Evil Dragon, Without a Princess, I Had to Transform Myself!-Chapter 59 : Hehe, I Must Live

After a brief moment of silence at the scene, someone let out the first scream, and the dignitaries scattered in panic.
"Oz, what in the world are you doing?"
The aged magistrate questioned the Grand Mage before him, utterly bewildered by the current situation.
Hadn't they just sworn to bring eternal prosperity and safety to this city?
Why was he now turning his blade against them?
How could the ever-dependable Guardian possibly do such a thing?
"What am I doing?"
Grand Mage Oz, who had always been at Bluefin Bay's beck and call, raised his voice.
Flickering lights danced in his eyes, while behind him stood over a dozen magic puppets, lined up like a hundred thousand elite soldiers in full armor.
Suddenly, the crystal chandelier above the hall extinguished, and a dark, icy mist drove away the once-bright radiance.
All that remained visible was a lich standing in the shadowy hall, surrounded by a faint, devouring gloom that seemed to consume all light.
An undead creature?
"Of course, I'm granting you eternal prosperity and safety."
Oz's formerly deep and gentle voice was gone, replaced by a rasping tone like a saw on wood.
The skeletal fingers of the now eighth-circle Oz snapped, the ghostly blue flames in his eye sockets flickering.
"Join us."
Thus spoke the Grand Lich of Bluefin Bay.
In a sense, the aged Grand Mage Oz was already dead—what stood before them now was merely a lich bearing Oz's memories.
No matter one's disposition in life, the moment of transformation into a lich irrevocably reversed their former stance.
A benevolent lich was always just a tale, and even then, it sounded more like a gimmick concocted to subvert expectations amidst an overabundance of evil liches.
The racial nature of liches destined them to be shunned by humanity. No matter how much humanity remained, the undead body would subtly warp the lich's senses and thoughts, gradually eroding their human perspective until they became an entirely different species.
The only remnants left to a lich beyond memories were certain intensely held emotions from life.
These emotions lingered like obsessions, ceaselessly influencing the undead's every move.
Oz hadn't been a lich for long, so more of his humanity remained than most. His strongest lingering emotion was an obsession with life—not a craving for longevity, but a hatred for its fleeting nature.
Oz had turned to lichdom only after failing repeatedly to break through to the eighth circle, and he despised the state of being unable to achieve more due to life's brevity.
Thus, the sole conviction Oz now possessed was...
Heh, he simply had to make everyone live forever.
This belief in eternal life, twisted by the nature of lichdom, manifested outwardly as Oz's manic obsession with turning everyone into undead to enjoy true immortality and prosperity.
The vast magic legion he had created in life once troubled him—after relinquishing authority, even Oz could no longer command the troops. He had no choice but to put on a show, using goblin activities as a bluff to coerce the magistrate into surrendering control.Everything was going according to plan, except for the unexpected appearance of the Hero—something Oz hadn't anticipated.
But what surprised it even more was the content of the introductory letter the hero presented.
How amusing, truly amusing.
Scarlet blood bloomed across the ground, unnaturally vivid, snaking into rivers. The sight thrilled the evil dragon.
It was instantly invigorated, abandoning its dessert.
Magnificent!
This was exactly what the evil dragon wanted to see.
Rivers of blood! Rivers of blood!
Unlike the exhilarated Patunasankus, Loranhir froze at the sight of the undead creature before her. The lich wore tattered mage robes, its skeletal frame devoid of even a shred of flesh, with unquenchable green flames burning deep within its hollow eye sockets.
Wait—where was the Grand Mage she was about to apprentice under? Where had that great figure vanished to?
"I can give you my answer now."
Oz gazed at Loranhir, its eerie green soulfire flickering. With a casual Chill Touch, it summoned a spectral skeletal hand, laced with the biting cold of the grave, and effortlessly struck down the elderly magistrate.
"Welcome as my disciple," the mad lich declared, spreading its arms in mock welcome.
Behind it, the corpses of the fallen nobles twitched back to life under necromantic magic, their limbs stiffly swaying.
"No thanks. I have zero interest in becoming a walking skeleton," Loranhir retorted.
Her face twitched. She must have been cursed with the worst luck—what kind of absurdity was she dealing with today?
She never should have handed that letter to this thing.
Now, even the hero’s reputation was useless.
No way out. This was way beyond her pay grade.
She wouldn’t stick around to find out.
Loranhir was tense, yet oddly, she felt no fear this time.
Just... inexplicably...
Calm?
As if this was nothing more than a minor hiccup to her now.
No big deal.
"Your companions don’t know about this, do they?"
Being rejected by Loranhir didn’t faze Oz in the slightest. It could always kill her and resurrect her as an undead thrall, converting her into an ally.
Oz merely deliberated whether to reveal the letter’s contents to the hero’s companions.
Its gaze shifted between the magic puppets and Elaphia, who wore a grave expression, her eyes darting between them.
Clearly, they had been deceived all along.
None the wiser.
"No. This way is far more entertaining."
After a moment’s thought, Oz conjured a wisp of ghostly blue flame at its fingertips, reducing the letter to ashes. It would be far more amusing to let the hero’s companions realize the truth in their final moments.
Thus, Oz issued its command to the magic puppets.
"Kill them."
Then, with a teleport, it vanished from the scene. The outcome was inevitable—the great lich had other matters to attend to.
One by one, the magic puppets, drenched in blood, mechanically swung their massive blades, gears grinding within their joints.
They ignored the few remaining survivors, closing in on Patunasankus instead.
The evil dragon watched the approaching puppets, tilting its head slightly, as if pondering a rather serious question.Should she pretend to be a little scared?