Leader of Malum
“What!?”
Number One jerked his head up at the unexpected response.
— The time of descent draws near, and I have received great power. Failures like this no longer matter.
A chilling smile spread across the black spirit overlaying the skull. Even seeing that horrifying sight, relief bloomed on Number One's face. The sense of survival diluted his terror.
“Thank you! Thank you so much!”
Thud. Thud.
He slammed his forehead against the floor once more. The leader, wearing a faint smile, added more words.
— But remember this. I still cannot act directly.
“Thank you... What?”
Number One lifted his bloodied face in bewilderment.
— It is good, but the power I gained is too vast to control perfectly yet. However, what I obtained is not merely my own strength...
Thoom.
Grrrind.
As the skull stomped its foot, black demonic energy erupted from its bones, forming a dark portal in the air. And soon...
— Come forth, heralds of His will!
Clank, clank, clank.
Knights in black armor of unknown material emerged from the portal. Three massive black knights. Unlike the skull's freely shifting demonic energy, these knights—each standing between 2 and 3 meters tall—drew their power inward, emitting an eerie black glow.
The moment one laid eyes on that sinister radiance, an instinctual fear gripped the soul, as if it were being strangled.
'N-No way...?'
Number One had never witnessed such power in life, but he knew what it was from tales.
The true destructive force possible only for 7th-stage magic warriors... no, Death Knights alone. The authority of destruction formed from demonic energy—Dark Aura.
They were the elite combat weapons of the Demon World, known as the finest of the Undead Legion among the seven legions of the Demon King's army.
'Even an 8th-circle arch-black mage commanding Death Knights...?'
At this incomprehensible miracle, Number One's eyes widened. Then, the auras of the Death Knights who had descended into the mortal realm turned into killing intent, pouring toward the only living being here.
“H-Huh!?”
Number One yelped in shock, letting out a bizarre groan.
— Present yourselves before your rightful master.
At the leader's voice, thud, the three black knights plunged their weapons into the ground and knelt toward the skull.
In that instant, three black spheres shot from the knights. The leader gathered them into one hand and swallowed them. Gray, sinewy flesh—resembling the spirit—began sprouting on the skull's pure white face.
Now with a gray face, the leader twisted into a grotesque expression and chuckled.
— These are my guards, bestowed by Him—the Death Knights. They will serve in my stead.
“N-No way...”
— Take two of them and deal with him.
“B-But he's heading to the Orc Great Warrior right now. The Warlord won't be easy to—”
— Before he reaches the Warlord! Or after he parts from him! Do I have to spell out every detail!?
“H-Huh. Y-Yes, understood. B-But if he's truly a hero...”
— Hmph. A so-called hero without a scrap of divine power? Are you fooling yourself with your own lies? Pathetic fool!
“I-I'm sorry.”
Number One hurriedly slammed his head down again.
— And once you capture him, figure out how he knows our plans...
The leader, mid-command, paused. Frowning as if struck by a thought, he shook his head.
— No, never mind. Even if he is a true hero, it matters not. Just kill him. Don't give him a moment's opening. Understand!?
“Y-Yes.”
— Do not return until he is dealt with. This is your last chance.
“B-But then, what about the organization's affairs...”
Whether out of reluctance to act directly or genuine concern, Number One trailed off uncertainly.
Huh.
At the skull's gesture, one of the three kneeling black knights rose. Its eyes, gleaming with blue ghostfire, glared at Number One.
— My will shall be conveyed directly through the Death Knight. So you, focus on your mission.
As the leader's voice emerged from the Death Knight's mouth, Number One—out of excuses—could only bow, sweat beading coldly on his skin.
* * *
“Atchoo!”
Mid-frantic gallop, Tiny suddenly sneezed.
'Someone must be talking about me.'
Sniff.
It was probably because Wolrang was running too fast, kicking up wind. But he couldn't afford to slow down.
Even after a full day sprinting out of the Great Forest, no trace of orc scouts—likely due to the tribal war's aftermath. No room for complacency.
“Woof!”
Wolrang barked irritably. Not from reading his thoughts, but from the three rotting heads dangling near its tail, reeking horribly.
But he couldn't just discard them.
“I know, I know. Sorry. Just a bit longer.”
Tiny stroked Wolrang's scruff apologetically as it ran.
In hindsight, capturing even one alive might've been better. But that was only clear now, post-battle. In the heat, it had been life-or-death—no time for second thoughts.
Especially at the end.
'How did it summon a Ruler-class beast? It shouldn't be possible now.'
He knew little of magic, but common knowledge held that 7th-stage monsters—called superhumans here—possessed souls of elevated rank. If beings beyond that could cross dimensions at will via magic, the world would've ended long ago.
He had barely stopped the summon using the Stamp wrapped in destruction attribute—a desperate, instinctive move.
It granted insight into mastering destruction, but the self-repairing Stamp was half-destroyed, showing no signs of recovery. A critical loss.
'Can't go back to Grandal now. Damn it.'
His mind raced with unease.
The Ruler-class summon too.
'Should I check the Sage's Tower? So much to handle.'
It had to be coincidence. It had to be. Forcing self-conviction, Tiny focused on the gallop.
Whatever the case, preventing the orcs' civil war collapse came first. Somehow convince Zerik to root out demon worshippers and halt the war.
'Black Rhino tribe, right?'
The humans Batar mentioned, leading the inter-tribe war, plus the demon worshippers targeting him... All signs pointed there.
The issue?
'Will that stubborn ass Zerik even listen?'
If Hainen's unpredictable impulses gave allies headaches, Warlord Zerik tormented in the opposite way.
— I'd rather die than break the laws and forsake honor.
Unlike his foul, lawless appearance, he lived by rigid principles. That was Zerik, Orc Great Warrior and Warlord.
And only one way to move him while upholding laws: the Great Warrior's Duel.
Challenge and defeat him by strength. Orc custom: victor becomes new Great Warrior, or if outsider wins, the orc grants their request.
A battle-loving orc tradition. But...
'Impossible for me right now.'
Zerik was likely at Aura User's peak by now. Even Tiny's transcendent combat prowess couldn't match him yet.
Hence, the connection from the road to Elvenheim.
— I'm Bold, one of the Direwolf tribe's chieftain candidates. If you ever need aid, seek me. I stake my honor on it!
The orcs from Zerik's tribe who taught Wolrang's lifespan extension. Tribal war or not, custom forbade touching a Great Warrior's tribe. Persuade them first, move Zerik.
Plus, their territory lay en route to Bator.
'One of the chieftain candidates, for sure.'
Move the tribe, move Zerik. That was Tiny's aim.
With those unmistakably demon-worshipper heads as proof, persuasion would be easy.
After simulating Direwolf scenarios dozens of times in his head, he spotted an orc scout patrol on a distant hill, riding a massive wolf.
“Over here! Hey, orc friends!!”
The orcs charging at the intruding odd human slowed upon seeing the huge wolf, then the beaming human—halting gradually in surprise.
* * *
“Wait, human.”
“Yeah, looks like it. Suhubatar. Impressive city.”
“If your words are lies...”
“You think this orc's lived fooled forever? Don't worry.”
At the hand slapping his back, scout captain Lator grimaced again. His whole body ached from the beating.
Claiming friendship with chieftain candidate Bold but no proof, they'd tried capturing him—instead becoming hostages.
But since he'd beaten them without lethal wounds, no real fight intent. Lator hoped he truly was Bold's friend, salvaging some honor from the wreckage.
Oblivious to his turmoil, the human admired the approaching massive bone palisade.
“Truly magnificent.”
Guided(?) by the scouts, Tiny reached the Direwolf tribe's great city, Suhubatar—a different charm from Zamingwood.
Similar bone-and-hide tent culture, but blending forested hills and caves spanning mountains with tents yielded a landscape like half Zamingwood, half Elvenheim—subtly enchanting.
No time for sightseeing, though. Straight to his target.
Luckily.
“Hey! Human friend! Your remedy worked! My brother's recovering!”
Bold remembered him. But after rushing over joyfully...
“...It's only been a month or so, but something's changed, human friend. What is it?”
Bold scanned Tiny up and down, tilting his head.
'Sharp senses. Chieftain candidate, huh?'
His spirit mage growth and slight soul elevation weren't obvious, yet Bold spotted it instantly.
“Grew taller? Nah, still short.”
Hearing that from Bold—small for an orc warrior—left a bitter taste.
'I'll outgrow you soon.'
But not the time.
“...I hate to ask so soon, but I need a favor, Bold. It concerns your tribe too.”
Tiny held up the three black heads reeking of rot. Grimacing at the orc, he began explaining the situation.