Karnak, Monarch of Death

The sky was overcast with thick clouds. Though spring had arrived, traces of winter still lingered in the northern region. Across the desolate plains, death took shape and marched forward.

A horde of half-rotten zombies groaned as they shambled forward. Skeletons, stripped down to bare bone, clutched spears and swords in their hands. Their movements rattled with every step. Ghouls, oozing foul fluids, stalked behind them.

”By the goddesses...” Sir Selvat, a knight of the Eustil Kingdom, let out a shuddering breath as he watched the onslaught approach. ”They should have been laid to rest, so why do they walk this land?”

Sir Selvat was a low-ranking noble from Frat territory in the kingdom’s northern region, and this was his first real battle. Having been born into a fairly wealthy family, he had spent twenty years solely training in swordsmanship. Only recently had he been knighted, and this was his first deployment.

Yet, despite his inexperience, he couldn’t allow himself to succumb to fear. There were soldiers looking to him for leadership. If he let his terror show, who would keep their morale in check?

”Hatoba, grant me unwavering courage...”

Summoning what little resolve he could, he turned toward his troops—And heard a conversation that made no sense to him.

”Damn, that’s a lot of them coming.”

”Recognize any faces in that pile?”

”Nope.”

”Good, then we can cut ’em down without hesitation.”

Selvat froze. The soldiers, the same ones who should be trembling at the sight of this nightmarish battlefield, were far too calm.

”Are none of you afraid of those monsters? How can you all be so composed?”

His lieutenants looked at him like he was spouting nonsense.

”Of course, we’re not calm.”

”Yeah, we’re scared.”

”Then why don’t you look scared?” He asked them. He simply couldn’t understand it.

Even as a trained knight, the sight of undead rising from the grave made his legs tremble. These were common soldiers, who lacked his years of training. So why did they remain so unbothered? At that, his lieutenants let out wry chuckles.

”Ah, well... you see.”

”Corpses walking around is pretty common these days, isn’t it?”

Nowadays, necromancers popped up like weeds, and skeletons roaming around had practically become a local trend. Selvat lacked experience, but any veteran soldier had already fought plenty of undead by now.

”Still, doesn’t mean they’re not terrifying.”

”We just got better at bluffing. Tsk”

Grinning, the lieutenants placed their hands on their sword hilts. The undead army was drawing closer and closer. Moments later, the signal blared—the sound of the warhorse.

”Let’s move, Sir Knight!”

”Ah, right!”

Sir Selvat drew his sword and spurred his horse forward. At the same moment, the knights in the vanguard charged headfirst into battle. The undead horde and the Eustil Kingdom’s army clashed, and the battlefield erupted with war cries and screams.

***

Not far from the massive battle, a lone tent stood atop a small hill. It was a humble, tattered shelter, with only two pots hanging over a burnt-out fire pit. It looked no better than a beggar’s shack, yet this was the command post and supply base for an army of thousands of undead.

Of course, undead required no food and no sleep. They could march endlessly so long as their masters continued to fuel them with necromantic power. All that needed provisions were the necromancers themselves. In other words, just food and a place to rest. It was a tactical advantage beyond compare.

The logistics of war meant that the lifeline of any prolonged battle was an endless struggle of maintaining supply lines. Yet here, that struggle didn’t exist. Against living armies, this was an overwhelming advantage.

And yet...

”We’re losing.”

A skeletal figure, draped in a pitch-black robe, observed the battlefield while stroking his bony chin.The undead horde should have held the upper hand. Yet, they were being pushed back by the human army.

The reason? The humans were fighting too damn well.

”Set them on fire!”

”Bring it here! Douse them in holy water!”

”These bastards don’t even flinch when they get stabbed! That means their senses are dull. Blind them and strike from behind!”

”Got it, captain!”

Not a single soldier flinched as they faced down the grotesque horde of half-decayed corpses and skeletal warriors. Instead, they fought with the same discipline and coordination as if fighting a normal army.

The skeletal figure shook his head. ”Honestly, why are humans these days so accustomed to the undead?”

Of course, he already knew the answer. It had been over five years since the Shadow of Doom began to spread. It had been just as long since corpses and monsters began to overflow across the continent.

The problem lay in the way this Shadow of Doom had spread. It had spread too sporadically and too gradually. Had entire villages or cities turned into lands of death all at once, no matter how common the phenomenon, people would not have adjusted so easily.

But instead, one or two holders of the shadow had emerged in scattered towns, each dragging around half a dozen zombies or skeletons, only to be defeated in skirmishes over and over again. With such small-scale encounters happening repeatedly, humans had been given enough time to adapt.

Even the Cult of the Black God was aware of this, but there was nothing they could do about it. After all, the spread of the Shadow of Doom had been part of Tesranach’s grand plan. Meanwhile, the frontline was steadily retreating. At this rate, the main base itself would be in danger.

”It seems I’ll have to imbue more of the darkness...”

Muttering to himself, the skeleton turned to the five necromancers standing beside him. All of them were drenched in cold sweat, their bodies emitting blackened spirit energy as they struggled to maintain control.

”Ugh, krrgh...!”

”Hahh... Huff... Haaah...!”

The skeleton asked indifferently, ”Feeling tired?”

”N-no, sir!”

”Don’t lie to me. It’s obvious.”

It was true that the undead did not require supplies. But that did not mean they moved on their own. Nothing in this world came without cost. If supplies weren’t necessary, then something else had to be consumed in equal measure.

Because the human army had fought so effectively, the necromancers controlling the undead had exhausted their necromantic energy far sooner than expected.

”In the end, I have to step in again?” The skeleton retrieved a golden staff from within his robe. ”If it’s going to be like this, what’s the point of having an army?”

The necromancers bowed their heads in shame.

”Our deepest apologies!”

”We’ll leave it to you, Lord Maloka!”

The skeleton, Maloka, began to rise into the air while holding his staff. He began to radiate immense dark energy. A tempest of shadows swirled around him, stretching out in every direction like a pitch-black sun casting rays of darkness across the battlefield.

The moment the soldiers of the Eustil Kingdom saw him, they cried out in horror.

”There he is!”

”The archlich has appeared!”

***

With his obsidian robe billowing, the archlich drifted above the battlefield. Darkness oozed from his form like wailing specters, twisting and curling in the air. Surveying the soldiers below, Maloka raised his staff, and a massive blaze ignited at the staff’s golden tip.

”Blow forth, storm of flames.”

The fire grew, swelling into a vortex that expanded outward in a roaring inferno. It stretched across the battlefield, scorching both earth and sky, its fury intensifying with every second.

At the same time, Maloka extended his skeletal fingers toward the ground beneath him. ”Spread, land of decay.”

A jet-black light burst forth from his finger and plunged into the soil below. From that single point, a thick, toxic malice billowed outward, tainting the very land with corruption.

There were flames above and poison below. Faced with this personification of death descending upon them, the soldiers’ bravado crumbled in an instant.

”Aaaaagh!”

”Run!”

”Where to?”

Of course, the Eustil Kingdom’s forces did not surrender so easily.

”Magic corps, counterattack!”

A squad of mages, dozen or so, stepped forward and swiftly raised their wands in unison. Blue light surged forth, forming a collective magical barrier that pushed back against the encroaching flames. On the opposite flank, the priests of the earth goddess Hatoba raised their hands, scattering waves of divine blessings across the battlefield.

”Hatoba, purify this land!”

As the sacred light swept over the corrupted ground, the poisonous mist dissipated, and the air cleared once more.

Watching from the sky, Maloka gave a nod of acknowledgment. ”As expected, they’re responding well.”

These humans had indeed grown accustomed to fighting the undead. However...

”Ugh...!”

”It’s breaking!”

They had not lasted long. The fiery storm soon tore through the magical barrier, reducing it to shreds. The purified ground blackened once more as the toxic mist reclaimed its territory. The mages and priests broke out in cold sweat, their faces filled with confusion.

”Why... why is this happening?”

”Did we make a mistake somewhere?”

Watching from above, Maloka let out a faint chuckle. ”There was no mistake.”

The reason for this outcome was simple. ”It’s just that you are weaker than me.”

Flames and curses swept through the Eustil Kingdom’s army. Screams and wails erupted from every direction. But those who still had the strength to scream were the fortunate ones. It meant they were still alive.

”Rise, my army.” The fallen soldiers would find no rest. ”In the great name of Tesranach, I command you...”

Their corpses, now puppets of wicked darkness, were forced upright once more. ”Erase the living and fill their place with death!”

The ones who had just been comrades now gripped their spears and swords, turning their weapons against their own.

”That damned monster...”

At this rate, the outcome was obvious.

Sir Rochent, the commander of the Eustil Kingdom’s forces, swallowed his anger and gave the retreat signal. ”Fall back! Retreat!”

Maloka lowered his staff, watching the withdrawing army with cold amusement. ”So that’s it for today.”

There was no need to chase them down. After all, their goals wasn’t territorial conquest. The important thing was to hold their position within the Zestrad territory.

The archlich turned midair, his empty sockets seeming to gleam with anticipation. ”If we wait, he’ll come eventually.”

***

Members of the King’s Order had deliberately come all the way to Swindler to meet Karnak’s group. The situation was that urgent.

The capital, Drunta, was located in the central-southern region of Eustil Kingdom, whereas the Baracant Mountains were in the kingdom’s northeast, and Zestrad territory lay in the northwest. Had Karnak’s group been unaware of the situation, they would have returned to the capital as planned, only to then have to make the long journey back north.

Fortunately, with the timely news, they set out for the north immediately. Riding swift horses and pushing their pace to the limit, they reached Derath City, the largest city in the northern region, in just four days. It took only half the usual travel time.

By the time they arrived, a force of three thousand kingdom soldiers had already assembled to reclaim Zestrad. Leading them were Erantel, the Commander of King’s Order, and Theoderic, an eighth circle mage renowned as one of Eustil’s most powerful spellcasters.

”You’re finally here, Sir Karnak.”

”What in the world is happening, commander?”

He had asked for details along the way, but even the knights who had come to meet them knew nothing beyond the basics. All they had been told was that the cultists of the Black God had taken over Karnak’s land. They had expected to learn the full story once they reached Derath City, but...

”That is precisely why we urgently summoned you.”

It seemed even Commander Erantel was in the dark about certain things.

”Since you are the lord of the occupied land, of course we had to call you. But more importantly, there are matters that only you can answer.”

It was not particularly unusual for cultists to seize a territory. Across the continent, cultist uprisings occurred frequently, only to be swiftly crushed. However, Zestrad was different. This was not the work of ordinary cultists.

”The one occupying your land is a creature spoken of only in legends. It’s an archlich.”