Lynch slowly rose from beside Red Rabbit and, flanked by his Skeleton Guards, walked toward the warrior leader.
The man wasn’t dead yet. His body was still twitching, his gaze blurry and unfocused.
His heart was filled with endless regret and an inexplicable sense of the absurd.
Just a mont ago, he had sized up the young, black-robed Necromancer’s aura and judged him to be rely a Tier One Mage.
Based on common sense and experience...
...an assassination squad led by a Tier Two Warrior like himself should have been more than enough to kill the target instantly, before he could react and summon a horde of Undead.
But why...?
Why did he have a Vampire servant who was at least Tier Three—or possibly even higher?!
How could such a rare, High-Tier Undead Creature obey a re Tier One Mage?
’And that Black Corpse of his seed absurdly strong, too. It had to be nearly Tier Three, right?’
’This isn’t logical. It’s completely illogical.’
He couldn’t understand it at all.
This completely shattered his perception of Necromancers!
Through his fading vision, a dark figure appeared.
He struggled to move his eyes, finally managing to see that the black-robed figure had co to stand before him.
The figure crouched, and from the shadows of his hood, a pair of calm eyes erged, seeming to peer into the man’s very soul.
Then, a cold voice cut through the darkness threatening to consu his consciousness.
"Na, identity, affiliation, and objective. Tell , and I’ll give you a quick death."
"Otherwise, I’ll keep you alive as a walking blood bag for my Vampire."
The Tier Two Warrior shuddered. The re thought of that fate was worse than death.
Desperate for a quick death, he imdiately cast aside his hesitation and, in fits and starts, told them everything he knew.
His na was Karon, a company commander in the special operations brigade of the North Wind Legion’s Sixth Battle Group, the "Gray Rock Battle Group."
Their order was to dispose of a noble passing through the Red Ridge Mountain region.
As for the deeper reasons, his rank wasn’t high enough for him to know. All he knew was that it was a top-secret directive from "the higher-ups," demanding a clean job with no survivors, staged to look like an attack by the Blue Scarves.
Lynch listened and nodded. It made sense.
For this kind of dirty work within the military, the grunts on the ground usually only knew their mission, not the big picture.
He waved a hand, motioning to the Fish Priest, who had been eagerly waiting nearby.
The Fish Priest imdiately scurried over, drew its dagger, and, as Karon watched with a gaze of both terror and relief, slit his throat without a mont’s hesitation.
Then, it gleefully directed its Skeleton minions to drag and stack the fresh corpses, preparing to strip them of loot before having their ’Bone Mage’ master "initiate" them into new brethren.
While the Fish Priest bustled about its work, Lynch beckoned to the "Seventh Prince," who was huddled in a corner of the camp, pale and trembling.
"Co, sit."
The Seventh Prince stiffened, but he didn’t dare disobey. He had no choice but to shuffle over reluctantly, perching timidly on a rock across the campfire from Lynch, so tense he only used the very edge of it.
He stole a glance at the Vampire, who had settled back onto the Necromancer’s lap to doze, even letting out a small, contented burp. Then his eyes darted to the Black Corpse that had just crushed three Tier One Warriors but now stood like an iron tower behind the Necromancer. The prince’s throat bobbed, his mind still reeling with shock and terror.
Just then, Sea Song brought over a wooden bowl filled to the brim with fragrant, thick soup and handed it to Lynch.
At a nod from Lynch, she ladled another bowl and handed it to the Seventh Prince.
The Seventh Prince, Augustus, hastily took the bowl.
Seeing mushrooms, fish, and so unidentifiable at in the creamy white broth, he was filled with internal conflict.
’The soup slled tempting, but it was food from a Necromancer... Gods know what sort of vile things they might have put in it?’
’Rotting flesh?! Poison? Or perhaps so kind of mind-control potion?’
But the intense hunger gnawing at his stomach reminded him that he had no choice. His life was in their hands, after all.
He steeled himself and, ignoring the heat, began to drink it down in large gulps. GULP, GULP.
The mont the broth touched his lips, his eyes lit up.
’It was delicious. Incredibly so!’
The earthy aroma of the mushrooms blended perfectly with unidentifiable spices. The fish was tender, and the wolf at was stewed until it fell apart, without a hint of gaminess.
He had never imagined he could find such a delicious soup in a crude campsite out in the wilderness.
Once he finished the bowl, a warmth spread through his body, chasing away the cold in his limbs and the terror in his heart.
The Seventh Prince downed three bowls of the soup and ate a great deal of the at. He felt warm all over, and so color finally returned to his pale face.
He let out a contented sigh and thanked Lynch sincerely, "Thank you... Lord Mage, for saving . And for your hospitality."
Lynch finished his own portion at a leisurely pace and had Sea Song wipe his mouth before he finally looked up at the prince. His tone was flat as he asked, "Now, are you ready to talk?"
The Seventh Prince’s expression imdiately grew heavy.
After a mont of contemplation, he spoke with a bitter expression. "Lord Mage, I am indeed the seventh son of the current emperor of the Grimsby Empire, His Majesty Otto von Grimsby. My mother... was a princess from the western Rhein Duchy, sent here for a political marriage."
He paused, a flicker of sorrow in his eyes.
Reviews
All reviews (0)