The Tomb of the Dead (7)
John Dras.
That had been the name the Lich went by in the days when he was still human. He had been a faithful subordinate of Silgrim Pohnert, a black mage who held his place among the ranks when his master betrayed humanity and marched at the head of a legion of corpses.
"Hmm. So, in short, we are merely to hold this front line?"
"That is so."
At the words of the demon who had become his ally, he cast his gaze across the surroundings. The hundreds of demon soldiers stationed at the outposts felt solid as bedrock just by their presence. And on top of that, this place held the thousands of undead soldiers Silgrim Pohnert had entrusted to him.
This is... an army strong enough to invade and conquer a major city, no question.
Allies who filled his shoulders with confidence and swelled his chest just to look at them. It was only natural that a bold voice came spilling out of him.
"Hardly a difficult task, I should think. Even if the infamous Imperial Legion invades, we will repel them."
"The humans' Imperial Legion? That's nothing."
The demon shook its head.
"What we must fear is the White Tower. And within it, one mage above all."
"One mage, you say... do you mean Oscar Sage, by any chance?"
John had heard the rumors himself. A man who had become the Master of the White Tower at the mere age of his mid-twenties. Humanity's hope and hero, whose skill reached the heavens and whose very name was spoken among the demons as a nightmare.
Lord Silgrim mentioned it as well, didn't he.
Whatever else, there was Oscar Sage. Be careful of that one above all.
John wore a look of indifference.
8th level, was it?
Of course, that was a tremendous realm in its own right — but at the end of the day, wasn't he still just one man? He found it doubtful that an army holding an entire front line needed to be on edge over a single individual.
Either way, he's nothing but a hero manufactured by the Empire. An era like this one needs its icons of hope, after all.
But it took less than a few days for John to face the truth — to learn just how terrifying the power of that mage, the nightmare of the demons, truly was.
"......"
It was a battle — no, a slaughter — so one-sided that it was hard to tell which side was demon and which was human. The white devil appeared with a face devoid of emotion, and each time a wind violent enough to warp the very fabric of space swept past, dozens of heads dropped to the ground.
The time it took for that unshakably confident legion to fall before a single individual was a mere two hours.
"......"
Sensing defeat mid-battle, John Dras had dug into the earth and hidden. He slipped into the ground where the corpses were stored and slowed even the beating of his heart to the barest minimum. It wasn't difficult to guess which side had won the battle raging above.
Thud. Thud.
He could hear the horrifying footsteps, unmistakably drawing closer to where he lay. And then — heaven spared him.
"...What? The front line?"
The man, as though receiving a communication spell, held his silence for a moment before letting out a sigh.
"I will come soon. Hold out as long as you can."
Even after the man departed, John was too terrified to crawl out of the ground until a full two days had passed, and then he simply fled. He prepared the ritual to become a Lich and sank into a long, long slumber. Decades of it — for if he slept that long, surely even that nightmare would be over.
-...Mm.
The Lich groaned. But why — why did that brat before him carry the aura of that man, that human who had been a devil incarnate?
He must be that man's disciple.
It was a natural conclusion. He had slept for decades, after all — the human before him could not possibly be the man himself. Above all, the face was different.
So... I, who became this great and exalted being, was frightened by a mere disciple?
Stung by the humiliation, the Lich shrieked.
-I will destroy you!
The moment his hand shot out, a massive Thorn of Hatred came surging toward Oscar.
"......"
Oscar did not take his eyes off the incoming thorn for even an instant. Staring it dead on, his lips parted.
"Wind Cutter."
Whiiiing.
A single, humble blade of wind rose to meet the thorn, which was hundreds of times larger than itself. And in the same instant — the thorn that looked ready to shred Oscar to ribbons was split into exactly two.
-He... he severed the very structure of my spell...? And with nothing but a 3rd-level spell?
"That's twice now."
Unsatisfied with merely cutting the thorn, the wind pressed on, carving dozens of lines across the Lich's body.
Crack-crack-crack!
Oscar watched the mound of bones crumble and collapse, then quietly sat himself down before it. An ordinary Lich was regarded as a 7th-level archmage-class entity, but this one didn't measure up.
Probably because his full resurrection ritual was interrupted.
Right now, this thing was at the level of a 6th-level mage — and only because he'd so recently woken from his slumber. With time, he would grow more accustomed to his undead body, and the gap in skill would only widen.
Gazing at the Lich as it slowly reconstructed itself, Oscar muttered.
"...Hurry up and find those things already, you lot. And smash them."
Before my mana runs dry.
Veronica's Tracking spell led them beneath a certain tomb. At first they had simply followed the death aura, half in doubt — but the moment a hidden staircase revealed itself, everything changed.
"To think there was a place like this under the graveyard."
"Hm. The death aura grows stronger with every step down."
The potent death energy seeping from this place was thick enough to be felt even on the surface. It was more than likely the very reason skeletons had risen in the first place.
"...Hey."
"I see it."
What awaited them at the bottom of the stairs was a fairly spacious chamber. Mist drifting at ankle height mingled with the lighting, lending the space a dreamlike, otherworldly air. And at the far end of that mystical chamber sat a single small jar, sealed in layer upon layer of wrappings.
"That jar has a really unusual feel to it."
"I can sense a wicked soul within. That must be the vessel."
Kilian started forward at a brisk, deliberate pace.
"It needs to be smashed, fast. Oscar and the rest of them are in danger."
"Whoa, wait a second! There could be traps or monsters hiding down here—!"
The instant Veronica shrieked at his reckless advance—
KWAAANG!
A massive concussion roared out, and Kilian's new-model coat was thrown backward.
"...If something were hiding, it would have shown itself. As it just did."
Kilian, arms crossed to block the blow, grimaced. He had deflected a single strike, and still the ache sank clear to the marrow of his bones.
Ssssssss.
The mist that had been drifting at their ankles gathered in one place, condensing into the shape of a mounted knight.
"...An undead."
The enemy was confirmed; all that remained was to put it down. overlaying silver mana across his fingertips, Kilian closed the distance in a flash.
『Wind Claws』
KWAANG!
The knight, sword raised, turned the attack aside — but its steed wobbled and staggered back a step.
The attacks land.
Which meant this was not an opponent beyond his ability to handle. Confidence bolstered, Kilian circled the enemy like a wolf, watching for his chance. The knight had to fend off Veronica's spells, which came raining in without pause — the opening would come eventually.
Tap-tack. Tap.
And then, at last, came the moment — the horse's footwork tangled, and the knight staggered backward.
Now.
Kilian had no intention of letting that gap slip away, and he lunged like an arrow loosed.
KWAAAAAANG!
The result, in short, was failure.
"......"
His claws, aimed at the knight's throat, had collided with a wind arrow that came streaking in from behind. Putting distance between himself and the knight, Kilian's face twisted into a deep scowl.
"What is this supposed to be?"
"What are you playing at? I finally land a strike on an opening and you block it with your own body?"
"I found that opening, and I was more than capable of finishing it myself."
"Oh, give me a break. You got so dazzled by my spells flying past that you tripped over them — so technically, I made that opening."
Just as the two of them descended into pointless bickering—
-Hihihiiiin!
The black horse reared up with a shriek and came barreling straight at them.
"Damn it, focus on the fight!"
"You do your job properly!"
The knight, having tasted one mistake, moved far more tightly than before. In other words, it no longer gave up openings so readily.
But if I push my speed to its absolute limit...
Kilian's Acceleration tattoo flared three times. Moving at a speed incomparable to anything before, he seized the knight's back in a single instant.
-...!
"Got you."
His sharp claws raked sideways, driving straight into the nape of the knight's neck.
Shrak!
The severed head soared into the air, and just as Kilian curled one corner of his mouth in triumph—
"?"
WHOOOM!
The headless knight spun in place and swung its sword at him.
It's moving without its head?
So this thing wasn't an ordinary undead — it was a Dullahan.
Just as panic bloomed across Kilian's face, his body frozen by the unexpected—
KAANG!
A bolt of wind, lightning-fast, streaked in from behind and beat the knight's sword aside.
"...!"
If the spell had aimed at the knight's body instead, Kilian might have been badly hurt or even killed — but the knight would have been finished for good. Which meant the strike that deflected the blade and saved him carried only one meaning.
"Ugh, you reckless idiot... Fine. I softened it up this much, so finish it yourself."
A noisy woman who did nothing but grumble and complain, every single time — and yet, at the very least, one who knew what it meant to watch out for her comrades.
"...Not bad. I'm impressed."
Uttering that driest of compliments, Kilian surged his mana upward. The wind claws followed.
SHWAAAAAAAAAK!
The Dullahan, eight fresh lines carved across its chest in an instant, burst apart and died on the spot.
KWADEUK!
Kilian charged straight for the jar and smashed it, muttering under his breath.
"Please, let us not be too late."
"Phew. These guys are really damn slow."
Oscar muttered. His condition, frankly, was not good. He had shattered the Lich seven times over — but the last time had taken a full four strikes.
Dealing with him is starting to wear me down. And he's getting used to that body, too.
Even compared to the start of the fight, the circulation of the Lich's mana had grown visibly smoother. The difference between a freshly awakened 6th-level and a seasoned 6th-level mage was enormous.
"...Still, it's a relief. We weren't too late."
-GRAAAAAAH!
The Lich let out a scream. The reason was obvious enough — the vessel had been shattered.
-Damn you... damn humans... damn you all... the White Toooower!
Malice churned in the Lich's resentment-soaked eyes, murderous light glinting off them. The mana he wrung from every last corner of his being began to press down upon the entire chamber, as if to crush it flat.
-Very well... even if it means my own destruction, I will tear you apart and drag you down with me as my companion in death.
"I'll pass, thanks."
He had no taste for dancing with skeletons.
Oscar drew his mana up and settled into his stance.
Oscar-Style Martial Arts — Secret Art, Chapter 1.
-...Wait. Surely you don't mean—
Like oil flung onto a raging bonfire. Oscar felt the instinctive terror ballooning in the Lich's eyes, and his lips parted.
"Sound of the Wave."
The mana that rose like a tidal wave paid no heed whatsoever to the immense death magic standing in its path. Such was the nature of wind. There was no need to smash through or force past whatever blocked its way.
"It simply passes by."
The core of this technique was to strike the oxygen within the blood and trigger an explosion. But that didn't mean it lacked destructive force in its own right.
"At the very least,"
snapping a few old, weathered bone fragments was no trouble at all.
CRACK-CRACK!
-Oscar... Sage...?
For one fleeting instant, it almost sounded as if the Lich's voice had turned hollow and distant — but it was swallowed by the Sound of the Wave and scattered, no more than an echo on the air.