Chapter 49: A Conversation Between the Living and the Dead

  Forty thousand troops had gathered in Bracada, and their grain and supplies were fully stocked.

  After years of campaigns to annihilate the orcs, General Sanders had a clear grasp of the orc population in the Barbarian Highlands. The remaining orcs were likely cubs and young adults who’d fled into the Sanderfirth Mountains during previous purges—their total number couldn’t exceed one or two thousand. Even if they’d banded together now, recruiting some insignificant goblins and acquiring basic equipment, the numerical gap was still dozens to one. Moreover, the mages in his army would always be the most effective weapon against orcs. At his command, these forty thousand soldiers could march immediately, crushing that beast’s den like squashing bugs. The general had performed this feat flawlessly for over a decade; he was confident he’d do it again. And the rage boiling in his chest made him eager to hear the orcs’ death cries, to press an orc’s skull under his boot until he heard a crack and brains and blood splattered everywhere.

  Yet even so, the general refused to let his emotions or overconfidence cloud his judgment. When he’d set out from the south, he’d ordered a detachment to race ahead to Bracada. After a brief rest, they were to scout and probe the orc stronghold.

  War was war—lives of thousands hung in the balance, and the fate of a nation was at stake. It was no game to be swayed by a general’s personal feelings. The general understood this well. He’d fought on battlefields since his teens, and for nearly two decades, the empire had been at war with neighboring countries. The experience and judgment he’d honed were far beyond those of officers who’d graduated from knight schools. Rising to the rank of general wasn’t about bravery alone—it was about wisdom and calm. So even though he had a temper like a lion’s, when it came to military affairs, he could be as cool and sharp as a dried nut, free of any excess.

  He also knew that while orcs couldn’t use magic, their physical strength and combat prowess were formidable—especially ogres and werewolves, which no ordinary human could match. With proper equipment, disciplined formations, and tactics, they’d become a terrifying force. Before attacking, he needed to clarify the situation: what equipment did the orcs have? What structure did their forces follow? What tactics would they use?

  The general knew this battle was crucial. The power struggle in the imperial court had reached a fever pitch. The Erney family, already dominant in economics and politics, now craved control of the military. They’d long plotted to remove him and install one of their own in his position.

  The young emperor was far too trusting of flatterers and schemers, leaving military ministers at a disadvantage in political battles. If this campaign succeeded swiftly—if he annihilated the orc stronghold in one strike—the military would regain the upper hand in court. He could even use this opportunity to drive the Erney family’s influence out of all military affairs entirely.

  If he failed, however, the Erneys would seize the chance to take the military power they’d long coveted.

  Thus, even with an overwhelming advantage, the general remained cautious, sending scouting teams first to investigate. But something was amiss: the first detachment had been gone for over ten days with no word. A few days earlier, he’d sent out several more small scouting parties to probe deeper into the highlands.

  Today, word finally came—but only a handful of scouts returned. One young recruit, barely dismounting, shouted: “There’s a monster!”

  After waiting over ten days for a report that sounded like a child crying after a nighttime scare, the general’s fury erupted. He punched the soldier’s head, and it burst like a tomato thrown against a wall.

  But he calmed down immediately, questioning the other scouts about what they’d seen. Their accounts were identical: a gigantic monster made of piled corpses roamed the Barbarian Highlands. The scouting party had tried to approach for a closer look, but the monster had breathed fire, incinerating everyone—only the few farthest away, untouched by the flames, had escaped.

  The general’s face darkened as the scouts trembled, their legs shaking. Finally, he turned to his adjutants and roared: “Get that bastard Nagas over here!”

  The adjutant rushed out of the tent—only for the general’s voice to ring out again. “Wait.”

  “Remember: invite Priest Nagas to come. Tell him I have matters to discuss with him.” The general adjusted his tone and spoke again.

  A monster made of corpses. From the general’s experience, this was likely the work of the Necromancer Guild. In his youth, during wars with other nations, he’d seen the grotesque tricks they played with dead bodies. He didn’t know why the Necromancer Guild was here now, nor did he have time to dwell on it—all his focus was on the orc stronghold. If there was an obstacle, it had to be cleared.

  Priest Nagas was also a member of the Erney family—and the eldest son of the current Chancellor. Ostensibly, he’d been sent by the Magic Academy to assist in coordinating the army’s mages; in reality, he was here to monitor the campaign. If he caught the general making any misstep, he’d exploit it to advance the Erneys’ agenda. If the campaign succeeded and the orc stronghold fell, he’d claim a share of the merit, laying groundwork for his family’s future influence in the military.

  Priest Nagas was only around thirty. He’d never seen real battle, his attention mostly focused on the decadent pleasures of the capital—but he’d studied for a time at both the Magic Academy and the Military Academy. He certainly knew his true mission here: to keep a close eye on the general’s every move, while also revealing his own impulsive eagerness to earn merit.

  If he could, the general would never have consulted Nagas. But physical weapons like swords and spears were ineffective against undead monsters—magic was the only truly powerful weapon. Yet the general had no authority to command the mages directly. Mages, like priests, weren’t part of the military; they were reinforcements sent by the Magic Academy. By tradition, only the army’s clergy had the right to deploy them. Normally, church priests deferred to officers with rich combat experience—but this was clearly not the case now.

  The general knew trouble was coming the moment he saw Nagas’s reaction. Upon hearing that a giant undead monster had appeared in the wilderness and killed many soldiers, Nagas’s face lit up with excitement. His expression practically screamed: Finally, my chance to earn merit! He ordered all the army’s mages to gather and destroy the monster.

  The general vehemently opposed this. Mages were the army’s most powerful attackers—and also its most vulnerable. Concentrating them risked catastrophic losses, which would cripple the army’s combat effectiveness. Worse, they were about to face orcs, where mages would play a decisive role.

  But Priest Nagas insisted. The general retreated, suggesting they first clarify the undead monster’s details: what kind of creature was it? Why was it here? Was someone controlling it? What did it want? Once they had answers, they could devise a plan—and then act.

  Priest Nagas dismissed this out of hand, calling the general’s hesitation a waste of time. “Whether this is the orcs’ trick or the Necromancer Guild’s, a giant undead monster is just a lump of rotting flesh,” he said. “Gather enough magic power, and we’ll blow it to pieces. This will also intimidate the orcs—just as the war manuals say: ‘Overawe the enemy with momentum before fighting.’ The battles ahead will be easier.”

  The general barely restrained himself from losing his temper. He came close to splitting this fame-hungry meddler’s skull with an axe.

  It was clear the priest’s eagerness to earn merit left no room for delay. The general’s cautious considerations were dismissed as the cowardice of an old fool.

  The Necromancer Guild was already the public enemy of nearly every nation—a synonym for evil. Destroying a giant monster they’d created would bring not just military merit, but also a huge boost to his status in the church. It was a gift from heaven.

  Priest Nagas immediately set about gathering the army’s mages, planning to march the next day—as if afraid the undead monster would vanish overnight.

  This campaign could not afford mistakes. It wasn’t just about court politics; it was about the empire’s survival. The general refused to see imperial power fall into the hands of those dirty nobles, who knew only how to scheme. He refused to watch them push aside veterans like himself, who’d shed blood for the empire.

  First, the general slipped away to a deserted spot in the woods outside Bracada. He punched and kicked the trees, cursing every member of the Erney family—even their ancestors—with the foulest language until his rage subsided. Only then did he return to find the priest, demanding to join the detachment. He couldn’t trust this fool with his elite mages.

  After several days of marching, the detachment—led by the surviving scouts—easily tracked the monster. Its enormous footprints and the stench of rot were impossible to miss. Following the tracks for a short time, they found it.

  The general and the priest climbed a nearby hill, getting a clear view of the monster slowly moving northwest.

  The general pulled a long metal tube from his chest. It was a gift from Duke Mrak of the capital, sent via Commander Roland.

  The duke had always aligned with the military in court. A former soldier himself, he was trusted by other military ministers. Though his daughter was soon to marry a son of the Erney family, everyone believed that was just a matter of young love. It was common knowledge that the duke had long fought to secure funding for the military—and gifts like this metal tube only reinforced the sense that he remained a soldier at heart, caring for the front lines.

  It was a marvelous device, crafted by dwarf artisans. Looking through it let one see distant objects clearly—a priceless tool for warfare. The general was grateful for the duke’s thoughtfulness.

  Through the tube, the general saw the giant monster clearly. To his shock, its overall shape was that of a dragon—something only mentioned in legends.

  Its body was made of countless corpses. From their uniforms, the general recognized them as his own scouts, sent out half a month earlier. Those once-vigorous soldiers were crushed together; their protruding limbs, already rotting, jiggled with each of the monster’s steps, like fur on a giant beast. Twisted faces occasionally peeked out from the tangled limbs. Countless such lifeless scenes merged into a single, moving horror—a walking embodiment of death. The stench of decay was so strong it had driven away carrion crows; all living things instinctively feared the monster’s aura.

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  Its grotesque appearance, combined with the thick stench of rot in the air, created an atmosphere of unspeakable terror—enough to make anyone’s blood run cold. Even the general, who’d seen countless battles, felt a chill on his back. He knew this was no trivial threat.

  Priest Nagas also looked through the tube. His face turned pale. He’d only ever seen zombies in illustrations.

  “It seems this monster won’t threaten our army for now,” the general said, noticing the priest’s expression and making the decision for him. “Let’s withdraw the troops, report to the Magic Academy, and ask them to send specialized priests to analyze this creature first.”

  But Priest Nagas flew into a rage. “What kind of soldier flees from the enemy?”

  “We don’t even know what we’re up against, yet you want to charge in blindly!” the general roared, his temper finally snapping. “These mages were trained with countless resources—what if we lose them? Is your head filled with dung?”

  Priest Nagas flinched instinctively. The aura of a soldier who’d fought for his life on the battlefield was far beyond that of a nobleman who’d lounged in the arms of women. But the priest quickly regained his composure, refusing to be cowed by this “brute.” To save face, he turned to his aide and ordered: “Convey my command! In the name of the Holy Father, charge and destroy this evil monster!”

  “Stop.” The general’s roar froze the aide mid-step.

  “I am the commander here—these men are mine,” the priest said, summoning his courage to confront the general. In the end, orders prevailed in the soldiers’ minds. The aide ran down the hill to the troops.

  The general watched helplessly as hundreds of mages rode toward the monster. He glared at the priest, his eyes almost sparking with fire. “You’d better pray this monster is as easy to destroy as you think.”

  The mages rode quickly closer. The corpse-dragon paid little attention to these creatures, which seemed no bigger than ants to it. A few days earlier, it had incinerated dozens of them with ease.

  It had no ability to think, and its own immense magic power made it resist all commands. Now, it followed only the instinct imprinted on it by the magic circle that created it: seeking the flow of magic in the earth as it moved northwest.

  The mages reached their magic’s range. At the order of several mid-rank mages, the corpse-dragon was instantly engulfed in flashes and flames. All manner of attack spells crashed and exploded against its body: fireball blasts, searing flames, the white light and crackle of lightning, the whistle and shatter of ice arrows. It was a spectacular, dazzling display of magic. Each explosion, each flash, each whistle carried enough force to bring down an ogre.

  Even from the distant hill, the overwhelming magic power of these hundreds of mages was palpable. Their combined attack should have flattened a mountain. Priest Nagas smiled triumphantly, as if he could already hear the music of his promotion to high priest.

  Then, a wave of green energy suddenly burst from the midst of the dazzling magical display. In an instant, its overwhelming force drowned out all other light, sound, and movement.

  In the blink of an eye, the green wave dissipated. The wilderness fell silent, as if nothing had happened. Wind whispered across the blackened scorched earth surrounding the corpse-dragon—and the ground was empty. The spectacular magical display moments earlier seemed nothing but a fleeting illusion.

  Not a single mark was left on the corpse-dragon. The immense magic power and life energy contained in its bodies made its defenses dozens of times tougher than enchanted armor. Neither magic nor physical attacks would harm it.

  Priest Nagas stood frozen for a long time. He clutched his head, shaking it and shouting: “How could this happen?”

  The general’s fist—big as a casserole—slammed into Nagas’s face. There was a crack of breaking bone, and the priest flew far away.

  Priest Nagas led his troops to destroy the giant undead monster, but unfortunately, he and his detachment were completely annihilated in battle. The general had already composed his report.

  The most powerful weapon against the orcs—talents the Magic Academy had spent countless resources training—were gone in the blink of an eye. The general’s whole body trembled.

  Watching all this from another distant hill, Bishop Ronis also trembled slightly.

  “I regret it now. I truly regret it,” Ronis said, lowering his head and repeating the words in a heavy, low voice—as if only this could convey his feelings. “I regret helping create such a monster. These hundreds of incinerated mages were all trained by the Magic Academy—they were my students.”

  “This was the most painless death imaginable,” said Vedenina. Her body was little more than a shell; her voice was forced out of her throat using air magic. It was harsh, but it carried emotion—no mockery, just cold sincerity. “They probably didn’t even have time to think the word ‘death’ before they died. It’s a perfect way to die. You don’t need to grieve for them, Teacher.”

  Ronis turned to look at her, his eyes ablaze with anger.

  “You don’t need to be angry either, Teacher,” Vedenina continued. “They died—and in doing so, they proved our creation is perfect. These are just over a hundred lives. With this warning, we’ll spare the deaths of thousands of ordinary soldiers. Isn’t that a good trade? Are you grieving only because they were students of the Magic Academy? I remember you often taught me that all lives are equal.”

  “What could an undead monster like a lich know about the meaning of life?” Ronis turned away with a sigh. He still clearly remembered what this student had looked like twenty years ago—vibrant, lively, beautiful. No one would have dared associate her with the word “death.”

  “You’re wrong, Teacher,” Vedenina said, expounding her view. “Everything that exists can be destroyed—and thus, everything must die. I merely changed the form of my life, so I no longer age. And I became like this precisely because I feared death too much. I feared time killing me, feared my life slipping away beyond my control. So I used this method to cling to my existence.”

  “Nothing but a monster created by dark magic,” Ronis scoffed.

  “You’re wrong again, Teacher,” Vedenina persisted. “How is this dark magic? It’s the crystallization of human wisdom. Humans create technologies—smelting, farming, medicine—to live more securely, more longingly. In other words, human wisdom has always been about fighting death, prolonging life. What’s the fundamental difference between this technique—creating an ageless body like mine—and those ordinary technologies? Wisdom and technology are just ways for life to sustain itself. Mine is just more complex, more advanced—so it’s hard for narrow-minded people to accept.” She lifted a hand, revealing bones covered only by thin, tattered skin. “This is life sustained by the most advanced technology. My body is the ultimate expression of human vitality.”

  Ronis frowned, glancing at the decaying bones she flaunted—the grayish death visible through holes in her skin. His student’s logic was still airtight. Twenty years ago, she’d been recognized as a once-in-a-century magical prodigy, blessed with wisdom beyond ordinary people. In the end, she’d used that wisdom to recreate a lost ancient ritual, turning herself into a lich. Ronis wondered if her downfall had been caused by her own brilliance.

  Once humans taste the fruit of wisdom, they can never enjoy the fruit of life. Ronis suddenly thought of this old saying.

  “Why do you two always bicker over such trivial things?” Sandro, who’d grown impatient listening, turned to Vedenina. “Can’t you talk about something substantial? What’s the point of creating that monster? And why do we have to follow this giant around, watching it trudge slowly? Do you know how long it’s been since I last went to a teahouse for tea and chat?”

  “I apologize for disturbing your peace, Teacher,” Vedenina said calmly. “As a mage, I merely wanted to create a perfect magical work of art. And isn’t it the responsibility of us creators to monitor the progress of our creation?”

  Sandro snorted. “Speak plainly. Why did you choose this location to build it? Don’t tell me it was a last-minute decision. I’ve been watching for days, and I can guess what’s going on. That giant has been heading straight for the center of the highlands.”

  The upper half of Vedenina’s face twisted into a strange smile. “Because I engraved its instinct when I created it. It will follow the flow of the earth’s leylines from here to the center of the highlands, clearing away some ‘trash’ there. A magical work of art like this deserves to serve a purpose worthy of it. So I let it guard this land—soon to be a sacred site—until the King of the World arrives. For a new world order will rise from here.”

  “King of the World? A new order?” Sandro spat forcefully on the ground. “You still believe this nonsense? It’s just a story to fool the rigid fools in the guild. I took that book to stop you from daydreaming about this garbage.”

  Ronis sneered. “What else can they do besides this nonsense? Do you expect them to plow fields, chat with friends, and care about political and military affairs in their free time?”

  Vedenina chuckled. “Great affairs? They’re just fleeting smoke—why care about them?” She pointed northwest. “That stronghold there has gathered orcs from nearly extinct tribes. They deceive them with talk of freedom and independence, allied with merchant guilds from various countries to build a thriving settlement. They want to exploit this central location—this transportation hub—to grow powerful. But do you think the Ainfast Empire will stand by and let the orcs they’ve hunted for years gain independence? Do you think neighboring countries truly want a new nation on these highlands? The empire’s army is already here. And the outcome of this war will sway the political tides in the imperial court. Hmph—military campaigns, political upheaval, national survival, founding a country, prosperity and strength. What grand, beautiful words. Enough to make those lowly creatures obsessed, willing to die for them—to make poets sing praises. But what do these things actually amount to? This central land, where so many fates converge, will soon be reduced to ashes by my creation. And those ‘great military affairs’ that were supposed to happen will vanish along with it.”

  “Do you think you’re a god now?” Ronis sneered.

  “I’m not a god—and there are no gods in this world. I’ve merely transcended these mortal trivialities. I see through the glitz of this world—it’s all bubbles. Everything that happens is just a small gear in the world’s operation. And this world’s path was set the moment it came into existence. Its end is already fated. Why dwell on meaningless things?” Her voice rose with excitement, growing even harsher. “I asked you two Teachers to stay and watch because I want you to witness how our creation turns those eyesores into ash—to prove everything I’ve said is true. Only what we do aligns with the world’s laws of development. Only this is truly meaningful.”

  Sandro spat for the third time, dismissing her words. “Sometimes I really admire you—wasting so much time and energy on this nonsense. Why can’t you live simply? Like me—I don’t overthink anything. I just do what’s fun. Even when you asked me to help build this dangerous giant, I agreed only because it sounded interesting. Stop obsessing over finding some ‘meaning’ in everything you do.”

  Vedenina laughed—a sound like a wolf’s mournful howl. “Speaking of interesting things, I have another one to tell you, Teachers. I threw that classmate into the Sunwell—and he was critically injured, on the brink of death. You two must know what happens when someone who’s practiced True Meditation is gravely wounded and falls into a Sunwell brimming with power. The surging energy in the well will all be absorbed by him. In other words, the elves’ legendary ritual to resist darkness has been destroyed. And I know this classmate escaped from the Whispering Woods with that power. Because when you two saw my World Tree Leaf, you didn’t look surprised. It’s not like the elves of the Whispering Woods came to inform you, right?”

  Sandro and Ronis exchanged a glance, saying nothing.

  Ronis finally spoke, his voice flat. “What you believe is your own business. We have our own beliefs. We all act for what we believe in. In the end, we’ll see whose beliefs are correct.”

  “Exactly,” Vedenina said meaningfully. “I wonder—did that classmate happen to take those two World Tree Leaves when he escaped? If so, the elves’ ridiculous legendary ritual will truly become meaningless. I don’t think he went to that place for no reason. I can tell he’s strong—and he’ll only grow stronger. As long as he has the desire to become more powerful, he won’t let go of a treasure like the World Tree Leaf.”

  Ronis sneered. “I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. He did take one—but he used it to save someone.”

  “And it was to save a woman!” Sandro shook his head, feigning sentimentality. “Truly has the romantic spirit I had in my youth.”

  The half of Vedenina’s face that was still visible showed a hint of disappointment, but she quickly brushed it off. “Saving one person doesn’t mean he’ll save everyone. Liking one woman doesn’t mean he’ll care for all people. Everything is unfolding as we expected. All things that dare to stand in our way will turn to ash sooner or later. Just wait and see if you don’t believe me.” She sighed deeply. “I really hope to see him in his lively, vigorous state again.”