Chapter 127. Wasteland and Mountain (6)

Count Calvenia.

Lord of the Vampire Archduchy, and a 6th-circle mage who combined the concept of magical engineering with necromancy.

He, the Vampire Duke, and Yulister von Zarhill were childhood friends who used to go bird hunting together.

Even after the two inherited their respective territories, their relationship remained unchanged.

A territory thriving on transit trade.

The daily increasing yield of the farmlands.

Being neighboring territories, they could have probably waged a territorial war for fun, as nobles do.

However, Duke Zarhill, a devout follower of the Luark Church, did not want people to be sacrificed for personal amusement.

Furthermore, not long after, Duke Zarhill began to research necromancy, which allowed him to hear the voices of the dead, and started to accept the tears of countless widows who had lost their husbands and sons on the battlefield.

But peace did not last forever.

Conflict came from the outside.

‘The Luark Church has betrayed me. To strengthen the imperial authority, they declared necromancy a heresy. After using it for their own convenience... Damn them!’

‘Duke Zarhill, no, Yulister. I believe in you. Here, hand me the serum. Make me a vampire.’

‘Calvenia…….’

‘Hurry. We promised when we were playing soldiers as children, didn't we? That I would be your right hand.’

On the day the Duke was caught up in a conspiracy and was forced to start a rebellion, the two lords joined forces.

The careless subjugation army was disintegrated in just one or two battles, and after years of war, they managed to secure the current territory of the Archduchy.

A hundred years passed.

Time changes people.

Even a human who lives for a mere few decades undergoes several major changes in their lifetime.

The passage of a hundred years slowly created a rift between the two who had been friends willing to give their lives for each other.

Calvenia, who had become a Vampire Count, had a few complaints.

The biggest one was the Bloodline.

The fact that his consciousness was connected to a complete stranger was far more unpleasant than he had expected.

The Count asked his old friend to get rid of the Bloodline or at least change its structure, but the only answer that came back was that it was impossible.

Several decades after that.

Due to some incident, the Duke fell into a deep slumber.

It was then that Count Calvenia decided on the second rebellion of his life.

He created the labyrinth to become independent from the Bloodline.

It was an attempt to escape from the external intervention of the Bloodline by constructing his own world where he perceived and controlled everything.

Of course, he still couldn't escape the Bloodline, and his story ended at the Battle of Wolfskrig.

I let out a faint sigh as I traced the fragments of emotion floating like residue on the river of memory.

"...A complicated fellow."

"Who, may I ask?"

"The creator of this labyrinth."

The vampire necromancer Tisha tilted her head.

"Your former master."

"...Ah."

"Lure the enemies to this cavern as I told you. Avoid excessive pressure and just poke them to provoke them."

"Understood."

"Keep in mind. Their individual firepower is superior. Be especially wary of the ones with long, thick guns."

"Yes, my lord."

The vampire ran out.

Following her, the lesser vampire brawlers, Necro Ogres, and other undead troops quickly scattered.

This was the cavern of the labyrinth.

[Calvenia's Waning Moon Labyrinth] had covered the entire area in and out, including the main entrance of the Steamforge.

Was it the effect of exploring the origin with [Warrior's Insight]?

The labyrinth was several times larger than the one Calvenia had cast when he was alive.

It was large enough to contain half of the Steamforge, which served as a huge factory, blacksmith, and power plant.

Naturally, the Ratmen who were there were also dragged into the labyrinth.

Their locations were being delicately transmitted to my mind, the master of this labyrinth, even at this moment.

The plan was simple.

I intended to lure them into the cavern and wipe them out in one fell swoop.

The Imperial artillery corps I had summoned in advance was aiming at the entrance of the cavern.

Behind them, the Lumer Legionnaires were waiting in formation.

‘Master, there are more Ratmen than expected. It seems most have withdrawn, but... there seem to be about two thousand remaining.’

"Yes, the dwarves were mistaken. Even if they have monitoring equipment, it doesn't monitor the entire Steamforge."

‘In my experience, in cases like this, it's highly likely that the High Priest of the Technopriest Council is also still here.’

That's right.

The High Priest of the Technopriest Council, Chester Scraven.

That spectacled rat bastard would be the last one to remain here.

In the first place, he would have come to take the 'Heart', the power source of the Steamforge.

Since he and I were after the same thing, a clash would be inevitable.

Fortunately, in the process of tracing the memories related to the labyrinth, I had become able to imitate one of Calvenia's specialties.

[Trait Acquired.]

[Corpse Cart Crafting]

[You can craft a Corpse Cart that preserves the mana of necromancy.]

That was why I was luring the Ratmen trapped in the labyrinth into the cavern.

Because creating an external battery before facing the enemy was an important virtue as a necromancer.

* * *

The rat-man, Chester Scraven, sniffed with his long nose.

As a member of the great Ratman clan and the High Priest of the Technopriest Council, he had a mission.

That was to seize the advanced technology of the mole-dwarf, the 'power source'.

The mole bastards couldn't even use the technology properly anyway.

The Technopriest Council, which revered all technology, was the one worthy of enjoying the grace of the power source.

Squeak, squeak.

The seizure process was successful.

While the barbaric orcs were causing chaos on the surface, they occupied the Steamforge and locked the door.

Now that they had the power source in their hands, it was time to transport it.

After months of research, they had even developed a way to slowly melt the dwarf-made mithril alloy, which was known to be uncuttable.

Three more months.

In just three more months, they would be able to perfectly cut the fixed part and move it into the tunnel.

That was what he had thought just a week ago.

An unexpected anomaly occurred.

"Squeak. R-reporting, High-High Priest. The-the slave soldiers who went into th-that, fou-four hundred and twenty, cla-claw warriors nin-ninety, machine gunners..."

"All missing? You mean they're not coming back?"

"Ye-yes. G-great High-High Priest."

The assistant trembled and bowed his head.

Chester pushed him aside and adjusted his glasses.

A gray curtain was reflected in his glasses.

The huge hemispherical curtain had swallowed about half of the Steamforge.

"Kikik, they sa-said it couldn't be br-broken by any spell,"

As expected, the mole-dwarf bastards' boasts seemed to be half exaggeration.

Anyway, that was a problem.

Even after sending half of his forces in there, there was little progress.

He would have to step in himself.

With the help of the beings with technology tens of thousands of years ahead, the transcendent beings called Outer Gods, he could bury any opponent in an instant.

Especially in a place like this, underground.

It was then.

"Squeak?"

The ashen curtain began to shrink.

"Squeak, High-High Priest."

"Kik, bring all the guys who are working too."

"Un-understood."

By the time all the Ratmen remaining in the Steamforge had gathered, the ashen curtain had also completely disappeared.

What appeared in its place was an army.

An army of hundreds, no, thousands of undead.

Vampires.

Dozens of Necro Ogres.

Over a thousand undead including Necro Ogres, Grave Knights, and Wights.

Thousands of undead legionnaires who were at war with his kin in the far south.

And.

Squeak, squeak...!

Kiiik, squeak!

Dozens of carts woven from corpses.

The carts were all composed of Ratmen corpses.

Among them were many familiar faces.

Because the corpses were all Chester Scraven's loyal subordinates who had been deployed into the gray area.

Chester looked up at the necromancer holding a skull staff in front of the carts.

He must be the one who had just spread the ashen curtain and killed hundreds of Ratmen.

Surprisingly, he was also a familiar face.

He had never seen him in person, but he had confirmed the face several times through a composite sketch.

"Kigigik. I-I know you. I do."

The necromancer didn't look very surprised.

To the man who shrugged, Chester spoke again.

"You're the artisan's disciple. That mole. Was it Ma-Ma-Maister? He was a skilled one."

Then the necromancer tilted his head.

Out of the blue, he raised his hand and felt his own face.

"Ah, William's face..."

"Squeak! It's a shame about that skill. Since he br-broke the oath!"

"Oath?"

"Di-didn't the dwarf bastards tell you? The price for breaking the oath not to pass on the runes? It's the curse of a short life. Squeak! One hundred days of illness and death!"

"Is that so?"

The necromancer, who was once a dwarf's disciple, grinned.

Chester cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses.

"Squeak, yes. You have to take revenge on the mole-dwarf ba-bastards, right? Isn't that wh-why you came?"

"I did come to make a deal."

"A-a deal?"

"Yes, that power source you're trying to take. The thing called the Heart of the Mountain. Restore it to its original state and turn on the power. Then I'll at least spare you from becoming an undead who cannot die even in death."

The necromancer raised his staff.

An ominous mana surged.

The mana of necromancy pouring from his staff, his undead army, and the carts made of woven corpses.

Squeak!

An invisible blade cut the assistant's throat.

Chwarararak!

A net made of bones fell upon the Ratmen crowd, and the shape of a blazing skull exploded, turning them all into chunks of meat.

"A-attack! Squeeeak!"

Chester screamed like having a fit.

His subordinates began to counterattack.

As befitting the Technopriest Council, guns, bombs, mechanical crossbows, and flamethrowers were aimed at the enemy.

Tik, tik!

More than half of them didn't fire.

"High-High Priest, all the gunpowder is we- Kyaaak!"

The gun barrels that did manage to fire were snatched and turned by ghost hands that appeared out of thin air.

The flames spewed from the flamethrowers were blocked by a black curtain and could not pass.

A blood-red afterimage extending from the necromancer's staff flashed and sliced through his subordinates.

The bastard's undead army charged at his subordinates who were falling helplessly.

Squeeeak!

Kii... !

Screams echoed from all directions.

Chester fumbled for his necklace with a trembling hand.

He hadn't thought he was a high-level mage.

Even so, that an artisan who was a dwarf's disciple would become a high-level necromancer.

"How about it. Will you negotiate?"

The necromancer smiled.

Chester barely managed to pull out the necklace.

High-level mages were tricky to deal with.

But with the power of an Outer God, the story changed.

The sacred relic he possessed manipulated space.

It meant he could freely handle the most fundamental space of this world.

If he wanted to, he could teleport to a distant place, and it was also possible to send the mage in front of him flying.

"Squeak! Go into the dirt! Be crushed by rock and sand and d-die!"

The white eyes engraved on the spherical sacred relic of the Outer God all opened at once.

The eyes stared directly at the mage.

He had won.

Chester had a hunch.

Because no spell could avoid this authority.

The power of the Outer God would now bury the mage deep underground, and the bastard was destined to be slowly crushed to death there....

"The p-pain of being buried alive... Huh?"

"Right, you were a member of the church too."

The necromancer shook his head.

The bastard was fine.

No, that wasn't all.

Chester carefully rolled his eyeballs.

A feeling as if time had stopped.

A dark space.

Nothing was visible except for a twinkling light in the far distance.

It was literally a space filled with nothingness.

Could this be the space called the universe, as recorded in the forbidden books that only high priests and above could read?

At that moment, something wriggled at Chester's fingertips.

The statue, the sacred relic.

It spoke.

Not exactly spoke, but it felt like it.

- ■■ ■■■ ■■ ■■

A world of utter darkness.

Four sacred relics.

Four Outer Gods cast their shadows.

Chester felt like he was going to faint.

* * *

This was already the second time I had entered this space that was like the universe.

Was it because I had listened to the Outer Gods' conversations a lot?

Or maybe it was because I had obtained multiple sacred relics, but anyway, their conversations were being translated to me in real time.

For example.

- ■■ ■■■ ■■ ■■

To translate the first words spoken by that statue held by the High Priest of the Ratmen Technopriest Council.

- No, fuck! I didn't do this! This bastard just can't understand a word I'm saying, can he? I'm shouting 'You'll die if you use it! You'll die if you use it!' right in his ear, but what can I do if he can't get the message...!

Well, he seemed to be very wronged.