?” Royon asked.

“Uh… well… actually, I am that one hunted by the Hero Association, branded a heretic, said to walk in the gap between light and shadow—”

“Rod Carl Mischus?”

“Eh? You know my name?”

“I heard it—the very Ivan blabbed it to the Hero Association’s Holy Light Sorcerers.”

“That bastard!” Sreven cursed.

“Enough!” Royon waved him off. “I don’t care about your story. If you’re not here for Ivan’s revenge, I won’t entertain you.”

“Can’t I have my own matters to discuss? Must it be someone else’s revenge?!” Sreven was so angry he hopped in circles around Royon, moving incredibly fast!

Anyone slower would have missed it in a blink, not even knowing what happened.

“So, what do you want?” Royon asked impatiently.

“Help me resurrect someone! If you really know necromancy…”

At this, the ball—no, the fat man’s voice grew low, his mood sinking.

“Her name is Belinda. She’s a lovely angel…”

“Sreven… Rod…”

“Call me Pontin, please. Sreven was just a nickname; I used to think those guys were alright, but they turned out to be mere drinking buddies. Rod is a name I made up. Pontin is my real name.”

“…”

Royon guessed this fellow had a compulsion for changing names, like name cards were free.

“My profession is Magic Swordsman, and I know nothing of necromancy. What Ivan saw before were illusions created by magical devices.”

“Magical devices—you should be familiar, seeing as you can buy secret realm keys in the black market.”

“Oh? Magic Swordsman…” Pontin stared at Royon with a strange look. “I see. Necromancy isn’t exactly popular, after all.”

“To be honest, it’s all prejudice. Magic itself is neither good nor bad; it’s the ones who use it… The origin of all this traces back to the necromancer who started the apocalypse war.”