Chapter 116: The Act and Submission

Wade silently observed the group of demi-humans kneeling before him, standing completely still as he played the role of the legendary lich “Anselmo Greywu.” This name had been provided by Igna, though Wade had never heard of the lich before. Still, it seemed his performance was convincing enough.

He mentally reviewed his grand entrance, satisfied that the audiovisual experience must have been perfect—after all, they’d rehearsed it over a dozen times to achieve this effect. Igna’s plan had succeeded brilliantly; these demi-humans showed no resistance as they prostrated themselves before the “lich.”

The previous night, Wade and the dragonkin had arrived at this valley. The frost staff in his hand was a fake crafted by Mia—not an actual staff at all, just an ice sculpture. Wade had designed its appearance himself, sketching it with ink on paper. As someone well-traveled across worlds, designing a convincing frost staff came naturally to him. After a full day of carving by him and Mia, the staff looked remarkably authentic, appearing like a divine artifact capable of altering heaven and earth with a mere wave.

In reality, it was just fragile ice. Wade dared not grip it too tightly, fearing the delicate ice branches at its top might break and reveal the deception. This was the critical moment—he had to maintain the facade.

Imagining himself as a true lich, he gazed imperiously down at the kneeling demi-humans. Fortunately, as a skeleton, facial expressions weren’t a concern—otherwise he might have broken character. After all, the only real element in their performance had been the blizzard, which Mia had conjured from outside the mountain pass.

The blizzard’s true purpose was creating mist to obscure the demi-humans’ vision, preventing them from seeing the skeletons Wade had summoned—those now wearing equipment placed earlier in the valley’s corners. Without the snowstorm, they would have witnessed the absurd sight of skeletons putting on pants and belts in broad daylight.

The crossbows, bows, and leather armor had all been positioned in the valley corners the previous day by Number One, Number Two, and Number Three. The entire spectacle had been meticulously orchestrated by the dragonkin.

Wade and the dragonkin were the lead actors, the skeletons mere extras, while Mia and the three Icelanders worked behind the scenes as special effects crew. Before them knelt thirty ratfolk crossbowmen from the Black Cat Society along with several physically adept catfolk. The catfolk holding the dark green dagger appeared to be a professional warrior—in an actual fight, Wade’s forces might not prevail against them.

Indeed, strategy had triumphed where brute force might have failed. Their performance had thoroughly terrified the Black Cat Society members. But the play wasn’t over yet—Wade remained in position as background scenery while observing the dragonkin’s “con” operation on the demi-humans.

Igna immersed herself completely in the role of “the lich’s envoy,” showing no cracks in her performance. “You are the Black Cat Society? Who leads you? My master permits you to raise your head.”

The black-eared catfolk kneeling in the snow swallowed hard before cautiously lifting her head to meet the dragonkin’s gaze. “Catfolk, state your name.”

“My…my name is Jessia, milord.”

“My master has business in the northern territories,” the dragonkin declared. “Give thanks for Anselmo Greywu’s mercy—you’ve been granted the privilege of serving a great lich while keeping your lives.”

Jessia pressed her lips together, her mood at rock bottom. Had the slave merchants fallen under the lich’s control? How else could this transaction have been exposed? Her eyes darted subtly to the surrounding skeleton soldiers—their bleached bones fully equipped like a disciplined army. She recognized the bows and leather armor as gear from Viking pirates, slave traders, and Icelandic forces.

These skeletons were likely recently raised by the lich. The lich clearly wished to conceal his movements, hence creating only these ordinary skeleton soldiers. Was he here for the demon? Between demons, liches, and war, Jessia found herself entangled in the most troublesome situation of her life.

The soldiers served as unmistakable warning—refusing a lich’s recruitment meant certain death, with the Black Cat Society becoming mere additions to his undead forces. Jessia had no choice. Surrounded by skeletons, subjected to the dragonkin’s draconic aura, and battered by a month of wartime misfortunes, she couldn’t muster resistance.

Serving a lich beat becoming a skeleton soldier. The lich probably needed a surface-level faction for camouflage—hence targeting the Black Cat Society. The slave merchants were likely already slaughtered, forcing the lich to seek alternative help. He wanted to remain hidden in the shadows. Jessia felt like a powerless chess piece in some terrifying game.

How she hated this loss of control—it reminded her of being a shackled slave again. With reluctant resentment toward her dagger, she lowered her head. “At your service, milord.” The catfolk had submitted.

“If your submission is sincere, accept this slave mark.” The dragonkin produced a slave scroll.

“Slave mark?” Jessia’s head jerked up, confusion flashing in her eyes. She recognized those worn magic scrolls—they came straight from the Lizardmen Faction’s slave traders. Why would a lich use slave merchants’ scrolls? Couldn’t he employ higher-tier magic?

Years in the lawless territories had taught Jessia about mages’ methods. By her understanding, a lich could simply cast mass-control spells on their entire group. Why use slave merchants’ scrolls? Something felt off, but she dared not show suspicion openly. “As the great lich’s envoy, milord surely knows these scrolls have high failure rates. Why not use direct magic on us?”

She was probing the “lich’s” capabilities, seeking plausible explanation. But the dragonkin allowed no questioning space, unleashing another wave of draconic pressure that weighed heavily on Jessia’s heart.

Wade saw the dragonkin’s tail swishing side-to-side—their prearranged signal for feigned attack. A vertical wag would mean retreat. Immediately, he commanded the skeletons into aggressive stances, all arrows trained on the prostrate demi-humans.

Meanwhile, Mia hidden on the valley cliffs intensified her performance. Snow swirled violently overhead, blotting out sun and sky, plunging the valley into darkness as if under storm clouds.

“Catfolk, do not question what you cannot comprehend.” The dragonkin left no room for argument, her golden eyes glowing like molten metal. “My gracious master tolerates your ignorant kind, but should you refuse this mark, your existence becomes unnecessary.”

The undisguised threat struck home—Jessia realized how insignificant they were to the lich. This was how true superiors behaved—offering no explanations to inferiors. Comply or die. Before the lich, the Black Cat Society were mere ants, insignificant insects.

Terror-stricken, Jessia pressed herself fully against the ground, abandoning all resistance. “Forgive me, milord! I accept the mark!”

The dragonkin tossed the Slave Scroll before Jessia. “Catfolk, shed your blood.”

Jessia drew another dagger, stealing a glance at the lich behind the dragonkin. Those eerie green soul flames seemed to pierce through her very being, resurrecting long-buried fears. She knew failure would grant no second chances.

Without further protest, she submitted, slicing her palm to drip blood onto the scroll’s center. A goat-headed symbol emerged as the slave mark branded her, while the dragonkin added her own blood to the Master Scroll.

Wade saw Igna’s tail wag vertically and commanded the skeletons to stand down. “My master requires temporary quarters. Catfolk, lead us to your base.”

“As you command, milord.” Watching them retreat, Jessia finally exhaled in relief. Her emotions were complex, but ultimately… hadn’t this achieved her original goal? Hadn’t she sought the Lizardmen Faction precisely to join a stronger power? A lich’s faction promised far greater security than slave traders.

The good news: she’d gained a formidable patron. The bad: whatever could oppose a lich’s schemes lay far beyond her imagination.