Karnak, Monarch of Death

Every day, Varos pummeled Karnak, and every day, Karnak took the hits.

”Ugh, I’m dying here...” Karnak groaned, slumping to the ground in the training yard. His entire body ached with bruises, his muscles screaming with every move. Surely, after all this, he’d improved at least a little?

No, he hadn’t. It couldn’t be helped. He hadn’t actually learned anything new.

”Hey, isn’t it about time you taught me something? Like how to deflect hits, if I can’t dodge them...”

All he’d done was hold a sword in the right stance to take blow after blow. He would get back up and repeat the process like a toy that refused to stay down.

”Do you think deflecting a blow is some easy technique?”

Varos, who had grown considerably stronger himself, tapped Karnak’s shoulder with a wooden club.

”We have just one month, no, just ten days left. Honestly, we don’t have nearly enough time. What could you even learn in this time?”

”Then what’s the point of this training?”

”It’s to get used to the pain.”

Exceptional swordsmanship? Unbreakable endurance? Tough skin? Unwavering resolve? A novice needed one thing above all else.

”You need to get used to being hit. Get familiar with the feeling of your life hanging by a thread. Only then will you be able to keep your wits about you, and only with a clear mind can you either fight back or run.”

Normally, people didn’t need to go through such a process separately—it was something they’d naturally learn through sparring. Those with talent would adapt quickly, and even those without it would grow accustomed over time.

”But you don’t have either the time or talent, young master, so we have to force it.”

It was a reasonable answer, but just because Karnak understood it didn’t mean he was happy about it.

”And if I end up with some kind of permanent injury?”

Varos scoffed.

”I haven’t hit you hard enough for that. Besides, you’re getting hit over armor.”

Though his tone was flippant, Varos was the most loyal of Karnak’s loyal servants. He was genuinely putting his all into keeping his master safe.

”You’ve simply never done any physical work, which is why it feels worse. Honestly, this isn’t harsh training. I’ve been holding back.”

”Even so, is it okay to train every single day without a break? They say too much training can backfire.”

”That only applies once your body is actually conditioned. Right now, as long as you’re getting a good night’s sleep, that’s rest enough.”

It seemed Karnak couldn’t say anything to change his fate.

Karnak, unwilling to let it go, muttered, ”You always have a comeback, don’t you?”

Varos gave him a serious look.

”What would you feel if I tried to lecture you about necromancy?”

”I’d feel pretty amused, honestly.”

”Exactly. That’s how I feel now.”

”.....”

”So shut up and get up. Time is ticking, even as we talk.”

***

On the fifth day of this grueling training, or rather, beating, with only ten days left until the duel, Karnak finally began to learn some basic sword techniques—just a few rudimentary slashes and thrusts. With a loud shout, he swung a horizontal strike at Varos.

”Ha!”

Varos deflected it with a light tap of his wooden club and shouted, ”Louder with that battle cry!”

Karnak gathered his voice, raising his pitch as he thrust forward. ”Hyaaah!”

Still, Varos didn’t seem satisfied. ”Louder! The shout isn’t for you to gather your strength. It’s to let everyone else hear you!”

Karnak cocked his head, puzzled. ”Well, it is, isn’t it? Isn’t the point of shouting to gather strength?”

”Well, I’m saying it’s not for you,” Varos said dryly.

At Karnak’s current level, it didn’t matter if he shouted or roared like a lion—he’d still only be delivering weak strikes. The shout was really just a signal that he was still prepared to fight.

”Here I come!” Varos announced as he swung the club.

It seemed all his training hadn’t been for naught. To his surprise, Karnak managed to lift his shield in time to block it, though the impact sent him flying backward, shield and all.

”Ugh!”

Varos’s calm voice echoed across the training ground as Karnak rolled painfully across the floor. ”Don’t try to hold your ground when a real strike comes at you! Just roll on the ground!”

”That’s a little embarrassing. Can’t I just stand my ground?” Karnak groaned.

”Do you want to be sliced right through, armor and all?”

”Fine, I’ll roll.”

And so, his days continued, sword in hand, blocking blows with his shield and tumbling across the ground. For someone who had never pushed his body this hard, it was absolute torture.

”Ow, ow...” Karnak sighed, rubbing his bruised back.

”To think I’d end up tussling with a brute with a sword in this lifetime,” he muttered.

”Maybe you should’ve taken up swordsmanship, even if it was just for fun.” Varos retorted. ”You did complain about being bored for a whole century.”

”Fun? Fun means something enjoyable! What’s fun about clashing swords at close quarters with a sweaty brute?”

Before Karnak had become the Monarch of Death, he’d always acted as a wizard, even while wandering to hide his true identity. His battle strategy had been simple: keep the enemy at a distance and strike from afar. Close combat was never his style.

”My strategy was always to use a meat shield to hold the enemy off while I struck from behind.”

”Yes, I know—I was that meat shield.”

Despite the grumbling, Karnak persisted in his training, and, gradually, he began to see some improvement. He began looking like a scholar who had never left his study, but now he looked like a clumsy soldier at best. But it was enough to give him a bit of confidence.

”Maybe I actually have a chance now. I’ve been working pretty hard, haven’t I?”

Varos even admitted as much. ”Yes, you’ve put in real effort. Now, you might not be killed right away.”

”Is that all I get for my hard work?”

The day of the duel drew nearer. Two days before, Varos spoke with a solemn tone, this time holding a real longsword instead of a training club. ”I think you’re finally ready for the final stage.”

***

Varos, once the second-in-command of the Dead Empire of Necropia, had once been known as the mightiest death knight. He was the one responsible for taking down three of the Four Great Martial Kings.

”But it’s not because I was stronger than them,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

In raw power, skill, mental fortitude, and experience, they had all surpassed him. What had allowed him to defeat them was, ultimately, the overwhelming authority of the Monarch of Death, Karnak.

”Hmph, I was rather impressive, wasn’t I?” Karnak said smugly.

”Indeed. You were so impressive that you lived surrounded by nothing but animated skeletons,” Varos replied, casting Karnak a half-amused, half-exasperated glance. ”Couldn’t you have been just a little less impressive? Maybe then we’d be sitting somewhere eating steak and drinking wine.”

”If I had, we both would’ve been long dead.”

In any case, despite being a step below the Four Great Martial Kings, Varos had clearly surpassed them in one area.

”I’m unmatched at humiliating the weak before killing them. It’s what I did my entire life.”

”What a twisted guy you are.”

”You’re the one who ordered it, remember? You said bringing out their hatred and anger would make for better undead!”

Thanks to this talent, Varos could predict exactly how Randolph would toy with Karnak, how he would try to make him submit.

”He’ll most likely go about it like this.”

Varos swung his longsword at Karnak with a menacingly slow approach.

”First, he’ll taunt you with deliberate slowness, just like this.”

Karnak scrambled and rolled on the ground. His eyes were wide with fear.

”Gah! Isn’t this a little too fast?”

Varos’s strikes came down at speeds almost invisible to the naked eye, all while he nonchalantly claimed to be moving slowly.

But he continued to swing, speaking in a calm tone. ”Still, you’re dodging, aren’t you?”

Indeed, Karnak’s training hadn’t been for nothing. Though he was clumsily rolling on the ground and taking blows to his armor, he managed to avoid a direct hit.

”Hah... hah...”

Watching Karnak struggle back up and lift his sword, Varos’s face softened with satisfaction. ”That’s not bad.”

”Oh, is it really?”

”Yes, just the right level to be toyed with.”

”.....”

”I’m actually complimenting you. Reaching this point isn’t easy, you know?”

Indeed, Randolph would likely be pleased to face such a spirited opponent as Karnak. After all, this was an official duel. It wouldn’t look good on him if it appeared that he was beating down an unworthy opponent without mercy.

”And then, just as he’s about to end it...”

Even then, Randolph wouldn’t immediately go for the kill.

”The ideal spectacle is to bring you to your knees, forcing you to surrender. That way, he can leave the actual execution to the priests and retain his honor as a knight.”

So, Randolph would be targeting his legs.

”You can still stand if your arms are wounded, but if your legs are cut, it’s over—you’ll be on your knees.”

Varos’s movements suddenly shifted. In an instant, his whole form blurred, and his blade flashed towards Karnak’s knees.

”Ugh!”

Karnak froze. He had failed to react. Smiling slyly, Varos spoke. ”Just like that, he’ll go for your legs.”

”And... I’m supposed to stop that?”

”Yes.”

”I’m not sure I can.”

”Knowing the target in advance means you should be able to block it once. Of course, we’ll practice it repeatedly.”

Varos continued, explaining that this was also Karnak’s best and only opportunity to counterattack.

”Even if you spot an opening, though, you can’t just swing wildly and expect him to be hit.”

For this counterattack, Karnak would need to execute a truly powerful strike with proper technique.

”So...”

Varos lowered his stance, reversing his grip on the longsword so the blade rested close to the ground. It naturally positioned him to protect his knees.

”What you’re going to learn now is this technique.”

With a sweeping motion, Varos drew the sword up at an angle, switching his grip mid-swing. He slashed through the air, then seamlessly shifted to a single-handed grip as he twisted his body to extend his reach, adding another upward slice with the rotation’s momentum.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

The air split with two consecutive sharp sounds.

”The double rising slash, Overkill.”

Karnak’s eyes went wide as Varos explained in a calm, almost reverent tone.

”It’s a secret technique of the Sword King, Leven Strauss of Delphiad.”

”.....”

Karnak blinked repeatedly, momentarily speechless. Previously, he wouldn’t have grasped the significance of the technique. After all, he had never wielded a sword before. But now, after grueling days of relentless sword practice, he could appreciate just how advanced Varos’s demonstration had been.

”You’re telling me to do that?”

”Yes.”

”Then you should have taught me sooner! There are only two days left—how am I supposed to master something like that?”

”One day is plenty,” Varos replied, still perfectly calm. ”You’re not truly mastering it, just imitating it.”

To truly master a skill meant repeating it thousands, if not tens of thousands, of times until it became instinctual, the body moving before the mind even had to think.

”I don’t expect you to reach that level of proficiency. Just mimic it well enough in the heat of the moment.”

”And that’ll be enough?”

”Normally, no.”

But for Karnak, that wasn’t a concern.

”After all, once this ordeal is over, you’ll never need to wield a sword again. In fact, an intense crash course that’ll quickly fade from memory is ideal for you.”

”Is that so?”

Though he was still skeptical, Karnak gripped the sword and took a ready stance.

”Alright, I’ll give it a shot.”

He lowered the blade, eyes flashing as he swung it upward with all his might.

—Overkill!

The longsword flew out of his hand and tumbled into the far corner of the training ground. He’d lost his grip entirely. With a technique that required frequent grip adjustments, his fingers simply couldn’t keep up.

”...Are you really sure I can pull this off?”

Varos remained confident, his expression unchanged.

”I’m telling you, don’t worry. I planned all this with your skill level in mind.”

”And what exactly do you think my skill level is?”

”Like that of a noble lady in her teens who’s spent her days embroidering at home.”

”Bastard...”

***

Despite his grumbling, Karnak continued to train diligently, following Varos’s instructions. Thus, two days passed. At last, dawn broke on the day. The day upon which rested the fate of the House of Zestrad—and Karnak’s very life. It was the day of the trial by combat under the eyes of Alium.