The Subterranean Sewers
Necromancers.
Those who wield death.
Across nations and races, necromancers had long endured relentless persecution. And naturally so. Who in their right mind would look kindly upon these grim figures who commanded rotting corpses? Who could tolerate having the eternal rest of their cherished ones disturbed, their deaths desecrated?
Yet here in the Demonic Borderlands, things were different. Ever since the Governor formally sanctioned the necromancers, they had stood as an undeniable pillar of the western frontier's expansion.
"Hello there! So lovely to meet you! Since fate has brought us together, how about a handshake?"
Iseline, the necromancer, held out a hand with relentless cheer. She wore an immaculate white glove.
Reed flinched, instinctively taking a step back. Frankly, he was not particularly fond of necromancers either. There was no profound philosophical reason behind it. He just disliked them. They gave him the creeps.
He stole a glance at the skeleton standing behind Iseline, only to lock eyes with it. A pair of flickering, pale-blue flames burned inside its hollow eye sockets. A chill immediately shot down his spine.
Reed glanced at Loty. Fortunately, Loty was staring at Iseline with equal distaste.
Guess I'm not the weird one here.
Eyeing Iseline sourly, Loty reluctantly took her outstretched hand, though his tone remained utterly blunt.
"Robert, from the Stonemasons' Union. This is Reed. Let's just do our jobs and stay out of each other's way."
"Haha! Excellent! Looking forward to working with you!"
Loty broke the handshake as quickly as possible and wiped his palm on his trousers before turning to Reed.
"Creepy as she is, we don't have a choice. It's work, right? Everyone just needs to pull their own weight."
"Your name is Robert?"
"Is that what matters right now?!"
Loty had a point. One could not always choose pleasant colleagues. As long as everyone did their part properly, that was more than enough.
Besides, Reed recalled a conversation he had previously had with Smith Leak of the Pioneers Guild:
—All you will find out here are the tainted and the even filthier. And among them... well, necromancers fall on the less-filthy side of the spectrum. At the very least, they don't unleash plagues upon the city or summon demons.
Smith Leak had assured him that necromancers were relatively trustworthy. Reed decided to trust Smith's judgment.
"Well then, shall we head in?"
Reed, Loty, Shaka, and Iseline stepped through the entrance into the subterranean sewers. Seven skeletons shuffled after them in a shambling gait.
The party cautiously made their way down the stone stairs.
The sewers, once they reached the bottom, were immense. The vaulted ceiling was remarkably high, and the walls were constructed from sturdy, interlocking stone. The sprawling tunnel was broad enough for five men to walk abreast with room to spare. A canal of murky wastewater coursed down the center, flanked by paved walkways on either side.
Reed stood beside Shaka, who held a burning torch, and let out an appreciative murmur.
"Incredible."
"Right? Hard to believe this infrastructure was built thousands of years ago."
Loty rummaged through his coat and unfolded a subterranean map. Flipping it right side up and squinting to gauge their current position, he pointed ahead.
"Let's keep moving."
The group carefully pressed forward. The dark tunnels were damp, with water occasionally dripping from the arched ceiling above. Reed pinched his nose, peering down into the sewage sluggishly flowing through the central trough. It felt distinctly eerie, as though some vile creature might burst forth from the pitch-black sludge at any second—an impression only amplified by the company of shambling undead at their backs.
Yet nothing untoward happened. No monsters sprang from the muck, and Iseline showed no signs of revealing a treacherous true nature to stab them in the back.
Only then could Reed focus entirely on his duties. Though...
There's barely anything to do.
The subterranean sewer was in astonishingly pristine condition for a facility thousands of years old. Apart from occasionally smearing mortar over hairline fractures in the masonry or checking the structural integrity of pillars and walls, there was hardly any work required. Darahalt had not sent just the two of them for nothing.
If anyone was busy, it was Iseline.
Whenever tangled debris obstructed the flow of wastewater along the culverts, Iseline directed her undead to clear it away.
"Clearing out blockages in a timely manner is paramount! Neglect it, and catastrophe follows! Have you ever seen a mountain creek during the monsoon season? When snapped logs and boulders choke the river's path, water pools behind them. And when that stagnant pool suddenly bursts—kaboom! Complete disaster for anyone downstream! Oh, dear member! Over there, yes, that one. Please clear that away as well!"
"..."
Iseline chattered incessantly. It was, frankly, a bit much. Even though she surely knew Loty and Reed found her unsettling, she did not seem to care in the slightest.
Loty shook his head in exasperation, but after a while, Reed found himself listening to her prattle. Her explanations were surprisingly intriguing. Moreover, as his vague apprehension faded and he realized Iseline was just an ordinary human being, another emotion naturally surfaced to replace his unease.
Curiosity.
Necromancy, huh. It seems to use mana just like when I cast spells. These skeletons look like they're driven by mana too. But the sensation of her mana feels subtly different from mine. More than anything, these undead are absurdly convenient...
"They look terribly convenient, don't they?"
Before Reed even realized it, Iseline had leaned right into his face. As Reed jumped back, she offered him a beaming smile.
"In this life, everyone runs into times when an extra pair of hands is desperately needed, wouldn't you agree? When you're farming and shorthanded, or when you need to move heavy furniture and don't have enough help! At times like that, wouldn't it be wonderful to have our kind, diligent undead members lend a hand?"
Snap!
The undead, which had been mindlessly shoveling gunk, raised their thumbs in unison.
"Join the Necromancer Cooperative, and you too can enjoy the support of these undead members! You'll begin at Bronze tier, and as you recruit more members, you can be promoted at any time. Better yet, you receive a share of the performance dividends from every recruit you bring in! And my goodness, if you sign up today, you'll receive a special complimentary gift—!"
Watching Iseline rattle off her pitch with the speed of a runaway cart, Reed recoiled another half-step.
Isn't this... a textbook multi-level marketing scheme?
Nearby, Loty shook his head with an 'I knew it' look on his face.
Reed ventured cautiously, "Uh... surely this isn't free?"
"All that is required is that you serve our cooperative as an undead laborer for five years post-mortem! Mutual aid, if you will—people helping people! Naturally, once your contract term concludes, you will receive a proper, respectful funeral. And you retain full rights to refuse unjust labor during your service!"
Unable to watch any longer, Loty stepped in to rescue Reed.
"Alright, that's enough out of you. Ignore her, Reed. This is why you can't stand necromancers."
"Oh dear. It seems you need more time to think it over. Feel free to come find me whenever you change your mind! And please don't forget to write my name, Iseline, as your referral!"
Now Reed understood why Loty had been so curt from the beginning. Setting aside the innate aversion to death magic, necromancers were... peddlers. Or rather, aggressive insurance salesmen.
And Reed knew all too well how relentlessly persistent that breed of people could be.
Iseline's bright, cheery smile took on a whole new dimension in his eyes.
She's terrifying in a completely different way.
Iseline was eyeing both Reed and Loty with predatory greed. A ferocious determination radiated from her, practically screaming that she would sign them up as cooperative members and put them to work as undead laborers after they died no matter what.
Just as Reed resolved to keep a healthy distance from her—
"Reed. Someone comes."
Shaka, who had been standing vacantly while darting his tongue out to catch wandering insects, stared toward a side tunnel. Reed turned to look, but saw only pitch-black darkness.
"I don't see anything... oh."
In the very next heartbeat, a dim glow flickered from the depths of the darkened passageway. A group bearing torches emerged, heading in their direction.
The metallic clinking of mail echoed off the stones. They wore armor. And armor meant they carried weapons.
Everyone froze, huddling together. Out in a deserted place like this, armed men wandering through the shadows rarely harbored good intentions.
The undead stepped forward to form a defensive wall across the walkway. Reed gripped his iron shovel firmly, and Loty swallowed hard. Only Iseline maintained her usual beaming smile.
"It seems they've noticed us as well."
Just as Iseline observed, the approaching torches slowed their pace. The other party was evidently on guard against them too.
At last, the distance closed enough for both sides to make out each other's faces in the torchlight. Reed took in their appearance.
Mercenaries?
Four mercenaries clad in armor and sidearms. Curiously, trailing behind them was a bespectacled man carrying a lantern who had the unmistakable air of a scholar.
The mercenaries visibly flinched at the sight of the skeletons. Iseline took a step forward and greeted them loudly.
"Hello! We are currently carrying out official public duties under the direct orders of His Excellency, the Governor. I am Iseline, a Gold-grade member of the Necromancer Cooperative, and these gentlemen are masters from the Stonemasons' Union. Might I ask who you are?"
The Governor.
Public duties.
The Necromancer Cooperative.
The Stonemasons' Union.
Iseline's choice of words made her intention abundantly clear: We are not people you want to cross, so don't even think about trying anything.
The warning did its job. The mercenaries raised both hands in a placating gesture.
"We're just mercenaries. Poking around to see if we might turn up an artifact or two."
"I see! Have you had any success?"
"Haha. As you can see, completely empty-handed."
"My... how unfortunate."
"We'll have to search a bit more. Best of luck with your work, Necromancer."
"May good fortune smile upon you as well."
The exchange was impeccably cordial. Yet neither side took their eyes off the other until the distance between them had completely closed and widened again.
Pleasantries flowed from their lips, but their hands remained inches from cold steel, braced for a sudden draw at any second.
Only after the mercenaries had completely vanished into the gloom did Iseline exhale a soft sigh.
"Whew. They're gone. What a relief they were so polite."
"Does this happen often?"
Iseline nodded. "Quite often, actually. Secret chambers are uncovered in these subterranean sewers from time to time—Treasure Rooms, as they're colloquially called. Finding a magical artifact in one of those chambers fetches a fortune, so many scavengers venture down here."
"Hmm... I see."
It was a fascinating prospect. Reed's curiosity was piqued. A treasure room—didn't that sound thrilling?
Yet as he turned Iseline's explanation over in his mind, something struck him as odd.
"Wait, isn't that strange? This is a sewer system. Why would anyone build treasure rooms in a place like this?"
"Haha! Who could possibly fathom the minds of the ancients? Perhaps they left behind a surprise gift for their descendants!"
"Fascinating."
An ancient enigma! Reed's curiosity deepened. But Loty, who had been listening with a bored expression, merely shook his head.
"Just moths flinging themselves into an empty dream. Though thanks to that delusion, the archaeologists are making a killing. That fellow in glasses earlier was probably an archaeologist himself."
An era has dawned where, for the first time in history, archaeologists never starve.
It was a well-worn joke around Morasil, illustrating just how feverishly people chased the relics of the fallen kingdom.
As if to prove the truth of that obsession, the party crossed paths with several other mercenary bands as they pressed deeper.
There were far more moths chasing the dream of ancient artifacts than Reed had imagined.
Most backed off peacefully upon encountering the skeletons and civil credentials, but a few openly radiated hostility.
"Well now. Hard at work, are we? Is this all of you? No other laborers around?"
"..."
The look in the mercenary's eyes as he slyly probed their numbers was one Reed knew all too well. It was the look he had seen countless times in the slums: the eyes of a predator.
They were deep underground. If someone murdered and looted a small party down here, who would ever know?
Fortunately, that particular mercenary slunk away without incident. But there was no telling what might happen.
He might come back with reinforcements.
Reed spoke up. "Let's keep moving. We should wrap up this work as quickly as possible."
The subterranean sewer was overwhelmingly vast and unnervingly labyrinthine—closer to a subterranean maze than mere civil works.
While that maze-like layout made it unlikely the mercenaries would easily track them down, it was foolish to take chances. Reed resolved to pick up the pace.
"Damn it all! Another goose egg today?!"
"You bastard! You claimed you were an expert in this field! Did you play us for fools?!"
"I-I said I studied archaeology! I never once said I was good at finding relics!"
"Shut your mouth!"
The mercenary grabbed the unfortunate Sewer Archaeologist by the collar and shook him violently.
They had been scouring these subterranean sewers for ten straight days. The dreams of sudden wealth that had fueled the mercenaries at the start were steadily crumbling under the weight of reality.
A companion asked anxiously, "What are we going to do? Our debt is due soon. If we return empty-handed again today..."
"I know, so shut up!"
Snapping back in fury, the lead mercenary bit his fingernails down to the quick. They had gone deep into debt just to purchase gear and hire an archaeologist. If they could not repay what they owed, they would pay with their lives—or worse, be sold into slavery. While forcing someone into chattel slavery was technically illegal, loopholes in the frontier laws were plentiful. At this rate, their auction block was guaranteed.
After a moment of dark brooding, the mercenary muttered, "That necromancer wench earlier... she was dressed pretty well, wasn't she?"
"What? You can't be serious."
"Who's going to find out down here? Am I wrong?"
The hesitant companions exchanged glances and slowly nodded.
They had debts to pay. There was no other way.
Besides, necromancers were wicked creatures who desecrated human corpses. Ridding the world of such filth was practically a righteous act.
Having rationalized their scheme, the mercenaries set off again.
Damn it. I was an idiot.
Chasing after baseless rumors of ancient artifacts had been a mistake from the start. Fortune favored only a lucky few, and he was certainly not one of them. Why had he not accepted that painfully obvious truth sooner?
He was sick to death of these sewers. He never wanted to set foot in this dark, ominous pit again, where it felt as if monsters might lunge from every shadow.
Yeah. No more pipe dreams.
Today would be his last time down here. There were plenty of honest mercenary contracts available across the Demonic Borderlands. He would find proper, steady work.
Right after pulling off one last 'score' today, of course. That necromancer and the stonemasons had looked reasonably loaded.
Just as the mercenary was piecing together his rationalized plan for the future—
The corridor abruptly opened up into a cavernous, plaza-like hall. It was a grand four-way junction where multiple subterranean passages intersected, the sort of wide crossing occasionally found within the ancient sewer network. Why on earth such sprawling plazas existed inside a sewer was a mystery, but mercenaries often used them as resting grounds.
Except this time, someone was already there.
"!"
Dozens of people sat in a wide circle. Every last one of them was completely naked, seated atop an intricate geometric circle drawn in dark, congealed blood. At the center of the formation, an old man was bound tightly with heavy ropes.
Only one person remained standing.
A breathtakingly beautiful fox beastkin. She, too, was entirely nude, and the sheer eroticism of her beauty rooted the mercenaries to the spot, unable to tear their eyes away.
The fox beastkin had chanted an ominous incantation in a tongue incomprehensible—and horrifying—to human ears. As she did, the seated worshippers swayed like reeds in a storm, chanting along in unison with her sinister words.
The mercenaries stared in stunned stupor at the blasphemous ceremony.
And then, the woman brought the chant to its culmination.
The cultists threw their jaws wide open at the same instant. A pale, ghostly mist drifted from their mouths, coiling like serpents through the air before funneling directly into the old man bound at the epicenter.
"Mmph! Mmmph!"
Tears streamed down the old man's face as he thrashed in frantic terror, but his struggles were utterly futile.
Crack. Crunnnch.
As the mist seeped into his flesh, his bones lengthened and splintered, and brand-new arms sprouted from his torso. Much like a caterpillar morphing into a moth, a human being was being forcibly twisted into something that was human no longer.
"Eeeek!"
"W-What in the—?!"
The horrifying spectacle shattered the mercenaries' trance. The Sewer Archaeologist collapsed onto the flagstones, wetting himself in terror.
At the sound of their panic, the woman conducting the ritual slowly turned her head.
Nadja looked upon the intruders and offered them an exquisitely radiant smile.
"Oh dear. It seems we've been spotted."
Reed's party kept up a steady pace, continuing their inspection as they navigated the winding corridors of the subterranean labyrinth.
While the undead diligently shoveled away clotted debris, Loty grumbled under his breath.
"Worthless mayflies, the lot of them. Living hand-to-mouth like that, only to turn into bandits the second their pockets run dry. A man ought to earn his bread through honest, hard labor. Expecting a free lunch without lifting a finger... tsk."
Loty was naturally timid. Running into several shady mercenary bands had clearly set his nerves on edge.
"I mean, think about it logically! The Empire took Morasil decades ago! Do they really think any artifacts would still be lying around? Everything's already been stripped clean!"
"Alright, alright. They're gone now, so you can relax."
"Relax? Who's scared?! Ha! Not me! As if I'd ever be frightened by a bunch of good-for-nothing bums!"
"...I didn't say you were scared."
Loty's grumbling showed no sign of stopping. Fearing his ears would bleed if he kept listening, Reed let the complaints wash over him and focused on inspecting their surroundings.
No matter how often I see it, this place is truly remarkable.
Though Reed had only just taken his first steps as an apprentice stonemason, he could already appreciate the awe-inspiring engineering behind these subterranean tunnels.
Would he ever be able to construct something like this himself?
Probably. If he refined and polished his earth magic day after day, raising an entire subterranean facility with his own hands would hardly be an impossible dream.
Which is why I need to study it closely right now.
Imitation had always been the mother of learning, and to imitate properly, one had to observe with meticulous care.
Reed closely committed the arch designs of the pillars and the structural layout of the walls to memory. Loty's ceaseless chatter beside him actually helped sharpen his focus.
Then, Reed spotted a faint fissure along the lower section of the right-hand wall. He reached out to touch the crack.
Scrape.
The moment his fingertips grazed the surface, the masonry crumbled slightly, and a trickle of loose soil spilled out.
"Huh?"
That was strange. The engineering of the ancients who had built this sewer was astonishingly resilient; crumbling stonework like this was exceedingly rare.
Had even their peerless craftsmanship succumbed to the march of millennia? Or had some desperate mercenaries chipped at the stone in search of hidden compartments?
Reed pressed his palm against the loose soil to pack it back and check the integrity.
As the earth met his skin, Earth Control naturally whispered its secrets into Reed's senses.
Such as... the unmistakable presence of an empty chamber lying just beyond this wall and soil.
"..."
Reed slowly rose to his feet, blinking in disbelief as he turned toward Loty.
Loty was still rambling on with righteous indignation.
"Finding an artifact at this late stage? Ha! Total nonsense! If anything actually turns up here, I'll roast my hands over an open fire!"