Surviving As The Villainess's Attendant-Chapter 295: The Immortal Research Lab [4]

"Annoying little fish."

Velra clicked her tongue as another cluster of undead collapsed into ash.

The air reeked of decay—old blood, mold, and something sour that clung to the back of her throat. It was the kind of stench that made even vampires wrinkle their noses.

There were dozens of them. Maybe more.

But they were low-tier undead.

Mindless. Sloppy. Poorly bound.

One properly cast wide-area spell would have erased the entire horde in seconds.

And yet—

’This is... dragging on.’

Velra felt it then, the subtle weight settling behind her eyes. Not exhaustion—not quite—but the warning sign that came before it.

Her mana circulation felt tight, strained, like a muscle being overworked.

She had been careful not to draw from her blood reserves. Too careful.

Behind her, footsteps crunched over bone fragments and frozen soil.

"Faceless Imposter," Julies called out, voice annoyingly casual given the circumstances, "are we there yet?"

Velra didn’t turn around.

"We’re close," she replied evenly.

She refused to let even a hint of weakness slip into her tone. She had offered her power. Offered her protection. A retainer who faltered halfway was nothing more than a liability.

Another undead lunged.

Velra snapped her fingers.

Crimson frost exploded outward, freezing the creature mid-motion before shattering it into glittering shards.

She exhaled slowly.

Then—

"We’ve arrived."

Julies stopped beside her.

The terrain changed abruptly. The ground dipped, forming a shallow basin where black stone rose unnaturally from the earth.

At its center stood a massive gate, wrought from bone-white metal and decorated with carved skulls fused together as if grown rather than assembled.

The moment Velra laid eyes on it—

A chill crawled up the back of her neck.

Her instincts screamed.

"Stop."

Julies froze at her sharp command.

Velra’s eyes narrowed, pupils thinning as she focused.

"...I feel it," she said slowly. "A sinister magical presence."

The air beyond the gate was wrong. Mana twisted there, coiling like a living thing. It wasn’t violent, not yet—but it was dense.

Old. Deliberate.

At least on par with her.

No—

possibly worse.

Velra swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

’Was there truly a mage among humans capable of this?’

Her fingers twitched at her side as she quietly began drawing in mana, circulating it through her core. Her thoughts flicked, calculating.

If things went bad...

She might need to use a blood reserve.

She hated that.

"Hey," Julies said, peering at the gate with open curiosity. "This looks promising."

"Promising is not the word I would use," Velra snapped.

She stepped in front of him without thinking, one arm slightly extended as if to block his path.

"Whatever is beyond that gate," she continued, voice low, "is not something you rush into. The magic here is layered. Woven. This is not a mindless necromancer’s lair."

Julies tilted his head. "So... strong?"

"Clever," Velra corrected. "And prepared."

She turned to look at him, golden eyes sharp.

"If you step through without caution, you may trigger something you cannot walk back from."

For a brief moment, Julies actually seemed to consider her words.

Then he smiled.

Bright. Easy. Infuriating.

"Wow," he said. "Great job getting us here. Seriously. I mean it."

Velra blinked.

"Now I’ll take care of the rest."

Her eyes widened. "Wait—!"

Too late.

Julies stepped forward and placed his hand on the gate.

"Julies!" Velra barked, lunging.

The skull-decorated doors groaned as ancient mechanisms awakened. Runes flared along the seams, reacting not with hostility—

but recognition.

The gate opened.

Mana surged outward like a cold breath.

Velra skidded to a halt, fangs bared, power flaring instinctively around her as she prepared for an ambush.

But no spell fired.

No undead poured out.

Instead—

A voice drifted in from beyond the threshold.

Calm.

Measured.

Faintly amused.

"Has the intruder truly come this far?"

The words carried no volume, yet they filled the chamber completely—sliding along the stone walls, seeping into bone and marrow alike.

Velra froze.

Her instincts screamed before her mind could catch up. Every nerve in her body went rigid as she stared straight ahead.

At the far end of the cavern, where shadows pooled unnaturally thick, sat a throne.

A throne made of bones.

Skulls stacked with deliberate care formed its armrests, vertebrae woven together into an obscene mockery of a crown.

Upon it rested a wizard clad in robes so old and tattered they seemed half-fused with the air itself.

And beneath those robes—

There was no flesh.

No skin.

No muscle.

Only white bone and an exposed skull, its empty eye sockets burning with pale blue witchfire.

"The scent of death is unusually strong today," the lich murmured. "It clings to you... and yet, it is not yours alone."

Velra’s mana surged on instinct.

Heat coiled around her clenched fist, scarlet flames threatening to bloom as her vampiric aura spiked sharply—

Only for a figure to step forward.

"Court Wizard Ken."

Faceless Imposter moved past her without hesitation, placing himself squarely between Velra and the throne.

"Your duty ends here."

Velra’s eyes widened.

’What are you doing?!’

Her flames flickered, unstable.

She was forced to halt her casting mid-flow, teeth grinding as she suppressed the surge of power.

The distance between him and the lich was already too close—far too close for her to intervene without risking him being obliterated in an instant.

The lich tilted his skull slightly.

"...Do you know me?"

Faceless Imposter smiled.

Relaxed.

Unbothered.

Almost amused.

"How could I not?" he replied. "Ken, the Grand Wizard who laid the foundation for the unification of the Solhaven Empire. Your name is still etched into their historical records."

A low, hollow chuckle echoed through the chamber.

"What an honor," the lich said. "To be remembered... even after abandoning flesh."

Velra bit down hard on her lip.

’Idiot... reckless idiot. He’s a lich. A Grand Wizard who chose undeath. This isn’t someone you taunt.’

Ken’s skull turned fully toward Faceless Imposter now, witchfire flaring brighter.

"Yet I find it curious," the lich continued, voice smooth as polished stone, "that such a celebrated figure stands before me now... in a cramped cave, far from the Empire that once sang his praises."

Faceless Imposter shrugged lightly.

"History rarely records the endings accurately."

Silence fell.

Then—

A pressure descended.

Not mana.

Not killing intent.

Something heavier.

The very air groaned as ancient magic stirred, the bones of the throne creaking softly beneath Ken’s shifting presence.