Karnak, Monarch of Death

Death is an inescapable fate. For this reason, humans were taught by the seven goddesses to live righteous lives and face death with humility. This was the truth. No matter how powerful a man might be, or how great the king who wielded authority, before death, all were equal.

Count Brellant could accept that. Even when his precious son, born late in life, was slowly dying due to his frail constitution. Even when he was told that no divine spell of the seven goddesses could cure him, and that he would not survive beyond the age of twenty. The count braced himself for fate.

It was destiny, the natural law of a world that humans must endure.

It was not.

Fate could be escaped. The laws of the world were not set in stone.

They came quietly and whispered to him in secret. Turn to the true god, they said. If he did, his son would not die. They were not lying. If he did as they proposed, his son would not have to die. But he would not truly live, either. What they offered was the forbidden art—necromancy. Naturally, Count Brellant’s rage was immediate.

“You dare suggest I abandon the natural order of the world and grasp at such vile power?”

But they, in turn, questioned him.

“Who decided it was the natural order?”

“The laws of the world that you speak of were set by the seven goddesses!”

“And did the goddesses themselves reveal this truth to you? Or was it the priests of the seven goddesses who claimed to speak on their behalf?”

“Hah! Then you claim to know the will of the true god?”

Patiently, they chipped away at the doctrines of the seven goddesses.

“It would be arrogance itself for anyone to claim they know all of a god’s will.”

“What we speak of is neither gods nor goddesses.”

“It is about those who follow them.”

“All we ask is that you look beyond what you’ve been taught. Widen your view of the world.”

“How much do you truly know about what the world calls necromancy?”

But Count Brellant did not waver.

“Lies! Do you think I’m unaware of the fate of those who turn to necromancy?”

The tales were well known. Those who had attempted necromancy to resurrect a loved one only to find their efforts had given birth to a monster. A rotting, shambling corpse. A thing that moved, but was no longer truly the person they had cherished. Not only their body, but their very mind was lost.

None of these stories ended well. That was why necromancy was considered such a vile and repulsive art. The visitors did not deny it.

“You are correct.”

“The results of necromancy have always been tragic.”

“Until now.”

They offered an explanation.

“That is because what has been practiced until now was not true necromancy.”

True necromancy, they claimed, was not magic that manipulated death and darkness. It was the sacred power bestowed by Tesranach, the God of Darkness and Death, the great transcendent one.

“Those who used the authority of death and darkness as mere tools, like arrogant mages, brought about their own disasters.”

“Is it not the same as mages who attempt to force divine spells from magic? Such hubris often ends in calamity.”

They introduced themselves as the priests of Tesranach, claiming that their power was divine dark magic. They alone, they said, could properly wield the sacred power of death and darkness.

“True power must be used in service to Tesranach and guided by his will.”

“Just as the priests of the seven goddesses serve them and wield their powers righteously.”

“In doing so, death need no longer be destiny.”

“Aging is but an illness. Death is merely the consequence for those who fail to cure it.”

“How could healing an illness be called evil?”

“Especially when it concerns your son, who is still so young.”

“Do you truly believe it is natural for a child to accept death as his fate?”

Count Brellant faltered. Their words were persuasive. And his son was dying.

The seven goddesses’ churches have done nothing to help...

At last, the Count relented.

“I... I wish to turn to Tesranach. Will you accept me?”

Of course, it was not his true intention. He planned to save his son first, then go to the priests of the seven goddesses to confess everything. And so, his dying son was granted new life.

***

Seven days after leaving the capital, Tarman, Karnak, and their group finally arrived at Count Brellant’s domain. Brellant County was a prosperous place. The town was large, and the faces of the people who passed by looked content. The marketplace bustled with energy, brimming with an impressive variety of goods.

As they observed the town, Serati murmured to herself, “I thought our territory was doing pretty well, but it doesn’t even compare to this.”

Unconsciously, she referred to the Zestrad territory as our territory. It seemed she had grown quite attached to it. Varos shrugged.

“Well, we only got that copper mine recently, and it’s not exactly a hub for trade routes.”

Regardless, it was clear that Count Brellant was a competent ruler. Which only raised more questions.

“What on earth would make him turn to a cult?” Serati asked aloud.

Tarman chimed in, as if to remind her, “I’ve said it before, but nothing’s been confirmed yet.”

The allegations against Count Brellant were based on flimsy evidence. During an interrogation of a captured cultist by the King’s Order’s Second Squad, the count’s name had merely been mentioned.

“There’s a good chance this will all be for nothing.”

Karnak frowned in confusion. “If that’s the case, wouldn’t it be better to assign information-gathering to a separate unit?”

It didn’t make sense to him.

Why waste highly trained personnel on trivial reconnaissance? Wouldn’t it be more efficient to let someone else handle information gathering and have the King’s Order focus solely on eliminating the target?

Tarman’s response made Karnak realize he’d been thinking about this all wrong.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Isn’t that precisely why the King’s Order exists?”

“What?”

“Do you think anyone can just handle the complexity of information-gathering missions?”

It was a difference in perspective. In Karnak’s past life, elite forces were precious enough to be kept on standby, while less capable personnel were sent out for reconnaissance. The criteria for such personnel were straightforward: they didn’t need to be exceptionally powerful, but they had to be strong enough to handle unforeseen situations during information gathering.

For Karnak, this meant sending reliable but expendable undead forces to serve as the intelligence unit—troops that were usable, but not the best. In human equivalence, such cannon fodder were red-tier aura users, mages around the sixth circle, or second-class inquisitors.

Right. Elite forces aren’t quite like the death knight army Varos used to command.

For Karnak, an elite unit meant a group comprising of individuals who could equal entire armies. This was the problem with those who had once stood at the pinnacle and fallen. People like him tended to cling to their past and struggled to adapt to their current reality.

I keep reminding myself, but it’s still hard to shake off my old ways of thinking.

While Karnak grumbled internally, Tarman spoke carefully. “The information was obtained through torture, so it hasn’t been verified. We mustn’t approach the count with any prejudices.”

Kald and Alice added their own explanations.

“When someone is tortured, they’ll often say anything—real or made-up—just to make it stop. So even for us interrogators, sorting truth from falsehood isn’t easy.”

“On top of that, if the person is mistaken themselves, figuring out the truth can be meaningless.”

Serati nodded as understanding dawned. “I see. There’s also the chance they truly believe their own lies. Or, since cults tend to work in cells, maybe they deliberately planted false information to deceive the King’s Order...”

Before she could finish, she was reprimanded.

“No, not quite.”

“Oh, come on. You’ve been reading too many adventure books.”

What if the cult spread false information to their members? What would happen next?

“They’d wind up whispering, Praise Tesranach! to some random noble, only to be exposed and annihilated. That’s how you get yourself caught.”

While it was true cultists could refuse to share information with bottom-feeders, feeding deliberate lies would only hasten their own destruction.

“Oh... right,” Serati replied, embarrassed.

Seeing her flushed face, Tarman offered her some reassurance.

“You’re not yet a full member, so it’s understandable to make mistakes. That’s what the probationary period is for, after all.”

As they continued walking, the inn they had scouted earlier came into view. Tarman turned to the group.

“Let’s unload our things here and begin our investigation.”

***

Upon arriving at the inn, Karnak and his group learned the methods of the King’s Order from Tarman.

“As obvious as it may sound, you must never reveal that you are members of the King’s Order.”

Even if they disguised themselves as shadow hunters searching for necromancers, it would still raise suspicion. After all, necromancers made up the bulk of the Black God’s cult. Wandering around aimlessly asking questions without reason was just as bad—it was a surefire way to arouse doubt.

“You need a method that allows you to ask questions naturally, one that has no apparent connection to cultists or necromancers.”

With that, Tarman pulled out several portraits from his coat and handed them around.

“This is the method we’ll use today.”

Varos glanced at the portraits and asked, “Who’s this?”

“This is Helon Kratt, a notorious criminal wanted in the capital. He’s robbed numerous noble estates and even committed murder. He’s an expert in disguise, which is why he’s yet to be caught.”

“Oh? So something like this happened in Drunta?”

“No. It didn’t.”

“What?”

“But if we claim to be hunting this fugitive, it gives us a good excuse to ask questions, doesn’t it?”

The plan was simple: pose as bounty hunters searching for a wanted criminal. The group would wander the town, asking residents if they had seen this dangerous man, if anyone strange had recently appeared, or if they’d noticed any suspicious incidents.

Since Helon Kratt was known to be a master of disguise, they could even ask if anyone familiar seemed to have changed lately or seemed off in any way.

“If we say a dangerous fugitive has entered the area, most people will cooperate. Especially if we hand them a few coins as thanks.”

Even though their real purpose was different, the answers they received would overlap with information about cultists. The residents would also feel less inhibited about sharing rumors.

“It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong by paying them, either. They’re just giving information to bounty hunters and getting a fair reward in return.”

Tarman then split the group into three teams. He paired himself, the mage, with Varos, the warrior. Kald, the swordsman, was teamed with Karnak, another mage. Finally, Alice, the priest, was paired with Serati, the aura user.

The teams were balanced evenly in case any unexpected situations arose. For Karnak’s group, it was also an opportunity to observe and learn how the seniors operated. With that, the group scattered and began their investigation throughout the town. Having a clear purpose lent confidence to their actions. They moved freely and without suspicion. Tarman, in fact, went as far as to meet Count Brellant himself. Nominally, it was to request permission.

A dangerous fugitive has fled here, and we’re pursuing him. We promise not to cause any disturbances. Surely, it wouldn’t be good for such a person to roam your lands unchecked?

We understand. We will do our best to cooperate. Thank you for your understanding.

That was the gist of it.

Once their business concluded, Tarman promptly left the count’s manor. Varos, who had been silently following along, finally spoke up, confused.

“Wait, that’s it?”

He had expected some subtle interrogation, but all Tarman had done was ask for permission—nothing about cultists had even been hinted at.

“Why did you bother meeting the count at all if that’s all you were going to do?”

But Tarman, ever the experienced hand, simply smirked.

“I got everything I wanted.”

He gestured confidently, his expression full of self-assurance.

“Let’s head back to the inn.”