Karnak, Monarch of Death

In the western part of the continent lay the Seven Kingdoms Alliance. Among them, the city of Trist existed on the border between the northern Kingdom of Eustil and the northwestern Kingdom of Tarum. This city had no official ruler, only a swarm of people vying for control.

Originally, Trist City had been established as a buffer zone between Eustil and Tarum after years of territorial disputes. To put an end to the conflict, both kingdoms agreed to a political marriage between lesser nobles from their respective countries. This union gave birth to the Trist County, and Trist was designated as a neutral territory.

The problem was that Trist was located on a strategic position on a river, which made it a hub for trade and commerce. Its value was precisely why Eustil and Tarum had fought wars over it in the first place.

Given its commercial significance, the city attracted wealth and people, which meant competent governance was a necessity. Unfortunately, the Trist County was merely a puppet established with no real power, and they lacked the necessary competence.

But neither Eustil nor Tarum could intervene directly, as doing so would provoke the other. With no effective ruler, various factions fought over the city’s wealth, and chaos soon engulfed Trist. It was a matter of time before the city devolved into anarchy.

Criminals and smugglers thrived, and bloody power struggles became a daily occurrence. Decades later, the city was no longer referred to as the Trist County.

The City of Sin. The Hell of the Mortal World. The Outlaws’ Haven.

These were the titles that now defined Trist City.

***

“Until recently, Trist City was divided between two families,” Alius explained. “The Ranpelt family and the Flad family.”

Both families had humble beginnings, starting as groups involved in smuggling and prostitution. But over time, their power and influence grew. They began claiming to be the rightful heirs of the Trist County and fought for dominance.

“It’s not entirely false. Both families do have blood ties to the Trist County,” Alius continued.

They had each brought in descendants of the fallen county to maintain a veneer of legitimacy. Of course, neither Eustil nor Tarum recognized these claims. For the two kingdoms, the bloodline of the Trist County held little significance. What mattered was who could effectively control Trist City.

The kingdoms’ unspoken message was clear:

It doesn’t matter who it is—just get the city under control, and we’ll recognize them as the legitimate ruler, the count.

Though not explicitly stated, this was the deal both kingdoms had offered. As a result, for decades, the Ranpelt and Flad families had waged a bloody and unending power struggle in Trist City.

“Their forces were so evenly matched that neither could easily tip the balance,” Alius said, lowering his voice. “...But recently, that balance has been broken.”

The cause was the rampant spread of the Shadow of Doom. For necromancers, lawless zones like Trist City were perfect havens. Naturally, necromancers flocked to the city, seeking refuge from their pursuers, inevitably clashing with the existing powers that controlled the area.

The faction most frequently at odds with them was the Flad family. Necromancers primarily sought human lives to use as sacrifices. While the Ranpelt family, focused on smuggling, had little overlap with them, the Flad family’s involvement in prostitution and the slave trade put them directly in the necromancers’ path.

“And so, the Flad family often found themselves fighting necromancers,” Alius explained.

The problem was that many of these necromancers ended up joining the Flad family.

“Even the forbidden power of necromancy must have seemed appealing to them.”

Surprisingly, the necromancers were quick to accept such invitations. Despite their lofty titles like Lords of Darkness, most were insignificant individuals who had simply stumbled upon power. When offered wealth, women, and pleasure, they abandoned their pretenses without hesitation.

“They’re just pathetic fools who happened upon power by chance, so it was natural,” Alius said, his tone dripping with disdain. “With the power of necromancy at their disposal, the Flad family gained the upper hand. They broke the balance and pushed the Ranpelt family to the brink as they steadily seized control of Trist City.”

“I see,” said Serati, nodding thoughtfully. “So the Flad family now controls Trist City?”

Naturally, she assumed that their current task was to punish the Flad family. But Alius shook his head. “No, the victors were the Ranpelt family.”

“What?” Serati exclaimed, her surprise evident.

Alius smirked. “The longer the tail, the easier it is to step on.”

As the Ranpelt family faced defeat, they discovered evidence of necromancy within their rival. They promptly reported their findings to the Church of Hatoba, with whom they had a longstanding relationship.

Once necromancy was confirmed, the Church of Earth moved swiftly. This time, the Ranpelt family fully cooperated with the church’s efforts. With local assistance, the church launched a relentless campaign against the Flad family, ultimately leading to their downfall.

“The long conflict ended with the Ranpelt family’s victory. Those connected to necromancy within the Flad family were executed, and the family itself has been reduced to a shadow of its former self,” Alius explained.

Riltaine, still perplexed, asked, “Then why did you call us here? If the situation is resolved, what’s left for us to do?”

Alius let out a deep sigh. “Well, the thing is... the Ranpelt family, now in control of Trist City, is also suspected of harboring necromancers.”

***

The truth was, both the Ranpelt and Flad families were criminal organizations. One was no more virtuous or moral than the other. It turned out that the Ranpelt family had been actively recruiting necromancers as well.

The difference lay in how they operated. Unlike the Flad family, who openly embraced the power of necromancy, the Ranpelt family kept their necromancers hidden and moved discreetly. This secrecy was why they had initially struggled against the Flad family.

“In hindsight, it seems this was their plan all along. They likely intended to use the churches of the seven goddesses to eliminate their rivals while preserving their own power,” Alius said grimly.

Riltaine, aghast, asked, “So, they accused their rivals of necromancy while secretly employing necromancers themselves? And the priests of the church didn’t realize it?”

“The problem is that battles between necromancers leave identical traces, regardless of who’s involved. The church only recently became aware of this,” Alius replied.

Necrotic power left clear evidence in the surrounding area, and this is the church’s primary method of identifying necromancers.

“But when both sides used necromancy, the only trace left behind was the same Shadow of Doom. Even when the victorious side accused their enemies of necromancy, the church had no reason to doubt them.”

“The audacity to defy the goddesses without fear... truly unforgivable,” Riltaine muttered with a hollow laugh.

At that moment, Serati, who had been quietly listening, turned to Varos with a puzzled expression. “Sir Varos, why are you sweating so much?”

“W-what? Oh, no, it’s just... a little warm in here.”

“Warm? But today’s weather is actually quite chilly.”

“I, uh, tend to run hot... naturally...”

“.....?”

It was clear that Varos was flustered, and his awkward expressions did little to hide it. Varos nervously glanced at Karnak while fumbling for excuses.

“Is young master keeping his composure?”

Karnak didn’t so much as flinch. In fact, not a single eyebrow moved. He exuded an air of complete innocence and detachment. He even clicked his tongue in disapproval, blending seamlessly with those around him.

“That’s exactly why necromancers are considered beyond redemption. You can’t treat them like fellow humans,” Karnak said, his expression one of pure disdain.

Varos was awestruck.

Wow, the audacity of this man!

Indeed, someone who had spent over a century with a metaphorical shield of steel over their face had an unparalleled talent for performance.

Feigning disgust, Karnak continued, “So this is the current state of affairs.”

The Ranpelt family had successfully reversed their fortunes by using the seven goddesses’ churches as a shield while secretly employing necromancers. Now they were the uncontested rulers of Trist City.

“Which means you can’t openly investigate the Ranpelt family for necromancy. It would damage the Church of Hatoba’s credibility after they’ve already declared the family innocent.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’ve brought all of you together,” Alius explained.

To avoid escalating the situation, it was better to rely on a small group of elites rather than deploying a large force.

“This is the church’s mistake, and the higher-ups insist it must be resolved internally. This isn’t just about saving face—it’s about preserving trust in the church.”

Everyone’s expression grew serious. In human affairs, reputation wasn’t just a matter of pride—it had real consequences.

Damaged credibility meant diminished trust, which made cooperation harder to obtain. Without cooperation, hunting necromancers became exponentially more difficult, leading to more innocent lives lost.

“Reputation, if overvalued, can become a liability, but the right amount is essential. I understand the situation,” Serati said, nodding. She then asked about the next steps. “When do we set out?”

“I plan for us to move at dawn tomorrow,” Alius replied.

“That’s fast. Though, considering how urgently you summoned us today, it makes sense.”

“There’s a reason for the urgency,” Alius said, launching into an explanation. “This isn’t the first attempt to investigate the Ranpelt family.”

The Church of Hatoba had previously sent operatives to infiltrate and investigate the family. But every one of them disappeared without a trace.

“At some point, all communication ceased entirely. They vanished as though they’d evaporated into thin air.”

The missing individuals weren’t amateurs—they were seasoned darkness hunters and experienced adventurers. The ability to erase such skilled operatives without leaving a shred of evidence was no small feat, even for the family that ruled Trist City.

Karnak pointed out the obvious. “There’s a leak in your ranks.”

“Yes.” Alius nodded, his voice lowering in shame. “One of the primary suspects tied to the Ranpelt family happens to be a member of our church.”

The accused was Bishop Straph of the Trist Diocese, a high-ranking priest in the Hatoba Order. He had played a pivotal role in assisting the Ranpelt family in their campaign against the Flad family.

“We discovered this too late to bring it to light. Publicly exposing it would mean admitting that a Hatoba priest conspired with necromancers.”

Thus, this operation was being carried out on Alius’s initiative alone. He hadn’t even informed his superior, the head of the Derath City diocese.

“Fortunately, as a first-class inquisitor, I have the authority to act independently. I’ll file a report later, and I won’t face disciplinary action for this,” Alius assured them.

His plan was straightforward.

Publicly, Alius, Karnak’s group, Riltaine, and Serati would act independently, as though investigating local necromancer rumors. Given the prevalence of such rumors across the continent, this behavior wouldn’t draw suspicion.

“Then we’ll regroup, conceal our identities, and infiltrate Trist City. Once inside, we’ll track down evidence linking the Ranpelt family to necromancy,” Alius explained.

Serati’s face hardened. “That’s risky.”

Indeed, everyone present was an expert at combating necromancers. Their skills and experience had already been proven through their cooperation with Alius. But this mission involved more than necromancers. They would be facing a vast organization that had ruled an entire city for decades.

“It means the entire city could become our enemy,” Serati said grimly.

“That’s precisely why I summoned all of you,” Alius replied.

The goal wasn’t to punish the Ranpelt family but to find the evidence needed to bring them down. Alius scanned the room, his gaze filled with trust.

“I believe that, even in the worst-case scenario, each of you can at least ensure your own survival.”