Karnak, Monarch of Death

A week had passed since they lost Prince Lloyd. Sebastian, who had been feeling as if his life force was being drained day by day, finally received the news he had been desperately waiting for.

“Have you found the prince?”

A man matching Alford’s description had been spotted near Dalain Street, located in the west of the capital.

“Dalain Street... that’s near the Lontium Viscounty.”

The viscounty had been long-standing supporters of Prince Lloyd.

“Has he made contact with them?”

The subordinate delivering the report shook his head. “It doesn’t appear so.”

The prince had been wandering the back alleys in shabby vagabond attire, lurking near the viscount’s estate, seemingly waiting for the right opportunity.

That made sense. Lloyd wouldn’t recklessly reveal his identity only to risk being killed by his own subordinates. Sebastian could reason that much, and there was no way Prince Lloyd himself wouldn’t consider such dangers. Having lived a life riddled with schemes and conspiracies since birth, Lloyd’s caution was only natural. Regardless, it was a relief. They still had a chance to recover from this failure.

“Send the Crimson Flame Corps.”

The Crimson Flame Corps weren’t knights, but in certain situations, they were just as formidable. Knights were warriors clad in armor, mounted on horses, who fought in open battlefields. But not all conflicts occurred on the battlefield.

For tasks like kidnapping, confinement, assassinating key individuals, or small-scale urban combat, there were plenty of fighters even more effective than knights. For example, adventurers or thieves from the back alley guilds.

For over a decade of intense power struggles, Prince Alford had relied on such unconventional forces as much as his knights. That was why he had secretly trained the Crimson Flame Corps, a covert royal guard that operated as his hands and feet. There was no better team to quietly secure Prince Alford’s body without causing an uproar.

For the first time in days, a relieved smile spread across Sebastian’s face. “At last, we can bring the prince back.”

***

Night fell over Dalain Street, casting a heavy darkness across its alleys. Twenty men moved silently across the deserted road. Outwardly, they looked like ordinary citizens, but each was armed to the teeth beneath their plain attire.

Walking naturally through the street, one of the men asked, “Are we really supposed to do this?”

The Crimson Flame Corps was accustomed to handling all kinds of covert missions. Some of those missions had been impossible to understand, yet they carried them out regardless. Even so, something about this mission felt particularly strange.

”Prince Alford has been poisoned or magically afflicted, rendering him irrational. He may perceive even the Crimson Flame Corps as enemies. Your sole objective is to secure him. Injures or losses of limbs are acceptable, as long as he is kept alive.”

“We’re allowed to hurt the prince?”

“Even if he’s not in his right mind, that seems...”

The man leading them, a lean figure in his twenties, replied curtly. He was Bellat, commander of the Crimson Flame Corps. “As long as he doesn’t die or lose a limb, divine magic will fully restore him. It won’t harm him permanently.”

Despite his explanation, his subordinates still appeared uneasy. Bellat felt a twinge of discomfort himself.

This is tricky.

As commander, Bellat was privy to the truth: Prince Alford and Prince Lloyd had swapped bodies, and this was all part of Alford’s scheme. But he couldn’t disclose such a truth to his subordinates. Thus, they were left with these odd, contradictory orders.

Trying to redirect the conversation, Bellat asked, “What’s the prince’s current location?”

A scout who had just returned answered, “Somewhere in that alley. We’ve already sealed the exits, so he won’t escape.”

“No one else is with him?”

“Not that I could tell.”

“Remain vigilant regardless.”

It had been a few days since his escape. Even if he hadn’t contacted his original followers, he could have found new allies.

“And if His Highness has allies, kill them immediately. They’re likely the ones who poisoned him.”

The men hesitated, taken aback.

“Wouldn’t we need them alive to uncover who’s behind this?”

It was a valid point. Under normal circumstances, Bellat would have fully agreed.

Lying makes everything so much harder.

In situations like this, the best tactic was to assert dominance.

“Stop overthinking and follow orders! That’s why we’re here!”

At last, the Crimson Flame Corps moved without further complaints. They dispersed, slipping into the alleys to close in on their target. Watching them go, Bellat furrowed his brow.

Why did Prince Alford have to align himself with cultists...?

***

Finding the prince turned out to be easier than expected. After scattering in small groups, two members of the Crimson Flame Corps spotted a man dressed in rags standing in a corner. His shabby appearance aside, there was no mistaking him—this was Prince Alford.

One of the members cautiously spoke up, “We’ve come to escort you, Your Highness.”

The man glanced at them with disinterest and then asked, “Do I look like Prince Alford to you?”

The soldiers’ faces hardened.

So it’s true...

His mind has been affected.

This was not the Alford they knew. His tone, his faint expressions, even the sharp gleam in his eyes was entirely different. One of the men adopted a combat stance before responding carefully.

“If you resist, we have orders to take you by force.”

“This is for your own good, Your Highness. Please forgive us.”

The prince smiled faintly.

“Go ahead.”

“...What?”

“Go ahead and try.”

It was then.

A sudden chill swept through the air. A cold current crept along their backs, sending an instinctive shiver through them.

What was that?

It was easy to dismiss as a passing night breeze, yet something primal warned them otherwise. Moments later, a strange, ghastly sound echoed behind the prince, as a pale, translucent figure rose into view.

Ssssshhhh...

Two streaks of darkness coalesced into malevolent evil spirits, gliding through the air like shadows made flesh. The soldiers’ eyes widened in terror.

“What the—!”

“What is that!?”

Before they could react, the spirits surged forward and engulfed them.

The once-quiet alleyway was soon filled with horrific screams.

“Aaaaahhh!”

“Nooooo!”

***

Darkness spread throughout the backstreets, and evil spirits ran rampant.

“Aaaaahhh!”

“A mo-monster!”

No matter how far they ran, it was futile. Walls pried open and released writhing tendrils. The ground cracked apart and spewed corpses like fountains. Even the air was no refuge. Each breath carried a suffocating miasma, freezing their lungs and burning their eyes dry.

“Grraaagh...!”

“Ugh... no...!”

Of the twenty Crimson Flame Corps members who had entered the alley, none were spared. One by one, they succumbed. Even Bellat, the commander of the corps, was no exception.

Uuuurgh...

Uhhhhh...

Zombies emerged in droves, groaning and shambling forward through the narrow alleyways. Trapped between the advancing undead, Bellat and his two remaining subordinates grew visibly paler.

“Commander!” one of them cried desperately.

“What do we do?”

Bellat had no answers. All his training, all his experience—it had all been against human adversaries.

His enemies bled when struck, fell when pierced, and died when overwhelmed.

But what was he supposed to do against corpses that moved without life? Against formless specters that hunted the living?

“What is this...?”

As the horde of zombies closed in, Bellat felt a crushing despair.

Why is there a necromancer with the prince!?

A pitiful scream of agony tore through the night sky.

“Aaaaargh!”

***

Two days ago, Karnak had posed a question.

“How can we force the cultists allied with Prince Alford to come out into the open?”

First, it was necessary to understand why they were staying hidden. The first reason was the risk of exposing their identities. The second was that there wasn’t an adversary difficult enough to warrant the cultists, specifically the necromancers, stepping in personally.

“In other words, we need to create a situation where there’s no risk of exposure, and where only necromancers could handle the problem,” Karnak explained.

His solution was, on the surface, audacious. “We make use of a necromancer.”

What if one of Prince Lloyd’s supposed allies was a necromancer? Since necromancers lived in hiding, Alford’s cultists wouldn’t risk running to authorities to report them. That solved the first problem.

Moreover, Alford’s existing forces would struggle to handle necromancers—they’d never dealt with such an opponent before. Summoning priests or mages to deal with the threat would be an option, but the current situation was too sensitive to involve outsiders.

But if the cultists themselves stepped in? They were already experts in necromancy and could counter it effectively.

“Most importantly,” Karnak added, “necromancers can steal each other’s power to strengthen their own abilities. Their greed will inevitably drive them into action. If they don’t act, their rivals might seize the opportunity instead.”

Lloyd frowned, skeptical of the plan’s premise. It sounded plausible, but only under one condition.

“Where exactly are we supposed to find a necromancer? Surely you don’t have one stashed away with the King’s Order?”

“Of course not.”

Could the King’s Order secretly be harboring a necromancer? Someone as principled as Commander Erantel would never allow it.

“But we do have plenty of confiscated items from the cultists,” Karnak said with a sly grin.

It wasn’t impossible to replicate horrors such as zombies, evil spirits, and cursed barriers with illusion magic. For instance, an animated puppet could be made to look like a zombie, or elemental spirits cloaked in illusions could appear as ghosts.

Still, such illusions wouldn’t fool seasoned fighters or necromancers. The problem lay in the distinct aura necromancy exuded. Living creatures would instinctively recognize the malice and primal reluctance toward necromancy.

“So,” Karnak explained, “we’ll use the confiscated relics from the cultists to replicate the death energy and malice. Combine illusion magic with those artifacts, and it’ll look indistinguishable from real necromancy.”

“Can something like that really work?” Lloyd asked.

“It’s a method we’ve been developing recently to deceive other necromancers.”

“Ah, I see. Given the nature of the King’s Order’s work, something like that would indeed be necessary.” Satisfied, Lloyd nodded. “Let’s proceed with your plan.”

***

Recalling his conversation with Karnak, Lloyd stared into the darkness of the alley. Beyond that darkness, screams rang out. Evil spirits rampaged, and reanimated corpses attacked anything in their path.

Eventually, the screams stopped. It seemed the chaos had come to an end. Moments later, a red-haired woman approached Lloyd.

“You’re unharmed, I hope, Your Highness?”

It was Serati, a member of Karnak’s unit.

“Not a hair out of place,” Lloyd replied. “Karnak’s magic is truly impressive. Did everything go as planned?”

“We let two of them live. They’ll give the testimony we need.”

It seemed the plan had succeeded. Lloyd, reassured, let out an appreciative sigh.

“I have to say, it was incredibly convincing. They’re bound to fall for it.”

Karnak’s magic had been astonishingly realistic. The zombies looked like real zombies, and the spirits seemed genuinely evil.

“Even knowing the truth, I could only see it as actual necromancy.”

Serati hesitated, her expression shifting awkwardly.

“Well, yes, I suppose...”

“Hm? Why the strange look?”

“It’s nothing, really...”