Chapter 63
Chapter 63
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 63
Chapter Title: Harma El Rising
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The corpse legion of ten thousand was a force that could shine anywhere.
They had no armor or shields. They hadn't picked up a single sword or donned a single piece of cloth armor. Yet these soldiers knew no pain even if their arms were severed, charged blindly at the enemy even if caught in traps—they were that tough. Even if their comrades were annihilated all around them, they knew no fear and pressed on.
Albatross might have thought this army held immense strategic value, but if it were really that simple, the Flesh Underground Castle would have already formed a nation and unified the continent.
Dead soldiers couldn't grow. Progress was the privilege of the living alone.
If the Empire so desired, it could conscript the people from every corner and assemble an army of a million, but why didn't it? Because the grain and gold it consumed like mad yielded little utility.
For a fraction of that cost—not even a tenth—it could buy the loyalty of Master-level experts, Transcendents, and keep them in its service. This was far more flexible, effective, and economical. The Empire couldn't disband its army entirely trusting them, but it had no need to pour vast sums into maintaining a standing army of a million.
If all young men became soldiers, who would farm the fields or run the businesses? Who would sail the ships to transport goods, who would circulate the currency to keep the economy alive? To grasp one thing, you had to let go of another—that was the way of the world. Thus, the Empire did not pursue a massive standing army.
"Who dares set foot on the land where the Goddess resides? Even a single wildflower blooming in the wasteland is an offering to Her, yet there is not a single inch of soil on this earth for you foul creatures to cling to!"
Seeing the lion's army—or rather, the corpse legion—Araidel spat her rage. Her holy power didn't produce an immediate reaction like Kyle's, nor did it annihilate the horde before her eyes, but a sacred space that devoured all evil enveloped the entire battlefield. Like mosquitoes drowning, the corpse legion didn't drop dead instantly but began to strangle slowly. Albatross stomped his feet in fury from afar.
"Priests back then, priests now! Do the gods have nothing better to do than meddle in everything we try?"
"Shall we press the advance? Prolonged exposure to holy power will destroy them completely."
"No retreat. Keep advancing. They were expendable anyway."
It was a force calculated with full allowance for losses. But planning to discard them and actually doing so were entirely different matters.
Albatross's expression darkened at the thought of driving these ten thousand into the jaws of death. He glanced at the woman lounging in her chair, watching the battlefield, but he couldn't vent his anger at her.
'Emperor Harma El. What are you thinking? Using this chance to let us and the Hero Party mutually destroy each other?'
The woman held a fan in one hand, covering her face, revealing only her eyes as she smiled broadly.
Empress—no, Emperor Harma El observed the Hero Party with her red eyes. Indeed, leaving aside Araidel and Rheinheim, none of the three were pushovers.
"Let's wrap this up quick and head back. I want meat for dinner tonight."
Hero Yurinel Rackfonsia wasn't even emitting Mana Aura. Just brushing the tip of her holy sword against the corpse legion—or even a mere tap—sent them toppling like dominoes, piling into hills. Harma El's expression flickered slightly. Indeed, fighting them head-on would have been disastrous.
'The holy sword's power exceeds expectations.'
If she had personally stormed in to crush the Hero Party, success would have been uncertain, and even if achieved, it would have been a pyrrhic victory. The Hero's capabilities were beyond her grasp.
Spotting full power in action was easy—they hid nothing.
But when someone like Yurinel now fought while minimizing energy expenditure, even Emperor Harma El had no way to gauge her level.
'Impressive. Worthy of the title Hero. I acknowledge you. You could have been a worthy adversary for me.'
Toying with a black orb, the Emperor continued watching.
Her gaze soon shifted to the woman wielding a whip. Seeing the whip in her hand, Harma El's face twisted in momentary disgust. Demon Killer. That vile thing forged from hatred for demonkind unsettled her.
The weapon was half like the Grim Reaper itself, its power rooted in the grudges and screams of those slain by demons. It was a holy relic in another sense.
To demonkind, it was a chilling object, and the Western clan that wielded it generation after generation were all mad. Watching rotting flesh shatter on contact with Demon Killer, Harma El shook her head.
'That woman's a Western heir? The ones who poked the sleeping polar bear and brought their whole clan crashing down.'
That clan were lunatics who struck first against an ancient demon king.
Harma El, who prided herself on rationality, couldn't comprehend them. Among demon hunters, they were the most twisted, their power steeped not in holiness but madness and grudge.
But that made them powerful. Another to watch closely.
'Parnel Citadel. Former princess of Citadel Kingdom.'
The Citadel royals had long borne the blood of grand archmages, and Parnel had inherited it fully—a genius archmage. Their power was such that the current Citadel Republic's apprentice couldn't topple the monarchy by any means, resorting to borrowing Grimudo's strength to overthrow it.
Even the peasants and some nobles hadn't dared revolt, necessitating such measures. Parnel was the direct heir of Citadel royalty. With her own skills plus the royal treasures, she stood at the pinnacle of magic.
'Indeed, each one lives up to their reputation.'
Big-Little Core Architecture was revolutionary even to demonkind, who prided themselves as a magical race—a Citadel royal secret. Its fame was well-earned, as seen today.
Parnel ran only the Little Core, firing small-scale spells in rapid succession, their speed such that no corpse soldiers could approach her before being swept away.
"Your Majesty. Do you intend to just sit back and watch?"
Albatross, lord of the Flesh Underground Castle, could no longer hold back his frustration. They'd agreed to hunt the Hero Party together—what was this? The majestic Emperor Harma El had arrived, yet all she'd done was recline in her chair and spectate.
If she'd even sent underlings to attack, he wouldn't complain. He'd only sent corpse soldiers himself, staying far back without twitching. A lich who feared death, after all.
Who in their right mind would throw themselves at a holy sword, Demon Killer, and Parnel's magic? But Harma El came alone, without a single soldier, and now this—it was infuriating.
Harma El glanced at him, then yawned as if uninterested.
"I wonder what you mean by asking me that?"
She extended her hand, pointing at the Hero Party.
Only then did Albatross realize something and flinch. He'd momentarily forgotten amid the corpse soldiers' swift slaughter. Their original plan.
"Castle Lord. So when do you plan to start? They're your troops—how many you expend is your business. But how much longer must I wait here for your plan? I'm bored. Get on with it."
"The plan is already underway, but..."
"Already underway? You mean the Hydra poison has infected them?"
Harma El's expression chilled seeing the Hero Party still standing tall, butchering corpse soldiers unscathed. Albatross fidgeted.
The werewolf corpse soldiers carrying Hydra poison in their bodies had approached as planned, spewing bodily fluids as planned. Some burst on death, splattering the Hero Party.
Hydra poison took effect without contact or absorption—an extreme toxin.
Even if the Hero Party, averse to the fluids, used magic to repel them, they couldn't prevent the fluids from contaminating the ground upon landing.
The area was turning into a high-radiation zone lethal to life, but who would notice?
"It looks like nothing happened. Are you sure they're poisoned?"
To Harma El's eyes, there was no change. Albatross saw the same, so he just worked his lips.
The famed Hydra poison had hit, yet the Hero Party remained fine—Albatross even wanted to question Harma El. Did you give me plain water or what?
"Are they burning their final embers in desperation? They don't look that desperate. Albatross. Give me a proper answer."
As Harma El's gaze plunged from cold to absolute zero,
The Hero Party also sensed something amiss.
"Damn it all."
Hero Yurinel Rackfonsia first spotted the anomaly. Seeing blue smoke rising from her bosom, she pulled out a bluebird feather with her left hand and gasped. The feather was vaporizing from the tip, consuming faster than normal.
"It's a trap. What the hell have we been exposed to?"
Something was clearly wrong, but they couldn't pinpoint the source. The feather wasn't corroding on its own—it was burning itself to protect them from some invisible threat.
'Poison...? But I didn't let any touch me. Even the fluids bounced off my Mana Aura.'
A light Mana Aura over her body repelled even flies, which fell upon landing. Raindrops bounced lightly; hail couldn't penetrate.
So after all that fighting, her skin was pristine, not a stain on her clothes. Only one answer: poison gas via breathing.
Yurinel and Lucia arrived at the same conclusion simultaneously. And both were puzzled.
Parnel waved her hand, stirring a gust from high above to sweep away blood and ground air, but the feather's corrosion didn't slow. The fluids carrying Hydra poison had seeped into the earth, radiation now emanating from the ground itself.
"Ugh... High Priestess, doesn't your head suddenly hurt? Too much rotten stench?"
"This... We must retreat now. If we escape quickly, it might not be too late."
Araidel, supporting from the center without touching corpse soldiers, clutched her throbbing head. The mild headache was intensifying.
She and Rheinheim lacked bluebird feathers, meaning radiation could ravage their bodies properly. Tasting metal in her mouth, Rheinheim's face froze.
This... this was Hydra poison. The worst toxin all life feared!
This horrific, dreaded poison had no antidote—death was the only escape. Among the few poisons even holy power couldn't revive from, it was the most infamous.
DNA, life's blueprint, shattered by radiation—exposing it to holy power triggered regeneration that caused necrosis.
Cells could no longer replicate, so regeneration didn't heal but melted skin and induced diarrhea. Radiation victims' shortest-lived cells—skin and mucosal—died first. From exposure, holy power turned poison, not cure.
'...No feeling in my teeth. We're properly poisoned.'
Once poisoned, signs revealed it, but before that, the colorless, odorless toxin was undetectable.
Realizing it, Rheinheim halted holy power infusion throughout her body. Dizziness worsened on contact; her mouth felt numb, sensation gone.
She bit her tongue lightly—no pain, nothing. Not even the bite sensation remained. Only a bizarre numbness like potent anesthetic.
Even the rational, cool-headed Rheinheim went blank momentarily. That shocking.
'This is bad. For the Flesh Underground Castle to prepare such a thing...!'
Hydras were rare and hard to spot. Extracting venom from their glands rivaled climbing the continent's tallest peak, Kalcamir Mountains, barehanded.
Even subduing one and extracting left the handler doomed by venom spray or gland radiation. Slime Demon King Marmannun had played a huge role.
Usually, people collected Hydra "poison" from ponds they'd drunk from or sand along their paths—enough to kill one easily.
So true venom direct from the gland? Only gods knew its power. A drop could taint a pond; Marmannun had yielded bottles to Harma El. Its might was indescribable.
'How did they obtain this much genuine Hydra poison? Impossible... Unless Grimudo, lord of monster legions...'
Undead were immune, but Hydras were mighty without poison. Had the Flesh Underground Castle subdued and milked such a beast itself?
No time for more thought. Rheinheim scooped up the saintess and shot into the air. Power from the Goddess waned with distance from earth, but that wasn't the priority.
"B-Bishop? What's happening?"
"Everyone, up high! It's Hydra poison!"
No time to answer the saintess. Hearing that, the three below ascended too.
Yurinel and Lucia used Mana Aura; Parnel, levitation magic. The remaining half of the corpse legion gawked skyward like dogs that lost their chicken.
"Isn't it working now? See—they've abandoned the fight and fled. Their bodies are starting to fail."
"Not starting— they should already be dead! If it worked right, they'd be collapsed on the ground!"
Seeing the Hero Party airborne, Harma El rose with fan in hand, sneering pitifully.
As expected, nothing got done without her direct involvement. Expecting anything from brain-rotted corpses was the mistake.
"Still..."
Before "still" finished, Harma El shot up, silencing excuses. A whirring sound and shockwave cleaved the ground fan-shaped. Naturally, the Hero Party's eyes locked there. Yurinel hastily drew her holy sword, its holy aura resonating in light.
Clang!
Sword met fan with a dull thud like iron spheres colliding. The clashing opposing forces sparked lightning everywhere.
Many corpse soldiers below roasted, their cooking meat scent wafting. Seeing power not inferior to hers, Yurinel's eyes widened.
"You..."
"Harma El!"
Lucia cried in horror, thrusting Demon Killer. Behold that blazing Mana Aura shaped like a corrupted white dragon! Mana Aura embodied one's life path—similar perhaps, but never identical.
Could anyone not recognize her from that distinctive Mana Aura?
It was the surest ID. Amid dizziness, Araidel paled seeing dragon-shaped aura. She still remembered the Ardein princess's dragon aura from childhood. Twins!
The infamous Immortal Demon King—no, now Emperor Harma El—stood before them.
The saintess clung to her senses amid nausea. Whether it mattered, who knew.
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