Karnak, Monarch of Death

Karnak’s group continued walking through the streets. Within the span of less than an hour, they witnessed two pickpocket incidents and three cases of robbery. Yet not a single situation called for Alius to intervene.

The subsequent pickpockets they encountered were far more experienced than the boy in the market. They would skillfully snatch their target’s belongings, sprint away, pass the stolen goods to waiting accomplices, and vanish into alleys while deftly dodging any thrown knives. The reactions of the victims were predictable—angry and frustrated. However, the bystanders’ reactions were just as detached as before.

“Hmm, those kids are pretty skilled.”

“If you’re going to pickpocket, you should at least be that good.”

Just as with the injured boy earlier, no one showed the slightest concern for the victims. And since there were no injuries, there was no reason for a priest like Alius to get involved. The robberies followed a similar pattern.

“Hey there, pal, mind lending me some cash?”

In broad daylight, burly thugs would approach itinerant merchants in the middle of the street and brazenly mug them. The merchants, naturally enraged, would try to resist, but they were always outnumbered. They would be beaten senseless, their purses taken, and the thugs would quickly leave the scene.

However, the muggers were clearly seasoned. They never inflicted life-threatening injuries, stopping just short of serious harm. They beat the victims just enough to take their belongings before departing.

“Damn it!”

“Those bastards!”

“The heavens must truly have forsaken us!”

Merchants, bloodied and robbed, wept tears of frustration. But Alius found himself at a loss.

If lives were at stake, it would be a different story, but I can’t risk revealing my identity over this...

So he hesitated, torn between acting and remaining discreet. Not that anyone else seemed to notice or care. The onlookers treated the violence as mere entertainment, and once the drama ended, they moved on with their day. Varos clicked his tongue in disbelief.

“What kind of place is this?”

He had seen his fair share of crime-ridden back alleys in his time, but this was on another level entirely.

“No wonder they call it the City of Lawlessness, not just the City of Crime,” he muttered.

The difference was stark: it wasn’t just that laws were being broken. There were no laws to break.

Serati voiced her concern. “We can’t just stay at any inn, can we? Not in a place like this.”

The entire city was under the control of the Ranpelt family, and the streets were crawling with people who would stab you in the back at the first opportunity. The idea of sleeping soundly in such a place seemed impossible.

“If we’re not careful, we might wake up with a knife in our ribs,” she added grimly.

Alius nodded. “I’ve heard many travelers vanish without a trace here. That’s why we must find a contact with ties to the city.”

Riltaine frowned.

“So we’ll need to cast defensive wards on our rooms? This is absurd. We might as well sleep outdoors...”

Fortunately, it wouldn’t come to that.

“I’ve already arranged a place,” Alius reassured him.

“What? But you said the Trist diocese is under suspicion...”

It was standard protocol for visiting clergy to seek refuge at the local parish, but the Trist branch of the Hatoba Church was far from trustworthy. That was the whole reason for their disguises, wasn’t it?

“Yes, which is why I’ve found another contact,” Alius explained.

“...Are they reliable?” Serati asked skeptically.

Given the city’s state, a local contact was a necessity. But could they be trusted? With the Ranpelt family already in control of the city? They found their answer when they reached the central street.

“Wait, this place...”

Serati trailed off, staring in disbelief at the large mansion before them.

“This is the Flad manor, isn’t it?”

It was the very family that the Church of Hatoba had helped overthrow.

***

The Flad mansion, at first glance, appeared unassuming—if not downright shabby. Its walls bore signs of neglect, and several areas clearly needed repairs. In comparison, even Karnak’s Zestrad estate seemed larger and more extravagant. And yet, amidst the dilapidated buildings of Trist City, the mansion exuded an air of grandeur.

“Well, it looks fancy compared to everything else around here,” Varos remarked.

In a city where most structures were patched together with planks and scraps, even a halfway intact building stood out. And indeed, maintaining even a mansion of this size in this city was indeed a luxury.

“They’ve fallen from grace, but it seems they still have some influence left,” Karnak remarked with a smile.

He had wondered how much use a ruined family could be, but seeing this, he decided they were worth trusting.

And they must harbor a grudge against Ranpelt that can’t be erased. That means no risk of betrayal.

As they approached the mansion, Alius chimed in. “They say the enemy of my enemy is my friend. For now, there’s no one more trustworthy than the Flad family.”

“But isn’t the Hatoba Church also an enemy to them?”

“Specifically, the Trist Diocese of the Hatoba Church is their enemy. And we’re here to bring them to justice, aren’t we?”

“Ah, so it aligns with both our interests,” Karnak mused.

At the mansion entrance, two guards stood watch. Both appeared to be aging and not particularly skilled—a clear sign of the family’s decline. When the group approached, the guards eyed them warily.

“What brings you here?” one of them asked.

Without a word, Alius pulled out a brooch from his robes. Though it looked unassuming, the guard’s demeanor changed immediately, the wariness disappearing as if on cue. It seemed to be some kind of prearranged token of identification.

“Please, follow me.”

The mansion’s interior was dimly lit by candles. They were led to a reception room, where they waited until a young woman in a modest dress entered.

“Welcome to the Flad estate. I am Shildera, the head of the family.”

She wasn’t a striking beauty. Her features were plain—but her figure hinted at someone who had endured the hardships of this brutal city.

[She looks like she can hold her own, doesn’t she?]

[That dress doesn’t suit her—armor would be better.]

While Karnak and Varos instinctively assessed the newcomer, Alius greeted her with a polite bow.

“I am Alius, servant of Hatoba. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Shildera.”

Shildera was the daughter of the former head of the Flad family, Marad. When her father had fallen into madness and allied with necromancers, she had been one of the loudest voices opposing him, earning his wrath and eventual confinement. Ironically, this had garnered her the full support of the family’s remnants after its fall. She became the living proof that the Flad family was no longer tainted by necromancy.

“I have no excuses for my father’s sins. My only goal is to restore our family,” Shildera declared, her voice steady but with a flicker of anger. “And to do so, I cannot forgive that vile Ranpelt family. But alas, we lack the power to act...”

The Flad family’s current forces were almost nonexistent. Those connected to necromancy had been executed, and the survivors had scattered, struggling just to stay afloat.

“That said, we still have some influence left in parts of the city. If you trust us, we’ll do everything we can to help.”

Alius nodded without hesitation.

“I have faith in you.”

Indeed, the current Flad family members had no ties to necromancy whatsoever. Even those merely suspected of involvement had been ruthlessly purged. In fact, many innocent lives had been lost during the process. Only those who had been proven completely clean, no matter how thoroughly investigated, had survived. The church’s inquisition had been that severe.

Naturally, the Flad family hated Ranpelt and the Hatoba Church equally. It had been Alius who had engineered that focus on the Trist Diocese alone and narrowed their target.

“The church cannot turn a blind eye to the atrocities of the Trist Diocese any longer. They will definitely face the retribution of the goddess.”

Once seated, Alius leaned forward and asked earnestly, “Now, could you tell us about the current situation?”

***

The Ranpelt family’s defenses were on high alert. It was hardly surprising, given that the Church of Hatoba had already sent several people to investigate.

“Disguising yourselves and approaching them to gather evidence of necromancy won’t work anymore,” Shildera explained.

They no longer allowed strangers inside, and even familiar faces were scrutinized unless they were long-trusted subordinates. They were bristled up like porcupines, and there were no gaps in their defense.

Thus, Alius had devised a bold plan: a nighttime raid. They would disguise themselves as a faction unrelated to the church and attack the Ranpelt mansion. They would aim to create chaos to buy time to search for evidence of necromancy.

“A simple and brute-force approach, but one with a surprisingly high success rate. That is—provided we have the strength to back it up,” Alius admitted.

To execute this plan, they needed precise information about the Ranpelt family’s current strength

Unfolding a map on the table, Shildera began her explanation. “Currently, the Ranpelt mansion houses around a hundred soldiers. All of them are at the level of grade-2 adventurers. In addition, there are three 2nd-circle mages and five 3rd-circle mages.”

In addition, they had agents and soldiers spread across the city. They had more than enough influence to dominate the city. Even so, Riltaine let out a sigh of relief.

“With those numbers, this seems doable.”

Compared to the level of Karnak’s group, the mansion’s defenders weren’t insurmountable. Moreover, the intelligence they had gathered included troop placements and rotation schedules, making it possible to strike and retreat effectively.

Shildera’s expression hardened.

“The real problem is the necromancers.”

The Flad family’s intelligence couldn’t determine the strength or numbers of necromancers hidden within the estate. That would remain unknown until they encountered them directly. Alius, however, appeared confident.

“That won’t be an issue.”

Necromancers were formidable not only because of how easily they gained power but also due to their unfamiliar and unconventional methods. Even the strongest warriors could falter when faced with the unexpected. In this regard, Alius’s team had nothing to fear.

“These people are seasoned veterans when it comes to fighting necromancers.”

***

An eerie scene was unfolding in the massive basement of the Ranpelt estate, located in the western part of Trist City. The walls and pillars were lit by torches, their light barely holding back the pervasive darkness. The chamber echoed with groans and screams.

“Urgh....”

“Aaagh....”

Dozens of people were strung up, their bodies bloodied and torn, their skin flayed. The grotesque sight was so horrific that it seemed hell itself had manifested in the mortal world. Two men observed this macabre scene from one side of the basement. One appeared to be in his forties, the other in his thirties.

The younger man spoke cautiously, “It’s been a month since we dealt with the last group sent by the church. Won’t the headquarters make another move soon?”

The older man dismissed the concern with a casual wave. “If they keep sending people, all the better. It only means more sacrifices for us.”

He shifted his gaze to the dozens of prisoners. They were the shadow hunters that the Church of Hatoba had sent until now. Each of them was a formidable warrior, experienced in battling necromancers.

“But none of them have faced a true necromancer,” the older man sneered.

The church’s hunters had only dealt with pitiful pretenders—lowly individuals who wielded the great power of darkness as if it were a mere weapon, lacking any wisdom or knowledge. They dared call themselves hunters of necromancers, ignorant of what true necromancy entailed. Their arrogance had led them to this pitiful fate. Raising his right hand, the older man summoned darkness that spread throughout the basement.

“Aaarrgh!”

“Noooo!”

The prisoners’ screams echoed as the darkness engulfed them, only to converge back into the man’s hand. He smiled in satisfaction as he absorbed it.

“Good, this has been converted into quality death energy.”

The younger man frowned in concern.

“Doesn’t this strain your body?”

“There’s some strain, of course,” the older man replied nonchalantly, clasping his hands together. “But that’s what this is for....”

Light began to emanate from his clasped hands—radiance from the goddess of sacred earth, Hatoba.

“To protect my body with the divine blessing of our great goddess,” he said.

Straph, the Bishop of Trist Diocese and a servant of Hatoba in name alone, stood with light in one hand and darkness in the other, his wicked smile spreading.

“I do hope a high-ranking priest comes knocking next. They would provide a lot to be desired.”