Chapter 65
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 65
Chapter Title: Myeongwang (1)
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Necro Castle.
It had existed even before the Necromancer Society was established, serving as the central hub supplying all the energy used by the Necromancer Society and the very core of this underworld.
True to its name as a castle, Necro Castle bore the unmistakable traces of the architectural techniques from the era when it first arrived in the underworld. It exuded an antique grandeur while harmoniously blending building methods from various centuries.
From the Renaissance architecture dominant at the end of the 16th century, through the Baroque styles of the 17th century, the Rococo techniques of the 18th century, and even up to modern constructions.
The intricate mix of diverse styles in every room and corridor not only revealed how long Necro Castle had endured but also perfectly mirrored Myeongwang's own personality.
As Kang Sa-hu strolled freely through the castle's interior, Dullahans standing guard here and there recognized him and offered greetings.
Bow.
A Dullahan placed its own head atop its left hand and bowed deeply. Kang Sa-hu returned the gesture by inclining his head.
But these soulless Dullahans, lacking any will of their own, could only deliver mechanical salutes—no conversation possible. Once the exchange ended, they marched off with heavy steps to resume their patrols, just like machines.
Kang Sa-hu walked through the castle's interior, which seemed not merely vast but boundless. He took his time now, slowly tracing a corridor he hadn't traversed in ages.
Seven years had passed, yet to Necro Castle—which had stood unyielding for over four centuries—that was no significant span. The inside hadn't changed much at all.
Unlike the outside world, where circumstances shifted rapidly and buildings sprang up or were torn down daily, Necro Castle remained unaltered. There was a certain joy in beholding its unchanged form, preserved exactly as he remembered.
As he ambled down the corridor at a leisurely pace, a frantic clattering echoed from the opposite direction—the sharp rattle of bones colliding hastily.
"...?"
Wondering who could possibly make such a racket inside Necro Castle, Kang Sa-hu glanced over. Twelve skeletons were charging straight toward him, their hollow eye sockets brimming with fiery red energy like blazing embers.
[Ya! Sa-hu! Out for a stroll?! Huh?! Why're you dragging your feet like that!]
Kang Sa-hu pulled a troubled face upon hearing Myeongwang's voice emanate from the jawbone of the lead skeleton.
"Did you seriously summon skeletons just for me?"
[Damn right! I was losing my mind waiting, so I sent 'em to carry you! No refusals! Hop on already! Hurry it up!]
The skeletons set down the bone palanquin strapped to their backs.
Faced with this over-the-top welcome, Kang Sa-hu nearly blurted, "I'd rather sprint there right now—call 'em off!" But seeing the skeletons stamping their feet impatiently, infused with Myeongwang's will, he meekly climbed aboard the bone conveyance.
[Hang on tight!]
The skeletons carefully hoisted the palanquin with Kang Sa-hu inside.
Clatter-clatter-clatter.
As the twelve skeletons synchronized their steps, the ceaseless clash of bones rang out.
Trapped aboard the bone palanquin Myeongwang had so thoughtfully prepared, Kang Sa-hu gave a wry smile and peered out the side window at the passing corridor.
Even with skeletons bearing the carriage on two legs, their pace was unnaturally swift.
In less than fifteen minutes aboard, Kang Sa-hu arrived deep within the castle where Myeongwang awaited and disembarked.
Wooong.
Upon reaching the central spire, immense waves of spirit and qi crashed over him.
For any ordinary necromancer, it was a force potent enough to overwhelm them utterly, shattering their soul into scattered fragments.
Yet Kang Sa-hu advanced with calm strides toward the very source of that power.
Kwaaaaah!
The energy that powered the entire Necromancer Society surged toward Kang Sa-hu, but he deftly soothed the swirling spirit and qi, diverting it aside.
Like a determined salmon battling upstream, he gently parted the onslaught and pressed forward. Before long, a massive door appeared—the gateway to the chamber where Myeongwang resided.
Kang Sa-hu regarded the barrier before him with impassive eyes.
Height: 6.35 meters. Width: 3.98 meters. Thickness: 0.85 meters.
Weighing over seven tons no less, it was a door intricately carved with motifs both eerie and noble, somber yet majestic.
Kang Sa-hu silently contemplated "The Gates of Hell," personally crafted for Myeongwang by Auguste Rodin, the great French sculptor and painter of old. Then he placed his hand at its center.
Groooan—
The seven-ton-plus door groaned ponderously as it began to swing open.
At that instant, the tremendous spirit and qi he'd sensed upon entering the spire doubled in ferocity.
If the spire had felt like immersion in water, the aura beyond these Gates of Hell was more akin to sinking into a fetid swamp.
An overpowering might that would suffocate even seasoned handlers of spirit and qi.
Kang Sa-hu cleaved through it and stepped ahead. A vast hall unfolded, its floor etched floor to ceiling with an intricate magic circle.
And at the circle's heart stood a throne.
As he paused to regard it, Myeongwang—who had sat with eyes closed, seemingly asleep—opened hers.
Shhhrrrk.
Myeongwang turned her neck, and the strands of her long hair rustled against one another.
Not protein fibers, but slender bones comprising each filament, masquerading as pristine white locks.
Her eyes gleamed not with mere crimson pigment but with actual blood sloshing vividly within. She gazed down at Kang Sa-hu in silence.
And then.
"Waaah—! Sa-huuu—!"
From her perch atop the five-meter-high throne, Myeongwang leaped down and burst into heaving sobs.
Myeongwang, weeping literal blood tears that dripped crimson rivulets, finally calmed after Kang Sa-hu spent a solid thirty minutes patting her back. Only then did the bawling subside.
The petite Myeongwang—barely 160 cm tall—wiped the bloody streaks from her cheeks and looked up at Kang Sa-hu.
"How long has it been, seriously!"
"Tell me about it. Time really flies."
Kang Sa-hu offered a soft smile in reply, then dropped to one knee.
Startled by the sudden kneel, Myeongwang blinked in confusion before her face lit up with realization. She hastily extended her right hand.
Kang Sa-hu clasped it reverently with both of his and spoke.
"Necromancer Kang Sa-hu pays his respects to Myeongwang."
"Well come, thou—the greatest necromancer in history, Kang Sa-hu."
Kang Sa-hu gave a wry smile at Myeongwang's flourish, complete with the archaic title she'd personally coined.
Once the formal necromancer pleasantries concluded, Myeongwang beamed like a child matching her apparent age and pulled Kang Sa-hu into a fierce hug.
"I've missed you so much. Everything okay while you were gone?"
"Quite a lot's happened, actually."
Her casual "no issues?" met with "plenty," Myeongwang's eyes widened anew—but she quickly caught on and nodded.
"The Cataclysm, right? I heard about it. Even saw some of the awakened necromancers. Man, the world's spinning wild. Feels like the internet popped up just yesterday."
A girl calling the Third Industrial Revolution—decades past—"just yesterday" would've baffled any outsider. But Kang Sa-hu, a necromancer who knew her true nature, found it perfectly natural.
Long ago, when necromancer persecution crested.
Under the banner of "witch hunts," sorceresses, druids, and necromancers were rounded up.
Slaughtered by blade or pyre at "religious inquisitions," victims of blind prejudice.
In 1600, the hunts' zenith, she evaded their gaze, fleeing to this underworld. Huddled here, she forged the Necromancer Society—their sovereign, Myeongwang. She alone held the right to such words.
Dead at just eighteen, revived with her mind frozen in that era.
For over four centuries since, she'd propped up the Society, denied even sunlight, shackled to that magic circle.
Kang Sa-hu clenched his jaw, unbidden pity clouding his gaze.
Seemingly oblivious, Myeongwang's blood-filled eyes sparkled with delight as she inspected him eagerly.
"Wow, Sa-hu, you've bulked up huge! Heard the news! Awakened as a necromancer, huh? Knew slapping you with 'history's strongest necromancer' was spot-on!"
Unable to venture out herself, Myeongwang gleaned the outer world vicariously through videos necromancers showed her on phones. She bombarded him with bubbly questions.
"Ji-ye's doing good? I miss her. Anything special going on lately? Fun stuff?"
Humans felt deep loneliness even wandering free, if alone.
Yet Myeongwang had spent over four centuries confined beyond the circle—ever wary her overflowing power might doom the Society. She sealed her chamber behind the Gates of Hell.
Barring the rare few necromancers permitted entry, she met no one face-to-face. Always parched for knowledge and news.
Kang Sa-hu watched her bubbling enthusiasm with a faint, faintly bittersweet smile.
"Alright then, shall we sit and catch up properly?"
"Yeah! Tell me all the fun or weird stuff! Oh, skip the Cataclysm—I got that from the elders already!"
Brimming with excitement, she willed bones into a chair and desk in seconds. She clambered briefly onto her bone throne, snatched two plush cushions, and hopped down.
They settled onto the bone chairs, cushions softening the seats. Kang Sa-hu gave her a concise rundown of his half-year saga.
The Cataclysm erupting from a Gate Break at the hospital.
The government's frantic countermeasures.
The era when hunters still floundered, useless.
The B-rank gate fiasco and the hunters it broke.
But now—thanks to him, other guilds, and military special forces—hunters rallying once more.
And founding his own guild amid it all.
Condensing half a year's chaos meant glossing some bits, but he omitted no major beats.
Myeongwang hung on every word, eyes saucer-wide, murmuring "wow, whoa" in rapt fascination.
Naturally, as Myeongwang, her focus sharpened on necromancer tidbits.
"This Meister guy's got albinism?"
"Yes. Definitely."
"I see... Poor kid. Must've suffered."
"It's changed a lot now. No more shunning or witch-hunt vibes for albinism."
Memories flooded her: witch-hunt fever pitch, when foes branded "white hair, red eyes equals witch" to hunt her—slaughtering countless albinos in the process. Her nose tingled.
"Sniff."
Dredging up old pains, she snorted. Kang Sa-hu handed over his prepared handkerchief.
Familiar with the drill, she snatched it and honked her nose with gusto.
"Snort. Ahem. Geez, getting all weepy in my old age."
"Not at all. Oh, speaking of—you probably know already, but Verdakt Kyung mentioned big problems cropping up lately before I came. What's going on?"
"Ah, that..."
Myeongwang's face clouded over at the word "problems."