Chapter Forty-Nine
Briony knelt quietly at Crow's feet,
her violet eyes glowing softly, patiently awaiting his command.
Crow leaned back lazily on his throne, studying her.
He didn't need her.
Not really.
He already commanded armies greater than kingdoms,
and with his SSS-ranked Necromancer class and Divine Controller power,
he could crush nearly any enemy by himself.
But there was one simple reason he summoned Briony:
He refused to let anyone else have her.
A Divine Rank Necromancer falling into another player's hands?
Unacceptable.
Even a tiny chance, a one-in-a-million fluke,
where a clever player could raise an undead army strong enough to be a threat years later?
Crow crushed that possibility now.
Briony remained bowed.
Her aura was powerful —
a true Empress of the Dead —
but compared to Crow's monstrous dominion over life and death,
even she felt like a lesser shadow standing next to him.
Still, her loyalty was absolute.
"Master," she whispered, her voice low, "grant me a purpose. My soul is yours."
Crow flicked his fingers casually.
"Stand by. Watch. Learn."
He didn't need her to act yet.
But later?
When the Origin War was raging and the world was drowning in corpses?
He would unleash her.
And then, the world would understand:
no matter how deep they buried themselves,
no matter how hard they struggled,
death was already theirs.