"He is...troubled"

"Indeed he is."

Two figures strode down the grand hallways of the castle. It was the middle of the night and they just came out of a meeting with a very, very irate Demon King. It has been two days since the death of Nehuet the Dread and it sent a massive boulder into the cogs of the Demon King's machinations.

"What are we going to do about it? We don't even know who killed Nehuet!"

"I know! I know! Let me think!"

One of the figures, a mature looking woman with black hair snapped at the figure beside her. She wore a slightly revealing robe that showed much of the skin around her plump chest and bare shoulders as well as the sides of her long and smooth legs. Most spellcasters would've preferred to hide as much skin as possible under their thick robes, but this particular one love to bare her smooth, pale, and porcelain-like skin for the world to see.

Her head, however, was usually shielded and obscurred by a comically large hat over her head. One would've mistaken her for a Witch if they saw her, and they would've perished from that. She is an Archmage, and not just any Archmage but the most powerful one in existence, maybe.

"Nehuet was one of your Undead, isn't he? Who could've bested him in a duel?"

"Silence, Daruk! I need to think."

Her yellow eyes glared at the horned man beside him.

"Lissanderyn, you already know that this person is a mighty adventurer."

The Archmage made no response and simply sighed.

The man beside her looked young, but he is far, far older than she is. He is a Devil, a type of Demon that is more adept with magic. He dressed sharply, his red suit complimented his tanned skin and red eyes. She eyed the pair of horns that sprouted from his head and arched backwards. She still found his birdnest of a hair messy, but she shoved those thoughts to the back of her head for now.

The two of them were part of the Nine Generals, powerful beings tasked by the Demon King himself to lead his armies. And here they were, bickering between themselves on what to do with this new threat. For some reason, their topic shifted from what to do to Lissanderyn's occupation. 

"Some Overlord you are! No wonder he was so mad at you! You ordered him to ride to his death!"

Her Class was called "Overlord" and it was the first in history. 

The Archmage sneered at her own Class. It was something she earned after gaining so much power centuries ago. A Class given only to those who are able to not only stare at the abyss, but control it. Her Class allowed her to create, control, and even command any and all Undead that are unfortunate enough to be snared in her aura of command.

For she wasn't just any Archmage. No, she was a Necromancer, and she was the greatest one to have ever plagued the world. She was Undead and living at the same time. Her body a perfect image of what she looked and felt like when she died in her youth. Yes, if one were to touch her, it would be as if they touched the soft and warm skin of a beautiful woman in her early 30's.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"All I intended was for him to survey the potential threat of the magical disturbance we felt, not kill himself! But we all know that Nehuet wouldn't be foolish enough to die like that. Something else must've happened..."

She bit the inside of her cheek as she stomped down the halls.

"Yes, and he died because of your orders. We lost a valuable commander and one of our drinking partners!"

"Bah! He couldn't hold his drink anyway! But you're right. Nehuet was a unique case of Undead, and I know for a fact that I won't be able to replicate the same results of the experiments that lead to him."

She stopped and turned to a closed door to their right.

"I will retreat to my room for now. Go and drink yourself to Undeath in the bar but don't wait for me. I'm not in a mood to go drinking."

"Ugh... Fine. See you around then."

The Devil sulked and walked away, back into the darkness of the corridors.

Her room was grand, large, and filled with clutter and stacks of aged books toppled over and covered with dust. She sighed and levitated her hat off of her head and slumped into her chair. She despaired over the loss of her close friend, but she despaired even more at the thought of what she wanted to do.

"I need to meet this person."

She muttered to herself as she fumbled over the mess that was her bed before dragging out a scroll.

"I wonder if she'll hate me for this."

The thought of another close friend, another General, flashed in her mind before she forcefully shoved it aside.

"It's fine. She'll be fine without me."

The Overlord, the Empress of Death, The Fallen Archmage, Lissanderyn the Archmage of Death, threw a soft pillow to the wall and groaned in frustration. She could feel the Undead all over the continent moving and shifting, but she picked out a few in the vicinity and ordered them to assemble at the gates of the castle. She could feel them shambling over to the gates and she groaned once again.

She languished on her bed, the soft bed she has gorwn fond of over the centuries and said her goodbyes to it. The books and tomes that overflowed with magic  began to levitate and fly around the room and bags began to eat up the books while the Archmage fussed in her bed.

"Clean up the area, pack my belongings... oh right. [Enscribe Message]."

A piece of paper hovered over her face and she began the message with an apology. Then she ended it with a goodbye and her wishing the recipient goodluck. She flicked her wrist, and it was done. 

The room was now immaculate and the letter descended onto the top of the sparkling table in her room. The Bags of Holding that contained all of her books, robes, and other items were now tucked away in a large and regular bag that floated beside her. 

Most would've called what she had done a waste of magic and mana, but she didn't care. Her mana is almost endless thanks to her powers, and in the extremely rare case where she found her mana lacking, she used her powers as an Undead to suck it out of the very air and earth itself. 

But she was too tired and too sad to think about magic. She just wanted to go and run off with everythig she had. The Demon King wouldn't be able to stop her, but it would definitely hurt-

She pushed away the thought of her friend and returned to the task at hand. For the first time in over a century, she will ride out of the Demon King's domain and march towards the kingdom of Ilyris. This is the kingdom where she was born in, where the Academy of Magical Studies was situated at, where she lived as a human, and where Nehuet died. And she would march here with an army behind her to do one thing.

"Lorren. A city of rookies and weak monsters." 

Her yellow eyes stared to the east and her soul stirred. She was about to meet with an Adventurer that was able to defeat Nehuet in a duel. The strongest Undead she have ever created, dead at the hands of a great and mighty warrior sent by the Gods themselves to stop her king.

And she would kill said person.

And somewhere, in the many bathhouses of Lorren, Arthur sneezed and shook his head. For a moment, he thought someone was talking aout him, but he just went back and dozed off in the large bath once again.