The Third Return of the Necrotic Magic Swordsman

Below the shattered Lord’s Castle, in the drowned dark beneath the roots of stone and soil, Evan stood alone.

The cold was silent.

The air did not move.

Only the faint echo of freezing vines cracking under his power filled the cavern.

He stared at the thing resting before him.

A corpse.

A skeleton, curled and half-buried in the earth like it had waited here for ages—long before Peyndral ruled, long before this area below was even mapped.

Evan’s pupils tightened.

’This shouldn’t be here… Not this deep. Not in this place.’

If it were a beast corpse, he would have dismissed it.

But this was human.

Human clothes. Human shape.

But not from this Expanse.

The fabric was foreign.

The stitching is old.

A world maybe not his.

A time not now.

”…Someone made it down here long ago,” Evan murmured. ”But how…?”

No answer.

Only silence thick enough to choke a voice.

He crouched and examined the body with caution. The bones were worn thin, weathered to dust by vines that must have wrapped them for decades.

Something glinted faintly beneath the ribcage.

Evan reached in—carefully—and drew out a pendant.

A small miniature sword in a rusted sheath, shaped like a T.

Old. Ancient.

Yet the metal still held memory of craft and pride.

He slid the tiny blade free.

Not Nexus Script.

Not System Glyphs.

But Ceruleth. Old, refined, and impossibly familiar.

His eyes narrowed as he read.

Tyven.

He froze.

”…Tyven.”

The name echoed in his head.

Something half-remembered.

Something buried.

Something from before, in this life.

”I’ve heard this name… I know I have.” His voice was low, careful. ”Not here. Not now. But somewhere…”

He sheathed the miniature blade and held it with unexpected care.

He tried to collect the skeleton—But when his fingers brushed bone, the remains crumbled to dust instantly.

Several years of silence breaking in one breath of motion.

The vines that had strangled this corpse for decades had already done their work.

There was nothing left to save.

Evan stood quietly.

”…I can’t return you home. But maybe your killer has fallen. Your death has been answered.”

His palm glowed.

Corpse Flame rose like pale-white fire, shaped like a flower.

Soft. Silent. Sacred.

He let the ashes pass.

Dust to dust.

As the last ember faded, a faint shimmer of light passed through the pendant and slipped away—quietly, cleanly—like a soul finally permitted to leave.

Arven watched it drift into the unseen.

’Go on.’ Arven’s voice was softer than usual.

’Your karma is clean. Your suffering is done. May your next life begin far from this place.’

The light vanished.

And then, silence again.

Evan turned back toward the corridor.

He raised a hand and summoned earth energy, through his ability, reinforcing every pillar and arch the vines once held.

Stone groaned, settled, and the entire underground hollow stabilised—held firm against collapse.

No tragedy would follow him here.

He leapt upward, climbing the shaft back toward the world above. Lightning crackled along his muscles—speed, tension, motion all in one breath.

Minutes passed.

Then—

He burst from the hole like an arrow, boots landing just short of slamming his head against the castle’s broken ceiling.

He exhaled slowly.

”That would’ve been embarrassing.”

Below, the survivors of the expedition watched as he returned.

Surrounded by undead.

Watched under Velma’s presence.

Velma bowed as he arrived—so naturally it seemed rehearsed.

Evan blinked.

’…Did she just bow to me?’

But in reality, she wasn’t bowing to him.

She bowed to the shadow beside him—

To the presence that now followed him openly.

The presence of Death or even beyond it.

Elya stood at the front of the surviving party, restrained by the undead.

Her eyes were wild. Sharp. Ready to kill him even if it meant her own death.

Evan smiled without warmth.

”Well? The Lord is dead, the beast King’s puppet has fallen. Not even a scratch on me. Shouldn’t I at least get a congratulations?”

”You sick monster,” one of the surviving scouts spat. ”You murdered our captain. You think killing a tyrant makes you a hero? You’re just a demon wearing human skin!”

The others echoed in agreement.

Evan’s expression fell into calm stillness.

”…I see.”

His voice dropped—quiet, cold, final.

”Bow in front of me, and survive for now.”

”Stand against me, and be buried here.

You all have a single minute to decide.”

Silence.

Panic spread like an infection.

Minds broke faster than courage held.

A minute passed...

Eight bowed.

The rest stood behind Elya, shaking but stubborn.

Evan nodded once.

”Good. Stay there. Watch closely.”

His blade formed in his hand—not the ashen flame that devoured, but another flame.

A pure, clear, luminous fire—devotion and death wound into one.

Elya readied herself.

But Evan didn’t look at her.

He walked past her, without a glance—like her existence was as light as air,

as inconsequential as a shadow behind him.

And that—

That was the blade that cut deeper than any weapon.

”Everyone, stay sharp. He’s coming for you,” she shouted.

The tank stepped forward, shield raised.

A faint barrier formed over it, shimmering like glass. He trusted that shield. It had stopped more than ten full-force strikes from Beyth himself.

He didn’t even see the Masked Man move.

A whisper of movement. A flicker of a blade.

He expected a clang.

But...

He heard a scream instead.

The shield-holder glanced back—and froze.

The healer behind him was collapsing, his chest carved open, ribs exposed, blood pouring out in hot streams. He hit the floor before he could scream again.

The tank tried to turn.

He never finished the motion.

His card dimmed. His heart stopped. His body slid apart clean down the center, shield melting like wax under a forge flame.

Silence.

Everyone felt it.

Death was not coming.

It was already here.

Two of them dropped to their knees.

Evan appeared in front of them, voice flat and calm.

”You had one chance. You chose a side. Now you accept the outcome.”

His sword lowered, and two heads rolled. Blood sizzled as the flames on his blade burned through skull and bone.

”Three left,” Evan murmured, glancing at the elites trembling before him.

He didn’t look at Elya.

Like he had plans for her.

One man—Skarn—twisted his saber nervously, the crossbow strapped to his arm shaking. His voice cracked.

”You think killing us will hide what happened today? Even if you kill everyone here, those eight will speak—”

”Shut it!” another mage screamed. ”We won’t betray him! We’ll swear contracts if we must—”

Skarn didn’t get to finish his thought.

Crimson steel passed straight through the Skarn’s chest.

Flames swallowed him whole.

Evan exhaled softly.

”Don’t run your mouth about the ones I choose to spare. I dislike loose tongues.”

The survivors understood.

Or thought they did.

They even smiled a little, relieved to have been spared.

They shouldn’t have.

Evan killed the remaining two without slowing down.

Only eight survivors remained—kneeling. Crying. Grateful.

Elya stood there like a stone.

Her eyes were hollow.

She had just watched the legacy Sylen built collapse in minutes.

She had no voice left.

Evan walked past her, back to the kneeling eight.

”You’re free to leave. Go. Quickly. The castle falls soon.”

They fled at once. One of the mage girls reached out to Elya—

A blade blocked her path.

”She stays.”

They didn’t argue, nor did they look back.

Evan faced Elya now.

He smiled. Not cruelly. Not kindly.

Something in between.

”You must be wondering why you’re still alive.”

Elya’s grip tightened until her knuckles turned white.

”I know you’re holding that shame from that day,” she said. ”I know you’re here to make me feel it again. Fine. I don’t intend to kneel. I’ll leave a scar you will never forget before my death.”

Her blade and heart ignited. It wasn’t technique nor skill.

It was pure hatred.

Evan slowly raised his hands—not in defence, but in refusal.

”I’m not here to kill you. I’m not a demon. Just a man choosing his path. Like you.”

She laughed once, bitterly.

”A man? You slaughtered all of them. And Sylen—”

”Your comrades weren’t innocent. Sylen wasn’t either. I never said I was clean. I kill to rise. So do all of you.”

He nodded toward his undead wolves.

They moved.

Howling, they chased down the eight who had fled.

Elya’s eyes widened.

”You— You said you’d spare them—!”

”I said I wouldn’t kill them,” Evan replied. ”But Karma is theirs to face. They killed these wolves before. Let them answer for it.”

Minutes passed.

The undead returned—dragging eight severed heads in their jaws.

Elya’s breath broke.

Evan dismissed the pack. Bones fell across the floor like cold rain.

He finally spoke.

”Elya. I’m giving you a choice— die now, or I am leaving you alive because you have talent. Enough to rise beyond this place. Enough to see the real war. Sylen was not what you believed. He was a clone—one of many—sent to take control of this Expanse. The same is happening above. This world is already a battlefield.”

He stepped closer.

”Leave here. Reach Peak-0 Tier. Go beyond the Expanse. Find your place. Or find me. If you want answers… or revenge.”

Her eyes trembled.

”Tell me your answer,” he whispered. ”We don’t have much time. Someone will arrive soon for sure.”

”Shut up.”

Her voice cracked.

”Just… shut up. You don’t understand anything.”

Her breathing grew ragged. Her hands trembled.

”You act like you’re righteous. Like you’re some hero, fighting for the Expanse. But you’re not. You’re just like us. Cunning. Calculating. Self-serving.”

She stepped forward, shaking, but her eyes were steady.

”And Sylen being a clone? He told me. From the beginning. His origin. His main body. His purpose. Everything.”

Her voice broke at the core.

”He didn’t want to be a piece in that plan. He wanted to live free. Just once. A life of his own. But you—”

Her aura snapped open—gale energy bursting out like a storm ripping through the hall.

”—you killed him. You killed my Sylen!”

Wind howled through the throne room, cracking stone and blowing shattered metal across the floor.

Evan simply exhaled.

”Oh, I’ve seen this before. The ’devoted one’ of the Destined. You’re all the same. Even Ilya threw her life, to kill me, at me once, ready to die over a rumour of Lucas. You people will burn worlds for your loves and your ghosts.”

He lifted his sword.

Not out of fear.

Out of inevitability.

She charged.

Her blade blurred ten times faster than before, speed sharpened by grief. Evan activated , his perception widening, moments stretching long and slow.

He drew his shield—not to kill her.

To survive her.

Steel rang. Sparks flashed.

Her strikes landed again, again, again.

His arm numbed.

His shield bent.

The air shook.

’Over a hundred blows in the span of seconds.’

Evan smirked quietly behind the shield.

’All that power… drawn out by pain. If she could use it without the heartbreak, very few could stand against her.’

She vanished.

A shadow overhead.

He looked up too late.

She descended like a blade of wind.

He abandoned the shield and pulled earth mana through his hand.

Stone spikes burst upward—slashed apart instantly.

No time.

His hand darkened—corruption veining up his arm.

.

Deadly even to ascended warriors.

He caught her sword with his bare palm.

The steel dissolved like ink in water instantly.

Elya’s eyes widened as she ripped her hand away, realising death was inches from her bones.

Evan didn’t hesitate.

A clean punch to the gut.

Air left her lungs.

The gale aura collapsed.

Her body crashed into the wall, armour chipping, bones shuddering.

Corruption spread across her limbs.

Eating. Crawling. Slow death.

She gasped. She couldn’t move.

Evan lowered his sword and approached.

His voice was steady. Soft. Almost kind.

”It’s over.”

He raised his hand to cleanse the corruption.

Before he touched her—

Something stepped between them.

A force hit him like a falling mountain.

The wall behind him shattered.

Stone dust filled the air.

Evan slid down the rubble, blood dripping down his jaw.

This presence—was not Tier 0.

The air trembled.

No face could be seen.

No breath could be heard.

Only a weight.

Cold. Vast. Watching.

Elya’s eyes widened—not in hope.

In recognition.

…

Far away—across an unseen world—someone opened their eyes.

Silence cracked across the expanse.

Something ancient shifted direction.

And the era moved with it.

Everything from here on will change.

Everything.

....

-To Be Continued-

...

Who interrupted their fierce battle with such power that Evan was sent crashing into the wall? The presence of someone this formidable, willing to aid Elya, complicates Evan’s journey significantly. 

What fate awaits them in the aftermath of this confrontation? The emergence of this new variable raises questions—could it be the soul that just departed, or is it something entirely different lurking in the shadows? 

As mysteries stack up and tensions rise, Evan’s challenges multiply. Join us by adding it to your library, as we dive deeper into Evan’s Adventure.