The Fifth Lord
How dare he spout such insolence before the White King!
Tearing the wretch limb from limb would still have been too merciful. Passing through the Gate of Myth was an achievement, certainly — but a single feat like that could never place anyone on equal footing with the White King. The myths the White King had forged were beyond counting.
I've thrown the gauntlet.
There was no taking it back now. The bluff was so outrageous it made his own hands and feet curl with secondhand embarrassment — yet the White King would not be able to dismiss it outright. He had ignored a challenge once before and paid dearly for it. Both the Four Pillars and the White King himself had suffered humiliations at Wilhelm's hands worse than death.
The White King looked at him. He smiled back, small and sharp. Their gazes collided in the empty air between them, sparking as if they might catch fire.
"Interesting. And yet… you are not entirely wrong."
The moment the White King conceded the point, the Four Pillars' stares shifted all over again. That the White King would say such a thing to a mere Corpse Crow —!
The White King never spoke empty words. He was an Absolute. If he saw it that way, then that was how it was.
In other words—
The White King regards the Corpse Crow as his equal…
The same thought flooded every one of the Four Pillars at once. An equal. Not some ordinary Corpse Crow, but a true Transcendent being.
"I have no desire to cause a scene either, caw."
This was the moment to take a step back. The White King had yielded — probably as far as he ever would. One step further meant war. And if war began, he would be dead before he even realized it had started. This much sparring was enough. Pushing harder would be walking into a swamp of his own smoke.
"Instead — if you discover what the Star Guardians are searching for, what lies beyond that ultimate mystery — will you tell me what it is?"
"I only need to tell you, caw?"
"I will ask for nothing more. I am simply curious. Whether another star truly exists."
That was all it was. Curiosity. For that alone, the White King had set a crown on his head. There had been a few minor frictions, but all things considered, the matter had resolved cleanly.
"Is there anyone who opposes Randolph becoming the Fifth Lord?"
The White King surveyed the Four Pillars.
"I oppose."
"As do I."
Dae-to-ryong and Gungi stepped forward in dissent. Two votes against.
"And those in favor?"
"Well, we are of the same lineage, after all."
"…"
The Death King and Medusa rose in support. Same lineage — meaning those who dealt in corpses. And Medusa, no doubt, had voted yes so she could keep a closer eye on him.
"Two in favor, two against."
The White King laughed once, loud and thoroughly amused. A unanimous vote would have been far less entertaining. More than that—
A being capable of destroying even a Unique-grade mystery is too valuable to make an enemy of.
Honestly, he was half-skeptical. Whether this Corpse Crow could truly destroy a mystery of the Unique rank remained to be seen. Everything that bore the name Unique was something even the White King could not take lightly. If the crow failed, that would be the end of it. If he reached the edge of the mystery and still could not break it, there would be no need for further caution. But if it were confirmed that the Corpse Crow could destroy even a Unique-grade mystery, the White King had no wish to turn him into an enemy. At the very least, it would prove that the crow's claim — that Kramdel would vanish — was no empty threat. And if he could also persuade those rigid Star Guardians, keeping such a person close could only be useful. Watching and deciding later would not be too late.
"It is decided."
The White King set a hand on his shoulder. With that, three in favor, two against.
"Randolph. From this moment, you are the Fifth Lord."
And just like that — utterly out of nowhere — he became the Fifth Lord. One of the true rulers of Kramdel. A Corpse Crow, standing at the apex of monsters.
In the space the White King left behind, he could feel the Four Pillars' strange gazes fixed on him.
"Fifth Lord. For a time, you will stay in my castle. It seems a fortress of your own will need to be built."
The Death King approached then. King of the Dead. Master of Necrovalley, and the most inscrutable of them all. A colossal frame of massive bone — smaller than a giant, yet radiating mana of far higher purity. The black robe he wore looked ominous at a glance. But he had cast a vote in favor of Randolph becoming Fifth Lord. Proof, at least for now, that he was not an enemy.
"I will not refuse, caw."
"Mm. Tomorrow morning I will announce the birth of a new Lord. Until then you remain a guest, so I shall escort you myself. Is there anywhere you wish to go?"
An escort from the Death King. That was rare.
Perfect timing.
From the beginning, he had intended to approach the Death King. He had never imagined it would unfold like this — but if the Death King was willing to play the friendly host, going deeper would be possible.
"A King of the Dead must be conducting experiments worthy of the title, caw?"
"Of course. Experimentation upon corpses is the very meaning of my existence."
"Then I should like to see your laboratory, caw."
"…You are welcome."
There was a faintly excited edge to the Death King's voice. Those who dealt in death — and the experiments that came with it — were considered such a grotesque hobby that even the other Lords clicked their tongues. There had never been a powerhouse of the same lineage who could truly share that appreciation. The weak only pretended to understand. The strong never truly knew how to look at his art. Not a single one. What would this Corpse Crow be like?
"Then come with me. To my sanctuary."
Outside the White King's hall, Isaac and Isabella waited in mounting agitation.
Insane… the White King?
Isaac in particular felt as though he might suffocate and die on the spot. He had never imagined they would go to have a direct audience with the White King! The vast majority of monsters in Kramdel lived and died without ever seeing the White King's face once. Isaac had been in Kramdel for a full year and had never laid eyes on him either. And yet, in this short span of time, the Star-Chosen had walked straight in to see him.
This has to be a dream.
He pinched his cheek. A sharp sting answered. Pain like that meant this was no dream — it was real. Meeting the Star-Chosen at the hot springs, arriving at the White King's hall alongside the Four Pillars — all of it.
…I should run. Right now. There's no way anyone meets the White King and comes back alive.
If this was reality, the feeling was bad. The Four Pillars were one thing, but the White King was a cold, merciless monster. An unscalable wall. Even the rulers of the Abyss went out of their way to avoid him. No matter how he turned it over, this was madness.
But the truly insane thing happened next.
"…!"
Isaac's eyes bulged as if they might pop from his skull. Two figures were emerging from the White King's hall.
Th-the Death King!
The Death King! One of the Four Pillars — and among them, the most vicious and terrifying. A monster among monsters who seized both soul and corpse and bound them as thralls. Once caught, escape was said to be impossible. And that monster was walking alongside the Star-Chosen.
"Once you see my sanctuary, you will be satisfied."
"I look forward to it, caw."
"You may."
…And somehow, they looked almost friendly. It had to be a dream. In reality, those two would never stroll along like that in easy camaraderie.
Then the Star-Chosen pointed at them and spoke.
"You two, follow as well, caw."
…Damn it. There was no getting out of this now.
I never should have taken the Cataclysm Talisman.
The thought crossed his mind that quietly living out a life in Kramdel would not have been so bad after all. And the thought that he could never go back to that. He had already stepped into the eye of the storm. The moment he accepted the Cataclysm Talisman, his future had been all but sealed.
And so Isaac prayed, and prayed again. Please — let him see the sun rise tomorrow.
The Death King's laboratory. A secret zone deep beneath his castle. The moment Isaac stepped inside, he had no choice but to clamp a hand over his nose.
"Urgh…!"
He barely swallowed back the retch rising in his throat. The smell was one thing — but more than that—
This is the most vile hobby I have ever seen in my life.
Corpses of every kind were gathered in every form imaginable. Hung from the ceiling. Impaled on the walls. Strewn across the floor. Even Isabella, who rarely showed emotion, faintly creased her brow. It went far beyond mere horror.
"Magnificent, caw."
…Magnificent? And it did not sound like empty flattery. There was genuine sincerity in the Star-Chosen's voice.
"You think so?"
"I can feel an artistic sensibility in it, caw."
"Haha! As expected of the same lineage — you know how to look. If there is a particular piece you desire, I shall give you one."
A piece?
These corpses are pieces?
Isaac could not begin to comprehend the two of them's sense of art. He could not even tell what they were laughing and chatting about in shared appreciation.
Grrk. Grrrrk.
And things he had taken for corpses were moving, subtly. They were alive.
A den of undead.
Of every dreadful sight Isaac had witnessed in his life, this ranked first without contest. He could not understand why the Star-Chosen had come here at all. He glanced at Isabella just in case; she slowly shook her head. Just follow quietly.
Then the Star-Chosen pointed toward one corner of the laboratory and asked,
"Then can you give me that one as well, caw?"
The Death King stopped cold. The playful atmosphere of moments before evaporated as if it had been deleted outright. What Randolph had pointed to — what the Corpse Crow had asked whether he could have — was one of the Death King's most treasured prizes.
"…So you truly do know how to look."
The Death King's tone turned thoroughly serious. As if everything until now had been a test, a performance of probing. Because even countless artists of the corpse had failed to properly recognize his art. They either pretended to see, or forced agreement out of fear. And those, he had immediately carved the eyes out of. To stand before such fantastical art and not respond was a sin. What use did eyes have on creatures who could not even see art properly?
He had assumed the Corpse Crow would be one of that sort as well. Recognition from the White King was one thing — art was an entirely different domain.
I never imagined he would pick that one out at a glance.
From the start, nothing else had interested him. Randolph had selected the art piece the Death King cherished most. This was not pretending to see. This Corpse Crow had truly recognized his art. He understood art.
A corpse bound to the wall. It held the shape of a human woman, yet there was no face above the neck. And yet, among everything he had created, that one was the most dangerous experimental subject. Ordinary in appearance — and the Death King's greatest masterpiece.
"That is the finest art I have ever made. I captured a human who had once been an Eldritch and fashioned her. A body carrying that catastrophic curse is a material one rarely encounters."
Pride saturated every word of the Death King's voice.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Then it happened. With a deep vibration, armor began to clad itself around the corpse. Radiating tremendous curse and mana, the being strained to shatter its sealing sphere.
"Khhehheh. As expected of my greatest masterpiece. To think it would try to break even the Warhorse's sealing sphere!"
Listening to those words, he clicked his tongue inwardly.
One step too late.
Priest Andrew's daughter. The corpse bound inside that sealing sphere was Andasar.
…Andasar had already become a headless undead — a Dullahan.
Inviolable.
Two years ago, when he had set out on the White King hunt. Even then, he had already known the Death King had taken Andasar as an experimental subject.
Back then I thought it was some kind of special event.
Andasar, turned into an Eldritch by a cursed black grimoire, becoming the Death King's experimental subject and triggering a special event — that was what he had assumed at the time. Besides, he had been entirely occupied with forcing the Four Pillars to their knees and luring out the White King. His whole mind had been fixed on the White King, and Priest Andrew had never asked him to find his daughter.
She still had a face back then.
Now she had none. A Dullahan. An undead called the headless knight. Strengthened by the Death King, her power went without saying — but the problem was the space above her neck.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Andasar's body thrashed as if trying to smash the sealing sphere and free itself from its bonds.
"As you can see, she has not yet stabilized. I did offer, but I cannot hand over an unfinished work."
The Death King had been fully prepared to give a gift — a greeting between kindred artists of discerning eye. But this Dullahan was incomplete.