Night Crawler (4)

Unlike the brave Brand, the soldiers were trembling with fear.

“Oh my! Not just people, even animal corpses are coming to life?”

Before the human corpses, undead dogs, previously kept as village pets, began shambling toward them.

This demonstrated the remarkable power of the necromancer controlling these undead.

“Ahh! T-there are too many of them!”

As the soldiers panicked, Zebec, realizing the situation could worsen, turned to Azadine.

“I wish to use the Mace of Judgment spell. Do you have a mace I can use as a medium?”

“How about this?”

When Zebec requested a mace, Azadine rummaged through his saddle, searching for one. He deliberately sifted through to find a rusted and damaged one.

“…….”

“No need to use a good one for casting a spell, right?”

“It’s urgent.”

“Oh, fine! I’ve been too busy to organize things lately.”

Azadine set aside the well-maintained weapons and handed Zebec a heavily rusted and battered mace.

‘Why is he so picky about this, even in a situation like this?’

Though Zebec found Azadine’s obsession with equipment condition exasperating, he accepted the mace. With it, he began his incantation, focusing on the damaged weapon.

“Quell the aberrant. Light of the Crown, heed my call!”

Mace of Judgment!

When Zebec hurled the mace, it arced through the air, emitting a brilliant light as it plummeted to the ground. Upon impact, it unleashed radiant shockwaves that scorched the bodies of nearby undead.

“Kyaaaak!”

“Kiieeeek!”

The undead writhed in pain, their bodies succumbing to the light. From a distance, the necromancer’s power surged as they began casting a counter-spell.

The undead suddenly howled at the sky, like wild beasts, and charged with terrifying speed, far faster than their earlier shambling pace. The sight of dozens of frenzied undead rushing toward them was horrifying.

“Eek!?”

“Argh!”

The soldiers screamed in panic.

“Hold your spears and maintain formation!”

Zebec, holding his ground, wielded his spear and stood alongside the soldiers. Though calling it a formation was generous, the small group of spear-wielders braced themselves against the onslaught of undead like a crashing wave.

“Focus!”

The soldiers and knights gradually regained their composure and followed Zebec’s orders. They thrust their spears toward the oncoming undead. Together, they managed to skewer one undead, but it flailed violently, stuck on the spears.

“Ahh! It won’t come out!”

As they struggled to pull their spears free, more undead swarmed toward them.

“S-save me!”

Some soldiers began abandoning their spears to flee. But Zebec, pulling his horse’s reins, turned it toward the undead. His warhorse kicked out with its powerful hind legs, sending an undead flying.

“Hup!”

Zebec thrust his spear at an undead approaching the horse, twisting it to dislodge the blade effortlessly. He demonstrated how to properly remove a spear and launched another thrust, setting an example for the soldiers.

“Again!”

At Zebec’s command, the soldiers and Brand reformed their ranks. This time, they successfully fended off the undead with their newly practiced thrust-and-retrieve technique.

“Hmm, impressive.”

Azadine admired how Zebec filled in for the soldiers’ weaknesses, giving them the time and space to strike. Every swing of Zebec’s spear felled undead, showcasing not only his skill but also his commanding presence. Despite the terrifying sight of undead attacking, Zebec remained calm and composed, exuding a confidence befitting a seasoned Holy Knight.

‘I expected Zebec to be skilled due to his stoic nature, but Sir Brand is a surprise.’

Though elderly, Brand displayed unusual strength, swinging heavy tools like crowbars with ease during their earlier escape from the bandit hideout. His incredible physical power allowed him to handle a spear with remarkable proficiency, even better than the soldiers.

“Now, it’s up to the others to do their part.”

Azadine waited, relying on Ismail and Mediam. Soon, a faint whisper came from the nearby bushes—Mediam was using magic to communicate.

[Azadine! We found the caster. But….]

“But what?”

[The naga woman next to you….]

“……?”

Shati furrowed her brow at those words.

“I heard that.”

[Could you bring her over?]

“Fine, I’ll bring her.”

Azadine entrusted the rear to Zebec and moved toward the caster’s location with Shati.

“Shati, shall we go?”

“Wait. Are you saying this necromancer is one of our naga?”

Though Mediam hadn’t explicitly said so, Shati’s guess was sharp. The context was enough for her to suspect it.

“Seems possible. Why would a naga stake a claim here, even after Count Salasma’s death?”

“I don’t know. I’m just from the commoner class.”

Shati rolled her eyes, clearly contemplating how to escape. But she had no hope of slipping away from Azadine.

“Stop overthinking and follow me, Shati.”

“Damn it. I even healed you.”

“I’m grateful for that.”

Keeping a close eye on Shati to ensure she wouldn’t flee, Azadine moved toward Mediam’s location.

---

According to the mythology of the Kurt God tribe, the orc deity Kanak bestowed upon his children, the orcs, a tremendous gift to help them dominate all other races and ascend to the pinnacle.

This gift included powerful, muscle-rich physiques, exceptional intelligence, boundless ambition, magical talent, and even lifespans rivaling those of elves.

However, these blessings became their curse. Most orcs failed to live beyond the average human lifespan.

The problem lay with Kanak’s gift of muscles. Orcs had such an innate tendency to build muscle that most of them suffered from perpetual hunger due to their bodies’ inefficiency in conserving energy.

Moreover, despite their muscular frames, their endurance was poor. Their overly muscular bodies consumed vast amounts of oxygen and nutrients, causing their hearts to struggle to keep up. Many orcs succumbed to cardiac failure, rarely surviving past the age of 40.

Scott McGreen, the orc necromancer present here, was determined to overcome these limitations. He sat in a wheelchair designed to counteract the orc physiology that built muscle with even the slightest exertion. The wheelchair, fitted with preserved muscles enchanted to move on its own, allowed him to minimize his physical activity. Still, the effort of living meant his body could not entirely escape usage.

“What are you doing, orc?”

His employers, the nagas, voiced their displeasure.

“Are you wasting time against mere human Holy Knights?”

“Just sitting there, doing nothing.”

It seemed that no matter how diligently Scott tried to demonstrate his worth, his naga employers couldn’t stand the sight of him sitting idle.

‘These arrogant, racist snakes. No matter how hard I work, they just can’t bear to see me sitting still, can they?’

To Scott, the nagas were a supremacist race. Among the servants of Kurt’s pantheon, the nagas believed themselves to be the greatest and most exceptional. To them, orcs were little more than hired help, useful for their abilities but never equals.

“You eat enough to feed an army, yet what have you done? Bring out the Heavenly King’s Book already!”

“Didn’t you order me to eliminate the intruders first? One of you says to deal with the intruders, another says to get the Heavenly King’s Book. How am I supposed to know which command to follow?”

Scott had turned the local villagers into undead and even decimated Count Lantarique’s army, all in his effort to manifest a copy of the Heavenly King’s Book hidden here.

Despite these significant achievements, the nagas, impatient and constantly issuing conflicting commands, remained dissatisfied.

“You dare complain to your employers, you gluttonous orc?”

“Enough. Focus on bringing out the Heavenly King’s Book first!”

“No! Deal with the intruders! What if they’re here for the Book?”

Scott wished they would at least settle on a clear priority—manifesting the Book or eliminating the intruders.

In the meantime, Scott remained in his wheelchair, carefully regulating his breathing to prevent his body from developing excess muscle.

‘Breathe too much, and muscle grows around your organs. Then your lifespan shortens.’

He focused on keeping calm, while his necromancy-enabled wheelchair moved on its own.

“Damn these snake-headed fools. Stop giving me contradictory orders. Fix your lousy chain of command before blaming me, alright?”

“How dare you speak like that to your employers?”

“Want to skip dinner tonight?”

“…Fine! I’ll prioritize the intruders.”

When Scott agreed to deal with the intruders, the naga giving that order smirked in satisfaction, while the other naga glared at him, clearly offended that Scott had obeyed someone else’s command.

‘Damn it. How humiliating. These nagas… they’re too much. Maybe working with the Mezerry apostles would’ve been better than dealing with these jerks.’

Scott sighed and cast a spell to strengthen the undead, launching a full-scale assault.

“Now, can we move on? Once we deal with these intruders, let’s focus on manifesting the Heavenly King’s Book.”

The nagas assumed that with the number of undead sent into battle, the intruders would be dealt with swiftly. They continued pestering Scott, but his eyes widened.

“Wait! They’re fighting way too well!”

“What?”

“These intruders… they’re countering the undead far too effectively.”

“What do you mean? After throwing so many undead at them, they’re still alive?”

“I think one of them is a Holy Knight of the King’s Church. They’re natural enemies of the undead.”

“Really? I thought modern Holy Knights were all weaklings.”

“This one seems to be the real deal. It might be time for you ‘great snake-heads’ to step in and show your skills.”

Though Scott suggested they intervene, the nagas merely exchanged glances, refusing to act.

“A servant dares to command his employers?”

“You eat so much that it’s a strain on our supplies. This is the time for you to earn your keep, orc.”

“You’re asking me to go out there and fight the intruders? Do you understand why I’m in this wheelchair?”

“Well, the undead are under your control, aren’t they?”

“If we go out there and you decide to betray us by turning the undead against us, we’ll be in trouble.”

The nagas were essentially saying they didn’t trust Scott, fearing he might use the undead to attack them. On top of that, they kept criticizing him for eating too much.

‘I mean, I do eat a lot, but isn’t this too much?’

Suppressing his frustration, Scott nodded. Even the slight movement made him feel the muscles in his neck thickening.

“Fine! Stop nitpicking over food. I’ll handle it, alright?”

Scott maneuvered his wheelchair and moved forward into the fray.