Dark Wizard: Rise! My undead army!

Lynn sank deeper and deeper into the River Styx.

The surrounding water was grayish-white, and there was no light or sound. No extraordinary power could be gathered in the River Styx; the only thing that could be relied upon was the physical body.

Countless fragments of memory surged in from all directions, drilling into his mind; some images were clear, while others were blurry.

The clear images are those memories that are deeply ingrained.

A mother held her dead child and wept bitterly, her cries heart-wrenching and devastating.

A warrior was pierced through the chest by a spear on the battlefield, but he still held onto his sword and refused to fall even as he died.

An old man sat by the window, watching the sunset outside, and muttering a name.

The blurred images are those forgotten memories.

My childhood playmates, their faces are no longer recognizable.

I can't remember the contents of the books I've read.

The scenery along the way has become blurred.

Countless fragments of memories churned in his mind, like a pot of boiling porridge.

They wanted to disrupt his thoughts, destroy his sanity, and turn him into a madman who didn't know who he was.

If this continues, the memories of his two lifetimes will be overwhelmed by this massive amount of fragmented memories, turning him into a madman.

We must save ourselves!

These fragments of memory are directly integrated into the soul, making them impossible to forget.

Since we cannot forget it, let's contain it!

Lynn closed his eyes and opened the memory library in his sea of ​​consciousness.

The golden door opened, and countless bookshelves flew out from it, hovering in his sea of ​​consciousness.

The fragments of memory that flooded in were drawn to the bookshelf, collected and gathered, falling piece by piece onto the bookshelf, becoming illusory books.

The spines of the books bear the marks of the memory's owner and the time. Some books are thick, some are thin, but they all represent a person's life.

Lynn's consciousness quieted down.

Those memories no longer churn; they've been taken away by the bookshelves, categorized and stored in an orderly fashion.

His body was still sinking.

The pressure from the Styx was increasing, and the "river water" was eroding his skin.

The skin was corroded, exposing the muscles underneath; the muscles were corroded, exposing the bones underneath.

The terrifying restorative power originating from the cosmic behemoth and the rules of all things began to operate.

Fine cracks appeared on the surface of the bones, and grayish-white light flickered within them. The chains of rules of the Myriad Sacred Marks began to repair themselves.

Chains grew from his bones, spreading in all directions like tree roots.

They entangle the corroded bones, fill cracks, and reinforce the structure.

They wrap around the corroded muscle, reweave the fibers, and restore elasticity.

They wrap around the corroded skin, regrowing the epidermis until it is smooth as before.

Corrosion and repair occur simultaneously, like two hammers alternately striking the same piece of iron.

The strength of the physical body is increasing, and the body repaired after each corrosion is more resilient than before.

Lynn felt his soul being cleansed as well.

The Styx River's power of oblivion attempted to erase his memories, but deep within his soul lay a thin shield woven from the rules of the Myriad Sacred Marks.

The power of oblivion shattered upon impact with the shield, causing some wear, but it was quickly repaired.

With each wear and repair, the shield grows thicker, and his soul's resistance to the power of oblivion increases.

The ferryman rowed his boat over Lynn's head.

He looked down at Lynn, who was lying at the bottom of the river, watching his body repeatedly switch between corrosion and repair, and watching his soul become more and more stable under the erosion of the power of oblivion.

The ferryman did not stop, and the boat continued forward.

Within the Sacred Mark Domain, the Nether Wolf had been completely suppressed, but Lynn was unable to return to subdue it, so Wanxiang had to suppress it first.

Lynn sank in the River Styx for three days.

On the first day, his body was still struggling, his hands and feet were paddling in the water, trying to float up, but the River Styx had no buoyancy whatsoever.

The next day, he stopped struggling, relaxed his body, and let the river carry him down. He took this opportunity to hone his physical body and soul.

By the third day, his body had adapted to the rate of erosion by the River Styx, with corrosion and repair occurring simultaneously, achieving a fragile balance between the two.

His physical strength was slowly increasing, and each cycle was stronger than the last.

However, as he continued to sink, the River Styx became increasingly corrosive, and Lynn could only do his best to maintain his balance.

Lynn didn't even have time to catch his breath; he couldn't activate his Saint Mark Domain, as it couldn't be deployed within the River Styx.

He cannot use witchcraft, as there is no elemental energy available to draw upon in the River Styx.

He's like an ordinary person, except that he's physically stronger than the average person, he can't do anything else.

Finally, after who knows how many days he had been submerged, his feet touched solid ground.

The bottom of the River Styx is black, not from mud, but from the powder that has settled down over countless years from "things that have been completely forgotten".

It feels very soft underfoot, like stepping on a thick layer of ashes.

Lynn stood there, looking around.

All around was grayish-white water; there was no light, no direction, and no end in sight.

His spiritual power could only extend a few meters outside his body before being suppressed by the Styx River.

He took a step and walked forward.

Every step was slow, the pressure from the Styx pressing in from all directions, like carrying a mountain.

Fortunately, I was finally able to move, otherwise I would have been forced to stand in place forever.

The fragments of memory at the bottom of the River Styx are as dense as snowflakes.

They floated down from the river surface, sank to the bottom, and piled up, layer upon layer, for countless years.

In Lynn's sea of ​​consciousness, the golden door of the memory library was wide open, and bookshelves flew out from the door, hovering above the sea of ​​consciousness.

The fragments of memory that flooded in were drawn to the bookshelf, falling piece by piece onto the shelf and transforming into illusory books.

The spine of the book is marked with the name of the memory's owner and the time.

Some books are thick, some are thin.

Wherever he went, he absorbed the fragments that had accumulated over countless years, and the books on the bookshelves grew ever larger.

Among them are many precious memories of professionals.

Memories of ancient wizards.

An old man in a gray robe stood on the tower, holding a wooden staff in his hand, and chanting incantations in a low voice.

His sorcery model was very complex, something Lynn had never seen before, but the effects it produced were rather mediocre.

Clearly, the ancient witchcraft models had not been improved over generations and were extremely cumbersome.

The alchemist's memories.

A middle-aged man squatted in front of the furnace, holding a pair of pliers with a piece of red-hot metal in his hand.

The metal turned blue after cooling, and its surface had fine textures.

The memories of a formation master.

A young woman kneels on the ground, carving runes on a stone slab with a carving knife.

The runes had a peculiar trajectory; they were neither straight lines nor curves, but rather spiraled upwards.

The pharmacist's memories.

An old hunchbacked man was holding a flask. The liquid inside the flask was green and bubbling.

The old man poured the liquid into another flask, and the liquid changed color from green to red, and the bubbles stopped.

...