There was a reason I once judged necromancy, despite being a solitary-attainment category of magic, as potent.
Simply animating the dead, to be honest, is too weak. Decay-ridden flesh, stiffened joints, and the floating stench of putrefaction all serve as clear warnings of their approach. Their durability is limited to not dying when their vital points are crushed; when their bones and muscles are shattered, they become nothing more than flailing puppets, truly pitiable.
To put it bluntly, gathering corpses isn’t worth the effort for the combat strength they provide.
The reason I judged them as powerful lies in the fact that when necromancy is mastered, the animated corpses can become a “superior version of a human.”
The aforementioned examples were merely about using the dead as mere mindless automatons.
“Ah, d*mn it, of course this isn’t some amateur work…”
Due to the urgency, I climbed the tower by kicking footholds, reaching the top in one breath. There, I could see an army writhing in the ambiguous purple where the red of the setting sun and the navy of dusk melded.
Truly, they have impeccable timing, striking precisely when the light dims and光学vision becomes difficult. I’m sure they rushed in, but their tactics are precise, indicating an unpleasant commander on the opposing side.
The number is slightly over fifty, more than doubling our forces, which is astonishing in itself.
Especially when these are literal undead soldiers moving with human fluidity, untouched by mental turmoil and not writhing in pain—they are a sight to behold and a formidable enemy.
Experienced necromancers can engrave magical runes on the bodies of the reanimated, enabling them to move quite smoothly, though not quite as the living. Corpses kept away from decay march in organized ranks, holding spears and shields. Moreover, the rear lines even include slingers for indirect fire.
This is a nightmare scenario.
Humans may seem sturdy but are inherently fragile. The moment a single arrow strikes, their combat ability rapidly decreases, forcing them out of the battle line, likely unable to participate in the next fight unless struck in an extraordinary location.
But for those animated corpses governed by runes?
I’ve experienced the absurdity and horror of this fully in the labyrinth of the magic sword.
Even if their heads are severed, they retain awareness; they keep moving regardless of arrows piercing their skulls. If their abdomens are pierced by spears and their organs spill out, what value has the functional remnant of life?
At the very least, both arms and the head must be severed to stop their attacks. To immobilize them entirely, even both legs must be removed.
Even more troubling is their ability to “repair” their damaged parts.
Necromancers can mend the undead, reconstituting them into a fighting force. Two incomplete bodies can be merged into one complete soldier. Even carrying enemy corpses or randomly found limbs can allow for piecemeal reconstruction.
In group combat, there are few enemies as terrifying.
In the Empire, virtuous clerics could easily neutralize such forces, though resistance would still be met—often followed by the development of tactics involving artillery or combined-arms maneuvers, rendering necromancy considered “helpful but not sufficiently advantageous to ignore public opinion” and eventually discarded. However, when employed in small-scale conflicts like this, it is nothing short of a nightmare.
Ah, d*mn it, while using graveyards is standard, this is no longer the case here. I want to punch them in the face for such a rule-breaking move.
Is there any sort of force line that could prevent the reuse of undead? Alas, anything already in motion wouldn’t apply to this situation.
Sending out priests consecrated to the gods who oppose undead, or even monks from the manor’s god of fertility or even the brothels—they would all be too impractical to deploy on the frontlines.
If there were a saint here, the situation would be easily and swiftly resolved to the point of making the game master clutch their head in frustration.
There’s no use longing for things we don’t have.
Besides, it’s not the “worst” scenario I anticipated.
After all, advanced necromancy liberates the flesh from the constraints of d*ath, enabling it to operate with chilling efficiency.
Similar to zombies. If crafted by an exceptional Taoist master, such undead can possess intelligence and even demonstrate spiritual power. The bodies stitched together from selected materials and manipulated with precise techniques surpass even trained humans.
However, I see no visible signs of a specialized melee-oriented force or deformed bodies within that army.
Still, they’re powerful enough.
“Oof…”
d*mn, I’m attracting too much attention. Random arrows are being fired from a distance. I quickly change the pillar I’m leaning on to evade while confirming the presence of an archer. Their number is slightly over ten—when combined with slingers, they pose a serious threat. I may be human, weak to pain, but even with armor and protective layers, stray arrows are terrifying.
“Master! Get down! You’re attracting too much attention!”
“Idiot! How can a commander perform their duties without a clear view of the situation? I don’t plan to fall so easily!”
Our archers, carrying quivers and bows, climb the tower’s ladder while worrying about me. What should we do? Arrows are less effective on undead, so perhaps they should be moved down as infantry?
No, even if arrows pierce and cause bone or muscle damage, they can still slow them down. Plus, having someone who’s watching my back in case of unexpected changes is useful.
“Our supply of arrows is ample! Don’t hold back, sh**t!”
“Boss, ain’t nobody here to hit from this distance!!”
While complaints fly from the members positioned for shooting, no one expects perfect aim at a target over 100 steps away. The enemies wouldn’t dare try either; they’re firing blindly to rattle us.
Yet, we need to appear undesirable to approach.
“Even a lucky hit is meaningful! Keep praying and shooting!”
“I ain’t had faith since mom dragged me to the temple as a kid—haven’t passed by a chapel since then!”
Even as they grumble, my loyal subordinates follow orders—better yet, their light-hearted banter helps boost morale on our side.
“So, pray now! Even makeshift prayers can earn divine favor if you have manly spirit!”
“d*mn, a broad chest doesn’t thrill me, even with divine blessing!”
While casually dodging scattered arrows and swatting away nuisances with my sword, a voice, not of sound, reached my ear. It was the voice amplifying magic known as “voice transfer,” which I frequently used in the Imperial Capital but now reserved for emergencies.
The whisper carried by magic was Lady Kaya, who had caught up closely behind the vanguard.
Turning my head to follow the magical wavelength, I found her slightly withdrawn from the front lines, forming a side-by-side formation with a shield-bearer from our ranks protecting her from stray arrows.
It was not her usual state—her simple lime-green robe was accessorized with a sash loaded with magical vials, and her waist bore pouches filled with similar supplies, all ringing like bells.
“I will cast the arrow-deflection charm!”
Pulling out a fragile terracotta vial from the magical pouch, she filled the sling hanging from the tip of her staff—a unique modification that maintains the functionality of a mage’s staff while doubling as a slingshot, exclusive to her.
In her evolution from a mage struggling to cast spells on the battlefield into a peculiar slinger of magical potions, there arose one issue.
Her slender arms struggled to hurl the fist-sized vials filled with liquid—a vague recollection from my past life indicated that the average women throwing record in handball was around twelve to thirteen meters, capping around twenty meters with perfect force.
This range was insufficient for combat—merely seconds away from the enemy at this distance, and given the explosion’s radius, misfires became an issue. Plus, too much force could break the vial in her hands, making full-power throwing impossible.
To overcome this, she created this—no, simply improvised it.
With skillful movements, she wound her sling and, with motions almost graceful, hurled the vial far beyond expectations for such a frail woman.
Marvelous. Thanks to her diligent practice, the hit rate of magic potions using her staff and spare slings is impressive.
The vial shattered, its contents reacting with air as the activation condition fulfilled, overwriting the surrounding world with the sealed spell pattern.
Suddenly, a fierce wind began blowing from the point where the vial broke, creating a headwind that deflected arrows aimed at the advancing undead army.
Up close, the powerful wind makes it difficult to even open one’s eyes or breathe. It scatters the arrows that were already inaccurate. The “arrow deflection”, one of the basic spells used by military mages and wizards, is a prime example of its utility.
It allows friendly arrows to fly farther and repels enemy arrows, aiding the customary volley of arrows, known as “greetings,” in many battles.
Of course, this spell is useful to us as well, so I had Lady Kaya memorize it. I taught her the core spell I learned from the basics, and she successfully adapted it into her magic potions.
As a result, as you can see, my hands remain free. Quite gratifying.
Other archers arrived and began shooting from the tower, their hands working endlessly.
Still, twilight mixes with the fading daylight, making the sights blurry. To be honest, even my “<Cat's Eyes>” spell goes awry in this situation, so I can’t see very clearly.
I once considered enhancing vision with magic during my Imperial Capital days, but Lady Agrippina warned me about potentially burning my retina with improper adjustments—so I gave up. Now, perhaps a spell to make starlight as bright as daytime would have been prudent.
As a commander, securing a clear visual field is crucial.
Ting, a faint sound came from my earring. This shell-shaped accessory, engraved with a “voice transfer” spell that doesn’t damage the ear, now serves as a two-way communication device connected to my childhood friend at all times.
“We’re about to hit the trap right now.”
“Thank you! I’ll descend immediately!”
“Yes, hurry, master. The pace has increased since they realized thrown weapons wouldn’t work.”
“Understood. Stay clear so you don’t get caught up.”
The communication, cut off with a simple acknowledgment, came from Margit. She’s ahead of the front lines, observing the enemy’s movements.
“Keep firing and stay alert for stray arrows!”
“Yes sir! Good luck to you too!”
I moved from the tower, landing in front of my subordinates arranged in a doubled horizontal line.
The short ones in the front and the taller ones in the back are carefully arranged, making for an impressive sight despite our small numbers, with the borrowed shields and hand spears in place, seeming quite formidable.
A bit of a pep talk would be appropriate now, but let’s wait.
The members of the Sword Friends Association might feel odd, given my usual practice of giving encouragement but staying silent as the enemy approaches—there’s a timing issue.
Realizing long-range attacks won’t work, the enemy’s advance has picked up speed. They skillfully maintain their formation on the move, forming a small-scale wedge formation clearly intent on dispersing our vanguard.
The pressure from over fifty soldiers, positioned with shields and spears and backed by melee fighters, is oppressive even from a great distance. Though slower due to their heavy armor, the force carried by heavily armed infantry with shields and spears charging full-force is considerable.
Nowadays, cavalry and accumulated battle experience have made it somewhat obsolete, but under the right conditions, it retains ancient power.
Given that, we’d be in trouble if our footing isn’t secure.
“Three…two…one…go!”
After a countdown, the dimming world erupted in a brilliant crimson.
Unbeknownst to the enemy, a thermal wave surged from the ground, completely enveloping them as they rushed forward.
The aftershock sent slight ripples through our hair and warmed our cheeks, indicating the devastation’s intensity.
Good, the thermal destruction caused by the oil incineration spell is right on par.
Within the radius of effect, the enemy, roasted at temperatures exceeding a thousand degrees, uncontrollably convulses as their muscles spasm. The heat causes their muscles to contract, triggering reactions not anticipated by the spell. Their weapons, melted by the extreme temperature, drip to the ground. bl**d boils within their vessels, and against such heat, even undead cannot resist.
And here lies the drawback of the undead army.
Humans, fearful creatures that they are, tend to halt at the sight of the front line being brutally mowed down. This can lead to being shot full of arrows or safely avoiding landmines laid before them.
But an army unaware of fear tramples over the charred remains of its fallen comrades, only to step on another mine, bursting into flames.
The mines planted along their advance path are being triggered splendidly, dissolving the enemy formation as they proceed. Even those not directly hit catch fire from scattered flames, burning corpses further, and the conflagration spreads to neighboring bodies.
Though human bodies contain a lot of water and burn slowly, the heat ignites their clothes, progressively searing the flesh, causing muscle contractions and eventual functional loss.
At this point, victory is practically assured.
The ostentatious horizontal formation, the magic that pretends to avoid long-range combat—it was all a trap to lure them into the minefield.
“Marvelous, the setup is splendid indeed.”
“M-Master…?”
Trembling voices greeted me as I turned my head to the rear, finding the members, who had been brimming with the resolve to protect the manor, had become pale. Displaying signs of “fear” across the various races, I put on a broad smile to ease their tension.
“Let us give thanks to the tender care of the green fields, shall we? Now, let’s clean up the leftovers!”
Oh my, everything going according to plan is truly satisfying. There’s rarely anything as exhilarating as a defense where the enemy is utterly outmatched, dying uselessly. With their spearhead melting away so shamefully, I wonder what pathetic faces their masters must be making, watching from afar?
In the end, none of the undead approached us with all their limbs intact…
