Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

"There are two ways to advance to Rank 5."

Brian, who had been aggressive just moments ago, suddenly calmed down and spoke softly.

His demeanor shifted into one Michael knew all too well.

An eerie calmness.

In the outermost reaches of the void, high above Woodstone, Brian hovered alongside Peter, his gaze fixed on the city below.

Technically, Brian was still a Rank 4 cultivator, and the barrier surrounding the city should have been enough to keep him out. Yet, it failed to do so.

Not against someone with his level of power.

Peter's frown deepened.

He had no idea what Brian was getting to, but a sense of unease began to creep into his thoughts.

To be honest, he'd rather face anyone else than this bastard.

Unfortunately, by the time he realized the Mad Phoenix was here to guard against them—after the Federation had caught wind of their traces—it was far too late to change course.

This operation was far too important to let his personal grievances interfere.

Woodstone wasn't the only city under attack.

Many others were already falling to their plan. This assault wasn't a spur-of-the-moment assault; it was the culmination of months of planning and coordination.

Their objective was simple: reassert their group's prominence, recruit new members, and remind the world of an undeniable truth—supernaturals and ordinary mortals were not equals.

They were kings.

And as always, fear was their chosen weapon—the oldest trick in the book.

"The first way is to create your own law, and it can be shaped using the blueprint of others. This is the traditional path—the most stable one," Brian explained, his voice steady.

"The second way," he continued, his tone sharpening, "is to use another's personal law—or rather, to devour another person's law seed. If the person is already dead, it's not an issue."

"But do you know what happens when you extract it from someone who's still alive? They die. Yes, they die. And I'm sure someone like you knows this all too well, considering it's exactly how you advanced."

Peter's frown deepened as the weight of forgotten guilt stirred within him.

Half a century ago, he and Brian were both hailed as two of the Federation's top geniuses—a reputation that masked the truth beneath.

Peter had fought tooth and nail just to remain second to Brian. He had done everything in his power, cultivated relentlessly, and pushed himself to the limits in desperation to keep up. Yet, despite all his efforts, he barely managed to stay in the race.

The only reason he could hold on was Brian's habit of diverting his focus to other pursuits. While this broadened Brian's overall strength, it also slowed his cultivation.

And yet, despite all his efforts, Peter could never surpass him.

But it wasn't Brian who drove him to the edge of despair.

It was Brian's daughter.

Isabella.

She was the child of Brian and the woman Peter had loved—the woman who, in his eyes, had chosen someone better.

If Peter and Brian were considered Federation geniuses, Isabella was in a league of her own.

She was one of the rare holy children the realm could produce, a being with the potential of a god.

Her talent was so overwhelming that it overshadowed the painful truth of her birth: that her existence had cost her mother's life.

As much as Peter despised her, he couldn't deny the sheer enormity of her talent.

She was a monster.

At only fourteen years old, Isabella had reached the half-step King rank—a feat achieved in just four years of cultivation.

If Brian's talent had been a source of jealousy for Peter, Isabella's existence filled him with dread, she was a walking nightmare for him.

He was consumed by envy and resentment. He admitted he shouldn't have felt this way, but the thought of a child—a fourteen-year-old born of his rival and the sacrifice of the woman he loved—soon surpassing him in cultivation made it unbearable.

It was also around this time that Brian had begun approaching the comprehension of his law.

So, Peter acted.

He killed her.

On the day Isabella was advancing, the demonic supernaturals attacked Brian's residence to disrupt her breakthrough. That was when Peter made his move.

As one of the Federation's most prominent geniuses, the Federation had spared no effort in protecting Isabella during this critical moment.

They fortified Brian's residence and deployed elite forces to defend against the demonic supernaturals.

Yet, no one had expected the betrayal to come from within—and certainly not from Peter, someone who could almost be considered Isabella's half-father.

To this day, Peter still dreamt of the look of disbelief on Isabella's face as his hand pierced her chest.

"Uncle Peter?"

He could still hear her voice, soft and trembling, echoing in his mind—her last words before he detonated her body into nothingness. The only trace of her existence was the law seed he had taken—her law seed.

A law she had comprehended but never had the chance to wield.

The Law of Wailing Shadows.

It was a necromantic law, rooted in the remnants of death, fear, and sorrow.

For a child he had always imagined to have lived like a princess in a fairytale, for her to understand such darkness revealed that she, too, had a story—one no one would ever truly know.

Unlike traditional necromantic powers that commanded legions of undead, this law thrived on subtlety and psychological manipulation. It turned the lingering energies of death into shadowy specters, intangible and insidious. These specters, born from the sorrow and regret of the dead, were harder to damage and devastating in mental warfare.

It was a powerful law—one Peter had no right to wield with his original talent.

Yet, it was his now.

What puzzled Peter, however, was Brian's reaction in the years since.

While Brian clearly despised and hated him, often hurling insults or outright attacking him when they crossed paths, he avoided speaking directly about Isabella.

He had remained silent about the betrayal that had claimed his daughter's life.

Until today.

For some reason, Brian had chosen to confront him now.

Brian's voice broke the silence. "Do you know, Peter, I initially didn't care about whatever you demonic supernaturals were up to? Even when I heard you were planning something big, it didn't matter to me. But then I heard traces of you being found in this little city."

Peter's expression darkened, but he said nothing, continuing to listen as he wondered what his old friend was planning, all while staying alert to his surroundings.

"So, I thought, why not pay my friend a visit, like always? But I couldn't come empty-handed, could I?"

An unsettling unease crept into his heart. The moment Peter heard this, he understood why he had been feeling uneasy.

It was clear that Brian was setting him up for something.

Without hesitation, he tried to flee, but just as he attempted to leave the void and enter the outside world, he felt a barrier stop him, as though he had hit an invisible wall.

"What have you done?" Peter's voice turned sharp with anger, his eyes turning pitch black, and black mist began to emanate from his body.

On the other side, Brian now appeared like a human figure wrapped in blue flames, exuding an overwhelming presence.

With an air of majesty and grace, he slowly raised an object the size of a tennis ball in his hand.

It looked like an unremarkable stone symbol, but Peter recognized it instantly.

"The Voidlock Sigil! Bastard! How do you have 'His' treasure?!" Peter's eyes widened.

A wild smile slowly spread across Brian's lips, yet his voice remained soft.

"It's simple. The only value of a man who has lost everything is himself. And what does such a value mean to me when the one who took everything from me lives?"

He answered his own question.

"Nothing."