Northern Threat (4)

Azadine had taken him down so easily that one wouldn’t have known—but had this man truly killed all these countless ogres and goblins?

Seeing the horrific corpses scattered everywhere, one couldn’t help but admire Doneor’s capabilities in slaughtering them.

And then, seeing how easily Azadine subdued Doneor, it brought forth even more awe.

“Hm… It’s not like ogres carry letters.”

Azadine clicked his tongue as he searched through the corpses. Scott was visibly pleased at the sight of so many bodies strewn about.

“Boss. Mind if I take a crack at it?”

“Don’t ask me, ask Zebec.”

“Zebec….”

“Ah, don’t ask me either. Do you think I could ever say it’s fine even if my mouth were torn apart? Just do it. Why are you trying to get my permission?”

Zebec responded irritably. But that was the best compromise he could offer.

The magic Scott was about to use was wicked necromancy, meant to interrogate the souls of the dead. Frankly, it would’ve been better to just play with corpses.

But as a Holy Knight, even jokingly permitting necromancy was out of the question. It was better not to ask permission and simply sneak away out of sight to gather information.

‘Sir Zebec’s gotten soft. Would other Holy Knights call this corruption? Then again, plenty of them have dabbled in dark magic too.’

Even his teacher, Ject the Arbiter, had wielded every kind of dark and Nether magic. Wasn’t it Ject who had turned Doneor’s group into monsters?

“Alright, then. Whew. The dead probably don’t care either way, but as a rationalist, I guess I’ll have to be understanding of those still trapped by superstition and bad habits.”

“…….”

Whether Zebec glared or not, Scott recited an incantation and cast his spell on the ogre corpse that looked like the leader.

Blood gushed from the body, drawing a large crimson circle, and within it appeared a somber black shadow.

[Ughh? I died? I must go to the king’s court.]

“Before that, how about a quick chat? Were you planning to invade Vthuma?”

[Vthuma. Human kingdom. Lots of meat, lots of food. Lots of shinies. Said we could take whatever we wanted.]

“Ogres—what was your role? Vanguard? Scouts?”

[We got lost. Didn’t know the way. Caught a human traveler, skewered him, made him guide us. But he died soon after.]

Apparently, as they descended the mountain, they grabbed random humans, impaled them, and used them as navigators.

Azadine shuddered at the ogres’ grotesque methods.

“You cruel bastards.”

“Wait…”

The rogue mercenaries, watching Azadine rage at the ogres while Scott disrupted the souls with vile necromancy, felt an uneasy fear.

They thought, You’re not exactly a saint yourself… but wouldn’t dare say it aloud.

“Ask about the army size. How many of you are there? Are there other groups?”

[Us ogres, battalion chiefs—um, one, two, three… many. Many dispatched.]

Ogres considered anything more than five as “many,” so they couldn’t get an exact number. But mentioning a “battalion chief” was helpful.

Strangely, ogres were highly sensitive about ranks, and they adhered strictly to the troop counts associated with them. Despite being unable to count past five, their grasp of hierarchy was exact.

“More than five battalion-grade ogres?!”

“…Dear gods.”

The Blue Turban Party members and rogue mercs listening in were horrified.

At that moment, the voice of the Emperor reached out to Azadine.

[That is correct. Right now, a sudden ogre army has appeared on the northern border of the Kingdom of Vthuma, and war is on the brink of breaking out. The northern border lord, Lord Hartham Marcher, activated the imperial gold coin to summon a vow, but the Messenger Clan is currently ignoring it.]

“Urgh…”

Azadine felt ashamed at the Emperor’s words.

It was the Messengers’ duty to answer the vow of the gold coin. Yet now, it was they who had brought about this war.

For their own ambition, the Messenger Clan dragged the Nagas into attacking Vthuma—and the Nagas in turn brought the ogres. They brought the disease; why would they offer a cure?

[The Lord Hartham Marcher requested reinforcements from the King of Vthuma, who has rallied all available troops and sent support to the March. As a result, if Vthuma itself is attacked directly, they’ll have little to defend with.]

“Hm. Boss, what now?”

Azadine’s party had just crossed into the eastern border of the Kingdom of Vthuma.

They could head for Hartham’s March, or go directly to the capital. Both were about equidistant.

“One thing’s certain—Doneor has a detection spell on him. If we kill him, the spell’s caster will know instantly. They may even know where he died.”

“Can’t we dispel it?”

“If we do, they’ll assume he’s dead anyway. Rather, boss, how about using him against the ogres? He’s weak to the Light of the Crown, sure, but he should be strong against dumb brutes like ogres and goblins.”

Scott proposed they use Doneor as a fighting force.

Azadine had no intention of sparing a sadist who enjoyed cannibalism and torment. But killing him would signal Ject, and right now, they were too desperate to afford that.

“I’ll keep him under control.”

Zebec stepped forward.

“Alright then, hey, mercs.”

“Yes?”

“From now on, follow Sir Zebec’s orders. Doneor.”

“Huh?”

“Tell us where your hidden loot is, then follow Zebec’s command and head north to assist Lord Hartham Marcher.”

“You’re… sparing me?”

Doneor gave a bitter smile.

Using him as manpower to rescue a border lord?

He couldn’t fathom what these Messengers were thinking. Were they really taking their duty to the Emperor seriously—even after his death?

“I value my duty as the Emperor’s Messenger. You’ve committed heinous crimes, but if you’re useful, fine—I’ll hand you over to the ogres. Fight well, and maybe you’ll earn your life.”

Azadine said, then gestured to Zebec.

“Yes.”

“Just in case.”

Azadine handed Zebec a copy of the Heavenly King’s Book of Truth.

“This is…?”

“Even if Doneor gets stronger and turns on you, you’ll be able to control him with this. You saw how I used it, right?”

“Understood. Thank you, Azadine. I will live up to your expectations.”

Zebec received money from Azadine to pay the mercenaries, as well as supplies for the journey to Hartham.

“Once this is over, let’s meet again in Vthuma!”

“Yeah!”

With Doneor and the rogue mercenaries in tow, Zebec immediately departed for Hartham.

“Then we’d best hurry toward Vthuma ourselves.”

Azadine gathered the gold coins and provisions that Doneor had hidden on the farm—stolen from the people he’d killed.

“Hold on, Boss. Now that Zebec’s gone…”

Scott’s eyes lit up as he looked at the ogre and goblin corpses strewn about the ground, and at the large freight wagons on the farm.

“It’s okay to use some corpses, right?!”

“Yeah. One of the reasons I left Zebec in charge was because of that. But don’t overdo it. If undead ogres or goblins start wandering around, people aren’t just going to ignore it.”

“Pfft. Boss, you think I’d make such a rookie mistake? I’m not one of those brainless necromancers people always imagine. I’m a true necromancer—driven by creativity, artistry, and this burning passion in my chest! You can’t call yourself a necromancer if you lack romance!”

“R-right? What kind of twisted thing are you planning now?”

Azadine watched Scott nervously.

“Ahem.”

“Y-you truly are noble in spirit.”

Ziswa was in awe of Azadine’s actions.

He had subdued Doneor’s group with terrifying skill and then split his forces to save a county.

It may have only been one Holy Knight, Doneor, and a small number of mercenaries—not even enough to make up a full platoon—but considering the number of ogres and goblins slain by Doneor’s band, they’d surely be a great help to Lord Hartham Marcher.

And Azadine himself was on the move to save Vthuma.

At first, Ziswa had been suspicious of Azadine, but now he could clearly understand the man’s intentions.

This man was trying to save a kingdom all on his own.

To be honest, Ziswa couldn’t help but be deeply moved.

As with most pseudo-religions, the Blue Turban Party also taught love for one’s neighbor, harmony in the family, protection for the weak and elderly, and respect for women.

But what the followers actually paid attention to were the trivial bylaws—like how to handle suspicions of adultery or how to beat someone when collecting interest.

No one put effort into the obvious and righteous deeds.

And yet here was a man who had the power to claim wealth, authority, and beautiful women if he wanted—but instead chose to act for the genuine good of a nation.

That was admirable, but…

“GRAAAAH!”

An ogre head roared. A wagon was being pulled along.

“Hehehe.”

Scott McGreen beamed at his masterpiece.

“I present to you… the Ogre Muscle-Wagon! What do you think?”

“It looks way too grotesque. And why is it screaming?”

“Well, it’s inhaling oxygen. If you just stitch together muscles and don’t create a system that breathes, the undead rot and fall apart quickly. Those low-grade Naga necromancers preserve corpses to make mummies, but I challenge the very concept of life itself.”

“…….”

Azadine clicked his tongue as he looked at this blasphemy against life.

Scott had used the flesh, blood, muscle, and bones of a dead ogre to craft a massive quadrupedal beast. A new kind of monster with flowing blood and breathing lungs.

“Corpses begin rotting right after death…”

“But if you forcibly connect the blood and organs into a circulation system, it slows down the decay.”

“But like you said, if it’s alive, doesn’t it need to eat?”

“That’s why I brought food, didn’t I?”

Scott had loaded the wagon with leftover goblin corpses. That, apparently, was what he called ‘food.’

Good thing Zebec didn’t see this monstrosity.

Azadine covered the creature’s face with a waterproof tarp.

What’s more, the beast stitched from ogre flesh and shaped like a horse was quite fast—Azadine’s goat had to gallop at full speed to keep up.

“Ah… I made it, but I must say it’s really well done. A work of art, truly. Should I call it… a Corpse Abomination?”

Scott was utterly immersed in his masterpiece, indifferent to how disgusted everyone else was.