Karnak, Monarch of Death

Five rough-looking men stared at the scene before them in bewilderment.

“What the hell is this?”

“Why are these guys lying here dead?”

They were low-ranking members of the Ranpelt organization. They had been scouring the streets alongside their comrades when they stumbled upon the bodies of their supposed allies from a different search group.

“This doesn’t look like an enemy attack....”

No matter how they examined the scene, it seemed as if the men had killed each other. They lived in a city where stabbings were extremely common. Thus, they could recognize what had happened in an instant. But under the current circumstances, there was no reason for these men to turn on each other.

“Could a mage have tampered with the scene?”

“If that’s the case...”

“Then it means someone’s out there targeting us right now!”

Chilled by the thought, the men turned their backs to the bodies and scanned the mist ahead, trying to spot any lurking threat. That’s when the two bloodied corpses behind them began to stir.

“Ugh... uuuhhh....”

The groaning was enough to make the Ranpelt men’s hair stand on end. Before they could even turn around, one of the corpses drove its blade deep into a man’s chest.

“Gu-guhhh!”

In an instant, his life was snuffed out. As their comrade collapsed in a spray of blood, the other men screamed in terror.

“Ahhhhhh!”

“Th-the bodies are moving!”

“It’s the work of a necromancer!”

The blood-soaked corpses charged while swinging their blades. The men scrambled, frantically trying to defend themselves.

“Damn it! They said it was a mage!”

“Curse those bastards up top!”

“They should’ve warned us about this!”

The clash turned into a frenzied brawl, blades stabbing and slashing, blood splattering everywhere. A man buried his sword into the torso of one of the corpses.

“Uuuhhhh...”

It was no use. The dead didn’t die again. The zombie pressed forward. It stabbed its own blade into the man’s body.

“Argh!”

A scream escaped as the living fell, their vitality draining away before they crumpled like puppets with severed strings. A battle between the living, who could die from the smallest wound, and the dead, who felt no pain or fear, was inherently one-sided.

“Ahhhhhh!”

“C-cut off its head!”

“Even that doesn’t work!”

“Then chop off its arms and legs too!”

To render just two zombies incapacitated, the five men paid a steep price. Two of them lay dead, and the remaining three were left gasping for breath, heavily injured.

“Hah... hahhh...”

“At least we’ve taken care of them....”

“...They won’t be getting up again.”

They had smashed one zombie’s head entirely and turned its limbs into minced meat. Even if it somehow moved again, it no longer had the means to attack.

“Damn it, I never thought moving corpses could be this terrifying,” one of the men muttered, his face suddenly turning pale.

Wait... moving corpses?

There were two more bodies at the scene—those of their comrades who had just fallen to the zombies.

“Uuuhhhh...”

“Uuurrrgh...”

The bodies of their comrades began to stir, rising from the ground. The terrified screams of the survivors echoed through the air.

“Ahhhhhh!”

***

Strange events continued to unfold across the city. Ranpelt’s men turned on each other, killing their comrades, only for the dead to rise as zombies and attack yet more allies. But the Ranpelt organization was not so easily trumped. In one street in central Trist City, a group of ten men was hacking three zombies to pieces.

“Hah... hahhh...”

“Tch! These damn zombies...”

“They’re nothing if you keep your cool!”

All of them were battle-hardened veterans accustomed to blood and death. They wouldn’t be defeated so easily by something as minor as the undead. One of the men wiped the blood off his blade and spat on the ground.

“Pfft, that damn necromancer. Did he think this would be enough to rattle us?”

Torment over killing their risen comrades? That wasn’t even a consideration. They had no qualms about killing their living comrades if necessary—why would they hesitate to shred those already dead?

“Search the area! The necromancer responsible for this has to be nearby!”

Several subordinates fanned out to scour the surrounding streets. A short while later, a shout echoed from deep within an alley.

“They’re here!”

“That way!”

As if waiting for the signal, the men surged into the alley, bloodlust in their eyes. But as they reached the end of the alley, they came to a halt.

“Huh?”

“What is this?”

The alley was empty. No necromancer. In fact, not even the subordinate who had called out.

“Then... who shouted just now?”

They were still processing their confusion when another subordinate called to them from just outside the alley.

“This way, boss!”

The moment he spoke, the subordinate darted into the mist and vanished. Clicking their tongues, the men turned and gave chase.

“Did he run that way?”

But when they emerged back onto the street, the subordinate was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’d this brat go?”

As the men looked around in confusion, another figure appeared, running toward them from the opposite side of the street.

“No one over here, boss!”

It was the very same subordinate who had just disappeared into the mist. The leader narrowed his eyes.

“What the hell? When did you get over there?”

“Uh...?” The subordinate looked just as puzzled.

“You just ran off in that direction!” the leader barked.

“Wha—? No, I didn’t...”

Their confusion deepened. Then, they heard rapid footsteps echoing from the mist.

Tap tap tap tap!

A moment later, an identical version of the subordinate stepped out of the fog for the third time.

“Boss, no one’s—huh?! What is that?!”

The newcomer froze, staring in horror at the other version of himself. Chaos erupted among the group. Everyone turned to look at one another in disbelief.

Then the leader muttered under his breath, “Wait... this time, we heard footsteps.”

There hadn’t been any sound earlier.

“It’s a trick! That one’s a fake!”

Years of surviving Trist City’s brutal streets had sharpened the leader’s instincts. He wasn’t about to fall for some cheap illusion.

“You bastard!”

“You thought you could fool us?!”

Determined to set an example, the men drew their swords and charged.

“Wait—what? No, stop—!”

They didn’t care about the protests. In this city, hesitation could cost you your life. Acting quickly was the only way to survive.

“Aaaargh!”

It didn’t take long. The figure was hacked to pieces in seconds. But it wasn’t an illusion. It wasn’t some phantom or a magical projection either. It was a person. A real, flesh-and-blood person. Holding blood-soaked swords, the men glanced at one another uneasily.

“Uh....”

“This... doesn’t feel right....”

“That... felt real....”

The leader scoffed, trying to mask his unease. “Hah! There’s no way it was real.”

Why? Because the real one was right behind him. He was certain of it—he had heard the footsteps.

“Isn’t that right, Protte—”

He turned to address his subordinate and froze mid-sentence.

“Protte?”

No one was there. The subordinate who had stood right behind him was gone.

“Where did he go?”

No, to be precise, he was there. Just not alive. What remained of Protte was lying at their feet—a corpse, mutilated by their own hands. A chill ran down the leader’s spine.

“Then....”

“The one we just killed was...?”

The corpse began to stir.

“Uuuhhh....”

Killed unjustly by his own comrades...

“Uuuhhh....”

Now risen again, seething with resentment so deep it radiated as death energy and malice, he had become yet another zombie.

“Ahhhhhh!”

***

Nothing they saw could be trusted. The comrade who had just been standing before them had vanished, and the one who shouldn’t have been there was now in plain sight.

“Damn it! What the hell is going on?”

Even their sense of hearing couldn’t be trusted. Illusions weren’t just about creating sounds that weren’t there—they could also erase sounds that should be heard.

“I swear... I didn’t hear anything....”

A silent comrade rushing toward them suddenly bled when stabbed. A comrade talking loudly disappeared without a trace when sent behind them.

“Get it together!”

“Don’t split up! Stay close!”

But could they even trust the warmth of the comrade standing back-to-back with them? That warmth was slowly turning cold.

Shunk!

“Guhh!”

“W-when did—?”

A comrade, who just moments ago had fought by their side, had become a bloodied corpse. And now that corpse was stabbing another. The dead rose once more, groaning as they staggered forward.

“Scatter!”

“One of us is a zombie!”

“That’s impossible! He looked fine just a moment ago....”

Amid the chaos and panic, they continued cutting down zombies. Yet, as one man fought valiantly, his comrade’s eyes suddenly twisted in an unnatural way.

“Hey, your eyes...!”

The accused comrade snapped irritably, “What about my eyes?”

It was such a human response that for a moment, they felt reassured.

Then plop. His eye popped out of its socket, dangling by crimson tendrils as it swayed grotesquely.

“Ahhhhhhhh!”

Panic erupted, and blades swung wildly.

“Argh! What the hell? Why are you attacking me?”

The accused man, struck down by his comrades, fell in anguish. The survivors, panting heavily, turned to glare at the lifeless body. But what they saw froze them in place.

What... what did I just see?

I swear his eye fell out and rolled on the ground....

The corpse’s eyes were now intact, staring blankly ahead. Intact, but lifeless—devoid of focus, yet wide open as the body groaned and began to rise once more as a zombie.

“Uuuhhh....”

At this point, they could trust no one—not even themselves. Fear, confusion, and despair consumed them, leaving only one response.

“Ahhhhhhh!”

***

Karnak continued his work.

He roamed Trist City and searched for members of the Ranpelt organization. It wasn’t difficult—they were loud, disruptive, and constantly drawing attention to themselves. Once he found them, he shrouded himself in a veil of darkness and vanished from sight. Then, he cast illusions to manipulate the Ranpelt thugs, carefully orchestrating the chaos.

With his limited necrotic power, he couldn’t afford large-scale illusions. But that didn’t matter. A single whispered suggestion didn’t require much energy at all.

“You’ve been deceived.”

That one phrase was enough. The moment someone believed they’d heard something suspicious, infighting would erupt.

“Y-you bastard!”

“Wait! Why are you accusing me?”

Some, trying to maintain order, would attempt to calm the situation.

“Get a grip, everyone!”

“We’re being tricked! Can’t you see?”

At this point, Karnak would add just a pinch more salt to the wound—illusions to season the chaos.

“Wait a second... your face...”

“What about my face?”

“Stay back! You monster!”

“What nonsense are you spouting now?”

They’d turn on each other, killing their own, increasing the number of corpses. Those new corpses, in turn, would rise and kill the living, continuing the cycle. There was even an unexpected development Karnak hadn’t anticipated. What did the Ranpelt thugs’ chaotic infighting look like to the city’s regular citizens?

Oh, those Ranpelt scum are finally getting what they deserve! And what’s that? Fancy weapons and armor on their corpses? Even without further interference, the thugs were dying left and right, unnoticed and unavenged. Karnak smirked in satisfaction.

“As expected, when bad people gather, this is what happens.”

When wicked men banded together to do wicked deeds, they became trapped in a world with nothing but wickedness. In such a world, even the smallest hint of trouble inevitably spiraled into disaster. And most of Trist City’s citizens had lived their lives solving problems only with blades and violence.

“That’s why people should strive to live virtuously,” Karnak said with righteousness.

“Hearing that from you is so convincing.” Varos snorted. “Not living virtuously is why we ended up like this in the first place, isn’t it?”

“Which is why I’m doing good deeds now,” Karnak replied smugly.

Watching Karnak boast, Serati trembled slightly.

So this is real necromancy....

He hadn’t unleashed a grand shadow to engulf the city or turned it into a living hell like the legends of necromancers suggested. Instead, he merely wandered the city, casting simple illusions here and there... And yet, people kept dying.

Was becoming his vassal really the right choice?

Serati wasn’t a stranger to killing. As an adventurer, she had often fought for her life and delivered justice to criminals. But no matter how evil the targets, should people really die so easily, so thoughtlessly? Noticing Serati’s gaze, Karnak turned and scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

“Ah, I’m embarrassed to say the least. I don’t usually do this kind of thing, you know.”

So, he does have a conscience after all?

His expression looked genuinely embarrassed, and Serati felt a little reassured.

Of course. He’s still human, after all. No way he’d feel comfortable doing something like this....

“Normally, I’d blanket the entire city in dark mana and raise an undead army in one go,” Karnak continued. “But my power’s so weak now that I have no choice but to do it this way. So don’t look at me like that—I don’t need your disappointment on top of everything else.”

...That’s what he’s embarrassed about?

Oblivious to Serati’s incredulous stare, Karnak let out a heavy sigh. “Ugh, living without power is so exhausting.”

Admittedly, it was a tedious process. The Karnak of old would never have bothered with something so tiresome. But as a result, the number of unjust deaths continued to rise. The vengeful dead now walked the earth, and resentful spirits hovered in the air.

“This should just about do it,” Karnak said, extending a hand toward the sky. “Arise, my army....”

His ominous voice echoed, carried by the shadows throughout the city.

“Become the legion of death and march at my command!”