Limitless Undead System! I can Copy all Undead attributes. Chapter 69: The Way out?

The Eldritch King snarled, his lips pulling back to reveal rows of jagged, uneven teeth as he raised his right hand into the air.

From his palm, sparks of molten gold burst forth, violent, unstable threads of light that crackled and scread as they twisted together. The energy condensed rapidly, shaping itself into a massive spear, its shaft etched with ancient runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. The weapon radiated raw authority, the kind that pressed against the soul rather than the flesh.

The King gripped it firmly.

"I’LL MAKE YOUR DEATH PAINFUL!"

With a roar that shook the Throne Room, he drew his arm back and hurled the human-sized spear toward Silva.

Or rather—he tried to.

The spear did not leave his hand.

It did not tremble. It did not waver.

It froze.

So did the Eldritch King.

Mid-motion, mid-fury, his body locked in place as though ti itself had seized him by the throat. The golden sparks around the spear stilled, hanging in the air like shards of trapped lightning. The pressure that had filled the room monts earlier did not vanish—but it beca rigid, unbearable in its stillness.

Steven noticed it instantly.

He had been weaving through attacks from one of the Awakened, his movents sharp and efficient. The others who had tried to flank him were already dead—bodies cooling on the cracked marble floor. When the spear had first begun to form, Steven had hesitated, eyes flicking toward Silva.

He hadn’t moved.

Not because he didn’t care.

But because he didn’t know if intervening would make things worse.

Yet now—

The sudden silence was wrong.

The world felt like it had hit an invisible wall.

Steven twisted his head toward the throne just as his current opponent faltered mid-strike, confusion flashing across the man’s face. His blade dipped.

"Don’t tell ..." Steven muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing, "...she did it all on her own."

At the sound of his voice, the Awakened attacking him stopped entirely and turned toward the throne.

Then another.

Then another.

Soon, every surviving mber of the Cohort began to notice.

Weapons lowered. Breaths caught.

All eyes lifted upward to the throne where the Eldritch King sat—frozen in a posture of absolute rage, his spear still aid directly at Silva.

Not everyone understood what was happening.

No one knew how it was happening.

But Steven did.

He knew exactly who had caused this.

’How in hell does she have a skill that can stop an Eldritch rank?’ Steven thought, disbelief tightening his chest. ’She’s a one-sigil Awakened... just like the rest of us.’

Eldritch was more than three steps above Disaster.

A monster ant to fight three-sigil Awakened.

And yet—

Steven’s gaze flicked back to Silva.

Even with all the skills he knew she possessed, this was on an entirely different level. Sothing unnatural. Sothing terrifying.

’If this is what she can do...’ he thought grimly, ’then maybe I was never at an advantage to begin with.’

anwhile, Silva sat on the cold flooring beneath the throne, her legs trembling. One hand was pressed tightly against her sigil, fingers digging into her own skin as her breathing ca in heavy, uneven heaves.

Her vision blurred at the edges.

Sweat poured down her face, dripping onto the stone beneath her.

’It worked...’ she thought weakly.

’It really worked...’

With effort, she raised her head.

Her gaze t the white, furious eyes of the Eldritch King.

He was enraged.

And helpless.

That alone nearly made her laugh.

But she didn’t.

Because she knew the truth.

This wasn’t strength.

This was luck.

A cruel, fragile miracle.

A translucent notification shimred into existence before her eyes.

[Luck: The Eldritch King has failed in the Ga of Luck against you, Silva.]

[Penalty Applied: Target has been placed in a state of forced immobility.]

[Ti to Luck is broken: 8 minutes]

Silva clenched her teeth.

Eight minutes.

That was all she had.

’We’ll have to make do,’ she told herself.

She forced her body to move, pushing herself to her feet despite the screaming protest of her muscles. The world swayed, but she stayed upright.

Then she opened her mouth and yelled.

"EVERYONE, LISTEN!"

Her voice echoed violently through the Throne Room, cutting through the confusion like a blade. No one spoke. No one moved.

"It is by my power that the King cannot move!" she continued, her voice raw but unyielding. "But I cannot hold him for long! And I cannot leave this region unless he starts moving again!"

A ripple of tension ran through the Cohort.

Fear. Relief. Desperation.

"I’ve trapped him," Silva shouted, anger burning bright in her chest, "but if I take even one step out of place, that spear will finish what it started!"

Steven grimaced.

’Unlucky to be her,’ he thought. ’If she moves even an inch... she’s dead.’

"You all have five minutes!" Silva yelled, veins standing out in her neck. "FIVE! Find a way out before the effect is broken!"

Her eyes blazed.

"I am the leader of this Cohort now!" she declared. "And I order you all, find a friggin way out while I hold this monster back with my life on the line!"

Her words ignited sothing fierce.

A battle cry erupted from the masses, ragged, desperate, alive.

They turned as one and charged toward the massive double doors at the far end of the Throne Room, boots pounding against stone as every race, every Awakened, ran for survival.

While the masses fled, Steven stayed.

He approached Silva, who remained surrounded by her three newly claid minions.

One of them noticed Steven coming up behind her.

The man stiffened instantly, hand snapping to the hilt of his blade, eyes sharp with suspicion.

Steven raised both hands lazily. "Calm down, fuck ball," he said. "Tell this idiot to stand down, Silva."

The man hesitated, then looked to Silva.

She gave a silent nod.

He stepped aside.

Steven closed the distance, stopping just beside her. From this angle, he could clearly see the Eldritch King’s malicious glare—and the spear’s tip, perfectly aligned with Silva’s chest.

"Quite the situation you’ve gotten yourself into," Steven said lightly.

"Worry about yours, Steven," Silva replied coldly. "I need you to do sothing for ."

Steven sighed. "Had a feeling."

"Get Shawn from the stairs," she ordered, pausing only briefly before adding, "and don’t follow them."

She turned her head toward the fleeing Cohort, eyes narrowing.

"You know that’s not the real exit," she said quietly. "You’re the only one I can count on."

Steven smiled, though there was no humor in it. "Hopefully," he said. "Let’s hope the gods smile on us."