Chapter 64: The Lord of Submergence: Wrathful Bubos
The more someone is driven by their ideals, the harder they fall when those ideals crumble. Some lash out at the world, seeking revenge or trying to salvage what’s left. Others sink into an abyss of despair.
Dallan was the latter. Having experienced a series of failures, culminating in his failed attempt at self-sacrifice, he looked at Abyss with vacant eyes, a fixed grin on his bloodstained face. Even after Flora released the Silence spell, he remained silent.
The lord he had devoted his life to, the one he believed would be the savior of himself and the world, had abandoned him without hesitation, without even a word of farewell. He had entrusted the Face of Hell, his only hope for entering this world, to a girl who had never pledged her loyalty. And in the end, even that had failed.
The image of his lord, a powerful being who treated all things equally and promised a glorious future, crumbled in an instant. All his efforts had been in vain.
No matter what Abyss said, Dallan didn’t want to speak.
He knew Abyss, as a necromancer, could simply kill him and interrogate his soul. Resistance was futile, but Dallan was beyond caring. He simply didn’t want to speak.
“Why won’t this old geezer say anything?” Leona complained, sitting on the ground nearby. She quickly turned away when Abyss looked at her.
“Heh… Kill me…” Dallan finally spoke. His laughter was involuntary, but his tone was devoid of any humor.
“I can let you commit suicide, as long as you don’t harm anyone else,” Abyss sighed, looking up at Dallan, who was still suspended in mid-air by Flora’s spell. “But before that, I’d like you to tell me why the Council of the Dead wants the Lord of Submergence to arrive. Anyone with eyes can see that this monster has no intention of saving the world. He doesn’t have the brains to offer you any future. He’s just feeding.”
Dallan glanced at him.
Abyss had been asking about the Lord of Submergence’s abilities and plans, but now he was interested in Dallan’s motivations for becoming a follower.
“Heh… You’re a necromancer too. You must know the persecution we face on this continent, right?” Dallan said, his voice flat, devoid of any emotion.
Abyss nodded. He was a necromancer, raised by his master since birth. He knew the reputation of necromancers and how people treated them.
“We are a school of magic, and our spells are even more difficult to learn than those of other schools, yet we don’t receive the same treatment as other mages. We’re labeled as black magic users, and once discovered, we’re immediately… Hehe, reported. The weak ones become targets for the Mercenary Guild, their heads chopped off by those crude and foolish mercenaries for the bounty offered by the government. The stronger ones are hunted down by the Church, their magic stripped away before they’re burned alive in public.”
Dallan stared blankly into the distance, recounting the fate of necromancers. It wasn’t an isolated incident but the inevitable destiny of every necromancer who was discovered.
“The Council of the Dead was founded to unite all necromancers on the continent, so we wouldn’t be isolated and helpless when facing danger, so we would at least have a chance to escape persecution.”
“But the Church is very powerful. They have not only resources and manpower but also… Hehe, unparalleled influence. Our people, if they carelessly reveal their identities or whereabouts, are easily captured and burned. Sometimes they even find our gatherings and arrest many of us at once,” Dallan said, glancing at Abyss. “As a powerful necromancer, you must have never experienced that, right? Being completely helpless before the Church, even their weakest novice priest can turn your undead to ash with a single spell.”
Abyss didn’t respond, continuing to listen.
“The Council of the Dead was once in dire straits. Then, one of our members stumbled upon a mask in the wilderness—a mask embedded in a rock, its origins unknown, a complete mystery. He brought it back to the Council, and we studied it.”
“The results came within a single night. The apprentice of the man who found the mask, out of curiosity, put it on and immediately went mad. He shouted about sacrificing himself for the Lord of Submergence and stabbed himself in the heart.”
“His master tried to resurrect him, but his soul was nowhere to be found.”
“Hynes, the Chief Mage of the Council at the time, believed the mask possessed a special power. After thorough preparations, he put it on himself. Even with his strong mental fortitude, he immediately fell into an illusion. In that illusion, he saw a thundercloud filled with lightning, with countless tendrils extending outwards. The thundercloud called out his name, urging him to submit, and revealed its name: Wrathful Bubos, from a world destroyed by war, where it was once known as the Lord of Submergence.”
“Hynes eventually received power from the Lord of Submergence. The Lord bestowed a sliver of his power upon him as a reward for the soul of his apprentice who had sacrificed himself—yes, after the apprentice’s suicide, his soul became nourishment for the Lord of Submergence. The Lord feeds on souls, and as long as souls are offered to him, he will reciprocate with power. It’s a fair exchange… Hehe… Without exception.”
“Then, we finally had the means to protect ourselves. Until almost fifty years ago, someone discovered that the three gemstones embedded in the artifact, known as the Face of Hell, could be removed, and each possessed its own power. The mask itself, without the gemstones, granted the wearer immunity to all damage. At that time, the Lord of Submergence made a request to the Council: use these artifacts to turn a sufficiently powerful individual into a vessel for his arrival. Once he enters this world through the arrival ritual, he will regain his full power. We, as his servants, will gain unimaginable power and, together with him, slay the native gods and take their place.”
Abyss tilted his head. “You believed such an obvious lie?”
“Do you think he was lying?” Dallan asked, looking into Abyss’s eyes, his expression sincere. “He wasn’t lying. The world he came from was already the second world he had inhabited. In that world, his followers, empowered by him, embarked on an endless cycle of revenge. After achieving their revenge, they turned on each other, waging war for millennia until the last living being perished in the scorching heat.”
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