The Ruler of Deathland
According to what Simon had learned in his Summoning class, the dark magic that necromancers used to raise corpses as zombies fell into two broad categories.
Raise Zombie.
Summon Zombie.
Raise Zombie was the dark magic for producing instant zombies—crude things meant to fight for only a few hours on a desperate battlefield. Summon Zombie, by contrast, took time and care, but allowed the caster to craft a semi-permanent zombie intended to serve as a long-term familiar.
And the subject of Professor Aaron's assessment this time was, naturally, Summon Zombie.
Simon had planned to handle everything alone, but at some point the other members of his group had quietly settled into positions around him, each lending a hand.
"Simon, the 'Frenzy' modifier in the magic circle is rejecting the corpse. We'll have to swap the whole thing out."
"Ah, got it."
"The actomyosin in the body's having an adverse reaction as the summoning spell activates!"
"That'll be because Deathland is a place where decay never sets in. We can just proceed as is."
Feeling a little touched despite himself, Simon threw himself into completing the magic circle. Focus. I have to make the most of Deathland's unique environment. Strip out every formula related to preservation and decay.
Taking the surroundings into account, he streamlined the complex equations as far as they would go, then activated the magic circle.
Thud. Thud.
The armored guard who had been lying dead convulsed, his whole body shaking as if in the grip of a seizure.
"Everyone, get back!" Dick shouted. "Right after a summoning spell fires, it can become maximally aggressive toward the living!"
All four of them retreated to a safe distance. At last, the corpse rose smoothly to its feet. Fortunately, it showed no signs of aggression—it simply stood there, mouth hanging open, staring blankly into space.
"I-It worked, right?"
"Looks like it."
The four of them let out a collective sigh of relief. Simon, as the caster, next connected his mind to the zombie's residual thoughts. No rejection response, no side effects.
"Let's test its attack."
Simon ordered the zombie through his will to strike a nearby tree. The guard zombie dragged its armor along as it charged, gnawing at the bark with its teeth, clawing at the trunk with its nails—pressing the attack with genuine enthusiasm.
"Hmm." Meilin bent at the waist, studying the zombie's movements. "Aggression is fully implemented, and there's corpse venom seeping from the teeth and nails. Shame it limps a little—must have hurt its leg before dying—but this is passable."
Straightening up, Meilin finally nodded. "Yeah. A zombie of this quality guarantees us at least a middle-tier score or better."
"Great work, everyone!"
The hardest part was finally behind them. They set down their heavy hearts and chatted among themselves; the zombie would be stored in Simon's subspace for safekeeping, being his summon.
"Hnnngh—ah!" Meilin stretched, her whole body shuddering. "So now we just head back the way we came, down the sewer to camp, and get the professor to inspect it, right?"
Dick blinked at her. "Huh. That's surprisingly restrained."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I figured you'd want to ransack every grave in sight until you dug up an even better zombie."
"No thank you."
Meilin shook her head hard. "I don't want to push it that far out here. That whole talk about Talhern earlier already put me on edge. Let's just go back to camp."
"Sounds good!" The other three nodded along.
"Though…" Simon, who had been sweeping their surroundings with his eyes, spoke with a stiffened face. "I don't think getting back is going to be so easy."
"Hm? Why?"
Whoooosh. A cool wind blew, and the brush began to sway.
"What's that over there?"
Simon answered only with a slow, silent nod. A moment later, corpses with their spines bent backward at unnatural angles began rising out of the brush.
"Z-Zombies!"
"They were here too?!"
Crash!
Shatter!
Then the manor's glass windows exploded outward. When they turned, they saw zombies pouring from the windows in a flood—individuals that had fallen from the fourth and fifth floors hit the ground and scrambled upright at once.
"Holy crap! Where did they all come from?!"
"Run!"
Without needing to decide who went first, they sprinted in the opposite direction of the advancing horde. Their search for zombies had carried them all the way around to the rear of the manor, which meant they had a long way to run to reach the sewer entrance.
Already this many… Simon stared toward the garden and let out a grim murmur. The once-beautiful grounds were now teeming with zombies swarming in from every direction.
What was going on?
There had been zombies in the manor as well. If they'd meant to attack, why not attack from the start? It almost felt as if they had deliberately lured the group deep inside, waiting for reinforcements to arrive.
Of course, zombies couldn't possibly possess that level of intelligence or tactics. And yet the suspicion in his mind swelled like a snowball.
"This way!"
There were far too many undead in the garden. Simon's group decided to circle around behind the warehouse building beside the manor—but zombies were guarding that side too.
"There's seriously no end to them!"
"Go!"
At this rate, they would have to smash through the encirclement by brute force.
Dick and Meilin took the lead, cutting down zombies in a frantic blur—but Simon alone quietly slowed his steps. Taking position behind the warehouse building, he pulled an imaginary lever.
If this goes on, someone's going to get hurt. I'll need to borrow some strength here, Pier.
Vwooom!
From this angle, hidden by the warehouse, none of his groupmates could see the subspace. It split open, and Pier and the legionified skeletons came pouring out.
[Khh hhh! It's me! Wreaking havoc is welcome whenever, wherever!]
Pier slung his greatsword over his shoulder. [But if you fight alongside me like this, your friends are bound to find out you're a Legion Commander, no?]
'They won't.' Simon grinned. 'This is Deathland—the paradise of the undead. There's nothing strange about skeletons battling zombies here, is there?'
[Ahh!]
'Pier, you act as a separate detachment. We move as if we don't know each other at all.'
[Kahaha! Understood!]
In short: play the part of Deathland's native monsters.
Pier moved off with the legionified skeletons in tow, and Simon sprinted back to his group, rejoining them as if nothing had happened.
"Wow, this is getting seriously dangerous."
Dick muttered it under his breath. They had dispatched the zombies blocking their path, but nearly a hundred of them now stood between the group and the sewer. Worse, their numbers were swelling by the second, the encirclement tightening all the while.
Meilin bit her lip and stared down at her Tongue Pad. She seemed to be hesitating over whether to send the rescue signal.
But her worries vanished in an instant.
KWAKWAKWAKWAKWAKWAKWA!
A colossal slash carved straight through the densely packed zombie formation.
[KAHAHAHAHA!]
A towering skeleton bearing a pure-white greatsword plunged into the swarm of zombies. With a single swing of that blade, he reaped them by the dozens. Right behind him, the legionified skeletons followed, slaughtering zombies alongside Pier.
"…Huh?"
"Skeletons versus zombies? A turf war?"
Simon did his best to play dumb. "Don't know what's going on, but this is our chance! Run!"
Simon's group bolted for the sewer, while Pier and the skeleton unit carried out their detachment duty with flying colors. On the surface it looked like mindless carnage, but Pier kept drawing the zombies' attention while shadowing Simon's group, occasionally sending a slash flying to destroy any zombies drifting their way.
"Whoa! Whoa! That's so freaking badass!"
Even mid-sprint for his life, Dick's eyes stayed locked on Pier. "That sword! That cape! Whoa! It's every necromancer's dream! Isn't he insane, Simon? If I had one undead like that, I'd never want for anything again!"
"Y-yeah." Simon forced a smile.
"But isn't it a little weird, though?" Meilin said. "Are those really skeletons native to Deathland? Why do they seem to be helping us?"
"What, it's a coincidence, obviously."
That was Dick's reply, but Simon was wearing a very uncomfortable expression. Ngh. So it does look a bit contrived.
Well, it was understandable—the Legion happened to be advancing in roughly the same direction as the group. Simon jabbed his finger at Pier's duplicate. Pier, you can see my position, right?
[Yeah, I see it.]
'Take precise aim at our position and fire one slash. I'll see it coming and react somehow.'
[Kahaha! You absolute maniac!]
Still, he apparently intended to do exactly as he was told—a flash burst from Pier's side at once.
[Ten paces ahead of your current position.]
Simon reacted instantly. The massive slash was bearing down on them.
"Meilin!"
Simon grabbed Meilin, who was running ahead of him, and tackled her to the ground. The very next instant, the slash swept through the spot where the two of them had been standing.
Dick and Camibarez shrieked and landed hard on their backsides where they stood.
KUGUGUGUGUGUGUGU!
Amid billowing smoke, a massive scar was gouged into the earth.
"Wow, holy crap…" Dick laughed shakily as he stared at the slash's aftermath. "So, uh. Who called that monster an ally again?"
Simon scrambled to his feet. "Meilin! You okay?"
"…"
She had been staring blankly, her face flushed crimson—and then she jolted back to her senses. "Ah! Yeah. Thanks."
"Here it comes again!"
Pier was hurling indiscriminate slashes in every direction. The ground shook violently, buildings collapsed, and debris rained down. Ducking the falling fragments, all four of them ran like mad.
[Was the timing alright?]
'Nice!'
As he fled, Simon subtly gave Pier's duplicate a thumbs-up. The duplicate snickered.
"There it is! I can see the sewer!"
While Pier and the skeletons held back the horde, Simon's group made it safely to the sewer cover. Once again Meilin screened their vision with Jet-Black flames while Dick scattered sound-making music boxes at intervals around them.
Simon lifted the cover, and the three of them nimbly descended the ladder. Simon came down last, easing the cover shut without a sound—and Dick enchanted it firmly into place for good measure.
"Haaah."
"We made it."
They all heaved out the sighs they'd been holding.
"Let's get back to camp fast. That place is definitely not normal."
"A hundred percent, a thousand percent agreed."
The four of them descended the ladder and walked the sewer tunnel. The zombies above hadn't followed them down, and the tension that had squeezed their bodies slowly began to melt away. Conversation started up in low, easy voices.
"By the way, wasn't that skeleton squad insanely cool? Whoa! That one guy's probably the ruler of Deathland, right?"
"Give it a rest, Dick."
Meilin chided him, and Simon—since the topic was already out there—tapped Pier's duplicate lightly with his fingertip. Pier, how's it going?
[There's a hell of a lot of them, but no problem. We'll fight for a while, then pull back and rendezvous with you.]
'Got it. Thank you.'
Somehow or other, it seemed they'd made it through this mission unscathed. The only regret? They hadn't found a single clue about Prince.
Simon wanted to explore more of Deathland.
But he couldn't think of a plausible excuse to push ahead on a search alone while abandoning his groupmates. If he said he was going alone, they'd all insist it was too dangerous and insist on coming along.
'…!'
Simon stopped dead. A sudden chill raced up his spine.
What the wind carried in was the sickening stench of corpses.
Camibarez, walking at his side, gave him an odd look. "What's wrong, Simon?"
"Everyone, stop."
Dick, leading the way, raised his arm. "Someone's coming from the other side."
Thud. Thud.
Footsteps were echoing down the sewer. With the tunnel sealed above and below, the sound carried with unusual clarity.
Meilin spoke in a tiny voice. "Who is it? A zombie?"
"The footsteps sound too normal for a zombie."
"Maybe it's Kizen students who came in through the sewers like us?"
Simon shook his head. "In that case, we'd hear at least two sets of footsteps. No Kizen student would wander a place this dangerous alone."
Step. Step—
Drag. Drag. Drag—
Everyone waited, throats tight, swallowing hard.
[Hm.]
And what emerged from the darkness was a boy of uncanny appearance.
He looked to be about twelve, with strikingly grey skin. He wore the fine formal robes of an aristocratic young lord, and atop his head sat a crown.
The boy was dragging something along the ground behind him.
It was the carcass of a horse, reeking horribly of decay. Its flank had been gnawed open by some wild beast, leaving a gaping hole.
Wh-who is that?
It went without saying that this was no ordinary person.
Just as everyone's nerves were pulled taut, the boy flung the horse's carcass down in front of the four of them. They flinched at the grotesque sight and stumbled backward.
[My name is Prince.]
The boy said.
[I am the Ruler of Deathland.]