Alec spun around, startled. Towering less than thirty meters away stood a grotesque undead behemoth.
The creature was over three meters in lenght, an amalgamation of rotting flesh—bloated, stitched, and lumbering, as if someone had cobbled it together from dozens of mismatched corpses. A foul aura of decay clung to it like a second skin, and thick chains were wrapped tightly around its stomach.
One of its hands was as wide as a grown man's thigh. The other looked almost normal—if you ignored the freshly severed arm dangling from its grip.
At its elbows, curved twin blades retracted inward like coiled fangs, glistening with dried blood and menace.
But despite its horrifying appearance, something was... off.
Unlike before—when it had charged at Alec like a beast possessed, it now stood frozen, slack-jawed and mindless, unmoving as if all thought had been extinguished.
Following its gaze, Alec noticed something strange near the spring where three robed spellcasters were gathered. A haze of green mist coiled upward from the water, swirling ominously before solidifying into spectral chains.
Those chains shot outward and wrapped themselves tightly around the undead monster, binding it in place.
A pale green halo flickered in the creature's eyes. It wasn't rage. It was... blankness. Like its mind had been sealed away.
Alec didn't need an explanation. He knew exactly what was going on. Turning toward the trio of Warlocks, he couldn't help a dry, frustrated smile.
"Well, as you can see," he gestured toward the stitched monstrosity, "he's the one who chased me all the way here. I was just running for my life."
The three Warlocks exchanged glances. The one in front stepped forward, voice flat. "So you're refusing Princess Ilyss's command, then? Is that it? Planning to leave Carbuth?"
That caught Alec off guard.
It finally clicked—why every undead he'd run into on the way here had treated him like an enemy.
Apparently, the Princess's bell had a secondary effect. Not only did it summon undead willing to serve Carbuth, it also left a mark—an invisible signature only locals bore.
Without that mark, even the most powerful undead would be treated as an outsider. And outsiders were targeted.
These three hadn't noticed anything off at first—because they were still alive. But the moment this mindless brute arrived, it confirmed the truth. Alec wasn't one of them.
After confirming this, their posture shifted and their hostility sharpened. Alec's expression darkened, he was already struggling with being hunted by a Rank 9 undead—and now three hostile spellcasters?
He was doomed. Unless… A wild idea struck him.
Raising his voice, Alec pointed at the hulking undead. "That Stitched Abomination—he's in this state because he's devoured too many corpses. His soul's fractured, that's why he's out of control. But I can fix it. If you trust me, I can stabilize him, and even push him to Rank 10."
The moment the words left his mouth, the three Warlocks paused, their hands halfway through casting. Apparently, they'd already begun a soul-link communication and were aware of the abomination's instability.
And with that done, they knew who and what the abomination really was.
For a Rank 9 hero originally pledged to Carbuth, the three Warlocks still held a measure of respect. If Alec could truly restore the creature's mind, that alone would be a huge gain for their cause.
And he'd promised more than that—he claimed he could raise its power to Rank 10.
After a moment of thought, the lead Warlock gave a curt nod. "If you can restore its mind, we'll trust you. Just this once. But if you fail… you'll become part of this Necromantic Array."
Alec took a deep breath and nodded firmly. "Before that… let me place her body in the spring. If I keep stalling, then carrying her all this way would've been for nothing."
The Warlocks exchanged glances, then after a while, they silently stepped aside.
Without wasting a second, Alec carefully prepared Enna's corpse. He pricked his fingertip and let a drop of blood fall onto her lips, then wrapped her body—armor, sword, and shield included in barkcloth. When everything was secure, he gently lowered her into the spring.
Only after it was done did he turn to face the still-frozen undead behemoth.
"He's a Stitched Abomination. An incomplete one. This condition comes from his obsession with growing stronger—he's been devouring corpses in hopes of restoring his combat prowess and serving Princess Ilyss again.
That desperation made him reckless. He started consuming everything. Even the bodies whose souls hadn't fully faded. That's where it all went wrong.
When you cram too many souls into one vessel, things get messy. Each soul starts to believe it's the dominant one. And that chaos shatters the mind.
There are only two ways to fix it."
Alec took a brief pause before continuing.
"First, you can bring in a Soulmancer—or at least an undead who's mastered soulcraft. They can untangle the soul threads and purge the noise.
Second… you can brute-force it. Feed the abomination more corpses, push it into an evolved state—something like a Dreadfiend, and let the transformation purge the fragmented spirits."
He let that settle before adding, "Now, I'm guessing you don't have a Soulmancer lying around. And you probably don't trust me with soul magic, either.
But I do know where there's a werewolf clan nearby. If you let me take him there… give me just one day… I'll bring back a Rank 10 undead."
His words stirred something in them.
Temptation.
But trust was harder to come by. To them, Alec was barely even a true necromancer. Rank 1, maybe even lower. Just a greenhorn dabbling in control spells.
The idea that someone like him could guide a rampaging abomination to evolution?
It seemed quite unlikely.
As their doubt lingered, the stitched monstrosity stirred. Its jaw unhinged slightly, and it let out a warped, piercing shriek. Beneath the noise, there was something else.
A pulse of psychic energy, like a faint whisper:
"Trust him."