Necromancer Of The Black Bible (33)

‘If I don’t kill, I will die.’

Raven’s words pierced deeply into Verdin’s heart.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

With every beat, a searing heat wrapped his body.

Within that heat lurked a strange pleasure.

Verdin swung his blade, drunk on it.

Slash—

He heard no screams.

Only the beauty of hot blood spraying around.

And a whisper brushed his mind.

[Kill them all. Only then will you find the princess.]

Over a hundred bandits.

Before, the number seemed overwhelming.

No matter how skilled, to face 100 at once was suicide.

But now—it felt possible.

‘No one here is stronger than me.’

He had already slain Volg, the chief.

These were small fry.

No threat at all.

Few could withstand even a single exchange.

Slice—

This time, two heads fell in one stroke.

They screamed, but faintly.

What mattered was their dwindling number.

And with it, closeness to Princess Lillian.

‘Lillian. I must find her.’

He remembered swearing before King Elliot of Altera.

Never to bow to fear, to give his life for the King’s command.

But he had broken it.

Gripped by fear, he had let the princess fall to bandits.

‘I will atone for this sin.’

His grip tightened.

He swung without hesitation.

He lost count of the fallen.

Once begun, he realized fear was an illusion.

Instead, exhilaration surged.

‘So this is slaughter?’

The thrill tingled to his scalp.

He once shunned killing as principle.

But now, that creed seemed the cause of all ruin.

‘I should have done this from the start.’

Two years ago, when the princess’s carriage was surrounded—he should have drawn his sword then.

Their numbers then were no greater than now, nor their strength.

‘I underestimated myself.’

His master’s words returned: Know yourself above knowing the enemy.

Verdin exhaled and cut down the foe before him.

Now, enemies came armored.

Thick leather, heavy hammers, axes.

Big bodies, laughable threats.

They relied only on numbers to encircle him.

‘Futile…’

Verdin leapt, felling the biggest brute.

He landed, cut the tall one’s throat, then stabbed another’s heart.

Three dead, and the rest fled.

‘Not so fast!’

Fleeing foes are easiest—just stab them in the back.

His broad scimitar split hearts in two with a single thrust.

Verdin ran like the wind.

Dozens slain, yet no fatigue.

He closed the gap and pierced.

Puk—

And again the voice came.

[Wait. I’ll bring you the rest.]

No sooner said than three deserters returned to him.

Verdin twisted, his blade tracing a graceful curve.

Slaaash—

Three heads flew at once.

He breathed deep, air filling his lungs.

He exhaled—and severed the remaining three.

Thud-thud-thud—

Heads rolled, bodies fell, Verdin turned and listened.

No voices remained.

Only the campfires flickered.

‘All of them… dead?’

Most likely.

He hadn’t counted, but none he struck lived.

‘So easy…’

With the bandits gone, the thrill drained, leaving emptiness.

The hollow ache was unbearable.

He thought of finding the princess—but also doubted.

‘Could she even be alive?’

With reddened eyes, he looked at the cages.

Inside, captives slept from soporific soup.

Those imprisoned in these iron cages are dealt with in one of two ways.

They are either killed or sold to the slave traders who come periodically.

In both cases, they are first subdued with soporific herb and then handled.

Since sleep herbs are abundant in this area, the bandits have used this method ever since they first settled here.

But two years ago, Princess Lillian was not subdued—she was dragged away as she was.

There is only one possibility in such a case.

‘…….’

In truth, Verdin had already guessed what the princess must have gone through.

He had simply been denying it to himself, insisting it couldn’t be true.

But now, after breaking the shackles of his heart and indulging in slaughter, everything was clear.

‘Lillian died here. In this place.’

The first woman captured is never caged. She is dragged into the leader’s chamber instead.

After that, she is passed to the sub-chief’s chamber, then shared among the underlings in turn.

After spending one such night, most women are broken.

Some die, some go mad.

If she somehow survives intact, she becomes the bandits’ whore or is sold to slavers—but Lillian was never seen again after that day.

‘Vermin. Filthy trash.’

Revulsion surged, bringing vomit to his throat.

At that moment, shouts rang out in the distance.

“There! Kill him!”

So there were still survivors.

As he checked their faces, he recognized them.

He didn’t recall their names, but they were ones discontent since Volg became chief.

They had been sub-chiefs under Michael, so their resentment toward Verdin was natural.

Suppressing the urge to vomit, Verdin walked calmly toward the first charging brute. Then—

Slash—

He severed the right arm wielding the axe, then drove his blade straight into the heart.

Then he waited—for the rest to arrive.

Standing there made him look like prey waiting.

“Guhhh… you… why the hell….”

The words gurgled from the man whose heart was pierced.

Verdin didn’t feel like answering, though the reply echoed in his heart.

‘Because it’s time to end this madness.’

The rest of the gang arrived, and Verdin drew his sword.

With his signature clean movements, he cut down their necks.

These seemed to be the last.

They wore the best armor and bore the finest weapons here.

They must have raided the armory to try to stop him.

By then, moonlight seeped through.

Looking up, he saw the half-moon distorted by branches.

Blood-tinged tears ran down Verdin’s eyes.

When he had first drawn his sword, he had only two thoughts: kill all the bandits, and find the princess.

But now he realized.

The princess was nothing but an illusion.

For a failed knight, only death remained.

Verdin turned his eyes to his tent.

Two men were watching him from there.

Raven and Crimson.

Though he himself had named them, now clear-headed, he knew they weren’t common bandits.

Without them, he could never have done what he had tonight.

‘Who are they really?’

He glanced at the opposite cage—and saw one cell was empty.

Then he realized who they were.

‘Priests of the Theocracy?’

He had heard priests of the Kallios Theocracy wield mysterious powers—perhaps their power explained this.

Verdin flicked the blood from his sword onto the ground and approached them.

Because there was one plea he had to make.

“His skill is quite impressive.”

That was William’s assessment after watching Verdin’s rampage.

His eyes shone with a green glow.

Perhaps it was the fighting spirit of one warrior toward another.

I asked him with a faint smile.

“Do you think you could defeat him?”

“I would win.”

“Truly?”

I asked playfully, but William nodded gravely.

“That one has only just entered the threshold. He needs more experience to reach mastery.”

“Oh? I see.”

“He’d make a fine subordinate.”

For William to say that.

Verdin was clearly extraordinary.

‘And his background wasn’t ordinary either.’

He said he was from Altera, the southern kingdom.

That land was known for its many famed Swordmasters.

Verdin was likely one of them.

‘I can’t even guess what title he bore in my past life.’

As I pondered this, Verdin walked toward us.

Equinox sent a warning.

[The brainwashing has worn off. To cast it again will require more mana.]

That it broke even without me withdrawing the mana meant his willpower was strong.

‘Should I cast it again here?’

But after a moment’s thought, I saw no need.

The bandit gang was already annihilated.

Even the few who tried to flee I had compelled back to Verdin, and he had cut them down without mercy.

With no survivors here, further brainwashing was pointless.

Only two choices remained.

‘Kill him—or take him under me.’

Either way, he had to die.

He had just proven it impossible to keep brainwashing him alive.

Then William spoke.

“I will handle him.”

“Are you sure?”

“…I cannot die.”

Ah, right.

I understood at once.

Even if William was weaker than Verdin, he could not die.

With that, he could eventually win.

‘Though perhaps he could win through skill as well.’

Soon, Verdin stood before us.

I stopped William from rising, and Verdin spoke.

“Are you priests of the Theocracy?”

“…Yes.”

I thought of denying it, but admitted it.

Then I shifted into the form of a priest—easier for speaking.

So I became Mikel von Raiernov, and William became Andre.

Verdin’s gaze deepened as he spoke.

“I have a request, Father.”

“What is it?”

“Please… kill me.”