"You mentioned earlier, this is a curse?"
With half of his energy bar remaining, Duncan returned to the witch Gleya’s side and said solemnly, "If the curse isn’t lifted, will these undead keep coming after us?"
The witch Gleya, a bit confused, still nodded, "Yes."
"The enemy used the Book of the Dead to curse you all."
"As long as the curse remains, the undead will keep harassing you until you are dragged into the Netherworld, or the one who cast the curse can’t afford the cost of summoning the undead."
Such a thing exists?
Kinda feels like those magic-like abilities from the mummy lore.
Duncan immediately started restraining the barbarians. They decided not to leave here; he wanted to see just how many undead the enemies could summon.
A group of barbarians hacked away until dawn.
Then, at dawn, the seemingly endless army of undead gradually turned to dust and dispersed.
But the curse remained.
At midnight the next day, another dense crowd of undead appeared, but compared to the first day, there were far fewer.
The witch Gleya seemed to understand what Duncan intended to do.
"Is he planning to kill until the one who cast the curse is countered by the ritual?" The witch was shocked.
Summoning undead requires paying the price as well.
With this group of barbarians’ frenzied killing, even if she were to preside over the ceremony, she wouldn’t last long before being drained into a husk, and once a curse ritual is initiated, it’s not easily lifted.
The next day.
Another great battle, barbarians began to get injured, but it wasn’t a big issue. The witch Gleya had potions, but after continuous combat, others also showed signs of fatigue, yet, out of trust in Duncan, nobody expressed any doubt.
Finally, after the barbarians killed tens of thousands of undead.
On a distant golden coast, on a certain altar, knelt a trembling black-robed priest. His entire figure was emaciated, resembling a dried corpse, with all life force drained, his eyes blood-red, his expression left only with deep terror.
How long can these barbarians hold out?
All around the ancient altar, dried corpses of black-robed priests lay scattered on either side. As an angry gust of dark wind rose, the flowing sands shaped into a towering figure with a jackal’s head.
"No!... Great Anubis!..."
"I will keep offering sacrifices!..."
"No!!!"
Crack.
The entire altar began to crumble, the Book of the Dead in his hand turned to dust. A gigantic hand grabbed the black-robed priest, then the ground opened a gaping black maw, directly swallowing his soul and dragging it into endless darkness.
Rumble!
The temple arranged for the ceremony was collapsing, the quicksand devoured everything, and in the sound of enraged exclamations, swallowed all the priests who presided over the ceremony.
The undead army of the Netherworld suffered heavy losses, and the priests who summoned them had to pay the price.
In just two days.
An ancient ceremony that had persisted on the golden coast for hundreds of years was directly rendered ineffective, and no longer could anyone use the Book of the Dead to launch this curse ritual.
The warrior-spirits of the Netherworld no longer responded to any summons.
.........