Chapter 29

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Translator: Ace

Chapter: 29

Chapter Title: Necropolis

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Ian had been in the Black Wasteland for a full half day already.

The once-bright sky had darkened before he knew it. Looking around, it seemed like there were even more zombies now. Once full night fell, there would probably be even more.

Ian pondered as he trudged through the desolate, eerie wasteland for what felt like the umpteenth time that half day.

'Somehow, the more I go on, the more I feel like I'm turning into an all-weather special agent.'

Magic investigators typically handled cases of magical accidents and anomalies, but they also pursued wanted criminals tied to magical crimes. Naturally, that included capturing thieves who stole important items.

But still. No one in their right mind would send a single investigator into a necropolis to catch a thief.

If the situation was that dire, why send a magic investigator at all? They should dispatch more specialized personnel.

'I heard the other day that the palace is raising some kind of elite assassins called Shadows or whatever. Those guys could wrap this up easy. So why me?'

Ian grumbled. This felt like sending a lone beat cop to solve a problem that even a SWAT team might not crack.

'The more I think about it, the more ridiculous it gets. Bren, that guy—why no backup? Does it make sense to send me solo on something this big?'

To be fair, Ian had partly brought this on himself.

Unlike other investigators, he'd always handled missions alone.

From junior assistants to central army support, magic investigators could request reinforcements as needed. But Ian rarely did. He didn't even bring a partner. And he'd never failed once.

Yeah. Ian knew that about himself. So even if it felt a bit unfair, he had no ground to complain.

But still. Couldn't they at least say something?

'Not even asking if I need backup is kinda hurtful. They could at least pretend.'

Of course, he'd refuse any offer anyway. But it still stung.

That's just how people are. Reason says one thing, but feelings don't listen. So it hurt. It felt neglectful...

'Whatever. Actually, better this way. Lets me train our Akbon. He'll hit 100% evolution rate like Lara in no time and get strong.'

By the time he'd vented all his gripes about his boss, night had fully fallen.

Zombies shuffled around in greater numbers now. Their guttural "grrrs" echoed from every direction like surround sound. Ian hummed along to the tune.

'Man, sounds good. Now that's a hit.'

Maybe he'd spent too long in a boring world where he couldn't even pop in earbuds while walking. Even the terrifying wails that could make grown men piss themselves sounded oddly melodic.

'Wonder if I'll make it by tonight.'

No matter how fearless Ian was, he couldn't roam freely at night. Especially not in the Black Wasteland, an undead hive.

In this barren plain with no cover, getting spotted by undead meant preparing for hundreds-to-one odds—or a thousand if he exaggerated.

Of course, Ian had his invisibility spell cheat key.

The problem? He couldn't use it while sleeping.

'Camping here's basically begging to die. Guess I'll pull an all-nighter...'

Ian's thoughts cut off. Something loomed ahead.

A tall central spire. Buildings packed densely around it. And walls encircling it all.

'Necropolis!'

Ian's eyes lit up. He'd finally arrived. At the City of Darkness.

One thing Ian often realized in this life: games and reality were different.

Absolutely.

Otherwise, how could a place he'd raided countless times in-game feel so wondrous now?

'Whoa. What is this?'

Ian kept gasping in awe. He'd known about it, but Necropolis was truly bizarre.

Skeletons to the left, skeletons to the right. Streets crawling with pale bony figures.

And that was just the start.

Zombies with corpse-like visages sat at market stalls. Ghost riders patrolled wide boulevards on spectral steeds. Death aura permeated everywhere.

The kicker? Pedestrians strolling past it all without a care.

How could they be so nonchalant? But then, this was their daily life.

What to call it? Another world? Too positive. City of Death fit better.

"Welcome! Lodging? Or food?"

"Both."

"Benny! Customer here! Take 'em to the end room on the second floor!"

"Yes! This way!"

After wandering, Ian settled on an inn called "Moonlit Rest." The room was cramped, reeking of rotten eggs, with a creaky, filthy bed. But who cared? He wasn't here for comfort.

"Food ready now?"

"What kinda question is that? What'll it be?"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Anything. Got hot stew?"

"We do! Bowl up?"

"Sure. Oh, and a beer."

"One stew, one beer!"

He ordered roughly. The stew was dark and murky, packed with unidentifiable chunks—the infamous "eternal stew" or "perpetual stew."

Tasteless, obviously. But that didn't matter. He wasn't here to eat.

Ian picked at it, sipping beer while scanning the room. It was midnight, so the first-floor tables brimmed with drinkers swapping stories. Ian tuned in.

Left side: crude tales of bedding women. Right: boasts of last night's stabbings.

All worthless intel.

But Ian endured, pretending to glance around.

About twenty minutes in, the nibble came.

"Hey, buddy."

Ian looked up. A hairy giant, easily over 190cm, grinned down at him.

'Undead transformation in progress.'

Undead transformation—or the undead curse.

Prolonged exposure to death mana warped the body toward undeath.

Necropolis overflowed with it, so long-term residents changed unwittingly.

Rotting stench, savage tempers. Shifting appetites, until human flesh looked tasty. Half-undead at that point.

The curse was why Necropolis was shunned—and unconquered for so long.

Not inevitable, though. Mana users or those blessed by priests resisted.

Hence the black mages and necromancers in power.

This guy? Transforming, so probably a penniless sword-for-hire, no mana skills or blessings.

Likely a bandit gone wanted, fleeing here as a last resort.

Dead-end lives. Aware of the change but talentless, terminal cases. Excluding mindless undead, they epitomized the city's underclass.

Die like dogs, rise as wasteland zombies. Thus, the city's undead multiplied.

"First time here?"

"Huh?"

"You a newbie?"

"Yeah, first time."

"Heh, figured. You look green, gawking around."

The giant plopped beside Ian, slinging an arm over his shoulder. A rotting corpse whiff hit, wrinkling Ian's nose. Provocation was planned; the stench wasn't.

"Ugh, get off."

"Kek, sorry. Haven't seen fresh meat like you in ages. What'd you do? Off a noble?"

"Shut up. Lemme check something."

Ian yanked open the giant's shirt. The brute panicked, but Ian was bold.

Lifting it revealed tattoos on back and side: crowned skull. Mark of the Bone Lord Family, one of Necropolis's five major factions. Ian smirked.

"Oh, hit the jackpot."

"You crazy bastard. What the—"

Crack!

Ian cast Strength on himself and snapped the arm over his shoulder. A chilling crunch, followed by a shrill scream.

"Gaaahhh!"

Patrons jumped up. Most grumbled and left; others drew blades with stony faces. Fellow gang members.

"One question. Know these guys?"

Ian pulled out crumpled wanted posters. The montages matched the tattoo.

"N-no! Don't know 'em! Let go!"

"C'mon, you do. This is Bone Lord turf. Can't pretend with family."

Ian twisted harder. The bloated arm cracked audibly. He snatched the giant's dagger and pressed it to his throat. Oncomers hesitated.

"Huh? Come closer, he dies."

"Where you from? Empire?"

"Nah, personal grudge. Cooperate?"

The armed men snickered, laughter spreading. But the pinned giant suffered.

"M-mercy! I'll talk!"

"Good. Who?"

"Brandon! Grade 1 Necromancer Brandon! And beside him..."

The brute spilled details. Ian nodded, pleased.

"Where?"

"Inner castle HQ by now!"

"Brandon. HQ. Got it."

Ian didn't release him. The giant panicked.

"Why not let go?!"

"'Cause you're my hostage."

"H-hostage?"

"Yeah. Gotta get outta here safe... Urk."

Ian grunted low. They'd closed in.

"Hey, where's your pals? Closer and he dies!"

"Kill him! ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠You die too!"

Blades swung. Ian blocked with the giant. His gut split, blood spraying.

A sword thrust at Ian's side. He rolled right, flicking his hand.

4th-circle Shockwave blasted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out from Ian. Foes charging him flew back. The inn shook like an earthquake.

Roof and walls collapsed. Only "formerly an inn" remained.

"Gah!"

"M-mage!"

"Call backup!"

One foe staggered up, blowing a horn. Bwooo! The blast echoed outside.

That meant reinforcements incoming—their main force.

The Bone Lord Family's undead army, necromancers' pride.

Rattling bones approached through the ruined wall. Skeletons surged in, swords and shields raised. Ian marveled.

'Damn. That was fast.'

Impressive response time.

'Way better than human guards.'

And numerous—over twenty in under a minute.

It'd grow. Bone Lord necromancers excelled at bone magic.

Painless berserkers charging, buying time for more spells.

Exactly what Ian wanted.

'Gotta cull these trash someday anyway.'

Left alone, they'd invade human lands. Might as well clean house while here.

"That's him! Seize him!"

Ian was surrounded. Watching the tightening net, he muttered.

'Yeah. Nothing beats a good herd hunt.'

Enough gathered.

Light swirled, shadows loomed. A stone giant materialized, stomping forward.

-Ddol Ddoli happy! Master calls Ddol Ddoli lots lately!

"Our Ddol Ddoli. Smash those pale things. All of 'em!"

-Got it!

Boom!

The ground quaked like an earthquake. Foes froze at the sight. Ian grinned.

'Whoever made you, they did a helluva job.'

A well-raised golem beat hundreds of skeletons any day.

At the same time.

In the Black Wasteland, a day's trek from Necropolis, Akbon trudged endlessly across the plain.

Walk and walk.

Similar-looking things dotted around, but he ignored them.

Pathetic weaklings.

'I am qualitatively different. Fighting them would be disgraceful.'

Akbon recalled his father's words. The first command etched vividly.

-Plenty of worthy foes in the Black Wasteland. Defeat them to grow strong. Sound good?

'Seek strong foes, clash. Thus, I grow. The emperor's path.'

He spotted a wooded hill. Climbed it. Strong power emanated from above.

Thick death aura. Surely a mighty one. He'd gladly shatter his frail form against it.

Screeech!

A bizarre cry halted him. He'd found it. A strong foe.

Drake. Man-eating sub-dragon.

Huge. Massive. Akbon charged. Closer, the wyrmling screeched defiance.

Screeech!

Warning. Stay back.

But he rushed. Akbon knew no fear.

Screeech!

Fwoosh!

Flames gathered in the wyrmling's maw, erupting as a massive beam. Akbon's body crumbled instantly.

Crack!

Whoosh!

Soon, Akbon lay in shattered dust. Satisfied, the wyrmling screeched and curled up in its nest, snoring filling the dark woods.

How much time passed?

A miracle unfolded. Bone dust gathered, slowly forming shape.

[Reconstructing... 51%]

[Reconstructing... 52%]

.

.

.

Bones fully formed, connected. A skeletal human silhouette reborn.

[Reconstructing... 99%]

[Reconstructing... 100%]

[Reconstruction complete.]

Akbon rose. Stronger power surged. But dissatisfaction lingered. An emperor with such meager might? Absurd.

Shameful. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠So he advanced. Clashed endlessly.

-Clashwithstrongfoes.ThusIgrowstrong.

Slowly, painstakingly, Akbon walked. The wyrmling awoke, blasting Mini Breath again. Akbon shattered to dust once more.