Karnak, Monarch of Death

It was the same as any other day in the lord’s study on the second floor of the Zestrad estate. As usual, Karnak had breezed through his administrative tasks and was now fully engrossed in his true work: reprocessing the Shadow of Doom extracted from Straph. He channeled the shadow into a pocket dimension and manipulated it before giving a heavy sigh.

“Ugh, this is such a pain.”

Currently, he had three tasks to focus on. First, he needed to transform the Shadow of Doom stolen from Straph into chaos mana. This was a time-intensive process.

Even with Karnak’s wisdom and knowledge as the former Monarch of Death, it would take months to complete. Strictly speaking, it would only take months, precisely because of his expertise. Moreover, he needed to figure out how Straph had managed to fuse necrotic power with divine power. He couldn’t come to an immediate conclusion.

It’s mutated significantly, but it doesn’t seem to deviate much from the attributes of Astra Shunaph, he thought.

Still, there might be aspects he had overlooked. This, too, would require prolonged observation and careful study.

Or perhaps Straph had some unique characteristic?

That seemed unlikely. Karnak had thoroughly examined Straph’s corpse before handing it over to Alius but hadn’t found anything to distinguish him from other priests. Even so, unlikely wasn’t the same as impossible. He had only but a moment to examine Straph, and there was always the chance he’d missed something important. If Straph himself wasn’t the key, Karnak would have to consider another possibility.

Could it be that my own powers have always had the potential to fuse with other forces, and I just never realized it?

It wasn’t entirely implausible. As Astra Shunaph, Karnak had wielded a transcendent power that surpassed traditional necromancy. It was conceivable that his abilities operated beyond the bounds of conventional understanding.

But this theory had its own flaws. Karnak had spent 70 years as Astra Shunaph, wielding and refining his power countless times. If such a property existed, how could he have failed to notice it? If he were that oblivious, he wouldn’t have been called the Monarch of Death in the first place.

Well, there is a way to test this theory...

The easiest method would be to recreate the phenomenon. He could forcibly inject Shadow of Doom into another priest and observe the changes. That would be the quickest way to uncover the truth. In the old days, he wouldn’t have hesitated.

But I can’t do something like that, can I?

For the time being, Karnak shelved the issue. In any case, his top priority was something else entirely.

First, I need to stop the apocalypse.

The Shadow of Doom spreading through the world had to be contained.

If I can just deal with this, I can handle everything else at my own pace. At least the situation won’t deteriorate further.

Thanks to the information extracted from Straph, he had a solid grasp of the situation. He understood how the Shadow of Doom flowed and how it traversed time and space. Currently, Karnak was using this knowledge to create the Eyes of Darkness through the pocket dimension. These magical constructs would allow him to explore the fabric of time and space and trace the flow of necrotic energy. While diligently manipulating the Shadow of Doom, Karnak let out another sigh.

“Ah, seriously, this is such a hassle.”

Deploying the Eyes of Darkness to read the world’s flow was akin to flying a kite to measure wind direction. The materials for the kite weren’t particularly demanding, nor was the string connecting it. Karnak’s necromantic power was more than sufficient for the task.

But that didn’t mean the process was simple. Creating a kite with precision required skill, and this wasn’t just a regular kite—it was a construct being launched into the folds of time and space itself.

Though the task didn’t require immense power, it demanded an extraordinary level of complexity and finesse. Of course, it wasn’t difficult in concept for the former Monarch of Death, but it was still painstakingly labor-intensive.

It was like setting up thousands of dominoes in a chain. Anyone could set up dominoes, but aligning thousands of them without a single mistake required significant skill, mental focus, and patience. No matter how adept you were, it wasn’t something you could rush. It was tedious, repetitive work.

“Ah, back in the day, I wouldn’t have needed to bother with any of this.”

In his time as Monarch of Death, he could have simply used his infinite power to shatter the fabric of time and space and survey the flow at a glance.

“Then again, even with that power, I wouldn’t have done it that way.”

That approach would have been akin to broadcasting to the entire world: The Lord of Death has arrived!

“I can’t afford to draw that kind of attention now.”

Letting go of his nostalgia, Karnak refocused on manipulating the darkness. The scene was less like that of a sinister necromancer wielding the powers of death and darkness and more akin to...

...sewing on buttons, Karnak thought, sighing deeply as he manipulated the Shadow of Doom. He glanced out the window. Varos and Serati’s sparring session should be wrapping up soon.

I wonder if that guy managed to get anything useful this time.

Serati had undoubtedly gained much. She was an empty vessel, and it had plenty of room to be filled. Of course, what Karnak considered empty was a judgment based on his own elevated standards.

The real question was whether Varos had gained anything from her. Varos wasn’t spending time with Serati purely out of goodwill. Observing her growth and guiding her was also a way to rediscover his own path to unlocking aura for himself. But so far, there had been no word of Varos reaching the breakthrough he sought.

Seriously, how does the so-called strongest swordsman in the world still fail at something this basic?

***

At the same time, Serati was grappling with a similar question.

How can someone who was supposedly the strongest swordsman in the world fail at something this fundamental?

In their morning training sessions, Varos was the teacher, and Serati was the student. But during their afternoon sessions, their roles were reversed.

“Phew...”

Varos sat cross-legged under the shade of a tree, breathing deeply. He exhaled long and slow, sinking into a meditative state.

“How does it feel? Are you sensing anything?” Serati asked cautiously.

Varos opened his eyes and offered an awkward smile. “Not a thing.”

“That’s strange...”

Serati furrowed her brow, baffled. Varos, meanwhile, posed a question of his own.

“What was it like for you when you first awakened your aura?”

Serati paused to think before slowly beginning to describe her experience. “I reflected on myself, reaching out to the light within, transforming into a blade...”

“Not the poetic stuff.”

Varos interrupted with a knowing look. He had already memorized every first-rate swordsmanship manual on the continent.

“I don’t need flowery descriptions.”

Serati retorted, “You said you don’t know anything about Tascal swordsmanship!”

The Tascal school, a renowned tradition in central Eustil Kingdom, was a favorite among adventurers and also the style Serati had learned. Varos scratched his head.

“I told you, I’ve memorized all the first-rate schools of swordsmanship...”

“Oh, so Tascal isn’t first-rate, huh? It’s just common trash, is that it?”

“It’s not trash. It’s just... widely practiced.”

“Same difference!”

Serati shot him a glare. Varos chuckled sheepishly before responding.

“If you could describe the experience in your own words, more intuitively, that would help.”

“Well...”

Serati thought back to her awakening. Stripped of all embellishment, how would she describe it?

“...It just happened.”

“Figures.”

Varos sighed. That was the universal refrain of every aura user. It just happened. They kept at it, and it happened.

“So it’s my lack of talent, then?” Varos muttered, half to himself.

Serati gave him a disbelieving look.

“How could someone like you possibly lack talent?”

After all, he’d spent the entire morning making her feel like a complete idiot. If he lacked talent, what did that make her?

“Maybe the talent to wield aura and the talent to awaken it are two different things,” Varos suggested, attempting to analyze himself.

There was no denying he had the talent to wield aura, to handle a blade, and to master physical combat.

“But creating a sword and wielding one are completely different skills, aren’t they?”

While wielding a sword was the domain of a swordsman, forging one was the work of a blacksmith.

“Maybe aura works the same way.”

With a resigned sigh, Varos returned to his meditative posture, once again trying to sense aura. As expected, the result was the same as before.

“Ah, still nothing.”

Serati tilted her head, watching him. “Do I even help you in any way?”

She figured she’d ask outright. While he always answered her questions, she had no idea what she could possibly contribute to his struggles. After all, everything she knew, Varos already knew—on a much higher level.

“Why do you even need me around?”

“Just in case.”

Varos shrugged as if the answer were obvious.

“Ever heard the saying, A frog doesn’t remember being a tadpole?”

The metaphor wasn’t lost on Serati. Varos’s pond had been home to the biggest, most legendary frogs—super frogs. The swordsmanship theories he carried were all from those who had achieved mastery.

“Maybe hearing from a tadpole’s perspective will shed some light.”

Serati fell silent for a moment, contemplating his words.

Should I just let this slide? Or should I smash his skull in, even if it kills me?

In the end, she chose not to act. The idea of actually confronting him was far too terrifying.

“Ugh...”

The only sound escaping Serati’s lips was a sigh.

Even so, I’m still an aura user. I’ve never been this underappreciated before.”

Right on cue, Varos let out a sigh of his own.

“When I think about how hard I tried in my past life and still failed, only to end up with dark aura granted by the young master... I can’t help but wonder if I have zero talent for this.”

Seeing his dejected expression, Serati suddenly had a thought.

Still, this doesn’t make sense, does it?

He knew nearly every first-rate swordsmanship technique in existence. He could wield any aura as if it were his own, with flawless precision. His raw physical abilities were extraordinary, and his combat instincts were second to none. Leaving aside issues of experience, Varos was undeniably a natural-born warrior. There was no disputing it. And yet, the one talent he seemed to lack was for awakening aura?

Is it really possible for the ability to awaken aura to be entirely separate from a warrior’s talent?

Sure, blacksmithing and swordsmanship were different skills.

But a swordsman doesn’t learn smithing just by relentlessly practicing swordsmanship.

Aura, on the other hand, could be awakened through rigorous sword training. In that sense, it was more of an extension of martial talent than something separate. The more she thought about it, the less sense Varos’s theory of separate talents made.

There must be another reason.

***

It had been a little over a month since Karnak’s return to the Zestrad estate. In that time, Serati had fully settled into her role as one of Zestrad’s knights, while Varos continued to struggle to find a breakthrough in awakening aura. One day, Karnak summoned the two of them.

“It’s done,” he announced.

“Oh, finally?” Varos asked eagerly. “So everything’s finished now?”

“If everything goes according to plan, yes.”

Serati, who was clueless about the situation, could only blink in confusion.

“What’s finished?” she questioned.

“Oh, it’s something,” Karnak said vaguely.

“I’ll explain later,” Varos added.

The three of them began preparing to leave the estate. Officially, they were heading into the nearby forest to absorb the natural energy and elevate Karnak’s magical abilities. Of course, the real reason was entirely different.

“We can’t risk launching the Eyes of Darkness here and getting caught,” Karnak explained.

After all, necromancy was involved. If the churches of the seven goddesses caught even a whiff of it, things would get messy.

“So we’ll do it next door, in Devantor’s territory,” Karnak declared.

Varos nodded approvingly.

“And if we get caught, we can pin the blame on Devantor! Brilliant!”

“Exactly.”

Serati hesitantly raised her hand.

“Didn’t you say you weren’t going to do bad things anymore?”

“Hmm? Is this a bad thing?”

“I’m more curious why you don’t think this is a bad thing.”

“It’s not that I don’t know it’s wrong...” Karnak began, trailing off.

It wasn’t that Karnak couldn’t discern right from wrong—he wasn’t an imbecile. What he struggled with was gauging the degree of right and wrong.

“What I’m saying is, isn’t this the kind of thing everyone does?”

A little bad here and there, a little good here and there. That much was normal, right? Karnak’s goal was to live a life as unremarkable as possible, much like the average person. He wasn’t aiming to be some saint or sage who abstained from all wrongdoing and pursued only virtuous deeds.

Serati hesitated. The Devantor family, after all, was no innocent party. They were Zestrad’s long-standing rivals, with a bloody history to prove it. Devantor had been responsible not only for the deaths of Karnak’s siblings and the previous Baron but had nearly killed Karnak himself.

Was framing such a family truly an unforgivable evil?

“Well... I guess this is the kind of thing people do...” she admitted reluctantly.

Karnak smiled brightly.

“Great. Let’s get going, then.”