Chapter 306: The Tin Knight and The Invitation of Memories (6)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 306: The Tin Knight and The Invitation of Memories (6)
People say that necromancy is the school for the truly have-nots.
Unlike a Wizard, a Necromancer doesn't need much mana, for they draw it from the grudges of the dead.
Unlike an Alchemist, a Necromancer doesn't need to be wealthy, for the world is overflowing with corpses.
Unlike an Enchantress, a Necromancer doesn't need to be brilliant, for necromancy is the kind of magic where even curses born from street gossip can somehow be effective.
To put it another way, this also meant that those born with abundant mana, a powerful family, and a sharp mind shouldn't even glance at something like necromancy.
The reality was that they were overwhelmed by Wizards in terms of firepower, by Alchemists in cost-effectiveness, and by Enchantresses in versatility and convenience.
However, there was one thing that even Necromancers did better than anyone else.
It was the ultimate magic when it came to frightening people.
*
“Yes, yes. A wise decision, kid. Don’t you worry, we’ll make sure you’re properly compensated.”
The man was in a good mood.
Tip, who had stubbornly insisted he wouldn't give up the house despite the man's polite ‘offer,’ had finally nodded in agreement.
His underlings had argued that they should just bury Tip and take the house, but it was much cleaner to be ‘handed over’ the house through a legitimate contract than to squat in a house whose owner had ‘gone missing.’
This was true for when they might need to sell the house, and also to claim it was a legitimate transaction in the unlikely event the city guard showed any interest.
“Ha, haha…”
When the man patted the small boy’s back, Tip seemed to flinch in pain for a moment before quickly returning to an awkward smile.
The man knew that face well.
It was the face of the weak fawning over the strong.
They were the kind of people who felt dissatisfied deep down, but knew that showing it would only lead to worse suffering. So, the habit of smiling reflexively was ingrained in them.
It was a common sight among the city’s orphans and paupers.
Of course, the man felt no particular pang of conscience about it. Sucking the lifeblood out of such people was their livelihood, after all.
Some had cursed them, saying they would face their karma one day, but the man hadn't batted an eye.
The wicked receiving punishment?
Where else in the world could you find such a naive tale?
Before drawing up the official contract, the man and his gang decided to inspect the interior of the house. As they stepped inside, they let out sounds of admiration.
“It’s cleaner inside than I thought.”
“Hah, to think a single kid had a place like this all to himself.”
A two-story structure, a rare sight in the homes of commoners.
The interior decorations, like carpets and paintings, were gone, likely sold off already, but the sheer number of rooms—more than five—was enough to satisfy the man and his gang.
We can get a pretty decent price for this, the man thought with satisfaction. Just then.
“But, isn't it a bit… creepy in here?”
“You’re right. It was fine outside, but now that we’re in, it feels a bit colder…?”
“Is the air damp?”
The gang members who had entered with the man shivered in unison.
Was it because of what they’d said?
The man, who had felt fine until a moment ago, now felt an inexplicable chill wrap around his body.
An orphan living hand-to-mouth was unlikely to have a stash of candles, so the fact that the entire house was virtually unlit only added to the feeling.
“It must be because there’s no sunlight. If we open a window—”
—Aaaaaaaaaah!!
A shrill woman's scream suddenly echoed through the house, cutting the man off.
Startled, the gang flinched.
“Wh-what was that? What was that sound?”
“The second floor?”
“Hey, kid. Is there anyone else here—huh? Where did this little shit go?”
The man was bewildered.
Tip, who had been right beside him just a moment ago, had vanished.
And that wasn't the only strange thing.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
A sound, as if something was repeatedly colliding with a surface, echoed from the second floor at a steady interval and intensity.
“B-Boss. Something’s not right. How about we step outside for a bit?”
“Maybe this is one of those haunted houses?”
“Cut the crap.”
The man snapped, brushing off his underlings’ anxious words.
“It’s obvious this little brat is pulling a trick to scare us. I was going to show him a little consideration since he was being so obedient, but he dares to pull a stunt like this?”
His idea of ‘consideration’ was merely tossing a few coins their way instead of just forcing them to sign the contract for nothing and kicking them out, which was just as thuggish, but the man was genuinely furious.
“Find that little bastard! Find him and drag him to me! There might be other scumbags on the second floor, so go together!”
With that shout, the man plopped down onto a chair in the corner of the living room.
At their leader’s command, the three gang members headed up the stairs to the second floor, their expressions clearly reluctant.
Creek, creak. The sound of them climbing the stairs echoed unusually loudly.
Some time passed.
The man grew impatient.
“What’s taking these bastards so long?”
Given the size of the mansion, enough time had passed for them to have searched the entire second floor.
At the very least, they should have reported back if they couldn't find him, or he should have heard some commotion from upstairs, but there was nothing.
The man stood up, annoyed.
Glancing around the desolate living room, devoid of any furniture, he clicked his tongue, then suddenly realized something odd.
Why is there only one chair here? There isn't even a table.
He casually looked down at the ‘chair’ he had just been sitting on.
And then.
The ‘human’ who had been crouched on the floor, offering his back to the man, kept his posture but twisted only his neck with a sickening crack to meet the man's eyes.
“W-Wuaaaaaah!!”
The man screamed and scrambled backward, tumbling to the floor.
The ‘thing’ that had been mimicking a chair stared at the man, then began to crawl across the floor in its crouched position, its knees thudding against the ground.
At the terrifying and grotesque sight, the man panicked and scrambled up the stairs.
He wanted to flee the building, but the ‘thing’ was lingering near the door, leaving him no other choice.
“Hey! Where are you guys! Answer me! Hey! I said answer!!”
Driven by the sole thought of regrouping with his comrades, the man desperately searched the second floor.
Finally, he threw open a door and his jaw dropped.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”
“I’ll never do it again. Please forgive me. Forgive me.”
“Hee, hee, hehehehe.”
His underlings were all staring into space, their minds gone, trembling as they muttered nonsense.
It was as if they had seen something so horrifying it had shattered their sanity.
“You guys! Snap out of it! Hey!”
The man slapped their cheeks, but his underlings only drooled with vacant eyes, failing to respond properly.
Just then, the same thudding sound reached the man’s ears again.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
“This… this little brat, really…!”
Forcibly suppressing the fear creeping up his spine with anger, the man approached the room the sound was coming from and flung the door open.
And that was the last of the courage the man could muster.
“So, Mom, those bad men were bullying me. You have to punish them for me. It’s a promise, okay?”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
In front of the little boy, who was speaking earnestly with his back to the door, was a hanged corpse, swaying as if in the wind, ceaselessly bumping its body against the wall.
“That’s right, Patrasche. Next time, I’ll point out the bad guys for you, so you have to bite them hard, okay?”
Enjoying the boy’s touch, as if he were petting a dog, was the very ‘thing’ that had terrified the man by crawling on all fours despite being human.
The sight of a small child speaking so familiarly to a hanged corpse and a human dog was so terrifying that the man could barely breathe.
The moment he reflexively took a step back.
Creek.
The wooden floor let out a shrill noise, and the boy stopped talking.
The man’s heart felt like it would stop too.
Then slowly, very slowly, the boy named Tip turned his head.
He pointed a finger at the man and said.
“That’s him! The bad guy!”
The eyes of the corpse, which hung from the rope with its tongue lolling out, turned toward the man.
The human-shaped monster, which had been panting like a dog, looked at the man.
—Aaaaaaaaaah!
Th-th-th-th-thump!
A woman screamed shrilly and flew through the air, and the human dog crawled across the floor at a terrifying speed.
The moment their hands touched his body.
The man couldn't take it anymore and passed out.
After that.
It didn't take long for a rumor about a haunted house to spread among the unsavory gangs of Glückstadt.
*
“Amazing! Amazing! Dorothy! You're a truly amazing mage! The guys who used to bully me now run away in fear at the mere sight of me! It’s all thanks to you!”
“Hmph, ahem, you're exaggerating. It was nothing.”
Dorothea maintained a cool demeanor toward the wide-eyed, admiring Tip, but it was obvious to anyone that she didn't mean it.
Just from the way the corners of her mouth were trembling, it was clear she was happy but trying her best to remain composed.
After the grand play utilizing necromancy, Tip’s standing had completely changed.
If any mage other than a necromancer had helped Tip, it would have been difficult to achieve such a dramatic effect.
If a mage who could shoot giant fireballs from their hands had been protecting Tip, the bullies might not have touched him for the time being, but that protection would have been unstable.
They might think they could just harm Tip when the mage wasn't around.
Of course, the thought of future retaliation would prevent them from acting rashly, but there were plenty of people who lived only for today, without a thought for tomorrow.
But necromancy was different.
Ghosts, spirits, curses—these were all beings with ambiguous forms and structures.
The threat of a fire-slinging mage could be avoided by simply avoiding the mage, but the threat of a ghost could strike anywhere, anytime, without warning.
What if they did something minor to Tip, and a ghost visited them that very night?
If they had seen Dorothea brandishing her staff and summoning spirits with their own eyes, it might have been different. But since Dorothea herself had remained hidden, focusing entirely on creating the effect of a ‘supernatural phenomenon,’ the victims had no choice but to perceive it in the realm of emotion, not logic.
It was from that point on that Tip's attitude toward Dorothea began to slowly change.
“Dorothy, you’re really amazing.”
“You can do things like this, too? Incredible!”
“Dorothy is the best! No other mage can compare!”
Tip praised and lauded Dorothea.
Dorothea, while flustered by his attitude, also found herself giving more and more to Tip.
To call it pity would be a little cruel.
Dorothea had simply assessed the situation objectively.
Tip was weak compared to Dorothea, and his abilities were insignificant next to hers.
Tip tried various things to be helpful to Dorothea in his own way, but his efforts faded all too easily before Dorothea's special talents.
Tip’s living conditions steadily improved, and his dependence on Dorothea also grew deeper and deeper.
Then one day.
The Witch of the East asked her apprentice.
“Are you keeping a pet somewhere?”