219. Annoying Swarm of Mosquitoes (4)
“Your Excellency… There’s no one, absolutely no one.”
Kirhas whispered softly as she scanned the surroundings. Her hearing sometimes surpassed even that of Diemonica in certain areas. Fernandez walked through the darkness, illuminated by scattered silver sparks and the flickering torches around.
She was right. Once again, there was no one. This campsite was completely abandoned. Just like the other settlements. Traces of people were scattered everywhere. A pot still boiling over the campfire and books fluttering in the wind, left open, were visible.
A half-empty liquor bottle rolled on the ground. Fernandez surveyed the area with cold eyes. There was one thing that set this campsite apart from the others.
“I smell something.”
The battle priests of Vaitas, especially the Inquisition Officers, had an instinctive sense of smell that detected the stench of dark magic and demons. It was so thick it felt like their noses would fall off.
“Come out, Manderson.”
Fernandez growled. The veins on the back of his hand gripping the sword hilt twitched. Anger gnawed at his heart, growing thicker.
‘It’s not Alver.’
Count Alver wouldn’t have sacrificed his own troops as offerings for dark magic experiments just for a trap, unless he had gone mad. It was a choice with more losses than gains, bordering on sheer folly.
Even if he had some deep-seated grudge against the Duke, he wouldn’t have offered his entire family and vassals to a dark mage just to politically disgrace the Duke. The political instincts of border nobles aren’t that emotional.
Therefore, all of this wasn’t the scheme of Alver and Manderson. It seemed the case was plunging back into a labyrinth.
That feeling was disgustingly horrifying. Fernandez stood in front of the massive tent with eyes blazing in anger. What set Fernandez apart from other dark mages, heretics, or demons was his monopoly on future information.
And the more he made different choices from the future, the advantage of his information dominance faded. The aftermath of the 50-year war was a prime example. The root of this incident was the Necropolis incident in the Dane Kingdom.
The Walker incident in Merlin Port, the Infermur incident that erupted during its investigation. The restoration of the Dane Royal Family’s maritime rights and the containment of the Phaeirn Kingdom.
The conspiracy of the Necropolis, which got entangled while intervening in the Dane Royal Family to stabilize the Eastern Alliance. Then, after destroying Mumto’s scheme, the 50-year war ended, the Great Wilderness turned into grasslands, and the specter lords of the Asit Empire arrived.
What was the result? Fernandez never predicted that the pitch-black Erik would expand his forces so quickly. Uncontrollable variables were proliferating in the process of changing the future.
Meticulously organizing every event according to plan and securing the flow through numerical battles—that was everything Fernandez was about. At this very moment, Fernandez was erupting in anger over yet another variable.
‘Annoying.’
Fernandez frowned and shouted once more.
“Manderson, Manderson of the Corpse Tower! Come out. There’s nowhere left to run!”
“How arrogant.”
The tent opened by itself. Inside, there was a massive wooden chair. A man leaned casually against the shadows of the tent, watching him.
“Who are you? Who are you to know me?”
“Count Alver… No. No, it’s what’s possessing you.”
Fernandez drew his sword and approached him. It was the face he had seen at the meeting. Count Alver. But beneath that pale face and icy blue eyes, remnants of magical energy could be felt.
“Ah. The Chieftain of the Beastman Nobles and her concubine. Quite the warrior-like fighter. I didn’t expect you to have any expertise in magic, let alone know me.”
“Dark Mage!! I won’t let you spill any more innocent blood!!”
Kirhas bared her teeth and charged toward the tent. Before Fernandez could stop her, she was already within striking distance of Count Alver, swinging her sword.
-Clang!
“Tsk!”
A knight clad in full armor emerged from the shadows inside the tent, deflecting Kirhas’s sword. Kirhas clicked her tongue and retreated, crouching low. Alver remained seated, laughing at her.
“In all my years, I never thought I’d see the leader of beastly creatures spouting such nonsense. Are you serious? Are you seriously talking about innocent blood?”
Clang! Clang! The sound of blades clashing echoed repeatedly. Kirhas swung her sword frantically, retreating until she stood beside Fernandez, panting.
“Your Excellency, they’re not ordinary.”
“Death Knights. Don’t engage them alone.”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
Like the Death Knights encountered in Altberth, Death Knights created while retaining their skills and spirit from life were extremely threatening undead entities.
Knights who could project all their skills solely into offense, disregarding threats of death or defenses for survival. Swordsmanship is fundamentally over 70% defensive, so those who use 100% of their power for offense become at least twice as powerful as ordinary knights.
Fernandez spun his sword and took a stance, surveying the surroundings. There were many. At least seven. No, ten knights were approaching them.
It was natural not to sense their presence since they weren’t alive. The lingering traces of dark magic everywhere had prevented him from noticing. Knights rising from the corners of the tent, exuding a menacing aura, were getting closer.
“Ugh, Your Excellency.”
“Pathetic.”
Fernandez narrowed his eyes and glared at Alver. Alver shrugged.
“Let’s see if you keep that bravado until your dying moment. I’ll definitely preserve your final expression as a specimen.”
“I have many questions, Manderson. Who’s behind you to make you act so boldly? Very, very curious.”
-Swish.
Fernandez gripped a greatsword with one hand and drew another sword with the other. Holding the Dane King’s sword in one hand and the Keyblade in the other, he coldly glared at Alver.
The tenant farmers of the border and some pioneer villages were working…
To act within the bounds of decisiveness is acceptable. However, directly laying hands on a noble requires a different kind of madness.
Dark Mages never easily mess with nobles. Nobles have their own social networks, and any Dark Mage who dares to touch a noble will inevitably become a target of pursuit.
If even one noble requests an investigation from the Inquisition Office, things will get very complicated. The Heretics sent for the investigation are true professionals, unlike the mercenaries hired by the village chief.
Therefore, it must be assumed that Manderson has a backer at least as powerful as Count Albert. Fernandez was curious about him. A noble who goes to such lengths to restrain him must at least be a Great Noble.
“So, keep a close eye on him. Stay still and pray in that spot.”
-Wham!
A knight who had gotten close enough swung his sword. In the brief exchange, a dazzling flash accompanied Fernandez’s sword as it crushed through the knight’s helmet. Meanwhile, Fernandez kept his eyes on Count Albert—or rather, the Dark Mage possessing his body.
* * *
The Greatsword cleaved through the sky. The technique of wielding a Greatsword with one hand operates on a completely different mechanism than conventional Greatsword techniques. A Greatsword is traditionally wielded with both hands, using leverage and rotational force to deliver powerful strikes.
But if one can replace that rotational force, the weight of the blade and pommel, with sheer arm strength—the result is the same.
-Crunch!
The knight’s pauldron soared into the air. The trajectory of the Greatsword, if drawn straight, would translate into destruction. Fernandez’s silver-streaked hair swayed with his movements.
-Clang!
Someone blocked the sword. That in itself is an astonishing feat. Techniques are meant to overcome disadvantages in strength. The fact that someone could block Diemonica’s strength and speed meant that this knight had trained to reach the pinnacle.
But—
-Crack!
The blade twisted and shattered. Iron scales scattered like petals, and the obsidian Greatsword swept through the gap. It wasn’t so much a slash as a brutal strike. The impact, as if space itself were crumbling, overwhelmed the knight.
-Clang! Thud!
A knight who had gotten too close, closer than the distance needed to swing a sword, lunged with his blade pointed straight. Fernandez responded with a hammer-like punch. The knight crumpled to his knees under the impact.
-Swish!
Kirhas stepped into the gap and swung her sword. A clean, precise arc, entirely different from Fernandez’s style. It slipped through the gaps in the armor and sliced upward. The cleanly severed helmet floated momentarily before rolling to the ground.
The knights’ movements were monotonous and deadly. Attacks, attacks, and more attacks, indifferent to life or limb!
-Clang!
Swords crossed. Kirhas’s longsword slipped through the gap, and another knight fell. The Death Knights were undoubtedly formidable, stronger than two or three knights of similar skill.
But Diemonica could match a knight who had reached the pinnacle through sheer physical prowess alone—
-Boom!!
Fernandez and Kirhas were at the “pinnacle” that swordsmen spoke of. They stood at a level where they had at least one foot beyond any faint boundary!
All the Death Knights in the hall had fallen. Even if Daryan or Zephis himself were to come, this was no trap that could be overcome without injury. But it was also not an insurmountable trap.
It had simply exceeded the expected scale. Like a bear stepping on a mousetrap. Fernandez glanced at the knight who had collapsed, coughing up black blood. If he focused his hearing, he could hear the sound of air escaping, hissing faintly.
[Thank you.]
Like most Undead, these knights had merely been used and then killed. The tragedy for these knights was that, in addition to that, they had been exceptionally skilled in life.
To create powerful Undead, the body is important, but the talent and power tied to the soul and spirit are even more crucial. Thus, powerful Undead are inevitably imbued with memories and skills from their lives.
As the knights’ souls were freed from their destroyed bodies, they let out their final cries. Unlike Skeleton Soldiers, Ghouls, and Walkers, these knights had souls. And a corrupted soul can never return to the embrace of the Temple of the Gods, even if it wasn’t by their own will.
Fernandez bowed his head and closed his eyes for a moment. Prayers or blessings for them held no meaning. Their souls would not go to the halls of the Temple of the Gods but would be dragged into the deepest abyss of Hell.
The cause of it all was right before his eyes.
-Swish.
He picked up the sword that had been resting on the ground. Despite the fierce battle, the blade was unscathed, smooth and pristine. Fernandez slowly raised his head and looked forward. He could see the panic spreading across the man’s face.
“You… you. That sword. It’s not a sword a Beastman can wield. The Keyblade…!! I thought it only existed in legends! An Apostle of Vaitas…? A Heretic, an Inquisition Officer!!”
The man trembled as he shouted. Fernandez took a step toward him without a word. His steel boots made a heavy sound as they crushed the ground.
“Is that so. I see! So that’s why the Inquisition Officer delayed the trial! And, and… the Pope…!! The Pope has influence in Ribue…? Why…? Gah!!”
-Crunch!
Fernandez’s gauntlet gripped the man’s throat and lifted him. The man gagged and flailed. Under the steel gauntlet, Fernandez could feel the man’s pulse throbbing in his neck.
‘This one is still alive.’
It wasn’t a soul possessing a dead body, but some special kind of enslavement curse placed on this count’s body. Fernandez clicked his tongue and pulled the man close to his face.
“If you’ve realized I’m an Inquisition Officer, then you should know what you need to do. Dark Mage.”
“Gah…!! Wh-what are you…!”
“Pray. To any god, with any words. Sincerely. I’ll come for you.”
“You… you’re too late! The Chieftain of the Beastman Nobles… I tried to steal him away… but this unexpected interference…!! But the result is the same… you’re too late!!”
-Rumble!!!
At that moment, a powerful earthquake shook the tent. Fernandez steadied himself on both feet and looked down at the Dark Mage, who was gasping for breath but still laughing maniacally.
“The ritual has already begun!! How can you possibly turn this around, Inquisition Officer!!”
“That’s not your concern.”
-Crunch!
Fernandez tightened his grip. The sound of bones breaking echoed as the count’s body went limp.
With the enslavement curse interrupted and the enslaved dead, the soul would have suffered some damage. Fernandez set the count’s corpse down and exited the tent.
-Rumble!!!
“Y-Your Excellency. That direction is…”
“Yes. Ribue.”
A pillar of fire was rising from the direction of Ribue.
![[TS] Obsessed Gamer: The Ultimate Return](https://i3.wp.com/novelhitam.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/TS-Obsessed-Gamer-The-Ultimate-Return2.png?resize=85,105 "[TS] Obsessed Gamer: The Ultimate Return")
