Chapter 37: Night of the Corpses (1)

Two blocks away from the Ranpelt estate, two figures darted through a narrow alleyway. They were under the cover of the darkened streets in the middle of the night. It was Varos, carrying Serati on his shoulder, and Karnak. Hiding in the shadows of the alley, Varos peeked beyond the corner to survey the streets.

“We managed to buy enough time for an escape. It’s a good thing that guy’s as gullible as he is.”

“I said those things to piss him off, but it wasn’t just because he’s gullible,” Karnak replied, casting a faint smirk as he glanced back toward the direction of the estate. “That’s what happens when you rely on remote control for everything.”

If Straph had shown himself in person, Karnak wouldn’t have been able to maintain the illusion for long. But instead, Straph had hidden somewhere within the estate, manipulating his necromancy indirectly.

“Fooling a caster directly is difficult, but creating illusions to deceive spells? That’s hardly a challenge.”

Varos chuckled. “If he didn’t even know the basics, I’d say gullible fits perfectly, don’t you think?”

“Gullible and ignorant are two different things. Then again, he was a priest. Figures he wouldn’t have the fundamentals down. Tsk, tsk.” Karnak clicked his tongue in disdain.

Varos turned to him, his tone curious. “So, what now?”

“For starters, we find a place to hide.”

The streets were quiet for now, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long. There was no way Straph would sit still after losing them. The Ranpelt family’s lackeys would undoubtedly be unleashed, turning the entire city upside down in their search. They needed to find a safe haven before that happened.

“And we need to plan our next move,” Karnak added, nodding toward Varos’ shoulder.

More specifically, toward Serati, still unconscious and slumped over.

“We’ll also need to deal with her.”

***

As Karnak predicted, Straph wasted no time. Furious at his failure, he mobilized the Ranpelt family’s forces to scour every inch of Trist City. Lights flared to life across the city as people began moving.

“Hey, open up!”

“Anyone suspicious staying here? Any outlanders?”

The late-night quiet was quickly shattered. The Ranpelt thugs stormed into inns and prowled through alleyways, questioning—or outright accosting—anyone who caught their attention. Unsurprisingly, there were plenty of innocent victims caught in the chaos.

“What’s the meaning of this? We’re just traveling merchants!”

“What kind of nonsense is this?”

Outsiders were dragged from their beds, their protests ignored by the search parties. Blood was spilled, and cries of pain echoed across the city.

“Argh!”

“Why are you doing this? Who are you even looking for?”

“Shut up and move! The order is to round up anyone suspicious!”

Some fought back fiercely. Trist City wasn’t the kind of place law-abiding citizens willingly visited. The outsiders here were often those tough enough—or reckless enough—to think they could survive its infamous streets.

“You think you can push us around?”

“What, you think we’re unarmed?”

Fights broke out in every corner of the city, adding to the uproar. The tranquil night in Trist had turned to complete pandemonium, and an hour passed since the chaos began. Yet, despite their exhaustive efforts, the search teams couldn’t find their targets.

“Where the hell are they hiding?”

“No way outlanders wouldn’t stand out in a place like this!”

Someone voiced a suspicion.

“You think they slipped out of the city?”

The idea was immediately shot down.

“Impossible. We’ve got men posted everywhere.”

Despite being a lawless haven now, Trist City had once been a fortified stronghold. With enough manpower, securing the perimeter was still possible.

“But they managed to attack the manor directly. Maybe they forced their way through?”

“We didn’t receive any reports.”

If there had been any commotion, there would’ve been evidence—chaos, corpses, or something left behind. The guards stationed at the city’s borders hadn’t reported a single disturbance.

“Then where the hell are they?”

***

Serati slowly regained consciousness.

“Ugh...”

From the hazy edges of her awareness, she could hear voices.

“Returning to the Flad estate would be too risky, don’t you think, young master?”

“Definitely. That’s exactly where they’ll go first—straight to the factions that oppose them. They’ve probably already sent a significant force there.”

“Ugh, all my things are still there. I guess I’ll have to retrieve them later.”

“I didn’t think it’d end up like this again. I figured I’d live this life without all the running and hiding.”

“I suppose this is just our lot in life.”

The voices belonged to Karnak and Varos. Serati’s eyes widened in shock.

Them!

Her mind cleared instantly. She had seen it herself—the dark energy surging from Karnak’s entire body. She needed to get away from here, now. As she tried to push herself up, pain shot through her, forcing a faint groan from her lips. The sound caught Karnak’s attention, and he approached her.

“You’re awake, Miss Serati. How are you feeling?”

“...Worrying about me? A filthy necromancer?”

Her icy tone made Karnak scratch his head awkwardly.

“Well, I can’t blame you for thinking that...”

Serati was taken aback. She’d expected him to drop the pretense once his secret was out, yet his expression remained as calm and genial as ever. How could anyone look at that kindly face and suspect he was an evil necromancer?

Come to think of it, why did he even keep me alive?

Though puzzled, she decided to take stock of her surroundings first.

“Where are we?”

“We’re in the forest on the southern outskirts of Trist City. It seemed safer outside the city,” Karnak replied.

“How did you get past the perimeter? There’s no way they let you leave.”

“We’ve got some experience with this kind of thing,” he said casually.

There was no doubt the Ranpelt family had locked the city down. For an ordinary adventurer or mage, sneaking through such a tight net would have been nearly impossible. But it was a different story for necromancers.

Necromancy specialized in mind control, memory manipulation, and illusions. Where a mage might fail, a necromancer could succeed with ease. Tight security? All it took was one strike to incapacitate a guard, followed by memory alteration, and the job was done. Or better yet, hypnosis or brainwashing from the start.

This was precisely why necromancers were so hard to catch—they were masters of evasion and concealment. Moreover, Karnak and Varos had experienced such situations dozens of times in their past lives. They had remained hidden in the empire’s capital—known for having the best security in the continent—for months. Getting around hidden in a rural city like Trist was nothing.

“We just needed some time to figure out what to do with you, Miss Serati,” Karnak added nonchalantly.

Serati’s face turned pale.

Figure out what to do with me?

Karnak, noticing her expression, quickly followed up.

“

Figure out what to do

might sound harsh. But I can’t exactly leave someone who knows my secret unchecked, can I?”

“...Are you planning to kill me?”

Even as she asked, Serati doubted that was the case. If he intended to kill her, he wouldn’t have bothered carrying her all this way. As expected, Karnak shook his head.

“Not at all. I’ve been trying my best to live an honest life, you know.”

“Hmph. An honest life? As a necromancer?”

“Well, I did learn necromancy, but it’s not something I particularly like. In fact, I’ve been avoiding it as much as possible,” Karnak replied, raising a faint aura of mana. “Instead, I’ve devoted myself to mastering magic as a mage.”

As an aura user, Serati could sense the nature of energies with precision. The power Karnak displayed was undoubtedly mana—not the dark energy of necromancy.

Right. He’s used magic without raising any suspicion.

After all, she wasn’t the only one who had been fooled. Even Riltaine, a mage, and Alius, a priest, had failed to notice anything off about his magic. It couldn’t be dark mana.

So he’s telling the truth?

But one thing still nagged at her.

“But isn’t necromancy and magic supposed to be incompatible?” she asked, still suspicious.

“Normally, yes. But I’ve developed my own methods to make them coexist. I wanted to avoid learning necromancy.”

Thinking back, even Straph, a former priest, had wielded necromancy. Perhaps it wasn’t so impossible after all. Serati found herself wavering. Could it be true? Did Karnak learn necromancy because he had no choice? Was he now walking the path of a mage?

“If that’s the case, why don’t you completely abandon necromancy?”

At her question, Karnak let out a dry chuckle.

“Miss Serati, let me ask you this: could you abandon your aura?”

“What?”

“The aura you’ve trained in—could you cast it away?”

“What kind of nonsense is that? Once aura becomes part of you, how could you possibly—”

“Exactly,” Karnak interrupted calmly. “And that’s why I can’t abandon necromancy.”

Serati fell silent. As someone who wielded aura herself, she immediately understood. Indeed, once you’ve mastered a certain energy, it became impossible to simply let it go.

“Fine, I get that much,” she sighed. “But if you’re not going to kill me, what are you planning to do with me?”

“I’ll erase part of your memory. Specifically, the moment you witnessed me using necromancy.”

Her expression hardened. Erasing memories? Was even something like that possible with necromancy?

“It’s really not such a big deal,” Karnak said. “Surely, you’ve experienced something like this at least once before?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Who just loses their memories for no reason?”

“You’ve never blacked out after drinking too much?”

Serati’s words caught in her throat. She couldn’t deny it. Honestly, it had happened more than once—or even several times. She liked drinking, after all.

“There won’t be any issues,” Karnak assured her. “You passed out during the fight anyway. It’ll just seem like you blacked out a little earlier.”

The simplicity of it all left Serati conflicted. It was such a generous condition—nothing like the sinister schemes she expected from a so-called necromancer.

“Why go through all that trouble?” she asked cautiously. “Are you trying to recruit me?”

Karnak gave her an ambiguous smile.

“Well... this might sound harsh...”

His gaze fell to her shoulder.

“But you’re not exactly useful enough for me to bother recruiting right now.”

The comment threw her off. Not useful?

An aura user?

Following Karnak’s gaze, Serati glanced down. Her eyes naturally drifted to where her arms should have been. But all she saw were charred, blackened stumps where her arms had been severed at the elbow. A hollow groan escaped her lips.

“Ah...”

***

Reality crashed down on her, overwhelming her senses.

That’s right... I lost my arms...

Both arms were gone. She could never wield a sword again. Tears didn’t come, but her body trembled uncontrollably. Even if she recovered, she might be able to circulate aura again someday—but the swordsmanship she had honed for a lifetime was now meaningless.

And it wasn’t just about the sword. Without her arms, she couldn’t hold anything. Even basic daily tasks would be impossible. She couldn’t even clean after herself after using the toilet. She was still a lady in her prime, yet she now couldn’t even maintain the most basic dignity.

“Ah...”

Her vision blurred with despair. Through her haze of hopelessness, Karnak’s voice reached her ears.

“I’m sorry, Miss Serati. You truly were a gifted aura user.”

But to her, his words rang hollow.

“...Just kill me.”

Her voice was soft, defeated.

“Erase my memory? There’s no need. Just kill me here and now...”

Varos looked at her with pity, hesitantly turning to Karnak.

“Isn’t there

anything

we can do, young master? What about finding a powerful priest or healer?”

“Not for severed limbs,” Karnak replied flatly. “You know as well as I do—no matter how strong the magic or divine spell, they can’t regrow limbs. It’s against the laws of nature.”

“True... it’s not like necromancy.”

At that, Varos let out a heavy sigh.

...Not like necromancy?

Serati, lost in despair, suddenly raised her head.

“Wait! Then what about necromancy? Are you saying necromancy could restore my arms?”

Karnak blinked a few times before responding in a low voice.

“It is possible....” Then, scratching his cheek awkwardly, he added, “But I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Why not?”

“Well,” he said, his tone apologetic, “it would require making you one of my vassals. Surely you wouldn’t want to become the servant of an evil necromancer, would you?”