Ceramite (1)

Sir Sork had originally been an orc sorcerer.

Invited by the Hospitallers and the Wisdom Order, he arrived and achieved remarkable feats alongside the knightly order—synthesizing ceramite, creating cures for various plagues, and earning great merit.

But he was still an orc, and his muscles continued to strengthen beyond control, until in the end he suffered from angina so severe it threatened his life.

To transcend death, Sir Sork turned to necromancy—separating his life from his flesh and becoming a lich.

The Hospitallers immediately excommunicated him, but they could not cast him out of the order entirely. He alone knew the method of producing ceramite.

So the order launched an assault to annihilate Sir Sork… but once he became a lich—free from the torment of angina—they could not match him.

After a horrific battle, the records claimed the Hospitallers won.

Yet the aftermath made it clear: in truth, the order had lost and merely reached a ceasefire.

Under the condition that he would not leak ceramite’s method to outsiders, Sir Sork was exiled to the Chadra Plateau, where he came to reside in the Biar Marsh.

The order feared Sir Sork and would not go near the Biar Marsh.

But at times, when Sir Sork needed something, he would leave the Chadra Plateau and attack Usander, Banreung, Arangi, and more—marching alongside his undead army….

People feared Sir Sork and called that undead host the Fimbulhorde.

“I’ve heard of the Fimbulhorde. This can’t be… I didn’t realize, since they called them the Chadra Ogres—are you saying the Fimbulhorde was Sir Sork?”

The Fimbulhorde were nightmare monsters straight out of old tales.

And their leader being Sir Sork?

Sedrin’s face twisted as Selim warned Azadine about Sir Sork.

“Damn it, Selim! Even knowing your precious griffins are in my grasp right now?!”

“Even if you kill every griffin, I still have to say it. Sir Azadine—no matter who you are, Sir Sork is impossible.”

From the look of it, Sedrin was desperate to force Azadine into taking Sork down. Azadine, curious, asked:

“Then why do you hate Sir Sork?”

“He has wights among his vassals, and those wights were made from the bodies of my kin. He not only stole our dead to use as servants—he’s bound even their souls. It’s vile necromancy.”

“…….”

Azadine flinched.

He used necromancy himself to extract cinnabar.

Of course, his was low-grade—he didn’t desecrate souls, only used what was essentially the body’s residual “memory,” like an automaton.

But would Sedrin care about that distinction?

‘I’ll have to be careful not to let her catch me.’

When Azadine hesitated, Sedrin mistook it as fear of Sir Sork and let out a bitter lament.

“To think the Hospitallers have fallen this far… Sir Azadine, I already calmed the griffins to help you. If you simply declare you will ruin Sir Sork, I’ll use these griffins to build the bridges you want, kill the bandits on the roads—anything. I’ll even give you my loyalty.”

Judging by her impatience, everyone else must have fled the moment they heard Sir Sork’s name.

“Don’t even pretend. Sir Azadine—Sedrin’s a Wild Druid who eats human flesh.”

“You’re one to talk—you’re a minotaur who eats humans!”

“Alright. Both of you, calm down.”

Azadine stepped in before Selim and Sedrin could start tearing at each other again.

“I don’t know yet. But I’ll investigate.”

“Investigate?”

“Yes. If Sir Sork truly enslaves your family with necromancy, I’ll free them. Whether I fight him or not—that comes after.”

“Good. Even that is more than I deserve. Fine, Azadine.”

Just those words—promising to try to free her kin—were enough to satisfy Sedrin.

That alone showed how deeply everyone feared Sir Sork, the leader of the Fimbulhorde.

Azadine’s victory over Selim and his seizure of the Chadra Springlands spread quickly across the plateau.

Having defeated Chashan and Selim, and with Sedrin joining as an allied force, Azadine absorbed the power of three of the Chadra Ogres— and became, in name and reality, the Conqueror of Chadra.

Now Azadine didn’t even need to make the first move.

Other knights of the plateau—petty lords, in all but name—came to submit of their own accord.

Officially, it was submission to the acting Chapter Master of Fireglyph.

But for now, that was more than enough.

All that remained were the necro-knight Sir Sork… and the half-vampire Niselda.

“Alright then, Sir Azadine! Now that we’ve decided to go together, let’s experience this properly.”

At Selim’s call, two hippogriffs came flying in.

“You want me to ride that?”

“Exactly. We’ll take it on a test flight—and while we’re at it, we’ll go see the Biar Marsh.”

“The Biar Marsh… Sir Sork’s territory?”

“Let’s scout from the sky. What do you say, Sir Azadine? Once you fly, you’ll understand what a wonderful, elegant creature a hippogriff is.”

It seemed Selim wanted Azadine—now that he’d sworn loyalty—to recognize the hippogriff’s beauty and usefulness, too.

“A scouting run, then. Fine. I’ll ride.”

Azadine climbed onto the hippogriff.

“Whoa!”

The hippogriff lifted into the sky at once. Even for Azadine, this was his first time truly flying—admiration rose naturally.

“How is it? Isn’t it magnificent?! Sir Azadine—if Sedrin helps, we can raise hippogriffs as much as we—”

Selim kept pushing to breed more hippogriffs, but Azadine waved him off.

“Later. For now—Biar Marsh!”

“Right! Follow me!”

Selim mounted his own hippogriff and surged ahead through the air.

The Biar Marsh lay west of the Chadra Springlands and south of Sedrin’s domain, the Black-Soil Forest—a dank region pressed against a jagged mountain range.

As they drew near, a dreadful black mana became tangible against Azadine’s skin.

“Hm.”

He tried to use Arael’s Voice to scout, but static and interference tore at the link.

The marsh’s black mana was so dense that his mental connection to Arael’s Voice broke apart.

“I can’t use Arael’s Voice here. Incredible…”

From above, Azadine stared down at the Biar Marsh, stunned by the sheer force rising from it.

Mana this concentrated becoming “real” in the world—he’d only seen it when Coral Sahar or the Vthuma naga launched an attack, or when a wendigo began to materialize.

‘It’s like the world is constantly sitting on the brink of a Nether reaper’s descent.’

As Azadine scanned the land with his tongue clicking in disbelief—

“Undead living in a place like this… Now I understand why everyone fears Sir Sork. Huh?”

Selim’s hippogriff, flying ahead, suddenly wobbled.

A black shadow had appeared and was attacking it.

“Ah. That’s…”

Azadine drew Aurelia Dawn and watched closely.

To his shock, Sir Sork had released undead wraith-beasts called Shadow Wings to patrol his skies.

Each Shadow Wing was about the size of a large eagle, so it wasn’t a huge threat to a hippogriff— but Selim’s hippogriff was the problem.

Selim was so heavy that the hippogriff began to lose balance.

“W-Waaaah!”

Selim sank lower and lower—then started to fall.

“Damn it. I knew something like this would happen.”

With no choice, Azadine descended after the falling Selim—down into the Biar Marsh.

“Grrrgh…”

“Uuugh!”

Undead groaned in torment as they hacked at a pitch-coal seam in the swamp, raising shovels again and again.

Biar Marsh was drowned in milky fog—Sir Sork’s domain, and also the largest pitch-coal production site.

They mined the pitch-coal, then loaded the carts themselves.

If an arm snapped and fell away, the undead simply bandaged the broken limb and returned to work.

That was the everyday sight of Sir Sork’s territory: the Biar Marsh.

“Hnng… This is horrific.”

Azadine groaned at the spectacle. Selim sent the hippogriff they’d ridden back up into the sky, then asked Azadine:

“What’s wrong, Sir Azadine?”

“I’m thinking the order had no business allowing this.”

Azadine also used undead to extract cinnabar— but his practice did not bind souls. It only used the body’s residual “memory,” like an automated machine.

Here, though, he could feel it clearly: these undead were under definite soul-bondage.

With a soul, they could interpret orders and adapt to the work— but that also meant tormenting spirits that should have gone to rest.

A hideous art: exploiting a being even beyond death.

And yet Sork was still treated as part of the Hospitallers?

“You came into Sir Sork’s domain… why did our pretty ride make such a mistake?”

“Because you’re heavy.”

“It usually flies fine!”

“This isn’t a normal flight.”

Azadine scanned the surroundings warily.

There were many undead, but most were too busy with assigned labor to react to Azadine and Selim at all.

“Once the hippogriff recovers, we leave. Sir Selim—this isn’t somewhere we should be right now.”

“Got it. Still… weird.”

Selim still couldn’t accept why the hippogriff failed to hold him.

Then Azadine saw a carriage approaching.

Its driver was a translucent ghost, and the horses were ghost-steeds—bones wrapped in clinging spirit-light.

A noblewoman stepped down from the carriage.

An elven woman with Wild Druid tattoos carved into her skin.

Unlike the other undead, she retained her living appearance— but the aura flowing from her made it obvious.

She was dead.