Chapter 102
Chapter 102
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 102
Chapter Title: Night Crawler 4
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Unlike the brave Brand, the soldiers were trembling in terror.
“What in the world... Not just human bodies—animal corpses are coming back too?”
The village dogs that had been raised by the humans emerged first, now undead and shambling forward.
He could tell just how skilled the black magic sorcerer controlling these undead was.
“Eek! Th-there’s too many!”
Seeing the soldiers frozen in fear, Zibek realized this wouldn’t do and turned to Azadin.
“I’d like to use Judgment Mace, but do you have a mace I can use as a medium?”
“How about this?”
When Zibek requested a mace, Azadin pulled one from his saddlebag, rummaging through them to find the rusted and worn ones.
“...”
“No need for good ones if it’s just a magic medium, right?”
“We’re in a hurry.”
“Argh, seriously! I’ve been so busy lately, I slacked on organizing!”
Azadin picked out the rusted, chipped, or dented maces and hammers—the ones in poor condition—and handed them to Zibek.
‘Even in a situation like this, he’s picky about picking them out.’
Zibek found Azadin’s obsession with equipment condition ridiculous as he took hold of a mace.
Though fed up with Azadin’s hoarding tendencies, Zibek selected the rusted, worst ones first and cast the incantation.
“Subdue those who stray from the righteous path. O King’s Radiance!”
—Judgment Mace!
Zibek hurled the mace. It arced through the air, blazing with brilliant light as it plunged toward the ground, spreading ripples of radiance that scorched the undead it touched.
“Kaaak!”
“Kee-eek!”
The undead writhed in agony before collapsing. Then, in the distance, waves of magic pulsed. The black mage was casting a spell.
The undead suddenly howled skyward like beasts, then charged with ferocious speed incomparable to their previous shambling pace. Dozens of frenzied undead rushing forward was a horrifying sight.
“Eek!?”
“Uwaa!”
The soldiers recoiled in horror.
“Spears up—hold formation!”
Zibek left his horse nearby and took up a spear alongside the soldiers. Against the wave of oncoming undead, this meager line of spearmen barely qualified as a formation.
Then the wave crashed upon them.
“Focus!”
The soldiers and knights finally snapped to attention, following Sir Zibek’s orders. They thrust their spears at the undead hurtling toward them. As their attacks converged, one undead impaled itself on a spear and flailed wildly.
“Eek!”
“Ah! It won’t come out!”
The spear was stuck fast in the undead. Meanwhile, more closed in.
“S-save me!”
Some soldiers even dropped their spears to flee. But Zibek wheeled his horse around; it lashed out with a powerful rear kick, sending an undead flying backward.
“Hup!”
Sir Zibek thrust his spear into an undead lunging at his horse. He twisted it free with ease, lifted it out, then demonstrated another strike.
“Again!”
At Sir Zibek’s command, the soldiers and Brand gripped their spears and reformed their line. They repelled the next wave of undead with thrusts that succeeded this time.
“Hmm, impressive.”
Azadin watched in admiration as Zibek covered the soldiers’ gaps, giving them time to recover their spears after thrusting.
Every swing of Sir Zibek’s spear felled undead—this knight was no ordinary man. His command was remarkable too. Maintaining calm composure in the face of an undead assault that would shatter most people’s minds proved Zibek was far beyond a typical holy knight.
‘Zibek’s stoic personality hinted at his skill, but Sir Brand’s the real surprise.’
The elderly Sir Brand claimed to be a scribe, yet he wielded surprising strength. During their escape from the bandit den, he’d swung a heavy iron prybar as if it weighed nothing.
With such raw power, he handled the long spear effortlessly. His skill even surpassed the soldiers’. They could barely extract spears from undead flesh without flailing helplessly.
“Now it’s time for the attendants to shine.”
Azadin waited, placing his hopes on Ismail and Midiam. Moments later, a whisper came from the nearby brush—Midiam communicating via magic.
[Azadin! Found the sorcerer. But...]
“But what?”
[There’s a naga woman with him, right?]
“...?”
Shati frowned upon hearing that.
“I heard you.”
[Want us to bring her?]
“Yeah, do it!”
Azadin asked Zibek to hold the line and slipped off to the side.
“Then, Shati, shall we go together?”
“No, wait. Why does the necromancer have one of our nagas?”
Midiam hadn’t said “naga,” but confirming Shati could hear was confirmation enough.
“Seems likely? What are the nagas thinking? Still treating this place like their territory even after Count Salasma’s death?”
“No idea. I’m just a commoner caste.”
Shati rolled her eyes as she said it, clearly plotting an escape, but she had no chance of slipping away from Azadin.
“No funny ideas. Come on, Shati.”
“Damn it. And I even healed you.”
“I’m grateful for that.”
Azadin kept a close eye on Shati to prevent any escape as they moved.
*********
According to Kurt divine race mythology, the orc god Kanan bestowed great gifts upon his children, the orcs, so they could dominate all other races and reign supreme.
Powerful bodies packed with muscle, superior intellect, immense ambition and magical talent—even lifespans rivaling elves.
But those gifts piled up into a curse. Most orcs didn’t even outlive the average human.
The problem lay in Kanan’s gift of muscle. Their bodies built muscle too easily, leaving most orcs starving. Their metabolism was abysmal.
And despite the muscular builds, their stamina was abysmal. Too much muscle sapped endurance. No matter how much blood their hearts pumped, the muscles devoured all the oxygen and nutrients, leaving orcs plagued by heart and lung failure. Most died before forty from heart failure.
The orc necromancer here, Scott McGreen, sat in a wheelchair to overcome that orcish limit. Preserved muscles lined the chair, moving it by his will alone—designed to minimize his own movement against his body’s muscle-building curse, letting him breathe easy. But eating meant he still had to move somewhat, even on the chair.
“What the hell are you doing, orc?”
His naga employers vented their frustration.
“Dragging this out against mere human holy knights?”
“Sitting idle in the rear like that.”
Apparently, lounging in a wheelchair irked his employers.
‘These dumb racist bastards. I’m busting my ass showing loyalty, and they can’t stand seeing me idle?’
To orc Scott, these nagas were elitists drunk on their own superiority. Among Kurt’s pantheon and divine race kin, nagas believed themselves the greatest—viewing orcs as mere useful servants, handy hires with a few talents.
“You gorge like a mountain—get that Divine King Scripture out already!”
“You begged us to handle the intruders! No, one of you wants intruders dead, another wants the scripture manifested. Which tune am I dancing to?”
Scott had turned villagers into undead and even swept away Count Lantariq’s army with them to manifest a hidden Divine King Scripture copy.
An enormous feat, yet the impatient nagas issued conflicting orders.
“You, pigging out like a mountain, daring complain to your employers?”
“Enough—pull out the Divine King Scripture first!”
“No, kill the intruders! They might be after the scripture!”
Make up their minds—scripture first or intruders? Scott wished for clarity.
But he leaned back in his wheelchair, careful not to build muscle, steadying his breath.
‘Too much breathing bulks the organs. Shortens lifespan.’
Calming himself, Scott focused. The wheelchair rolled forward under necromantic control.
“Pissing me off, you snakeheads. Pick one instead of ‘do this, do that.’ Isn’t your clusterfuck command structure why we’re in this mess?”
“Look at this guy talking back to his employers?”
“Wanna skip meals today?”
“...Fine, you cheats. Intruders first?”
Scott prioritized intruders; the naga who’d pushed for it strutted, but others glared, resentful he’d ignored their orders.
‘Damn. Pitiful. Nice going, nagas. Employers going too far? Better off with Mezzeri’s apostles?’
Scott sighed, cast a spell to empower the undead, and unleashed them.
“Fine, that settles it? Deal with the invaders quick, then focus on manifesting the scripture.”
The nagas figured the few invaders would fall fast to the undead horde and prodded Scott. But his eyes widened.
“Wait! They’re fighting too well!”
“What?”
“The... intruders are handling the undead way too effectively.”
“What nonsense? Survivors against this many undead?”
“Seems like church holy knights. Undead’s natural counters.”
“Yeah? Holy knights these days are all pushovers.”
“These are the real deal! Looks like you esteemed snakeheads need to step up—show off your skills?”
Scott pressed, but the nagas just stared blankly at each other.
“A laborer ordering around his employers?”
“You eat so much supply’s strained—time to earn your keep, orc?”
“You want me to go upfront against intruders? Why do you think I’m in this wheelchair?”
“But... these undead are under your necromancy control, right?”
“What if you turn sour and sic them on us?”
They didn’t trust him not to betray them. And constant jabs about his eating.
‘I eat a lot, sure, but this is overkill?’
Scott swallowed his rage and nodded. Just that slight motion thickened his neck muscles.
“Damn. Quit bitching about my eating. Or just do it yourselves?”
Scott wheeled forward.