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Chapter – 50
When Carlyle and his party exited the [Antiros’s Experiment Chamber], what awaited them — as expected — was rain.
Shaa—!
The downpour outside had not let up.
The rain was even heavier than when they’d arrived at the chamber.
It seemed to have started yesterday morning and showed no sign of stopping.
As night deepened, a thick fog rolled in and visibility dropped to almost nothing.
“Hmm.”
Begman stopped and frowned; Kudo offered a quiet suggestion.
“Wouldn’t it be better to wait until dawn and then return?”
“That’s true.”
Begman nodded as if in agreement.
“The fog is terrible.”
“Then we should rest and head back in the morning—”
“No.”
Begman shook his head.
“Normally I’d say rest and go, but the situation isn’t good right now. Even if it’s risky, it’s better to return quickly.”
“Hmm.”
“If the enemy launches a full assault while we’re gone, we’ll be in trouble.”
“Understood.”
No one objected to Begman’s decision.
Given the circumstances, they accepted taking on a little risk as unavoidable.
“Alright, let’s go.”
“Yes.”
They pushed through the torrential rain, the darkness, and the heavy fog, heading back to Bowden Fortress.
Sniff! Sniff sniff!
Begman’s pet — a silver wolf — suddenly stopped and sniffed the air.
“What’s wrong?”
Sniff!
“What smell did you pick up?”
Whine! Whine whine!
The silver wolf weaved around Begman’s legs, clearly uneasy.
“Something’s coming, I think.”
Carlyle drew his Grimungand.
“Did you sense something too?”
“No.”
Carlyle shook his head.
“My detection only works on barbarians.”
“Is that so?”
“It must have caught a dangerous scent. We should prepare.”
He pointed to the whining silver wolf.
The wolf’s sense of smell was so keen that, even in the storm, it could accurately detect the scent of approaching enemies.
“Prepare for combat.”
At Begman’s order, the rest drew their weapons and went on alert.
But with the fog so thick, there was nothing to see no matter how alert they were.
Grrr! Grr grrr!
The whining wolf began to bark fiercely, and then terrible figures started to emerge, one by one, from the fog.
Ghouls.
Reanimated corpses — classic undead monsters.
The problem was that these ghouls were armored and armed like soldiers.
“Corpse soldiers.”
Carlyle recognized them at a glance.
Corpse soldiers were ghouls enhanced into an undead military form — they could only be created from corpses that had been soldiers in life.
Among the corpse soldiers that appeared, many were clearly warriors in life.
And who in the area would have the ability to command corpse soldiers…?
‘Crowley!’
Carlyle immediately realized that the one controlling these corpse soldiers must be the evil necromancer Crowley.
After all, Crowley’s dungeon was less than two kilometers from Bowden Fortress.
As the fog thinned slightly, cold moonlight filtered through the clouds.
“You—you are…”
Begman stepped back involuntarily as he saw the face of a corpse soldier lit by moonlight.
“Derek… why are you—?”
The lead corpse soldier was Derek, a scout who had died two days earlier.
Derek was not the only familiar face.
“That — that one is Michael from the engineering corps, right? He died two days ago?”
Russell pointed to a corpse soldier across from Derek.
His finger trembled like a leaf — already terrified.
“W-why is Derek a corpse soldier?”
Begman looked confused.
Wasn’t Derek and Michael’s bodies interned in a cave about a kilometer from Bowden Fortress?
Why had they appeared here as corpse soldiers…?
‘No matter how bad Crowley is, is this how far he’d go?’
Carlyle couldn’t fathom Crowley’s recklessness.
Even necromancers had to be careful in general.
If Crowley were exposed, would he not risk fleeing the continent and hiding in Kubelin for good reason? On the continent, necromancers were immediate targets — left alone, they would continue researching and advancing corrupt magic and sometimes even make pacts with high demons that sowed chaos throughout the world.
So necromancers were treated like poisonous mushrooms: when found, they were killed immediately.
Kubelin, soaked in blood, was no exception.
If his existence were discovered, the Decaron army and the allied kingdoms would form a task force and wipe him out at once.
And yet he had dared to touch the corpses of fallen soldiers?
Even a desperate necromancer would rarely be so reckless.
‘Did he eat something strange?’
Carlyle thought as he tried to make sense of it.
“Finally found you.”
A voice oozed out of Derek’s mouth — chilling.
Because it came from a rotten corpse, the sound was muffled and rough.
“I thought I’d lost you, but here you are. Heh heh.”
“That sneaky tone is unpleasant,” Kudo replied coldly.
“And you behind him — who are you?”
“No business of the likes of you. Go away. My business isn’t with you.”
The one who had possessed Derek’s corpse turned his gaze to Carlyle.
“You must be Sigmund, right?”
“You talking to me?”
“Yes — you. Carlyle van Sigmund. I hear they call you the North’s rascal?”
“That’s true… but why?”
“You’re an idiot.”
Crowley sneered.
“Do I really have to make you say why I’m looking for you?”
“Could it be… you want to turn me into an undead?”
“If it’s Sigmund, he’d make excellent material. Heh heh.”
So Crowley had his eye on using Sigmund’s bloodline as a component.
“Well, you used to call me a rascal. Are you saying you’d use someone like me as material?”
“That’s not for you to decide, Sigmund scion. Sigmund is Sigmund. The body alone is worth enough. It’s the shame of the house and the world’s rascal — but still, it’s value. Heh heh heh.”
“Ugh.”
Carlyle felt sickened by Crowley’s look.
It was like standing before a lecherous pervert who’d lost his mind with lust.
“But.”
Carlyle frowned, puzzled.
“How did you know I’m Sigmund? I’ve never worn my uniform. We’re meeting for the first time… oh. Maybe that’s it.”
He realized the cause of the unpleasant gaze he’d been feeling for the past two days — it had been Crowley’s eyes.
And the source of that gaze had to be… Byonsen.
“It must’ve been Byonsen. No wonder my head’s been prickling. The head hung on the wall was staring at me from the ramparts. You used that to learn I’m Sigmund and that we left the fortress.”
Carlyle guessed that Crowley had found Byonsen’s corpse, used necromancy to bind with it, and learned who Carlyle was.
“Heh heh. For a rascal, you have some sense.”
Crowley looked satisfied.
“Now that I know, it’s time for you to die. From the way you talk, it seems unlikely you’ll willingly become my thrall.”
The corpse soldiers began to move.
“When I arrive, you’ll all be corpses. Next time you open your eyes, we shall meet again — as master and thralls. My future followers…”
Crowley’s voice faded as if receding into the distance.
He must have left the bodies and slipped away into his dungeon.
“Grrrk!”
Derek — who had regained a twisted semblance of motion — growled at Carlyle and his party.
Of course, an undead has no real self, but still.
“Kyah!”
Derek lunged at Carlyle.
“Gwah!”
“Grrr!”
The other corpse soldiers also charged the group.
On the surface, it seemed the battle might wipe Carlyle and his group out in an instant.
Corpse soldiers were far stronger than ordinary ghouls; they retained the combat skills and tactical knowledge from life, making them very difficult to fight.
On top of that, their numbers were nearly thirty — five ordinary soldiers, not knights, standing against them was hopeless from the start.
But the troop sent on this dungeon reconnaissance were not ordinary soldiers.
“Derek! You bastard! I’ll send you off myself!”
Begman pressed on Derek without respite.
“Grrr!”
Begman’s silver wolf tore through the corpse soldiers with its massive body and sharp fangs.
And that wasn’t all.
“This much of dead trash—”
“Arf!”
Kudo, unusually skilled, fought the corpse soldiers effortlessly alongside his pet Bulgumiho.
“Kill them… no, they’re already dead, so… kill them again… KILL—!!!”
“Shar, shaa!”
Russell, as usual, transformed into a berserker; with his forest-madman pet, he ground the corpse soldiers into chunks of meat.
Meanwhile the archer Marder shone brightly.
After firing a few shots to get a feel for it, he switched to Rapid Shot and sent arrow after arrow without pause.
Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk!
Each arrow struck the corpse soldiers’ knee joints, piercing them and immobilizing their movement.
Though an archer, Marder’s close combat ability was remarkable.
Moreover, his bow was specialized for melee-oriented archery, producing powerful synergy.
“Squeek!”
Marder’s pet Huginn also clawed and pecked at the corpse soldiers, helping out.
While the senior soldiers and their pets fought, Carlyle was alone.
‘What on earth is that little one doing?’
Carlyle sliced a corpse soldier in two and thought of the baby wyrmling sleeping in his bosom.
He felt the small dragon breathing softly against him.
‘The other pets are running around helping their masters, and it’s sleeping? Fine, that’s possible. But in the middle of all this, can it really sleep?’
No matter how he wondered, the wyrmling showed no sign of waking.
It didn’t even show its face before the battle ended.
Crack!
Begman’s boot pressed down on Derek’s chest.
“Grrk, grrk!”
Derek thrashed weakly, but with a leg and both arms already severed, he could not shove Begman away.
“I’m sorry I, a useless captain, couldn’t protect you to the end.”
“Gwah, gwah!”
“Rest now. Don’t struggle so.”
With a single swing, Begman’s axe cleaved Derek’s skull in half.
With Derek’s fall, the battle was over.
“Sir, what about Corporal Derek’s body…?”
“Of course we take him.”
Begman answered Marder’s question just then.
“No.”
Carlyle stepped forward.
“I’m sorry for Corporal Derek, but leave him.”
“What the hell, you? Even undead and now you want to leave the body behind?”
Begman’s eyes bulged.
“What if they catch us from behind?”
“From behind?”
“The necromancer said it — next time we meet, we’ll be master and thrall.”
“That’s true.”
“If other thralls are leading reinforcements here right now, do you want to carry Derek with us?”
“Then can’t we use that magic pouch?”
“Bodies don’t fit. Food does, maybe, but not corpses.”
“Hmm.”
Begman hesitated, then picked up Derek’s body.
“Then I’ll carry him. Don’t interfere.”
“You want to die?”
“If I can’t keep up, I’ll put him down then. Don’t nag; you go first.”
“…”
“The scouts—”
Begman ground his teeth.
“We don’t abandon our comrades. I will bring them home. Even if they are corpses.”
