Chapter 39
Chapter 39
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 39
Chapter Title: Black Magic - Necromancy
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[Not bad, but this is the limit after all.]
As Xenon turned into a corpse, the black gem in the subspace pouch began to vibrate.
When he took it out, Naberius revealed himself once more, flapping his six wings.
“Was there a particular reason you had to take on a necromancer?”
[The necromantic magic they wield ultimately originated from me. I was simply curious to see how much they’ve grown in the meantime.]
Damian tilted his head, unable to comprehend Naberius’s words, but he soon found he didn’t need to seek an answer.
A contract etched itself onto his soul as the price of the trial, and a new black magic took root in his mind. Naturally, he now understood Naberius’s words as well.
[Heh heh heh. How is it? A truly satisfying power, isn’t it?]
Black Magic - Necromancy.
This power, derived from Valkyrie, was quite similar to necromantic magic.
To be precise, necromantic magic was an imitation of Black Magic - Necromancy.
Damian might be the only black mage now, but in the past, a considerable number had clashed with the Empire.
Some among them must have contracted with Valkyrie or Naberius.
The mages, inspired by those battles, devised necromantic magic.
An event that would pique a demon’s interest. Naberius had demanded Damian defeat a necromancer to confirm it for himself.
[And look, a perfect specimen right here. Give it a try.]
With that, Naberius vanished. The black gem crumbled into dust and disappeared as well.
Damian stood before Xenon’s corpse again. He placed his hand on the man’s head and activated Black Magic - Necromancy.
Shaaaaaa. Black mist poured from the body, forming the shape of a person as a necromantic entity emerged.
“Haa, haa, haa.”
Exhaustion overtook Damian, and he collapsed backward. It required even greater focus than Black Magic - Absorption.
Necromantic Entity - Xenon.
It wasn’t just a resemblance in appearance. The entity could wield the same magic Xenon had used in life.
This was the greatest difference between undead and necromantic entities.
Undead were merely puppets controlled by implanting artificial souls into corpses.
Even if made from the bodies of powerful knights or mages, they could only produce high-quality undead—they couldn’t wield auras or magic.
In contrast, Black Magic - Necromancy couldn’t be used on commoners’ corpses. The higher the level of aura or magic, the stronger the lingering thoughts that remained.
Regardless of Xenon’s character, his skills were exceptional.
Had he not let his guard down and fought at full strength, victory wouldn’t have been guaranteed with just one Book of Hell.
However, there was one issue with wielding his power.
“Recycling these will be tricky…”
Undead lay scattered everywhere, too damaged to rework into new ones.
He could perhaps create new undead using Necromantic Entity - Xenon as a medium, but he wouldn’t.
That would clearly cross the line he had set for himself.
In the end, the only option left was to use the undead that had already been made.
Xenon had hidden lairs across the nation where he stored undead.
But he couldn’t extract that information from the necromantic entity.
‘Wait, didn’t that guy say something like that before regression?’
A memory from before his regression suddenly surfaced.
—The Mage Tower has a Death Knight created by a great necromancer of old. If I’d known the Mage Tower would act like that, I should’ve stolen it beforehand.
The Mage Tower had declared neutrality during the civil war.
They expelled all mages who sided with either the reformists or traditionalists and devoted themselves to sealing off the tower from the outside world.
As a result, the Mage Tower and its surroundings avoided the flames of war.
Damian had no idea what they did after the civil war ended—since he died before then.
The current Mage Tower wasn’t completely isolated like before his regression, but it wasn’t easy to enter either.
To officially enter, one needed a guarantee from existing tower members—an impossibility for Damian.
Of course, even if he obtained undead right away, he couldn’t use their power immediately.
Necromancers were rare in the Empire, if not quite as rare as black mages. If Damian’s familiars used such power, Michael’s side would surely take notice.
Tch. For a new black magic acquired, the results were disappointing. He could use Xenon’s other spells, but they wouldn’t significantly boost his forces.
“…Oh, right.”
Imur’s corpse—the core component of the corpse golem—caught at his feet.
It had been about three weeks since Damian left Byzantin and returned.
Black Magic - Necromancy required a recently deceased body. Lingering thoughts dissipated over time.
But Imur had been processed into a corpse golem by Xenon shortly after death.
Since the corpse hadn’t decayed and retained its form, some lingering thoughts should remain.
It was worth trying. Damian felt no qualms about desecrating Imur’s body.
After replenishing his mana, Damian cast Necromancy on Imur.
-Krooooaaar.
The result was a success. A black necromantic entity resembling Imur rose from the corpse.
Exhaustion washed over him again, but Damian couldn’t help smiling at the new gain.
Berserk and necromantic magic.
Damian had experienced their destructive power firsthand before his regression, closer than anyone.
Used in the right places, they would greatly bolster his forces.
‘Now it’s really over.’
He had spent less than a month in the south.
He had contracted with two new Lords of Hell.
He had gained two future allies to aid his goals.
He had eliminated two of Michael’s subordinates and made their powers his own.
Light slowly rose from the horizon. His journey in the south had truly come to an end.
Whoosh. Damian incinerated the scattered corpses around him with Hellfire.
The scorch marks left behind wouldn’t reveal what had transpired here.
* * *
As the shattered soul returned to its original state, Sariba quickly regained stability.
But the damage from Xenon wasn’t fully healed. Given Sariba’s level, it would take months of recuperation.
Damian wanted to tell Sariba about Eric Hilton’s true identity, but time ran short.
Instead, he confided in her sister, Shea.
“Gasp, gasp… I-Is it really… D-Damian R-Renekht…?”
Shea panted raggedly, unsure where to look.
Branded a traitor’s descendant, she never imagined getting this close to imperial blood, even if he was a bastard.
Yet she stole glances at Damian. Each time, her breathing grew heavier, her cheeks flushing red.
Eric Hilton’s face wasn’t bad, but it paled in comparison to Damian’s true appearance.
If her grandmother Lirian hadn’t calmed her, she might have fainted.
“Urk… S-Sorry. More importantly, what you said to Sariba last time…”
Even then, she worried for her sister. Would siblings from different fathers ever share such closeness?
Damian, who only had half-brothers, would never experience such sibling bond in his life.
“What I said then was sincere. Not as Eric Hilton, but as Damian Renekht.”
He left behind a handkerchief stamped with the seal of the annex palace as proof.
He instructed them to come find him in the capital once Sariba recovered, and provided travel funds for the warp gate.
Now it was truly time to leave. Damian headed into the streets after dissuading Lirian and Shea from escorting him to the warp gate.
“Damian Renekht, sir.”
A voice came from the side. Turning his head, he saw five men and women in uniforms bowing toward him.
“As of this moment, we will protect you, sir.”
The man’s words were polite, but this was no request—it was a notification.
“I am Delphine Heinz, captain of the Imperial Special Forces Unit 3.”
Damian’s secret visit to Byzantin was a massive event not just for the southern nobles, but for the imperial family as well.
Naturally, the Imperial Council had to intervene. Given the gravity, the Special Forces—known as the blades of the imperial family—had been dispatched.
“Let’s go.”
“…Thank you.”
Delphine wore a subtle expression, as if surprised Damian would comply so readily.
“That green flame last night! You all saw it, right?”
“It’s really Damian Renekht. The Emperor’s bastard!”
“Wow… The rumors about his looks were true.”
As he moved to board the carriage, a crowd had suddenly gathered, buzzing about Damian.
The deeds of Eric Hilton had all been attributed to Damian Renekht. If the rumors spread far enough, they’d reach Dodek and Skelt too.
What faces would they make upon realizing they’d crossed the desert with the Emperor’s bastard son?
“We’re heading straight to the capital.”
The carriage set off directly for the warp gate. No separate inspection was needed—they were teleported with the carriage intact.
They crossed the capital and entered the imperial palace.
He didn’t expect kind words from the Imperial Council.
But he had already aligned his story with the Byzantin council. They would announce that Imur and Byzantin’s criminal organizations had been jointly eliminated by them and Damian.
By now, the council’s forces were probably scouring the underworld, mopping up the remnants.
Of course, those vacancies would fill soon enough. That wasn’t Damian’s concern.
In any case, Damian’s escapade would be packaged as a merit of sorts.
The council would submit a petition on his behalf, and the Imperial Council wouldn’t punish him severely.
This would give Michael no reason to see him as an enemy.
Michael would view Damian’s conflict with Imur as mere coincidence.
Of course, given Michael’s personality, he probably wouldn’t dwell much on Imur’s death.
At most, he’d find it odd that Xenon hadn’t reported in.
“Hm? We passed the Imperial Council.”
“You’re not heading to the Imperial Council, sir.”
“What? Don’t tell me…”
This was unexpected.
But he could guess the destination. If not the Imperial Council, there was only one place they’d go.
The Imperial Special Forces, called the blades of the imperial family.
Currently under special circumstances following Imperial Council orders, they originally obeyed only one person’s command.
The carriage delved deeper into the palace.
Dozens of barriers brushed past Damian, and the presences of escorting knights became clearly felt.
They arrived at a small lakeside. There stood a relatively modest mansion, humble for something in the imperial palace.
“Our mission ends here. We look forward to meeting again.”
The Special Forces were an elite unit composed of the Empire’s top talents.
Both reformists and traditionalists had sought to recruit them, but they all remained neutral.
They followed only the Emperor’s orders. No exceptions.
“I’ll escort you from here.”
A one-eyed elderly butler greeted Damian. Damian remembered his name.
“Long time no see, Kyle.”
“It’s an honor that you remember, sir.”
Kyle led Damian into the mansion’s greenhouse.
Not an ordinary greenhouse, it was a magically maintained space where plants from across the continent—ones that couldn’t normally grow together—bloomed vibrantly, filling the air with fragrance.
“You’re here, Damian.”
At a small table set up there, a man sipping tea called out to him.
“Long time no see. You’ve grown a lot.”
His eyes lacked vitality and he looked weary somewhere, but this middle-aged man also held the entire Empire under his feet.
Lucas von Edbalt.
The Emperor of the Empire,
and Damian’s father.