Building the Strongest Undead Empire from Scratch - Chapter 324

Chapter 324: The Undead Empire has emerged, we must join our emperor
The black beam of energy that had erupted from Undead City an hour earlier, marking the World’s Heart’s recognition of the newly established Undead Empire, went unnoticed by most.

But in the heart of the Eldoria continent, where a colossal golden beam of light pierced the heavens, bathing the land in its perpetual glow, a change was felt.

High above the clouds, nestled atop the golden beam, stood a magnificent city, radiating an aura of divine power.

This was one of the three main cities of the Angel race on planet Astralon: the Central Holy City.

Its inhabitants weren’t all true angels. Angel beasts, templar knights, and other creatures loyal to the Angel race also called this city home.

Even among the Angel race, there were commoners, born without the inherent strength and battle prowess of their winged brethren. They were, in many ways, indistinguishable from humans.

Angel children were born wingless. Only upon reaching adulthood, at the age of eighteen, did they undergo a ceremony where they sought the guidance of the holy light. Those deemed worthy sprouted wings, becoming true angels.

This holy light, according to legend, was a remnant of the Angel race’s supreme deity, their creator.

Those who failed to receive its blessing remained wingless, relegated to the status of commoners.

And these commoners, despite their angelic lineage, often lived in squalor, their existence ignored by the winged elite.

Why didn’t they simply blend in with the humans, leveraging their appearance to escape their plight?

Pride.

Even these commoners, barely angels in the truest sense, clung to their lineage, believing that their failure to receive the holy light’s blessing was a result of their own shortcomings.

They looked down upon all other races, their lives consumed by the pursuit of becoming true angels.

The Central Holy City, being the first city established on the Eldoria continent, had the largest population of commoners. Their treatment was often worse than that of the angel beasts.

Beneath the facade of a pristine, holy city lay a grim reality: a city teeming with commoner slaves.

Filth and squalor were rampant, garbage and excrement littering the streets. Only the Angel Palace at the city’s heart remained pristine, a beacon of divine purity amidst the decay.

Within the palace’s hallowed halls, a six-winged angel stirred, its eyes slowly opening as if sensing a disturbance in the cosmic balance.

It glanced at a skull-shaped ornament on its desk, noticing a hairline crack that hadn’t been there before.

“The undead have resurfaced. Inform Halo City immediately.”

Its voice, soft and androgynous, echoed through the palace, carrying an undeniable weight of authority.

A commoner, sweeping the streets outside, looked up at the palace, its eyes filled with a fervent, almost fanatical devotion.

Suddenly, the palace erupted in a blinding golden light. A beam of pure energy shot skyward, and several angels emerged from the palace, their wings beating powerfully as they ascended, vanishing into the golden light.

The commoners throughout the city, upon witnessing this divine display, prostrated themselves, their voices murmuring prayers and hymns.

Among them, a young man with blue eyes and golden hair stood out. His head was bowed, but his gaze, sharp and calculating, lacked any trace of reverence.

As the golden light faded, he hurried back to his dwelling, retrieving a piece of parchment and scribbling furiously on it.

He then ignited it with a weak flame, watching as the ink-stained paper turned to ash.

He glanced towards the palace, his thoughts hidden behind a carefully constructed mask of subservience.

…

On the opposite side of the Eldoria continent, in the scorching southernmost region, where even the coastal Sea Folk avoided venturing inland, a secret lay hidden.

Beneath a towering cliff, overlooking the churning ocean, a cave entrance, concealed from casual observation, led deep underground.

The air within the cave, a stark contrast to the sweltering heat above, was cool and damp, carrying a faint scent of decay.

A long, sloping tunnel led down to a vast cavern, dimly lit by flickering lanterns fueled by rancid oil, their green light casting eerie shadows on the walls.

A massive white magic circle dominated the cavern floor. Dozens of figures, cloaked in black robes, sat motionless within its confines, resembling a gathering of cultists.

Black energy flowed from their bodies, converging at the circle’s center, where another robed figure sat, absorbing the dark power. In its skeletal hand, it clutched a decaying staff.

Suddenly, it opened its eyes, a trickle of blood staining its pale lips. Ignoring its apparent injury, it rose to its feet, its heart pounding against its ribcage.

The sensation, a pull from deep within its soul, was unmistakable.

The other robed figures, sensing the shift in energy, looked up, their faces hidden within the shadows of their hoods.

“My lord, what troubles you?” one asked, its voice muffled by the thick fabric.

The figure at the center ignored the question, its attention focused elsewhere.

Clang!

The wooden staff slipped from its grasp, clattering against the stone floor.

It raised its arms, closing its eyes, savoring the sensation, the pull that resonated deep within its being.

Moments later, it opened its eyes, a look of pure joy spreading across its face.

“It’s true! It’s really true!”

It laughed, a sound that echoed through the cavern, a mixture of delight and madness.

The other robed figures exchanged uneasy glances.

“My lord, is your ailment cured?” one asked tentatively.

“No. But I am no longer your lord.”

It turned its gaze northward, its voice firm, its eyes burning with a newfound purpose.

The others gasped, fear creeping into their hearts.

“You will always be our lord! We pledge our unwavering loyalty!” they exclaimed, rising to their feet and dropping to one knee, their heads bowed in submission.

“No. What I mean is… the Undead Empire has emerged. We must join our emperor!”

The others stared at him, their faces pale with shock.

“But… but how? Is the emperor still alive?”

“It is his heir, our new emperor.”

Its voice was low and raspy, its gaze unwavering.

“A new emperor! We will to serve our new emperor!” they declared, their voices echoing through the cavern.

They, like their lord, were loyal followers of the previous undead lord.

“Lord, your wounds… and the angels hunting us… The new emperor might not be strong enough yet. Our presence could endanger him,” one of the robed figures cautioned, its voice laced with concern.

“You’re right. But you cannot heal me. And I fear Zarvox, hiding in the shadows, has also sensed the new emperor’s emergence. Knowing him, he will seek to challenge him.”

He knew his former comrade well. Bloodline alone wouldn’t be enough to earn his loyalty. Only overwhelming strength could force his submission.

“We cannot wait any longer. I will find a way to evade the angels. The Undead Empire is newly established. All races have sensed its emergence. The new emperor needs our support now more than ever!”