Chapter 69: Midnight Struggle (1)

"Necromancy?"

The surviving members of the Crimson Flame Brigade nodded vigorously.

"Without a doubt."

"Corpses moving, evil spirits attacking us..."

"The place was shrouded in such a sinister aura that you'd have to be blind not to notice."

Sebastian blinked dazedly, unable to process what he'd just heard. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined a necromancer standing by Prince Lloyd’s side.

How could a prince align himself with a necromancer?

In contrast, the eyes of the cultists gleamed with a strange light.

"A necromancer, you say!"

"Seems like an amateur who hasn’t studied the teachings of Tesranach."

"Even so, their necromantic power appears to be considerable."

The Cult of the Black God wasn’t the only group employing necromancy. After all, the world was already riddled with the Shadow of Doom. Moreover, necromancers had the unique ability to absorb their opponent’s power, thereby augmenting their own strength. In other words: finders keepers.

"We'll handle this!"

The cultists were typically cautious to the point of cowardice, but now, they were stepping forward with uncharacteristic enthusiasm.

"If it's necromancy, this is our domain!"

"Rest assured, we will bring the prince back safely!"

Since their opponent was also a necromancer, there was no need to hide their true identities. Sebastian saw no reason to object and gave a reluctant nod.

"Well... then I leave it in your hands."

As soon as he granted his permission, the cultists rushed out of the room, eager to begin their preparations. Their urgency was palpable, likely fueled by a fear that someone else might claim the prize first. Left alone, Sebastian clicked his tongue.

So, Prince Lloyd really has joined forces with a necromancer?

At first glance, it didn’t seem impossible. After all, if one had been victimized by a necromancer, seeking another necromancer to counter them might be a reasonable response. Yet, the situation struck Sebastian as absurd.

This wasn’t something that could happen unless Prince Lloyd had already been acquainted with other necromancers for quite some time. In other words...

Doesn’t this mean he’s been up to the same business as Prince Alford all along?

It was enough to make him chuckle bitterly.

Ha... the royal family really is a pit of vipers.

***

Detzras was a necromancer serving the Black God. At fifty-three years old, he had once been a fifth-circle mage. In the world of magic, reaching the fifth circle was no small feat, a level attainable only through talent and relentless effort.

But Detzras was not satisfied. Mages of the third to fifth circles were common, and it wasn’t a particularly high realm to attain. He hadn’t toiled this hard merely to be average. He yearned for greater heights, for more power. And so, he ceaselessly pushed himself toward his ambitions.

Yet, reality was cruel. Though he was undeniably talented, his abilities were far from extraordinary. For every step he took forward, his peers matched him stride for stride. In a world where everyone worked tirelessly, the only thing that ultimately mattered was the raw disparity in talent.

Some might say life was long, and that it was a marathon rather than a sprint. They preached that as long as you kept running, you would eventually reach your destination. Once you finally looked back, those who had once been ahead of you would be left behind, collapsed by the wayside.

And sure, it wasn’t entirely untrue. There were those who squandered their early talents. Such people grew complacent only to falter later on. When Detzras looked back, he did see stragglers who had fallen behind. The problem was, there was an overwhelmingly greater number of people who continued to surge forward, far ahead of him. Ignoring the hundreds, thousands of competitors ahead to glance at a handful of stragglers. There was no joy in such a thing.

Keep running steadily, even if slowly, and eventually, you’ll reach your destination? When exactly was

eventually

? In 20 years? 30 years? When he was 70 or 80 years old? Humans were limited by their lifespans. Was he supposed to struggle, reach his goal when his body was frail and broken, and die content at the finish line? It was in this despair that the Cult of the Black God found him.

"Mage Detzras, the true power of darkness has chosen you."

When confronted by the emissaries of his great god, Detzras’s initial reaction was nothing short of blasphemous.

"You dare to reveal your identity as a cultist? Are you out of your mind?”

He knew well that necromancy, no matter how diligently studied, was of no real use to a mage. It was like a fighter cutting off both arms to attach claws in their place. Sure, the claws could be useful in battle. They could strike harder with their thick shells or crush opponents with their pincers. But the techniques he had mastered with two arms would become almost entirely useless.

"And you’re suggesting I take up necromancy? Do you think I’m some apprentice mage?"

An apprentice mage might have been tempted. Giving up a few minor first or second circle spells to gain the power of necromancy could be an alluring prospect. But Detzras was already a fifth-circle mage.

Considering the decades he had spent honing his craft, he was far from weak, even if he wasn’t satisfied. Giving that up to become a fledgling necromancer would bring him no meaningful advantage. But the Cult of the Black God was different.

"Because what you’ve seen is not true necromancy."

True dark power was not about cutting off one’s arms to attach claws. It was about encasing those arms in claws. This meant he could continue to use the punches he had mastered while learning entirely new techniques. In other words, he could maintain the magical prowess he had accumulated and simultaneously walk a new path! With so little to lose and so much to gain, his joining the Cult of the Black God was inevitable.

"So, Prince Lloyd has a necromancer on his side as well?"

Returning to his quarters to prepare for the mission, Detzras chuckled to himself.

"I wonder how much stronger I’ll become after devouring that one?"

Magic required endless effort to raise one’s mana. The path to power was one of grueling hardship. Necromancy, of course, was no shortcut. Nothing in the world could be gained without effort. But the nature of that effort was different.

Magic allowed for no other method but perfecting oneself. Necromancy, however, enabled one to steal the power of others.

I don’t know who this necromancer near the first prince is...

As he prepared, Detzras fell into thought.

But it’s unlikely they’re just a petty dabbler in the Shadow of Doom.

Judging by the way they had dealt with the Crimson Flame Corps, they had clearly risen beyond the level of a brute wielding raw dark power.

Even so, they won’t be a match for me.

The other necromancers, no matter how strong, were simply those who had never received the true teachings of the darkness. In contrast, Detzras was both a necromancer and a mage. Fighting him would be like facing an opponent with two arms while having only one. Unless the other’s strength was overwhelmingly superior, the outcome was certain.

Then again, if their strength is overwhelmingly superior, I could lose...

The middle-aged man broke into a confident grin.

"But really, where on this continent would you find a necromancer that powerful, except those from our cult?"

***

Even after his presence was exposed, Prince Lloyd did not leave the streets of Dalein. Though he had relocated his hideout, he continued to move openly within the area. Detzras smirked knowingly after confirming this through his informants. He thought he understood the prince’s strategy.

"Necromancers really do all think alike."

It was obvious his enemy was trying to lure him out. Detzras wasn’t the only one who saw his opponent as prey. One of the cultists trailing him, Kayle, let out a derisive snort.

"He seems quite confident in his power. How laughable, for a mere amateur..."

Detzras waved his hand dismissively. "Most necromancers are wretches who suddenly gain immense power after a lifetime of insignificance. Isn’t it more surprising when such people don’t become intoxicated by their strength?"

They usually learned humility only after facing a worthy adversary and being utterly crushed...

"Though more often than not, they don’t live long enough to put that humility into practice."

With these words, the cultists continued their march toward Dalein. The night was so deep that there wasn’t a single pedestrian in sight. Only the occasional night watchman patrolled the area. Normally, they would have been stopped and questioned, but thanks to the seal of Prince Alford they had received in advance, there were no issues.

“It’s coming into view.”

Under the dim moonlight, veiled by clouds, the shadowy slums stretched out before them.

Detzras glanced back at the two necromancers accompanying him, Kayle and Olt, and gave a curt command. “Move according to the plan.”

“Yes, sir.”

The plan for

Operation Retrieve Prince Alford’s Body

was as follows: First, the two of them would lure out Prince Lloyd’s necromancer. Deztras would be lying in wait, and as the situation unfolded, he would launch a surprise attack to completely subdue the target.

Why not just fight together from the start? The official justification was simple:

“The enemy might escape, so I’ll stay back and monitor the battlefield!”

The real reason?

Surely there’s no way they’re stronger than me... but you never know, right? Better to use those two as bait first.

If the two succeeded in handling the target, he could praise them generously and divide the spoils of necrotic power. Half for himself, and the remaining half split between the two. Was it too selfish? Hardly. He wasn’t taking it all for himself, so how was it unfair?

What if Kayle and Olt betrayed him and absorbed all the necrotic energy for themselves? It wouldn’t matter. They still wouldn’t be stronger than Detzras, and he could simply punish them for insubordination. While punishing them, he could absorb their necrotic energy too. With such a solid pretext, even the cult wouldn’t raise much objection.

And if the two failed? That would mean Prince Lloyd’s necromancer was a formidable opponent, and Detzras’s decision to use them as bait would appear all the more prudent.

This method, while an invitation to mutiny, didn’t faze Detzras. Having such thoughts honestly was precisely what made him fit to be a necromancer. Naturally, Kayle and Olt weren’t oblivious to Detzras’s scheming.

Damn it. I guess being weak really is a sin.

Not like we can refuse, though.

With a resigned sigh, Kayle pulled out an ornate lantern from his belongings and lit it.

Fwoooosh...

The flame flickered to life, accompanied by a chilling sound like a snake slithering through the darkness, and a biting cold spread across the surroundings.

It was the Lantern of Lost Souls, a cursed relic imprisoning the spirits of fallen knights and soldiers on the battlefield. It was one of the treasures of the cult, bestowed upon them by Detzras himself. After all, even as bait, they needed a fighting chance to carry out his orders.

Focusing his mind on the lantern, Kayle began chanting his spell. “In the name of Tesranach, I command you...”

The flame turned a ghostly blue, and from the ground rose shapes like shimmering heat waves, one after another.

“Rise, accursed souls of the fallen warriors...”

The ghosts of countless knights and soldiers materialized. They filled the streets with ghastly wails.

“Uuuuurrrgh...”

“Aaaaaaaah...”

***

In a shabby two-story house deep within the slums, Karnak remained seated on a chair and reading a book. He suddenly raised his head and murmured, “They’re here.”

It was a seemingly random comment, but Varos and Serati immediately understood.

“Already?”

“That was quick.”

It had been only last night when they had repelled the Crimson Flame Corps’ attack. Now, less than a day later, another strike from Prince Alford’s forces was underway. Varos rose to his feet and asked, “Is it necromancers this time?”

“They must be in a hurry to claim their prize before someone else does,” Karnak replied.

Serati and Varos quickly prepared for battle. Prince Lloyd wore a skeptical expression as he watched the duo.

“I’m not doubting your skills, but...”

They were already fully armed and ready, so their preparation wasn’t elaborate. It consisted solely of equipping the

special anti-cultist weapons

Karnak had prepared for them. The issue lay in the sheer absurdity of these so-called special weapons.

In Varos’s hands was a long-handled mop.

In Serati’s grip was a rusted frying pan.

“...You’re really going to fight with those?” Lloyd asked.