The Dead Do Not Yield
“Yes, that is correct.”
Even without the Death Reaper unit I had received directly from Georges, the undead forces I could summon were considerable in both variety and number.
I could perform necromancy to a modest degree myself. Just as I had once wielded the witches’ magic through my Puppet Crows, I could borrow the power of other contracted entities to manufacture Death Knights—something normally beyond a summoner’s reach.
Of course, I could never match true necromancers, yet undead remained highly efficient and convenient summons even for a summoner.
Because they lacked self-awareness, controlling them through a mental link was far simpler, and no pain ever traveled back through the connection. The cold, unpleasant death energy that composed their bodies still pressed against my mind whenever the link was active, but it was tolerable. Most importantly, they possessed no life to begin with.
Even the lowest creatures, driven only by primal instinct, experienced something heavy in the moment of death. Any summoner who had ever deeply linked with a summon’s soul and consciousness would agree: commanding summons was nothing like moving chess pieces, nor was it the same as leading ordinary soldiers.
While the link remained, we felt their deaths and shared their final moments. Even if they themselves never understood what was happening, the weight of their lives struck the heart and soul like a suddenly tilting scale.
Yet undead had neither self nor life. They were simply tools—swords or arrows given form. For a summoner forced to call forth creatures only to watch them die in battle, what could be more merciful than such a summon?
That was why I had never let an opportunity to obtain undead slip by. Sometimes I manufactured them myself, but most of my forces had been secured by reasserting control over leaderless undead after battles.
Of course, when facing the Death Army, their command could be seized outright, so my options were always limited.
“Death Knights, who ignore ordinary blades and resist lesser spells—their infamy is something anyone who remembers the last war will never forget.”
At the queen’s words, a shadow passed over the faces of the older knights and royal guards. During the war, the Demon King’s army that had primarily attacked the Ayman Kingdom had consisted mostly of monster legions and Denatel’s regular forces, but the Death Army had occasionally joined them. Whenever that happened, the presence of Death Knights had been a crushing burden on the soldiers.
How many knights and soldiers had met the same fate beneath their dead blades? It was not a memory anyone wished to recall. Yet before the atmosphere could darken further, the queen—whose tone had been relatively calm until now—spoke again, her voice suddenly firm and resolute.
“But everyone here also remembers that those same Death Knights were ultimately defeated by our brave warriors!”
Expressions that had begun to stiffen softened visibly; the gathering shadows lifted. The crowd was already hanging on her every word.
“Although Sir Mornt and Sir Ranit did not fight in the great war themselves, everyone present agrees that both are outstanding warriors and swordsmen. So why not use this opportunity to prove it? What do you think, Sir Anak, and the two of you?”
The knights drew their swords at once, as though they had been waiting for the invitation. After such words from the queen, the two hot-blooded young men could hardly refuse.
“I am grateful merely for the chance.”
“I will not bring shame to the achievements of my seniors.”
And of course, I had neither reason nor freedom to back down either. At my gesture, frosty sigils appeared in the air, and two Death Knights stepped forth.
At the sight of the imposing black armor and pale, withered faces, the watching women swallowed small screams without realizing it. The two knights, however, looked faintly disappointed that only two had appeared.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Sir Anak.”
“I’m glad to be of help.”
I strengthened the link with the Death Knights and positioned each to face one of the knights. The young men were clearly underestimating their opponents. Against ordinary Death Knights, swordsmen who could wield Sword Qi would indeed hold the advantage, but these were Death Knights forged by the Demon King’s Death Army. Even if they were not on the level of the Death Reaper unit, their quality far surpassed that of common Death Knights.
“I advise you not to underestimate them. The performance of a Death Knight from the Death Army changes drastically depending on who is linked to it.”
Undead grew stronger the deeper the link with their master. This was partly because they received mana or death energy from the summoner, but more importantly, a soulless body animated only by false life reacted to the summoner’s soul. In place of the soul it should have possessed, the summoner’s soul filled the void, drawing the false existence closer to something real.
“And right now, the one linked to these two is me.”
At my will, the Death Knights drew their swords. The two knights exchanged glances with me, and I nodded to signal the start of the match.
The knights and Death Knights lunged at one another. Their skill was truly impressive. Clearly, neither had gone all out in their previous bout. Their movements were far faster now—more than a beat quicker than the Death Knights. Sir Ranit’s thrusts, in particular, were difficult to parry because they were not slashes but piercing strikes.
Had they wielded rapiers instead of broadswords, or had I been seeing through the Death Knights’ eyes via the link rather than watching from the side, I might not have been able to block them.
By a hair’s breadth, the Death Knights managed to deflect the knights’ blades. The dull impact transmitted through the swords made the young men’s expressions harden. While Sir Ranit chose to leap back and create distance, Sir Mornt instead pressed inward.
Sir Mornt’s relentless assault was precise and sharp, yet it was a style meant for the living. The Death Knight ignored the blade coming for its arm and drove its fist straight into Sir Mornt’s shoulder. The impact sent him staggering backward.
Even as he tried to exploit the opening, a faint Sword Qi traced a wide arc through the air, forcing the Death Knight to retreat. Good. They had finally realized how to fight these opponents.
Not only Sir Mornt, who had taken a hit, but even Sir Ranit—who had kept his distance earlier—now cloaked his blade in Sword Qi.
Of course, ordinary attacks meant little to already-dead Death Knights. Against armored ones, the effect of blade strikes or moderate impacts was severely limited.
That was why ordinary soldiers and knights on the battlefield had only two real options against Death Knight units: aim for the head, or have cavalry trample them underfoot. Everything else was nearly useless.
Usually, the best tactic had been to hold out until mage units or priests could provide support. But when Sword Qi entered the equation, everything changed.
Powerful Sword Qi could cut through armor and sever the very death energy sustaining a Death Knight’s false life. A blade wreathed in Sword Qi could inflict lethal wounds upon their dead flesh just as it would upon the living.
Sir Mornt and Sir Ranit corrected their stances and charged again. Against blades infused with Sword Qi, ordinary swords and armor were meaningless. Certainty of victory shone in their eyes. Ending the match here would not have been a bad outcome either—it would prove the young knights’ skill and satisfy the silent onlookers.
Clang!
But I did not allow it. The knights’ Sword Qi-clad blades were stopped cold by the black light enveloping the Death Knights’ swords. Through the link, I saw disbelief flicker across their faces.
They quickly retreated or launched follow-up attacks, yet they clearly had not expected their empowered strikes to be blocked.
“Being able to wield Sword Qi at your age is certainly remarkable talent. An ordinary Death Knight would have been bisected by that blow. But as I said earlier, a Death Knight’s performance depends entirely on who is linked to it.”
After exchanging several more blows, the knights chose to create distance once more. Their gazes remained fixed on the black light around the Death Knights’ swords; they did not look at me. Sir Mornt, unable to contain himself, finally asked while still watching the blades.
“…Sword Qi?”
They could not tear their eyes away from the dark glow.
“It is not Sword Qi. An undead without soul or life cannot produce Sword Qi.”
Though, of course, the rare undead that retained some semblance of a soul after a half-resurrection would be a different matter.
“I have concentrated death energy and dark fighting spirit into the blades. It may not match the Sword Qi of master swordsmen, but fortunately, it is enough to stop yours.”
It could never compare to the overwhelming dark fighting spirit Georges had once unleashed while linked to the Death Knights, yet even this much was well within my capabilities.
“This may not align with the spirit of a swordsmanship banquet, but I suggest you give it everything you have.”
With the soul synchronization rate raised further, the Death Knights lunged at my command. Their blades, infused with concentrated dark fighting spirit, were sharp, swift, and heavy. The two knights met them with Sword Qi of their own, but their movements had grown stiff—perhaps from the earlier failures and the blow to their momentum.
Moreover, their still-immature Sword Qi grew thinner with each passing moment and wavered unsteadily whenever it clashed with the Death Knights’ blades.
They reminded me of Rowell when he had first begun to grasp Sword Qi. Though the purity and power were different, Rowell had also struggled for a time with maintaining it.
Of course, Rowell had awakened the instinctive method to strengthen and stabilize his Sword Qi during his duel with Raiven, but expecting the same from these two would be too harsh.
Honestly, they were not strong enough to serve as such formidable opponents anyway. Even if they were momentarily pushed back in terms of momentum, their raw skill was still superior. Once they grew accustomed to fighting the unfamiliar Death Knights and found the right method, victory would be theirs. The only question was whether they could endure until that moment arrived.
Through the linked consciousness of the Death Knights, the sensation of swinging a sword flowed back to me. It had been a long time since I had focused entirely on controlling summons without worrying about my own safety. Because there were two Death Knights rather than one, I had to split my attention, yet the feeling was still closer to moving my own body than usual.
Even if it was only through the Death Knights, wielding a sword again after so long felt strangely novel. I had not fought with nothing but a blade since my academy days—never calling on spells or other summons.
Of course, there had been moments during the great war when I had been left with only a single sword after exhausting both summons and mana, but that had been more like holding a weapon than actually fighting with it.
The two young knights’ skill was truly impressive. Even as they blocked or redirected the Death Knights’ attacks, they continued to counterattack. Though the wounds were not fatal, shallow cuts were steadily accumulating on the armor and limbs.
Yet their expressions were far from pleased. Unless they could inflict decisive damage, the fight would inevitably turn into a war of attrition. The accumulating minor wounds would eventually either break the Death Knights or exhaust the knights’ stamina and Sword Qi.
Either outcome would bring them no glory. It would only prove that the two most skilled young knights at the banquet had struggled against a single Death Knight each. Still, they seemed unable to think of any other approach. They merely repeated the cycle of gaining small advantages in clashes before retreating again.
‘I suppose there’s no helping it. Time to give them a hint.’