Chapter 85

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Translator: Ace

Chapter: 85

Chapter Title: Black Wasteland Investigation

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Sitting in a key position meant information flowed in easily enough, even without actively seeking it out.

A flood of news from all directions poured in, most of it having little to do with Ian.

Like some noble cheating on his wife, or someone embezzling taxes, petty faction squabbles, or perhaps the movements of neighboring countries and any diplomatic frictions.

None of it was worth Ian's attention, so he let it go in one ear and out the other. But one rumor he heard today couldn't be brushed off so lightly.

"They're saying the Holy Kingdom is dispatching an investigation team to the Black Wasteland."

It was Bren speaking. He added that the info came from a magic investigator who'd just returned from an external mission to the Holy Kingdom.

"Surprising, isn't it? Even the Holy Kingdom, packed with zealots, has never set foot anywhere near the Black Wasteland. They've always acted like it doesn't exist. I can't fathom why they're suddenly sending a team."

"What kind of investigation team?"

"Our guys only heard it in passing during their mission, so details are unclear. But it's obvious, right? Investigating evil or demons or whatever."

Bren shrugged as he spoke, his gesture and tone conveying it was no big deal. But Ian's expression was quite serious.

'Could it be because of our Arcbon...?'

But Ian soon chuckled. That was too much of a leap. The Black Wasteland teemed with darkkin factions.

Dozens of forces were locked in their own cesspool brawls. Arcbon's group was just one among many.

Though lately, they'd been expanding at a frightening pace.

Who were they fighting recently again? Can't recall. Maybe ask around?

'Ah, right. Graveborn.'

Hmm, still ongoing then.

Feels like months already, yet they're still at it.

But on second thought, it's no surprise. Graveborn are one of the top powers in the Black Wasteland. It wouldn't be easy. The war's bound to drag on.

Ian cut the mental link and stroked his chin.

'As expected, not our Arcbon. He hasn't even met anyone from the Church of Light.'

On reflection, it would be weirder if he had. The Black Wasteland was no place for holy knights. Only those at rock bottom or bound to darkness ventured there.

In short, running into them made no sense to begin with.

Of course, a stray holy knight wandering in by chance and locking eyes with Arcbon wasn't impossible.

But what were the odds?

'Ridiculous.'

Ian chuckled again, the needless tension melting away.

'Even if they did meet, would it matter? Arcbon's no ordinary undead; holy power doesn't faze him. He'd probably win against any subjugation squad.'

With his mind at ease, bold thoughts bubbled up. Though he'd panic if it actually happened.

Human hearts were so fickle.

The war with the Graveborn dragged on. But it didn't matter. Arcbon's army consisted of undead, immune to fatigue.

Mental exhaustion, however, was inevitable for any thinking being.

'I'm tired.'

Arcbon touched his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hollow eye sockets. He shouldn't feel fatigue, yet he did. Strange.

'This languor stems from mental strain. Does mental fatigue affect the body? Or is there another cause?'

Arcbon was indeed feeling physical fatigue—something he shouldn't.

Upon reflection, he knew why.

'Mana shortage.'

More precisely, he'd hit his limit. The mana needed to sustain his legion.

He closed his eyes. Doing so let him sense his minions' numbers.

Over five thousand.

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

'Five thousand.'

That was his current limit. Expanding further would overload his dominion.

'Is this my ceiling?'

Five thousand. Arcbon mulled it over.

Not insignificant. Yet unsatisfying. What could he achieve with a mere five thousand?

'Stagnation.'

Arcbon sensed his growth had plateaued. Dominion and mana stagnant, legion expansion stalled.

'What's the issue?'

He pondered solutions. None came. But he persisted.

Then a chilling sensation hit—a sharp instinct. Arcbon twisted away. A dagger flew past, piercing where he'd stood.

'Enemy.'

Two knights with drawn swords approached from ahead. Graveborn's elite wraith knights.

Flesh-rotted, bone-exposed wraith knights charged on horseback, swinging. But their blades missed Arcbon. A massive bone spear hurtled from behind.

Bam!

The spear impaled the wraith knight, who thrashed helplessly.

Skeleton Mage Rotten had thrown the spear. He led troops in, finishing off the wraith knights.

Arcbon surveyed the surroundings. Chaos everywhere, as expected on a battlefield.

Allies and enemies tangled, claiming lives. His elite guard, including Rotten, joined in. Arcbon watched impassively.

They held the advantage. Victory seemed likely today. Yet Arcbon felt no satisfaction. He still lacked answers.

'What's truly wrong? Why am I stagnating?'

He craved strength. Strength for more minions, for greater power.

But it eluded him. This novel stagnation unsettled him deeply.

That voice. Ddol Ddoli. Hearing such cheer in war.

'Forgot to cut the mental link.'

Arcbon severed it. No more voices.

Yet Ddol Ddoli's lingered in his mind.

'That guy's got it easy.'

Ddol Ddoli. He'd met him once. Huge rock man.

Seemed dim-witted, but as Father's firstborn, worthy of respect.

'While I'm struggling, he's happily blasting fire.'

Obvious why. Probably smashing foes again.

He loved hunting enemies ceaselessly, growing stronger by slaying them. So likely doing that now.

'Growing by defeating enemies, like me... Like me...'

A sudden dissonance. When had he last fought personally?

'It's been ages.'

His jawbone ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠clenched. Couldn't remember. How long since he'd fought?

'Far too long.'

Arcbon grasped the unease's source—and its solution to stagnation.

'I haven't been fighting.'

A being meant to grow through battle, abstaining. One thriving on death, avoiding it.

Instead, barking orders from afar.

No fights, no deaths—no growth.

'I've lost my way, Arcbon.'

Reclaim his roots.

How? 'Fight strong foes. And die.'

Arcbon charged into enemy lines.

Like a wolf among sheep. Each punch felled one.

'Not enough. Need stronger.'

Bold choice: deep into enemy heart. Minions protested; he ignored, ordering them back, advancing alone.

Time passed. Depth unknown, but deep.

Attacks rained. Even Arcbon shattered repeatedly.

Tough, but exhilarating.

'Yes, this sensation.'

Body crumbling thrilled him. Dissolving and reviving. Growing amid it. Mana surging.

All perfect. Arcbon laughed. Skullfacade grinned.

Then—

Eerie, boiling voice. Arcbon looked up. Mounted knight approaching.

Wraith knight? No, far superior.

Killing intent. Thick demonic aura. Ironclad flesh.

'Death Knight.'

Undead pinnacle, unmatched. Here before him.

'Means he's one of Graveborn's two legion commanders.'

Arcbon laughed wordlessly. Thrilled. Body quaking.

Death Knights born from mighty warriors in life.

True to legend, strongest foe yet. Unwinnable.

'World's full of powerhouses. Even this strong, worthy rivals abound.'

The knight raised his sword, dark energy swirling. Arcbon charged, punching. Sword swung. Clang! Head severed.

Headless, Arcbon pressed on. Convinced of his path.

As Arcbon unleashed fierce battle—no, suicide assault—against the Death Knight,

Ian felt profound bewilderment.

He'd finished palace business, heading back to his territory.

To check the developing mine and handle estate affairs.

Upon arrival, unpacking, when dwarves swarmed in, acting familiar. How could he not be flustered?

"Oho! So you're Ian!"

"Greatest mage in the world!"

"Finest craftsman among humans!"

"Just as rumored—tall and handsome!"

"Damn, why so tall?!"

'What the hell, these runts.'

Who are you people?

```