The report delivered by the ever-smiling Margit was, without a doubt, most intriguing.
My childhood friend has this habit of laughing the hardest during the most perilous times. I guess I shouldn’t be casting stones though.
As I sat near the bonfire lit for the rest taking watch at night, sipping on the black tea I had brewed to console her after her hard work, I listened to her story. Had this not been a report from none other than our trusted scout, I might have found myself only half-believing it and feeling the urge to verify it myself.
In pursuit of the oddly erased footprints in the forest, Margit and the two accompanying members of our association had come across a peculiar scent.
It was an exceedingly faint stench of d*ath.
As the trio followed this barely detectable odor around the woods, it was strangely peculiar that even as they approached the source, no corpse ever came into sight. However, luckily for them—and perhaps unluckily for the foe—there was a Pig Demon among those who could pick up even the “earthy odors” with great sensitivity.
Upon closer examination of the grim trophy tossed over to us as proof, a queasy feeling began to rise in my gut.
Bathed in the dim light of the campfire, the pale object resting atop the cloth was one that stood in quiet despair with its eyes closed.
It was the severed head of a male Goblin.
The wrinkled face, which seemed to be that of a middle-aged man, was dirtied with carelessly wiped mud, but for something that had been buried, it was surprisingly well-preserved.
That was understandable, though. My “eye” of magic, granted in my youth as a blessing, had accurately detected something—a spell—a technology deemed far too dangerous to be worth learning because of how calamitous it was.
It was a trace of necromancy.
Looking back on it, I’ve always had a peculiar association with moving corpses.
The first dungeon I ventured into with a friend, and the d*ath-defying edge of the abandoned house we once risked our lives in, remain vividly etched in my mind like they were yesterday… But I need to focus.
Be silent and stop sending me those desperate pleas to charge in recklessly. One puff of cigarette smoke is enough. I can’t just finish this by rushing in and letting you carry me through the forest.
Truly, we’ve gotten ourselves into quite the troublesome predicament.
“So it wasn’t just a regular corpse after all?”
“Yeah, I see you’ve noticed too. This… ”
“It’s not decayed much, right?”
Bullseye. This corpse isn’t a normal one; it’s undergone magical preservation. Too fresh, untouched by maggots or decomposition from soil microbes—it’s unlike a regular corpse.
The animated corpses I fought in the magic-sword labyrinth were bound by a magic-sword, one that relentlessly called out in a languageless frequency: “You summoned me, didn’t you? Definitely, didn’t you?”
Those animated corpses possessed the skills they held in life but had lost all traces of rationality, decaying into grotesque shapes while still wielding formidable power. They were a sort of unique corpse, a product of strong lingering regrets and the ominous power of the enchanted sword intertwining in high density, akin to naturally occurring animated corpses in sacred lands.
On the other hand, this corpse was artificially infused with magic.
Necromancy, a technology I once decided against pursuing due to its socially unacceptable nature, turned out to be exactly what it was perceived to be—a “taboo.”
It is a technique developed by magicians before the establishment of the Magic Academy, but now within the empire it is sealed as one of the forbidden arts, with no researchers allowed to study it.
It’s not as if we suddenly woke up with a humanistic ethical awareness that deems the desecration of corpses inappropriate. The experimenters who used criminals and volunteers don’t care about showing respect for dead bodies now.
The technology fundamentally opposes established ethical norms, making it extremely difficult to implement in a regulated society, and because it was concluded that resurrecting the dead was “impossible,” there was no other reason for it to be prohibited.
The contamination of d*ath is far heavier than imagined. No matter how cheap a labor source the animated corpses might seem, most societies wouldn’t approve of it. It would lead to fear among the populace, estrangement from their leaders, and distrust.
Dead bodies, after all, strike terror in our hearts.
Moreover, corpses resurrected—though they’re not truly resurrected—using magic are merely crude beings that perform simplistic actions dictated by their spell or are controlled through weak spirits embedded within them.
Physical corruption is prevented through embalming techniques, allowing them to maintain and enhance their physical abilities with reinforcement spells, creating an undead puppet that is stronger than any human.
As military power, considering them is rather nightmarish.
They don’t eat, don’t tire, and don’t need rest. Their actions, managed by spells, are capable of performing monotonous tasks quite solidly, even though complex instructions are difficult.
As an opponent in battle, an army that doesn’t require logistics is the worst kind of enemy. The need for securing water is nonexistent, and their location won’t be revealed by cooking fires. Their dense presence in the woods makes them hard to detect strategically and tactically.
Unlike living beings that might quit the front lines due to an arrow wound, these corpses can persist in battle as long as their limbs remain.
Fortunately, unlike the mindless monsters in movies that spread their numbers by biting, no buried dead on our side will rise to fight against us. However, it’s still a troubling situation.
Their only flaw is that since they’re operated by spells, their decision-making capability is as naive as a child’s, and they cannot perform beyond what their spells allow. Even if the remains of a legendary swordsman who could split rocks were tampered with, the result would merely be a dead body with extraordinary physical prowess.
Still, those corpses I encountered in the magic-sword labyrinth were special.
“Margit, the state you found him in…”
“He was buried alongside two other bodies, each armed and rather well-preserved.”
To organize my thoughts, I repeated the earlier questions despite already knowing the answers, to which Margit answered amiably after sipping her tea.
“Ah…this isn’t good.”
I had a rough idea of the situation now.
Regardless of who the enemy is, I have a vague understanding of their aims. Many manors across the land have likely been subjected to similar troubles. Therefore, even though influential nobles with connections have sought help, there aren’t enough patrols to cover their needs.
Their numbers are too vast, making them hard to ignore, but the manors find it equally challenging to deal with them. They must be disturbing places here and there for some purpose, undoubtedly carrying out raids to cause confusion.
It’s cleverly done. Animated corpses that don’t require supplies and can bury themselves for concealment are perfect weapons to h*rass patrol officers while remaining undetected. With just one necromancer controlling them, a large area can be sufficiently disrupted.
Of course, it isn’t just one person’s doing. There must be regions where they’ve recruited bandits or used private armies to carry out their plans. Considering the nature of things, the involvement of a foreign entity is also a possibility.
No matter how skilled a wizard may be, they can’t extend their military influence across an entire region. And especially not with necromancy, which demands such specialized expertise; there are simply not enough necromancers to be mass-produced. Although dead bodies are easy to acquire—given the principle that no witnesses exist once the roots are cut—training necromancers is not something that can be done overnight.
“Alright, what do we do about it?”
“Should we touch it?”
“Maybe it’s best not to interfere too much.”
“Is that what you were thinking, too?”
“Sure. When you decapitated it, was there any reaction?”
“It started moving the moment we unearthed it, so I swiftly chopped off the head. The limbs as well.”
Of course, I placed my hand on my aching head, groaning internally. Even when discovered, the corpses are likely enchanted to attack the finders. While Maragit and our association members can handle one or two animated corpses, things would get problematic if all the buried ones were activated simultaneously.
We’ve already discovered several suspicious spots, but if more are buried or reinforcements arrive, we’re in a position where we can’t possibly deal with them all. While twenty animated corpses could possibly be handled by a full-on strike, these persistent animated bodies make decapitations or limb severance far too troublesome.
Well, our current mission is to protect the security of the manor. Though disposing of these corpses is a necessary ultimate solution, there’s no need to rush and potentially make it worse.
Above all, if we recklessly interfere, the necromancer or their shadowy masters might fully commit to this situation out of fear of exposure, and that would be quite troublesome.
It might be too late now since we’ve already destroyed a few, but we must buy time for preparations.
Ahhh… I want to set the forest on fire. Most of the people I used to work with would probably suggest it as soon as we realized there are animated corpses in the forest. No need to fight if we can burn them out in one sweep—it’s convenient!
However, unfortunately, the spring air is not dry, and the trees aren’t withered. Burning the forest won’t ignite easily, and more importantly, the forest serves as a major source of income for the manors. It provides firewood for cooking and heating and serves as a resource for building materials with carefully cultivated trees. How could we possibly set it on fire?
If we were to do something like that, we’d not only lose the job but end up with warrants for our arrest.
“Anyway, keep this under wraps for now.”
“Yes, understood. I’ve already sternly warned the two members, so rest assured.”
“Thanks. When the time comes… well, I’ll explain everything then.”
If knowledge of the horrific things buried in the nearby forest spreads among us, it will only cause confusion. Humans tend to fear what they don’t understand far more than what they do.
Let’s notify everyone only after we’ve made adequate preparations.
Why does this kind of “foul” situation keep cropping up…?
Initially, I planned to dig ditches when things settle down.
The most classical defense facility, simplest, yet almost impossible to overcome—a deep trench. The cost of introduction only requires manpower, and maintenance is as simple as reinforcing it during the rains or covering it with boards.
I intended to borrow available male hands and dig together once the initial preparations were settled. However, it seems some reconsideration is necessary.
This manor is being watched. It’s uncertain how many animated corpses are buried in the forest, so it’s best not to hastily prepare too visible defenses which might draw attention.
When that happens, we’d be attacked before they could organize a proper counterattack.
So this plan must change. I need to prepare thoroughly and complete everything in one swift action.
If we’re discovered preparing, the enemy might become impatient and attack prematurely, potentially ruining all our efforts.
Thus, I’ve revised the schedule and delegated a simpler task to the idle male laborers—to create multiple wooden crates. The crates should be around a shou in size, but they don’t have to be uniform, as long as they have lids. I asked them to prepare as many as possible.
Moreover, I borrowed a warehouse that’s rarely used by the household.
Officially, it will serve as a temporary workshop for battle preparations, where Lady Kaya will be making medicine. In reality, it will serve another purpose.
Incidentally, there is something I’ve yet to disclose to the Sword Friends Association—I am capable of using magic. Though I’m considered a relatively economical combatant, if they knew there were two magical users among us, it could lead to more unwanted work.
It’s not that I don’t trust them, but human tongues are slippery things. Especially when lubricated with drink or women, they become doubly treacherous. I can’t casually divulge this ultimate trump card that I’d rather not use unless absolutely necessary.
Besides, I wanted to use this setup for another opportunity and don’t want to spoil the surprise now. There will be other chances for me to shine when necessary.
Anyway, aside from Margit, there’s one more person who knows the truth—Lady Kaya.
It’s partly because of my own slip-ups, but she, though defective in her inability to activate magic on the battlefield due to her trouble forming magic power, possesses the intellect of a prodigy far beyond what’s expected of an adventurer in a small village.
From the moment she detected the suppressed magical power and the clever ideas I divulged about magical elixirs, she discerned that I wasn’t an amateur.
Then there was the ambiguous smile—somewhere between laughing and not laughing—that always seemed to question me. It made me feel uneasy.
Reluctantly, I revealed my ability to her, though I sealed her lips with a simple binding spell that merely raises a warning in her head if she attempts to talk.
It isn’t lethal or painful, just a simple bell-like prevention against accidental slips of the tongue.
Thus, under the guise of a job request, I unveiled one of my hidden recipes to her in the workshop.
“Ah, so this is one of your hidden tricks, Master…”
“The catalyst and principle are simple, aren’t they?”
She sniffed the vial I had given her as a sample, and carefully examined the spell.
“It’s oil and… animal fat.”
The drop she dabbed on her palm identified the ingredients perfectly. Her sharp mind would have quickly deduced the hidden power from the magical formula, the required magical power, and the nature of the catalyst.
This is the catalyzed flammable oil, my hidden technique against undead beings.
It’s a simple flammable material made by refining oil and extracting gelatins from pig fat. I’ve confirmed its effects on undead when used in the past. The fact that I had to blow off burning flesh signifies its considerable impact.
More importantly, fire is the nemesis of these undead.
Even if a fire merely spreads to them—they who do not require breath—it wouldn’t be effective. However, a temperature burning above a thousand degrees would scorch their bodies to the point of losing their original functions. Tightened, burned muscles would halt movement, cracked scalded skin would lower efficiency, and the intense heat could burn out the spell catalysts within.
Isn’t it, through human hands, the highest expression of mercy to destroy such creatures without invoking divine intervention?
“Can it be mass-produced?”
“Yes, oil can be supplied, and the viscosity enhancing chemicals can be made from animal fat. The magic consumption per unit is also minimal, so it should be feasible. The real challenge will be securing the containers…”
“Terracotta vials will do, as usual. They’ve brought in quite a bit anyway, haven’t they?”
“I had planned to make medicine here, so we brought about thirty or so. However, if we’re making treatment drugs, we’ll need even more containers.”
“Understood, I’ll negotiate with the landlord. As for the proper crates—”
I examined the hastily prepared crate that was presented to me, but Kaya appeared troubled after inspecting it carefully with delicate fingers. Her expression wasn’t positive.
Maybe it’s too far beyond her expertise in pharmacology?
“No, it’s not impossible, but… I’m having trouble visualizing. This, what was it again?”
“Contact detonator spell.”
“Contact detonator… It’s just not a form I’m accustomed to, and its structure is somewhat complex.”
The rudimentary wooden box had a spell I worked hard on during my watch—though it’s not extraordinary, given my limited experience as a magical user.
It’s simply a combination of two spell diagrams that activate the “catalyst inside” when the diagrams meet, a straightforward magic to put it lightly.
In short, it’s a magical anti-personnel mine. Instead of shooting out shrapnel, it sends out superheated viscous flames from the ground—spreading and setting ablaze everything within a three to four-meter radius when stepped on.
“Hmm, is the remote activation part causing problems? I just wouldn’t want to get rid of the remote activation function.”
“That might be better, without assigning a unique token to each one. It could simplify the process—having multiple units on one token would be more manageable than each one separately, which could be cumbersome when using.”
“I don’t want to recklessly set vast areas alight. Furthermore, we can’t afford to remove the friend-or-foe identification spell…”
“Later, you will be making tokens so our own people won’t trigger it…”
“Will the magic hold up?” Kaya sighed worriedly. Please allow me to ask for your assistance in constructing robust defenses quietly. I’ll help too, when I have time.
Once the flamethrower mines are ready, we can simultaneously erect guard towers, strengthen the boundary walls if there’s no response, and finally dig those trenches.
Why does everything keep becoming so complicated? It’d be far easier if the leader of the enemy had fortified themselves in a tower or a ruined castle, and we could simply storm in and end the fight.
For how long will this game of patience continue…?
—
【Tips】 Necromancy is the literal act of controlling corpses, banned as a taboo in the Threefold Empire of Rain, and is now rarely pursued as an outdated and backward magic.
It often employs a talisman made of iron or wood imprinted with spells embedded in the brain or chest to control the corpse, or uses subservient spirits to possess them. Additionally, efforts are made to extend the usability through preservation.
—
In anticipation of the release of Volume 3, I’ve made some updates.
I’m very grateful to those who have already made purchases ahead of time.
Kindle editions will be downloadable from 00:00, so I thank you for your support.
Each book costs around 800 yen.
I’d be honored if you bought it as a treat for me, like buying me a bowl of ramen.
