“I'm not curious.”
Although Rudolf did not know why his mother was asking this, he still followed his heart and gave his honest answer.
Then, he saw his mother's expression freeze.
She looked as if she wanted to say something but stopped, as if she had forcefully swallowed the words right at the tip of her tongue.
Then, Irene's mouth opened slightly, and her brow furrowed, a look of utter surprise crossing her face.
It was as if the words “Why aren't you following the script?!” were practically written on her face.
This reaction left Rudolf somewhat bewildered.
Newly born, he did not yet understand the ways of the world or how to read a room.
The two of them stared at each other in awkward silence.
An awkward and tense atmosphere inexplicably filled the air.
Half a second later, the not-so-stupid lich finally caught on. Realizing he had failed to play along, he quickly corrected himself to ease the tension. “Uh... Moth... please go ahead. I am very curious.”
As the words left his mouth, the awkward, tense atmosphere finally dissipated. Irene immediately slipped back into character, assuming a majestic posture once more as if nothing had happened.
“Very well...”
“My humble, foolish eldest son.”
“Since you have asked so sincerely, I shall grant you mercy and tell you!”
Irene raised her dragon claw and pressed it heavily onto the hunched Rudolf's head.
Patting him gently as if he were a pet cat or dog, she leaned down, her mouth close to his ear, and whispered like a tempting demon:
“You... were killed by my own hands!”
Rudolf's hollow eyes suddenly went wide, and his mouth fell slightly open.
Irene slowly straightened her body. Looking at the shocked expression on the lich's face, a satisfied look appeared on hers.
She had not done this just for fun.
Nor was it simply to see Rudolf's shocked expression.
Irene did not consider herself to be such a boring dragon.
Her primary motive was to prevent him from suddenly backstabbing his own mother for revenge once he found out the truth of his death in the future.
In Irene's mind, rather than constantly worrying about getting stabbed in the back later, it was better to lay the facts bare right now.
If he refused to submit after learning that she was the one who killed him, then Irene would have no choice but to... use harsher measures!
“Mother...”
After a brief silence, Rudolf finally spoke.
Turning his head to look at the cold-faced Irene, a wry smile actually managed to form on his face.
The dry, bark-like skin around his eyes wrinkled into a series of ripples.
His aged voice, laced with a hint of a sigh, came from his mouth: “Are you... testing my loyalty?”
Irene remained silent.
Seeing this, Rudolf knew he had guessed correctly. A surge of frigid mana suddenly rippled through him, forcibly breaking the casual restraint Irene had placed on him. With a dull thud, he knelt to the ground.
He raised his head.
At some point, a black box had appeared in his hand.
That was his phylactery.
It was the foundation of a lich's immortality.
Once you possessed a lich's phylactery, you held absolute control over everything about them.
Even their life and death hung on a single thought of the phylactery's owner!
“I no longer remember who I once was, nor am I that person anymore,” Rudolf said, holding the phylactery high. “I only know that my current life was given to me by you. The past can no longer bind me.”
Rudolf's voice grew heavier and deeper, causing the temperature inside the dragon's nest to seemingly drop by several degrees.
“The current me is a brand-new soul!”
“I am your eldest son!”
“From this moment on, I shall remain loyal to you for all eternity. I will fight for you, and I will die for you!”
“Loyal unto death!”
“Hehehe...” Irene smiled and retracted her dragon claw from Rudolf's head. Just now, she had been casting a lie-detection spell on his soul fire.
The result was clear: Rudolf's words were entirely sincere.
Irene's cautious heart finally relaxed a bit.
Reaching out to take the phylactery, she tapped it against his shoulder under Rudolf's expectant gaze, much like a human noble dubbing a knight. She said, “Very well. You have successfully pleased a noble dragon. From this moment on, I formally recognize your identity.”
Then, Irene used Mage Hand to lift Rudolf back to his feet and continued:
“Since you have drawn a clear line between yourself and your past, I shall bestow a new name upon you to mark your rebirth.”
“From now on, your name shall be...”
“Arthas!”
“Arthas?” Rudolf muttered, turning the name over in his mind. He opened his mouth to thank Irene for the name, but for some inexplicable reason, a stray thought possessed him, and what came out instead was: “Mother, does this name have some deeper meaning?”
“As expected of a life created by me, we're on the exact same wavelength.” A highly amused expression appeared on Irene's face. “This name comes from a legendary tale I heard from a bard who returned from across the sea.”
“As the bearer of this name, I believe you ought to know this story as well.”
Under Arthas's attentive gaze, Irene began her tale:
“Legend has it that during the chaotic era following the fall of the Beastkin Empire, just as humans were stepping onto the stage of history, a human kingdom named Lordaeron was invaded by Abyssal demons.”
“The demons spread a terrible plague throughout the kingdom. Anyone infected would degenerate and rot into mindless monsters, becoming the demons' minions!”
“To save this kingdom on the brink of ruin, the prince of Lordaeron, Arthas, stood forward. He personally led his troops to campaign against the invading demons.”
“But his power was too weak. He could only watch helplessly as the people of an entire city were infected by the plague, about to turn into monsters who knew nothing but slaughter.”
“To prevent these people from turning into monsters, his subordinates had no choice but to take matters into their own hands and kill them before they could degenerate!”
“Unable to bear the sight, Arthas tried to stop them, but he was powerless to prevent it.”
“He could only watch as it all unfolded, watching his citizens slaughter one another.”
“After his subordinates purged the entire city, a demon even appeared before Arthas, mocking him to his face.”
“To change all this and save his kingdom, Arthas made a resolute decision to seek out a legendary artifact of the kingdom that had been lost to the world during the divine war.”
“Frostmourne!”
“In the end, after overcoming countless hardships, he finally led his men to a snowy mountain and found the legendary Frostmourne.”
“It was a two-handed broadsword driven into the frozen earth—a cursed blade.”
“Whoever drew this sword would be corrupted into a hideous lich, forced to endure immense suffering.”
“Although Arthas's subordinates volunteered one after another, willing to sacrifice themselves to draw the sword,”
“Arthas resolutely decided that he would bear this burden himself.”
“He drew Frostmourne and obtained immense power.”
“The price was his gradual transformation into a lich, forced to endure the whispers and temptations of demons at every waking moment.”
“Even so, Arthas never forgot his original purpose. Bearing the immense pain, he led his army back to the kingdom, successfully rescuing the King of Lordaeron—his father—from the hands of the demons at the kingdom's most critical moment.”
“Then, relying on the sheer power of Frostmourne, he led his army to fight their way through, completely driving the demons back into the Abyss.”
“And he, amidst the cheers of the entire kingdom, holding Frostmourne in hand, sat upon the Frozen Throne—the symbol of power and eternity—and was crowned king.”
“Because of his transformation into a lich, the world gave him an incredibly domineering title.”
“The Lich King!”
After finishing this heavily modified story of the Lich King from her past life's internet, Irene took a long breath and explained to Arthas, who was already trembling with excitement:
“Of course, this is merely a legendary tale told by bards. No such Lich King exists in history—at least, there is no record of such a person in my Draconic Inheritance.”
“However...” Irene shifted her tone. “My eldest son, I hope you can inherit the spirit of that human prince, Arthas, from the story. Become my right-hand man, and become the true... Lich King!”
“Mother, I will not fail your expectations!” Arthas practically shouted.
“Very well.” Irene yawned and waved her hand. “Then, I formally appoint you as the Chief of the Research Department. Go, and display your talents to your heart's content!”
“Go find Fido—that kobold from earlier. He will provide you with everything you need. Also, a beastkin with a cowlick named Gar might be able to assist you in your research.”
“I hope that by the time I wake up, you will not have brought shame to the name of Arthas.”
“I will not fail your expectations, Mother!”
Arthas turned to leave.
But Irene stopped him once more.
Meeting his puzzled gaze, she waved her hand and said, “Don't call me Mother in the future. Just call me Master.”
Hearing this, Arthas fell silent for a few seconds. A trace of disappointment, barely perceptible, flickered in his eyes before he nodded heavily. “I understand, Master.”
Watching her cheap son leave, Irene looked down at the phylactery in her hand. Remembering the story she had just made up, her lips couldn't help but twitch.
She thought to herself that she was truly a master of making things up. The story of the Lich King, Arthas—infamous for his filial piety—had actually been rewritten by her to be so heartwarming.
She could only hope this cheap son of hers wouldn't show up one day wielding a sword named Frostmourne to stage a scene of filial piety of his own.
Stashing the phylactery away, Irene stretched, yawning as she squinted and walked toward her large bed.
“Forget it, I won't think about it anymore.”
“Sleep. Sleeping is what's important.”
“Nothing in the world is more important than sleep!”
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