Karnak, Monarch of Death

Why were necromancers hated, feared, and despised? There wasn’t even a need to debate the reasons—it was obvious. They pursued power by committing every deed a person shouldn’t. To grow stronger, they embraced utter depravity.

This was why necromancers made every effort to hide their true identities. Publicly, they used ordinary spells that resembled standard magic. In secret, they employed their truly vile techniques where no one could see. Even then, priests and those with keen senses always seemed to sniff them out.

The reason was simple. The very essence of necromancy, necrotic energy, was inherently filthy. It was the culmination of deathly aura, resentment, hatred, fear—every foul and malevolent impurity in the world. This energy would radiate simply via activation, and it naturally repelled any living being.

It was like the visceral reaction one had when standing near a decaying corpse: wrinkled noses, gag reflexes, and an instinctive desire to back away. Could such filth ever be cleansed? Even Karnak, hailed as the greatest necromancer in human history, had no way to achieve that.

The fundamental nature of necromancy was rooted in manipulating corruption, and it was that very corruption that triggered disgust. It was akin to asking for rotting food not to smell rotten. That was to demand necromancy without its grotesque stench. But it was this line of thought that sparked Karnak’s idea.

Wait, but there are foods that are meant to rot, aren’t there?

Fermentation was a well-documented human invention, after all. Alcohol, one of his favorite indulgences in his mortal life, was the result of fermentation.

If the filth can’t be cleansed, then what if it just didn’t feel filthy?

With this thought, Karnak began researching whether necrotic energy could be fermented. Of course, actual fermentation couldn’t be applied to necromancy in a literal sense. But the concept? That could be adapted.

What if I refined necrotic energy a second time and stripped away its impurities?

After decades of study, Karnak finally completed the theoretical framework. Once he returned to a living body, he successfully put it into practice.

”I removed the negative emotions like resentment and hatred from the necrotic energy, leaving only pure darkness and death. Then I refined that further into a form that closely resembles natural mana,” Karnak explained as he conjured several more flames around him.

The flames radiated none of the telltale aura of necromancy, exuding instead the feel of ordinary magic.

Smirking mischievously, Karnak added, ”It’s like mana but not quite mana, though it’s so close you might as well call it that—a third type of energy, hovering somewhere in between.”

Varos tilted his head, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. ”So, it’s like distilling all the impurities out and keeping just the good stuff? Like making fine wine?”

”Kind of? Close enough. Though not exactly,” Karnak replied, a slight chuckle escaping his lips.

”That explains why you’ve been cooped up in the study so much lately,” Varos remarked. ”I remember you used to wander around cemeteries and cursed battlefields looking for lingering resentment and malice.”

”Necromancy thrives in heavily tainted places,” Karnak agreed.

But this new energy, chaos mana, required the complete opposite—purging all impurities to isolate pure death’s essence for refinement.

”Now, I actually avoid such places. They’re nothing but a hassle, filled with unnecessary distractions.”

Varos shrugged. ”That’s a relief for me. I thought you might make me dig up corpses like before.”

It wasn’t only corpses either. In the past, he was made to abduct t people and torture them into despair just to corrupt their souls for power.

Varos gave a grim smile. ”Feels like we’re actually living as decent people now.”

”I know, right? I’ve become such a good person,” Karnak responded.

He wasn’t lying, though. His previous atrocities were truly unspeakable. Thus, this was a significant improvement. Karnak looked pleased with himself as he dispelled the flames.

”Now I can pretend to be an ordinary mage, even in front of priests.”

In his duel with Randolph, he’d been forced to play the role of a knight—a far cry from his comfort zone. With this, there’d be no need for such risky charades in the future.

Varos, however, had another question. ”By the way, why do you call it chaos mana?”

After hearing Karnak’s explanation, his power didn’t seem chaotic at all.

”Wouldn’t something like fermented mana make more sense?”

”That sounds like shit!” Karnak shouted.

”That’s the reason?”

”Don’t underestimate the power of a good name. Just look at necromancy!”

Varos raised an eyebrow, and Karnak elaborated.

Necromancers were once called dark mages or practitioners of black magic. But that wasn’t technically correct. Necromancy focused on death, while black magic leaned toward controlling the power of darkness—but the distinction was on the utilization of power. Both relied on nearly identical foundations: death and darkness.

”Like whether you pour milk into tea or tea into milk. Same thing either way.”

This overlap meant no necromancer stopped at necromancy, and no dark mage ignored necromancy. Over time, society conflated the two roles into one and the same. But the term necromancy gained traction thanks to the mages. They bristled at the association between magic and black magic, which made it sound like a subset of their craft. By contrast, necromancy felt like a wholly separate, inherently sinister force.

Thus, mages insisted on abandoning the term black magic and spread the term necromancy throughout the world. But even necromancers preferred not to call themselves dark mages, as it implied subordination to traditional magic.

”See? Now do you understand the importance of names?”

Varos thought about it for a moment.

Not in the slightest.

But he decided not to press the issue. Whether or not the name made sense didn’t really matter as long as Karnak was satisfied.

”Well then, I’ll take my leave. Good luck.”

***

Half a year had passed since Karnak’s return to this era, marking a full year since he became the new lord of Zestrad. Both he and Varos were leading fulfilling lives.

Varos diligently honed his skills daily, walking the path of a knight. Though his humble origins meant he had yet to receive formal knighthood, the people of the territory had long acknowledged him as a knight.

By now, Varos was indisputably the strongest knight in Zestrad. His rapid growth was so remarkable that the other knights were no match for him, even if they faced him together. If not for the lack of an opportunity to showcase his prowess beyond the territory, his name would already have spread far and wide. Not that Varos cared.

It’s better for me to remain unknown, he thought.

Fame, after all, often meant having to face countless opponents. Having survived decades of brutal warfare—and even died a few times—Varos had no interest in accumulating fame.

I’d rather enjoy a cold beer after a hard day’s work!

After finishing another satisfying training session, his body dripping with sweat, Varos downed a frothy mug of beer.

”Ah, now this, this is the highlight of my day!”

Emptying his mug, Varos stepped out of the manor’s training ground, heading for the well to wash up. Passing maids blushed at the sight of him, shirtless and glistening.

”Oh my, it’s Varos.”

”He’s gotten so dashing lately, hasn’t he?”

Gone was the gangly youth with nothing but height to his name. His shoulders were broad, his chest expansive, his back solid like an ox, and his limbs bulged with taut, well-defined muscles.

Unlike before, Varos now treated his body with care. He ate moderately no matter how delicious the food and maintained his training regimen no matter how tedious it felt, doing everything he could to keep his precious, living flesh in peak condition. Many admired him for it.

Despite his youthful energy, Varos exercised restraint and self-discipline, devoting himself to self-improvement. It was truly an admirable sight. Of course, his mindset remained closer to that of a middle-aged man.

One more beer would be great. But no, I should hold back. Health is everything.

***

Meanwhile, in the Zestrad estate’s office, Karnak had long since finished his administrative duties and was focused on refining his chaos mana. In the midst of his practice, a knock came at the door.

”Brought snacks, young master.”

”Come in, Varos.”

Although Varos was now recognized as a knight and could have left such menial tasks to the maids, he still personally attended to Karnak.

Why?

As soon as he set the tray on the table, he casually split the pile of confections in half, sliding one portion toward himself.

”Half of this is mine, right?”

It was his way of enjoying the lord’s luxurious snacks without anyone noticing, using his role as an attendant as an excuse.

”Yeah, yeah, go ahead,” Karnak said.

The two happily munched away at the confections, savoring each bite.

”Ah, so sweet.”

”Delicious!”

The treats disappeared in no time. Karnak sighed wistfully.

”Can’t we have a bit more? It’s not like we’re short on money for snacks.”

Varos immediately objected. ”You’ll get fat.”

”I don’t gain weight easily.”

”That’s even worse. Skinny people with just a pot belly? That’s the most dangerous kind.”

Sure, they were still young, and a few extra sweets wouldn’t do any real harm. But anyone who had lived long enough knew the truth. It always started small. Small indulgences would add up before you knew it, and it would leave your body in ruins.

”Right. Never trust yourself. I know that I can’t trust myself.”

Resigning to his better instincts, Karnak pushed the plate of cookies away.

As Varos tidied up, he asked, ”How’s the magic training going?”

”I think I’m about ready to step out into the world as a mage.”

While Karnak had performed admirably as a knight during the trial by combat, he couldn’t continue pretending to walk the knight’s path forever. So he had made a dramatic announcement.

”The way of the knight doesn’t suit me. From now on, I will pursue the path of a mage!”

Surprisingly, coming across the Delphiad swordsmanship wasn’t his only fortunate encounter.

”While training in the mountains to master the Delphiad swordsmanship, I stumbled upon a great legacy. The spellbook of Dallas, the court mage who rose to fame 150 years ago!”

”Ooh! What fortune for our lord!”

To the people of Zestrad, Karnak’s choice wasn’t strange at all. After all, they had witnessed his trial by combat firsthand. Karnak had displayed indomitable resolve, noble determination, and the dignity befitting an aristocrat. He was a truly admirable lord.

But... was he any good at fighting?

Even to an amateur, it was clear...

He didn’t really have the talent for it.

If he excels as a mage instead, that’s for the best!

And why not? It was a spellbook belonging to a court mage of the past! Perhaps the Zestrad family would produce a first-rate mage!

”My magical prowess skyrocketed thanks to the spellbook. It’s a perfectly reasonable story, right?” Karnak said smugly.

Varos raised a skeptical brow. ”It is, I suppose, but...”

Varos knew better than anyone that there was no such spellbook.

”Who’s Dallas? Was he even a real person?”

”Oh, he was real, alright. That’s why I borrowed his name.”

Dallas had been a renowned mage 150 years ago, and his name was still remembered.

”What if one of his actual descendants shows up? The legacy of a court mage could cause problems, no?”

”They won’t.”

”Are you sure about that?”

”Absolutely. Dallas left no disciples and wrote no spellbooks. There’s nothing to connect anyone to him.”

”And you know this for a fact because...?”

Karnak grinned confidently. ”Because he told me himself. You know him too, Varos.”

”Huh?”

”Remember the archlich I sent to manage Necropia’s southern region?”

Varos paused, racking his memory, then his eyes widened. ”Governor Demphis?”

”Yup. Back when he was alive, his name was Dallas.”

”But... you said he was a mage from 150 years ago. How could he have been working with us? The timeline doesn’t add up.”

”Remember that ruin we excavated in the Baracant Mountains?”

”Yeah?”

”We found a mage’s remains there, crafted them into an undead, and bound his soul to create an archlich. That’s him.”

”Oh...”

Indeed, Dallas had been real, and Karnak had even extracted his original magic—though it was more like forcibly ripping it out through mind control—and converted it into chaos mana techniques.

”With that as my cover, I can convincingly pass as a mage, heh heh heh.”

Sure, it wouldn’t grant him the awe-inspiring power he had wielded as the Monarch of Death, but...

”What does it matter? It’s not like I’m planning to conquer the world again.”

All Karnak needed was enough power to defend his territory and handle the occasional mishap.

”And if something truly catastrophic happens that your power can’t handle?” Varos asked.

”I don’t get involved in the first place.”

Over his century-long life, Karnak had learned one undeniable truth. He wasn’t so sure if great power came with great responsibility. But with great power definitely came great trouble. He knew from experience.

”I’ll hole up here and live as quietly as a mouse! I swear I’ll never meddle in the affairs of the world again!”

Karnak clenched his fists, resolutely affirming his decision. It took approximately three months for him to realize how terribly wrong he was.