The Rampage Of The Thralls (2)

The Emperor’s Messenger never regretted what had already happened. But that didn’t mean he was devoid of emotional pain.

Azadine was in pain. He had killed so many people who had become thralls. And now to learn there was a way to restore their sanity? It was almost unbearable not to unleash his fury on someone.

Sensing the heat of Azadine’s rage radiating like hot coals, the Blue Turban Party Priest panicked and quickly picked up the medicine vial from the ground.

“This is the medicine given to me by the woman who ordered me to keep watch over you. I can sense another Nether presence within it.”

It was a quick and skillful excuse—enough to dissuade Azadine from unleashing his wrath on the man.

“I see. That vial…”

He recognized it. It was the same medicine vial Arael had shown him, instructing him to spike the food with it.

“Is what’s inside the same as the elixir your people use?”

Azadine’s mention of the Blue Turban Party’s elixir caused the Priest to fall momentarily silent. His words implied that he was already aware of what their elixirs truly were.

He needed to choose his words carefully. This young man had cut through the storm of thralls to get here, and he was furious.

The Priest, aware that Azadine’s power, fury, and ability could become a blade against his neck at any moment, answered with utmost deference.

“We only ever strove to help those suffering from malaria. We’ve saved many lives without issue before! This must be someone’s scheme!”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked if what’s in the vial is the same as your elixir.”

“Yes. It is similar, yet different. To be honest, we dilute it heavily to prevent thrallification… but this one is quite concentrated.”

“And yet you’re completely fine after taking it?”

“Luckily, I already practiced blood magic. I can isolate and control any elixirs that enter my body.”

Blood magic—an occult practice using blood as a medium. It could range from folk remedies like using leeches to reduce swelling to summoning demons through blood rituals.

Using blood magic, the Priest had isolated the elixir within himself and created a twig imbued with it.

“I can store the elixir I’ve isolated through blood magic inside this twig. Fortunately, the guardian deity of our Blue Turban Party is the ancient swamp tree, Grimsrown…”

Because the entity they worshipped was of a wooden nature, he was able to isolate the elixir before it was absorbed into his system. Or so the Priest explained.

‘So because a person can’t become a thrall of two gods at once, the medicine Arael gave them acts as an antidote. It was strong, but this guy is a blood mage, and since their Nether god is tree-like, he could completely isolate it inside his body. Don’t tell me… Arael told me to spike their food out of kindness?’

Azadine briefly considered the possibility that his only blood relative might have done it out of concern—but quickly shook his head.

There was no way Arael had done it out of compassion.

‘Not all members of the Blue Turban Party are corrupted by Nether power. If the food was drugged, innocent people would have been affected too. Arael simply didn’t care if more victims were created.’

Arael was always that way—strong, confident, and unconcerned about the weeds and ants crushed underfoot. Like an elephant trampling everything in its path, Arael advanced without restraint. This Priest must have just been another ant under her feet.

At that moment, Zebec called Azadine’s attention.

“Azadine. Look over there.”

“Oh.”

Azadine spotted Arael’s group entering the Baron of Adirov’s castle in the direction Zebec pointed.

“This is no time to dawdle—we have to pursue them. Hey, Priest! Stop the rampaging tree-thralls! Can you do that?”

“I’ll try. Ah, take this!”

The Blue Turban Party Priest handed Azadine the twig containing Arael’s medicine.

Azadine took the sharp, sturdy twigs and placed them into his quiver before setting off after Arael.

After the baron’s family was wiped out by an endemic disease, the Castle of the Baron of Adirov was repurposed as an administrative office. It housed the officials dispatched by Count Lantarique.

The original noble residence lost its decorative charm over time, leaving only practicality in its appearance. But that was merely the shell.

Surprisingly, inside the Baron’s castle stood a structure built in ancient dwarven style, and the castle had merely been built over it.

Azadine guessed it must be the Emperor’s treasury.

After Arael’s group entered, a deep, rumbling sound echoed from underground, as if the entire building were stretching awake. It was the sound of an ancient ruin awakening.

“You okay, boss? That sounded scary.”

Scott had somehow procured a handcart and was now perched atop it, casting spells on the surrounding corpses.

“What are you doing? What’s that?”

“……”

Zebec glared at Scott, appalled by the desecration of corpses happening before his eyes.

But soon, everyone was rendered speechless.

Scott had organically fused the shredded corpses into a grotesquely efficient construct.

The cart began moving on its own.

Upon closer inspection, muscles stretched from the handles to the base of the cart, pushing it forward—but they were hidden behind the supports, making it appear as if the cart moved on its own.

“I call it Smart Mobility!”

“…Smart?”

“Even I have to admit—it’s a clever design, boss.”

“Haaah.”

Zebec was at a loss for words.

At that moment, tree-spirits driven mad by bloodlust appeared before Azadine’s group. They were once residents of Adirov Castle, but now had become rampaging thralls under the influence of a Nether being.

“Hmph.”

Azadine hurled the twig-like darts he had received from the Priest like throwing knives at the thralls that blocked his path.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

With crisp impacts, each dart struck its target dead-on—one per thrall.

Like a holiday gift distributed to children, the attack restored the minds of the afflicted one by one.

The tree beasts turned back into people.

“Ugh?”

“What—how is this possible?!”

“What have I done until now? Did I… do this?”

“Aaah! Wh-what happened to my body?!”

They recoiled in horror at the calamity that had overtaken their own flesh.

“Go find the Blue Turban Party Priest and get help! Clear the way!”

Avoiding the now-recovered thralls, Azadine stepped deeper into the castle.

He pitied their fate—but catching Arael was far more important now.

The granite staircase beneath led downward into the depths.

A deep rumbling echoed continuously through the steps, as if guiding them into the heart of the mountain encasing the Baron of Adirov’s castle.

On the vast dwarven-style stone walls—clearly crafted by human hands—was a carved image of Emperor Yaeslat.

And finally, the source of the rumbling that had led Azadine all this way revealed itself.

It was a massive stone gate powered by water. On both sides of the gate were keys Azadine had seen before—keys to the treasury. Once inserted, they would activate a waterwheel mechanism that opened the gate.

“If we retrieve the keys now, wouldn’t the gate close and trap the ones inside?”
Zebec suggested. But Azadine shook his head.

“I can hear the sound of water inside. Once someone’s in, there’s probably another way out. No use trying to trap them. Let’s go in.”

“Wait. What if someone pulls the keys from behind? We’ll be trapped too! And Arael and her followers are crazy strong! Do you even have a plan? They won’t kill you because you’re one of them, but they might kill us to break your will.”

Shati protested against Azadine’s decision to go in.

Indeed, Arael likely wouldn’t kill Azadine—but she could torture him to gain leverage. And from the perspective of the Messenger Clan, Shati, Zebec, and Scott were expendable outsiders.

But Azadine ignored Shati’s objection and strode straight inside.

And then…

Creeeak…

Scott’s “smart mobility” rolled in noisily behind him.

“Could you at least be quiet? We’re not exactly being subtle here…”

“They’re Messengers too, right? Let’s just be bold. Maybe I’ll interrupt one of their skill acquisitions while I’m at it.”

Zebec and Scott grumbled as they followed Azadine in.

“Damn it.”

Shati had no choice but to follow as well.

Beyond the dwarven gate lay a breathtaking cavern, where water from the mountain cascaded into a hidden underground waterfall.

Sunlight filtered in through the ceiling of the vast chamber. Ancient dwarven machines were visible within, and Arael stood among them, visibly stunned.

“This is the Emperor’s minting machine?”

Normally, minting gold coins didn’t require anything this elaborate.

Pure gold is highly malleable and doesn’t even require heating; it can be compressed into coin form with nothing more than a wooden mallet.

Considering the rarity and value of gold, and that coinage wasn’t frequently used, a simple mold and a single craftsman would suffice.

Given the powerful enchantments on imperial coins, counterfeiting was prevented by magic—meaning the minting machine itself could be just a basic press. Even the clever Arael had assumed as much.

But what stood here was a massive industrial machine connected to a waterwheel. It was the size of a stable fit for six goats.

If it were made of planks, a strong man might lift it. But as it was fully forged of solid metal, not even an elephant could budge it. Taking it was impossible.

“This is… much larger than expected, Lady Arael.”

“What now?”

Even Arael’s subordinates were visibly shaken.

“Let’s at least figure out how to operate it. Let’s see…”

Arael approached the wall of the Emperor’s vault. Near where gold bars would have been stacked, the skeletal remains of dwarves were strewn.

They were all holding weapons, and their skulls were shattered—evidence they had fought among themselves for the gold and died. With the treasure gone, it seemed other grave robbers had already looted it.

“Arael!”

A sharp voice rang out, calling her name.

It was Azadine and his group.

Following the same path Arael had taken, Azadine, Shati, Scott, and Zebec entered. Azadine wore his mask, concealing his expression, but the other three looked stunned at the sheer size and sight of the Emperor’s vault.

“Th-this is…”

“Is this really Emperor Yaeslat’s treasury?”

“But there’s hardly any treasure. Was it already looted?”

“More importantly, focus on the girl and those Messengers ahead, boss. Every one of them is a monster.”

Scott, wary of Arael and the four elite warriors of Flowers, Birds, Wind, Moon, formed hand seals atop his cart, ready for battle.