novelODS Chapter 16 The Queen
Chapter 16 The Queen
The moment the arrow left the bowstring, Chen Mo knew it would hit its target.
His gaze followed the trajectory of the arrow, watching it pierce the rift, through the eerie blue light, and through the dancing threads of light and ripples of energy—
Then it went into the back of a necromancer's head.
In the game, an enemy hit in the head by an arrow will turn around as if nothing happened, with a small sliver of arrow protruding from their head, their health bar dropping, and then they'll unleash a barrage of fireballs. As long as their health doesn't reach zero, they'll remain alive and kicking forever.
But this is not a game.
The necromancer didn't even scream. He just let out a muffled groan—a short, muffled sound like someone had covered his mouth—then his body stiffened for a moment before he fell forward. His face hit the stone slab with a dull thud, his limbs twitched twice, and then he lay still.
Blood seeped from the wound on the back of his head, gleaming darkly in the eerie blue light, and slowly spread along the cracks in the stone slab.
The soul returns to oblivion.
Chen Mo stared at the corpse for half a second.
His stomach churned slightly—not because of the killing itself, but because of the undeniable certainty that "he really is dead."
The corpse in reality is not like a ragdoll in a game; it's not a respawning NPC—it's a real, warm, cooling corpse.
But he didn't have time to think about it.
On the opposite tower, the remaining seven necromancers realized something was wrong at the same instant.
The one in the lead—the necromancer standing due north, wearing a dark red hood—was the first to react.
His gaze swept over the fallen corpse, his pupils contracted sharply, and then he quickly scanned his surroundings, trying to find the direction from which the arrow had come.
"Intruders!" he roared, his voice ripping apart the ritual chanting. "Kay! Take your men and find them! The rest of you—continue the ritual!"
His reaction was swift. So swift that Chen Mo had to admire him—someone who could make such a quick judgment in such chaos was no ordinary necromancer. His voice carried a commanding authority that he hadn't completely lost even in the midst of the panic.
Of the seven necromancers, one immediately turned around.
Kay—who looked a bit more robust than the others, with only a gruesome burn scar visible on his chin thanks to his hood.
He drew a short sword from his waist, its blade gleaming with a dark green light—it was coated with poison.
"Follow me!" Ke Wei growled, then ran into the tower.
Their footsteps tapped rapidly on the stone slabs, quickly disappearing in the direction of the stairs.
The remaining six necromancers—including the leader—returned to face the light membrane, stretching their hands forward.
Their chanting resumed, but it was more urgent and tense than before, as if they were gritting their teeth and persevering. The threads of light at their fingertips trembled slightly, and the cracks in the light membrane slowly healed as they re-infused magic into it.
But the Portma inside the light film seized this opportunity.
Her spirit body suddenly expanded a size the instant the light membrane was weakened.
Her eyes, burning with blue flames, lit up again, the flames overflowing from their sockets and streaming down her cheeks, leaving scorched marks in the air. Her arms stretched outwards, her fingers curling into claws, and eerie blue energy shot from her fingertips, pressing against the inner wall of the light membrane.
"You ants—" her voice echoed again throughout the cave, sharp and furious, carrying the madness of a caged beast about to break free, "I will make you pay!"
The light film vibrated violently.
The necromancer presiding over the ceremony groaned, the blood at the corner of his mouth thickening. His hands trembled, but he didn't loosen his grip—instead, he gritted his teeth and poured even more magic into the light membrane.
Chen Mo did not watch the confrontation.
His second arrow was already nocked.
His gaze swept across the rift, quickly passing over the remaining necromancers.
The host's position was too far inside—he was partially surrounded by the other three necromancers, and from Chen Mo's angle, only a corner of his shoulder and half of the back of his head could be seen. There were no windows for firing.
But others do.
His gaze fell on the necromancer on the far left.
The man stood at the edge of the platform, only two steps from the railing, his body slightly turned towards Chen Mo. His attention was entirely focused on the light membrane, his hands outstretched forward, the light threads at his fingertips trembling slightly.
Chen Mo drew back the bowstring.
The effects of the Archer's Potion were still present. His vision was abnormally clear; he could see the necromancer's throbbing veins on the side of his neck, the beads of sweat covering his pale skin peeking out from the collar of his robe, and the frequency of his lips moving—each time they opened and closed, a puff of white mist was exhaled from his mouth, condensing and dissipating in the cold air.
His fingers loosened.
The second arrow was released.
This time, the necromancer didn't even groan.
The arrow pierced his neck from the side, passing through his trachea and carotid artery, and exited from the other side.
His body went limp as if all his strength had been drained, his hands loosened from their spellcasting posture, and the threads of light snapped instantly. He knelt on the ground, clutching his neck with both hands, trying to stop the dark red blood gushing from the wound. But his fingers only scratched at the air in vain—blood seeped from between his fingers, trickling down his wrists and dripping onto the stone slab.
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but only a wet, gurgling sound came from his throat. Then his eyes rolled back, his body slumped forward, his face buried in his own blood, and he lay still.
again.
Chen Mo could smell a faint stench of blood—a real, rusty smell of blood wafting from the tower opposite.
He didn't stop.
He drew his third arrow.
On the opposite tower, the remaining five necromancers finally panicked.
The host's face was filled with anger—he glanced back at the second fallen body, then at Potema struggling inside the light membrane.
His lips were trembling, but his voice still maintained a certain tense, commanding quality:
"Don't panic! Keep it up—"
He didn't finish his sentence.
Because the light film cracked.
Portma seized the moment when the second person fell and the magic supply was interrupted.
Her spirit body suddenly expanded outwards, her ten fingers digging fiercely into the cracks in the light membrane, tearing it apart like ripping a piece of cloth. The pale red light membrane emitted a piercing sound, like shattering glass, and then—it shattered.
Fragments of the light membrane scattered in all directions, turning into countless tiny red dots of light that slowly extinguished in the air.
Portma is free.
Her spirit rose from the remnants of the light membrane, hovering three meters above the platform. Her long hair danced wildly in the unseen wind, and her arms were outstretched like a bird breaking free from its cage. A ghostly blue light burst forth from her body, spreading in all directions and illuminating every corner of the cave.