"Who are you?"
Heine asked knowingly.
This was doubtless a Necromancer.
Moreover, unlike Heine, this fellow's undead minions were so wicked that they made people frown in disgust.
"You can call me the Pale Hand, or Grey, whichever you fancy."
Grey's gaze swept over the faces of the elven youths and maidens behind Heine, and a hint of realization flickered in his slightly blue-glowing eyes.
"I see… You have built a layer of protection with these young people's trust in you, to prevent their thoughts from being eroded by the Strange Beast. An ingenious idea… No wonder you can ignore the most powerful weapon of the Strange Beast…"
His voice sounded somewhat weak, the ends of his words nearly vanishing.
But each word spoken weighed heavily on everyone's heart.
It was a presentation only possible with tremendous spiritual power.
At least Fifth Level…
Heine's gaze sharpened.
He had not expected to encounter such a fearsome Necromancer so close to Mourningwood Valley…
