King of the Dead

Then is the nameless Constellation the Great Sage Equal to Heaven?

It was a little strange, admittedly. The original master of the Gingoa was Shakyamuni Buddha. But Buddha himself hardly seemed the type to transform a strand of his own hair into the Gingoa. If someone had disguised a hair as the hoop specifically to steer my choice, the Great Sage was the far more likely culprit.

Either way.

I'll put it to good use.

I fully intended to exploit the skill I had stolen from Ahram with the Gingoa without the slightest restraint. First, though, there was something I had to do.

Skill theft!

In that instant Ahram convulsed in horror, twisting his entire body like a wrung-out rag.

"Y-you thieving bastard… Graaaaaagh!"

A Unique Skill.

Not an ordinary ability, but one forged from the life and experience of a single being — the pure distillation of everything that individual had ever been. Naturally, it was far more powerful than any common skill. It was singular, non-duplicable, something closer to a true Authority.

And the Gingoa ripped exactly that kind of Unique Skill from whoever it sealed.

"No — stop—!"

Ahram screamed. Moments later, three smoke-wreathed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bubbles rose from his body as though his very soul were leaking out. Those three had to be every Unique Skill he possessed.

"Just kill me! Kill me already…!"

It was pitiful. Not once, but twice. Even after devouring a star and growing stronger, he had still lost. Death in defeat might have been bearable — but to be sealed alive and have his innate power stripped from him on the spot? What greater humiliation could exist?

"Swamp of the Dead. Sword of the Dead. King of the Dead."

I recited the names of the Unique Skills one by one, tasting each title that floated inside the bubbles, watching for Ahram's reaction.

"Anything but the Sword of the Dead…!"

He blurted it out in a panic. The Sword of the Dead — clearly the massive greatsword he had wielded. But I didn't even need to think about it. His reaction when I spoke the other names had been far more violent. That alone told me the claim was a lie.

Truly terrible at acting.

He clearly wanted me to take the sword no matter what, but that was unfortunate for him. Expecting me to fall for footwork this clumsy was itself foolish. Then again, when would Ahram ever have needed to act? A self-proclaimed gatekeeper of Hell who had ruled like a true king — he would never have had reason to lie to anyone's face.

"N-no! Please, stop!"

I reached out without hesitation.

The bubble flowed into me. I felt a new skill etch itself into place and checked it at once.

The description itself was straightforward. A skill that let me dominate the Dead and command them like thralls.

It pairs perfectly with Master of Corpse Arts.

It would flawlessly cover the greatest weakness of the Master of Corpse Arts skill this body — the Corpse Crow — possessed.

Corpse art can't move freely on its own.

Corpse art was about creation. Stacking, linking, assembling — that was the entire function. Until now, the only way to move the results had been to summon other Corpse Crows and have them haul the constructs around. I had built golems and stuck multiple Corpse Crows onto them for combat, but the limitations had always been obvious.

King of the Dead, however, let me plant a dominated Dead into any art I created. Once planted, the construct could move freely under my will.

So that's why Andasar's head was there.

It finally made a little sense. Why her head had been in that place. This skill must have drawn it there naturally. Then Ahram had taken control of her and the rampage had begun.

Dominating a Dead of Raid Boss rank or higher grants additional stats.

And not only that — the grade of the Dead determined the bonus. Perfect timing. Andasar's head was right here.

I turned. In the corner lay Andasar's head, and beside it the Dullahan body still clutching that head in its arms.

"Open your eyes."

The moment the words left my mouth, Andasar's eyes snapped open. She had already been dominated by this skill once before; reclaiming her was no great difficulty.

Holy Power up by three. But something about the wording felt off.

Don't tell me…

I opened my status window at once.

My pupils trembled slightly.

It raises base stats?

Not a plus modifier — actual base stats. Bonus stats vanished the moment you lost whatever was granting them. Base stats, once raised, remained permanently. Even if I lost the skill itself.

It punches straight through the level cap. No wonder they call it a Unique Skill.

Every level had a hard ceiling. Normally the limit was ten stat points per level. Mine was twelve, but without raising my level I could go no higher. King of the Dead, however, raised that ceiling. And even if the skill disappeared, the gains stayed forever. Among every reward I had ever obtained, this ranked at the absolute top.

"D-damn it all… Graaaaaagh!"

Perhaps the loss of his own Authority hurt more than anything. Ahram thrashed, unable to endure the pain. The Gingoa was automatically inflicting agony upon him.

"Only good thoughts and good words, caw. Then the pain will stop, caw."

It was an automatic correction device in all but name. The Gingoa punished its sealed victim whenever they harbored ill intent. On top of that, Ahram — stripped of his skill — had shrunk even further. From child-sized down to something no larger than two adult fists put together.

I'll break him and squeeze out some information.

Even for Ahram, that pain looked anything but ordinary. Sooner or later he would submit, and when he did I would wring every scrap of knowledge about the Demon Realm and the Demon King out of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠him. The skill alone was valuable, but Ahram himself was useful in more ways than one.

Above all—

Ahram is also one of the Dead.

Ahram, too, was a Dead. It would be difficult for now, but once he submitted — or once I grew stronger — I would be able to dominate him as well.

"Who… are you?"

A thin voice suddenly rose. Andasar. Resting in the Dullahan's hands, she had spoken to me.

"Do you know Priest Andrew, caw?"

"Who… is that?"

She had forgotten even her own father, Priest Andrew. A Dead. One of the lost. I had half expected it, but it seemed every last memory had been wiped clean.

"Do you remember when you were an Eldritch, caw?"

"…I don't know. Nothing except that my name is Andasar, and that you are my new master."

Bleached-white hair and crimson eyes. Head and body separate, yet she was still Andasar. When she had been the core of that hybrid abomination she had been pure frenzy; the moment I dominated her, reason seemed to return. The problem was the memories.

Maybe it's for the best.

Perhaps it was better that she remembered nothing. Cursed by a black grimoire into an Eldritch, turned into a Dullahan by the Death King, then made the core of a giant hybrid by Ahram, King of the Dead—

…What a spectacularly wretched life.

On second thought, memories like those were worse than useless. Forgetting them was a hundred million times better. Priest Andrew would weep himself raw, but what of it? Building new, happier memories had to be kinder for both of them than clinging to a nightmare.

If word got out that he had a Dullahan for a daughter, the Goddess Sect would defrock him — but that was hardly my concern.

"Fifth Lord, may I enter?"

"Come in, caw."

The Death King appeared. This was his castle to begin with; of course he would be curious about what I was doing. He took one look at Andasar and Ahram and visibly startled.

"Hmm. Remarkable. You've fully subordinated both of them?"

"One of them is still being broken in, caw."

"Graaaaaagh!"

He didn't need to ask ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠which one.

"Hah. Sealing the gatekeeper of the Demon Realm wasn't enough — now you're training him as well… You never cease to exceed my imagination."

"What do you want, caw?"

"After long deliberation, the White King has decided upon your reward."

The Death King's tone toward me had shifted in a subtle way. At first it had been pure curiosity; now he seemed to regard me with genuine recognition.

"I'm listening, caw."

"Territory. One city of your choosing. Every Lord already holds a city of their own — though Kramdel, for reference, is jointly owned."

"What city are you talking about, caw?"

"Which city do you want?"

Wait.

…Which city did I want?

Something felt off. He wasn't listing the cities under their control. He was simply asking which city I desired. The implication was strange.

"…Any city at all is fine, caw?"

"Ah — there are exceptions. The cities of the southern continent guarded by the Black King, and any city belonging to the Arhon Empire, are excluded."

"So I pick one from every other city on the continent, caw?"

"Precisely."

Insane.

Only then did I fully grasp what the Death King meant.

Even if we have to conquer it and take it by force — we will give it to you.

Simply mad. There was no more extravagant offer than this. If there was a city I wanted, they would seize it and hand it over. Of course, "hand it over" did not mean "administer it and defend it for you." Once transferred, I was on my own. But this was still utterly deranged.

Was there a city the White King and the Four Lords could not conquer?

No.

No city existed that they could not take if they set their minds to it. The Golden City of Arcana? Knight's Garden? The ruin-cities? The great capitals of every other kingdom? None of them could hold. Aside from the continent's sole empire — Arhon — no power alive could repel their invasion. And the Arhon Empire was the one place player hands had not yet touched. If my prediction was correct, the final goal of every player and every faction would be to claim Arhon.

I need to be more careful than ever.

This… this was not something I could choose on the spot. I had to study the continental situation with extreme care and select the place that would yield me the greatest possible advantage. A reward I had never even imagined — and one that far exceeded every expectation.

"Well, a man of your caliber could hold any city, I suppose. Still, with the names of our Four Lords and the White King behind you, the bothersome complications would be fewer, no?"

The Death King added. The moment they conquered a place, it became my city. They would stake their own names on the proclamation. A force willing to openly oppose the White King and the Four Lords? No such thing existed. Hence, no "bothersome complications."

"Do I have to choose now, caw?"

"The White King's patience is not long."

The Death King pressed for an answer — as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠if he already knew what the Star Guardians intended to offer me.

He's listening to this conversation too.

Certainty settled in. Outwardly he had sent the Death King, but the White King was hearing every word.

He's wary of me.

The White King was wary of the possibility that I might choose a seat among the Star Guardians instead of becoming one of the Five Lords. The reward was enormous, but if he was watching me this closely, caution cost nothing. This was not the ordinary wariness of simply adding one more Star Guardian to the board.

The White King sees me as… a threat.

He believed I would become a threat to him. This went beyond simple caution.

He sees me as an equal.

An equal. A weight class he could not afford to dismiss. That was why he was forcing the choice — whether I would become his enemy, or his ally.

"Is there even anything to deliberate? Whatever reward those Star Guardian brats put forward, it's nothing but a 'title,' is it not?"

…So he had known all along. He had known, and still tested me.

The Star Guardians had promised that if I formally joined their ranks, they would bestow a "title." It sounded minor, but that title raised stats — the same way the Evilbane Giant's title did. A title recognized and elevated by every Star Guardian. Mystery would gather around it; unique honor would be conferred. So that "title" was by no means trivial.

It's enormous, actually.

The Star Guardians would grant an official designation and acknowledge it. They might even hand over clues to other stars without resistance.