The Tomb of the Dead (2)
Bathed in the glow of sunset, Handel was considerably larger than most mountain villages.
Dozens of modest homes huddled together behind a five-meter wooden palisade, and a small fountain stood at the center of an open plaza, giving the village a surprising sense of openness.
A nice place, honestly. Except…
Oscar observed the expressions of the residents passing through the streets. None of them carried the easy warmth or laid-back charm typical of mountain folk.
They all look exhausted—like they haven't slept in days.
No doubt it was the undead said to crawl out of the cemetery every night that had them living on edge. He was still surveying his surroundings with that thought in mind when an old, deflated ball rolled to a stop at his feet.
"…"
A little girl of about five came chasing after it, then froze and glanced up at him uncertainly.
Oscar dropped to one knee, bringing himself to her eye level, and smiled gently. "Is this your ball?"
"Yes…"
"It's gone a bit flat, hasn't it?"
Phoosh—fwoooosh!
The ball, which had flopped listlessly through the air, plumped up round and firm in an instant, then drifted down to float before the girl's eyes. The moment she saw the miraculous sight, she burst into giggles—
"Alice! What did Mommy say about talking to strangers!"
A woman who was clearly her mother came sprinting over, snatched the girl by the hand, and hurried away as fast as her legs would carry her.
Veronica watched them go with a scowl. "Unbelievable. What exactly do they think we did? What's their problem all of a sudden?"
"…Hard to say. Probably just a deep-seated wariness of mages."
After all, the woman's face had gone sheet-white the moment he'd used magic.
Just then, a young man who had been watching the whole scene shuffled nervously over. "Um… would you happen to be the mages from the White Tower?"
"That's right. We're here to see George, the village chief of Handel."
"O-oh, wonderful!"
His face lighting up, the man hurried to usher them along. "I'll take you straight to the chief's house."
"We'd appreciate that."
As Oscar followed the young man, he asked a simple question. "Do the villagers dislike mages that much?"
"Ah… please allow me to apologize for what happened just now. Please don't hold it against—"
"No, no. I'm not angry, and I didn't bring it up to receive an apology. I was just curious."
The young man studied his face for a long moment, apparently deciding he meant it, and finally nodded. "It's true. Honestly, the village wasn't like this until as recently as last week… but things have been so on edge lately. You do know why you were called here, yes?"
"We heard that undead have been emerging from the cemetery every night."
"Whew, yes. That's exactly it. The villagers' nerves have been worn completely raw because of it. Fights break out all the time now."
Well, that was to be expected. To him and his kind, undead were barely worth classifying as monsters—but to ordinary people, they were objects of sheer terror.
The young man stopped in front of a sizable house and rapped on the door. "Chief. Visitors from the White Tower are here."
At those words, a commotion rose from inside, and the door soon swung wide open.
"Oh, oh! Welcome, welcome!"
A white-haired old man beamed as he ushered them inside. "Come in, come in, have a seat. Now, let me see, what can I offer you… Ah! I have a tea that's very good for the body."
It would've been rude to stop him, so they simply waited, and before long the chief returned with steaming cups of tea.
"Please, drink up."
"I'm not sure it'll suit city folk's tastes, mind you."
"It's lovely. I can feel myself getting healthier with every sip."
Oscar smiled warmly and set down his cup as they exchanged introductions. The moment the pleasantries were over, he got straight to the point.
"It may be rude to ask the moment we've arrived, but I'd like to hear the full story about the undead first."
"Oh, rude? Not at all. It's a blessing, really."
Chief George began his explanation as if he'd been waiting for exactly this. "The first time those things crawled out of the ground was exactly nine days ago."
"What precisely are 'those things' you speak of?"
"Skeletons."
Skeletons. Even among undead monsters, they were classified as the absolute lowest tier. Some individuals grew stronger over long periods of learning and adaptation, but nine days left no room for that possibility.
"How strong are they?"
"The guards have banded together and brought them down again and again, but before long they just get back up."
That was the terrifying thing about the undead. Unless you thoroughly destroyed their core using mana itself, they rose again as if immortality itself had claimed them. Undead in the truest sense of the word.
Killian, who had been listening in silence until now, asked his first question. "Anything unusual happen before the undead showed up? A villager holding some suspicious ritual to see a lost loved one, maybe, or buying a magic scroll?"
"I can say with certainty that nothing of the sort happened. No villager has even left the village, and the merchants who occasionally pass through don't deal in such goods at all."
"Hmm."
Killian shot Oscar a sidelong glance. Catching the meaning in that look, Oscar nodded. "He's telling the truth. The reason I asked is that undead outbreaks generally fall into one of two categories."
Oscar raised his fingers one by one. "The first is spontaneous occurrence. Why do you think people always talk about lingering grudges? A soul bound by such deep resentment can defy the natural order and appear in the world of the living."
"But… as far as we know, no one in our village died carrying a grudge that great."
"Then the second possibility becomes far more likely."
His eyes hardened as he spoke. "Necromancy."
"N-necromancy? You mean to say this might be the work of a mage?"
"It's a possibility. We'll need to investigate before we know for certain."
Oscar turned to the stunned chief. "Come to think of it, I heard that Black Tower mages were recently spotted near the village. Is that true?"
"Th-that's right. They first showed up about a week ago, and now they're staying at the village inn."
"Do you happen to know what they're here for?"
"…I don't. They keep to themselves in a way that makes it hard to strike up conversation. Whenever they appear, the whole place goes quiet."
"Hmm."
Oscar sank into thought. The undead emerging from the cemetery each night were, at most, skeletons.
Would the Black Tower really come all this way just to play games with the lowest tier of monster?
And there was no way they didn't know this village lay within White Tower territory. They would never have made a purposeless, unnecessary visit.
"Is there any hidden underground resource near the village? A mine, perhaps?"
"I'm sorry? No, nothing like that."
"What about ruins of any kind?"
"Those neither, but…"
So he'd missed on this guess too. Then what on earth was it? Why were the Black Tower's people sniffing around this place?
Unable to resolve the question, Oscar slowly nodded. "I understand for now. Starting tonight, we'll head straight to the cemetery and begin our investigation."
"Oh, thank you! As for lodging, if you go around the right side of my house, you'll find the place with the blue roof."
"And thank you for your hospitality."
The moment they stepped out of the chief's house, Veronica—ever quick on the uptake—asked, "Still suspicious of the Black Tower, I see?"
"Of course. They're still the most likely suspects, and they're literally staying at the inn right now."
"Doesn't that strike you as odd, though? If they were really the culprits, would they be showing themselves so openly?"
"That's…"
He honestly didn't know. Then again, those were some brazen bastards.
Swallowing the rest of his thought, Oscar started walking. "Oscar. Not that way. The blue roof is supposed to be on the right."
"I know. But before we check into lodging, we eat first."
And with that, the place he walked into was the very inn where the Black Tower mages were said to be staying.
"One steak, one potato salad, and one mushroom soup—thank you for waiting."
The inn's ground floor was, naturally, a tavern and dining hall combined. The three of them had each ordered to their own tastes, but unfortunately, no Black Tower mages were anywhere in sight.
"No sign of them."
"It's probably still a bit early for dinner, that's all."
"Steak is always right."
Oscar picked at his soup while glancing repeatedly toward the staircase. There was no telling when the bastards might come down.
Veronica watched him over her salad and voiced her puzzlement. "Did you get into a fight with Black Tower mages or something? Before, I mean."
"…No. Why do you ask all of a sudden?"
"Because you're being openly hostile toward them specifically."
Hostility, was it. Oscar gave a bitter smile. Had twenty years really been enough to dilute even the Black Tower's colossal sin?
"I'd say suspecting the Black Tower in a matter involving necromancy is perfectly reasonable."
"What era are you living in? Everything changed after the war."
"Then let me ask while we're on the subject."
Oscar wiped his mouth with a napkin. "What exactly changed so much about them? Compared to before the war, I mean."
"Mm, well… you do know the Black Tower got a lot of flak during the war, right?"
"Of course I do."
And the reason was simple.
"Silgrim Pohnert, the 13th Tower Master of the Black Tower."
The worst traitor in history—a man who betrayed humanity and turned to the demons' side. He turned the roughly 1,900 comrades who had trusted and followed him into corpses, and that very night he crossed over the Red Mountains.
The damage humanity suffered from that single betrayal was almost beyond words. An entire front line was left hollow, and the demon armies came flooding through the gap. It took four months just to contain the damage.
"Right. And for the sin of producing that worst of men, the Black Tower had its limbs severed once the war ended."
"Its limbs severed?"
"The imperial court outlawed necromancy that used corpses as a matter of national law."
Veronica said this around a mouthful of potato salad. "There's exactly one exception. It's permitted if you receive imperial authorization."
"…I imagine that authorization isn't granted for just any reason."
"Exactly. And yet, even so, the Black Tower's necromancy faction wasn't entirely wiped out."
"What?"
Oscar frowned. How could a faction remain intact if its members couldn't practice necromancy?
"They use golems now."
"Golems?"
"Yeah. The Black Tower is the flagship of the steel industry these days. They forge machine golems out of a special super-alloy they produce themselves. Since they can't use corpses anymore, they handle golems instead."
Necromancy without corpses, then. Were they turning into the White Tower without its wind? Oscar let out a hollow laugh.
"They really did have their limbs cut off."
"Told you. Whether by choice or by force, they had no option but to change."
One thing, at least, had become perfectly clear: the imperial court flatly rejected and despised the Black Tower. Probably because they'd felt the full weight of that faction's power and danger with their own skin during the war.
Which means, even with their limbs severed, they're still producing results to match.
As far as he knew, the Black Tower's achievements ranked fourth among all the magic towers. In other words, if not for the White Tower, they would have earned the title of one of the Four Great Magic Towers without a shred of shame.
I honestly didn't expect them to be this formidable…
The moment that thought crossed his mind—
A creaking sound came from the staircase leading up to the second floor. And at the same time—
"…"
"…"
Oscar found himself staring directly into the eyes of a group shrouded in black robes.