SBC 23

Chapter 23

A woman in a black hood murmured over a large map, pressing a pendant to its surface.

The pendant, still as stone at first, finally trembled after a long chant.

It was a downgraded artifact of Elindam’s Eye, rented for a steep price from the Geo Clan.
Its power was simple: it could detect teleportation portals.

Teleportation portals themselves weren’t rare.
Most fiefdoms had at least one or two, and any mage of Rank 6 or higher could cast them personally.

So why the trouble?
Because they were tracking portals in places where they shouldn’t exist—isolated villages, remote backwaters.
Catching an illegal portal was how they hunted their prey, following each trace until they could pinpoint a location.

They’d succeeded a few times before—though always by a hair.
The work was grueling, but the payoff was worth it.
The bounty on this target’s head had already reached one thousand gold, and it increased by a hundred gold every month.

If they captured this quarry, the Geo Clan would instantly rise into the top ranks of assassin guilds.

“Teleportation detected,” the hooded woman announced.

“Where this time?”

“A mountain in the territory of Count Impera.”

“Oh…?”

The Impera lands were poor.
They couldn’t possibly afford a portal, nor shelter a Rank 6 mage.

“At last,” the clan leader murmured.

After months of waiting, their prey had left a trace.
Geo Clan’s head, Krishini, immediately summoned her subordinates.

If they moved fast, they could arrive by dawn.
Krishini bared a thin, fish-like smile.
“The operation begins tomorrow.”

“Yes, boss!”

“Stay sharp. This quarry won’t be easy. Let your guard slip and we could be the ones to die.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Every member of the clan was assigned. Their very survival rested on this job.
Even Krishini herself—swordsman of Rank 4 and an unusually skilled killer for someone from the underworld—was committing everything to killing a single person.

Yet a nagging unease refused to fade, a sense that things could go terribly wrong.
Was it an assassin’s instinct, or just baseless worry? She couldn’t tell.

Krishini shook her head hard, then met each subordinate’s eyes in grim resolve.

Thunk!

She drew a dagger and drove it into a portrait on the table—straight through the subject’s thick, copper-colored beard.

Harun Ron Malak.
The bronze-bearded dwarf was their target.

As promised, I’d spent night after night drinking with Bronze Beard.
Each evening, when it was time to part, he would conveniently “forget” to tell me something important and beg me to stay one more day.
The next day he’d claim there was an artifact to show me or a story to share.

A full week had passed like this.
We’d emptied more than ten kegs of alcohol—though most of it had gone down Bronze Beard’s throat.

Tonight, I thought, I’ll finally ask.

I planned to recruit him to work for me, Ian of House Impera.
If he accepted, I’d not only keep the drinks flowing but guarantee his safety under the Count’s name.

Will he agree?
With the effort I’d invested, surely he’d stay a few months at least.

“Haah…”

First, I had to confirm his true name:
Harun Ron Malak—rightful heir to the Kingdom of Zeigelond.

Just as I was about to speak, I met the eyes of a man sitting behind Bronze Beard.
His long, narrow eyes radiated a faint, unsettling aura.

…Strange.
The moment our gazes locked, he hurriedly looked away.

That’s when I noticed: there were many unfamiliar faces in the tavern tonight.
For a rural place like this, strangers were rare.

No way…

I’d been so focused on winning over Bronze Beard that I hadn’t paid attention to my surroundings.
Could they be after me?

Bronze Beard tilted his head.
“Hmm? Weren’t you about to say something?”

And then—I caught a scent.

A sharp, bitter odor stung my nose, something like sour almonds.
A line from a book flashed through my mind:

Necromancy’s dark reputation likely stems from this spell: Corpse-Ghost Blast (Shiguibak).
A body saturated with vengeful spirits explodes, corrupting the land with death.
No other magic is so vicious.

Corpse-Ghost Blast?
A bomb made from a corpse bound with raging grudges.

I turned toward the source of the smell—the tavern door.

Clatter.
The door swung open and a man stumbled in.

“M-milord…”

“Hm?”

“P-please… spare me…”

A ragged beggar stood trembling, his skin not merely pale but tinged sickly green.

“What’s with this beggar! Get out!”
Patrons cursed at him.

“Didn’t you hear? Scram, you filthy—”

One of the unfamiliar men shoved the beggar roughly.

That’s bad!

The beggar’s face began to swell where the stranger’s hand had touched.

“Get out or—!”

Only a few seconds had passed, but my mind raced.
If my hunch was right, we had to run—now.
But where? The tavern was full of suspicious men.

“Ha! Good drink!”
Bronze Beard kept guzzling, oblivious.

No time to explain.
I grabbed his beard and yanked his head down.

“Duck!”

“Wha—mmph!”

It looked undignified, but better than dying.

“Everyone down!”

BOOOOM!

An immense roar split the air as the Corpse-Ghost Blast exploded.

A foul stench flooded the tavern.
Chaos erupted.

This was a spell only the cruelest black mages used.
Its blast wasn’t what made it terrifying—the aftermath was.

The shockwave alone had been banned even in wartime.

These maniacs…!

I clamped my mouth and nose, trying to block the poison, but in the sealed room numbness already crept into my limbs.

Who’s behind this? Me… or Bronze Beard?

I’d assumed I was the target, but after hearing his story I realized he too could be marked.

Something didn’t add up.

“Khak!”

“Cough!”

The poison struck not only civilians but the suspicious men as well.

That meant only one thing:
the bomber wasn’t allied with those strangers.

My mind worked through the haze.
If they were after Bronze Beard, they’d know of his Pureblood skill, which passively purifies toxins.
So the blast wasn’t meant for him.

It was aimed at me.

But who hated me this much…?

Benner.
That damned Count! He must have hired a black mage just to kill me.

Even as I grasped the situation, the danger worsened.
The tavern remained choked with poison, and the second horror of the spell began.

“Graaaah!”

The dead were rising as ghouls, driven by vengeful spirits.

The blast injured and poisoned; those who died became ghouls that attacked the living.
Those killed by ghouls rose as new ghouls in turn—
a chain reaction of carnage, the true terror that had gotten the spell banned.

“Ghh!”

I held my breath, blood surging up my throat, and forced it down.
Spit blood here and you’d not only die—you’d rise again.

“You all right?”
Bronze Beard gripped my shoulder. Instantly the pressure in my chest eased.

The royal-blooded skill Pureblood was real.
The toxin within me rapidly faded.

I was right!
Bronze Beard was indeed Harun Ron Malak, rightful heir to Zeigelond.

“Stay like this!”
Keeping a hand on my shoulder, Harun snapped his fingers.
A tiny flame danced at his fingertip.

Whoosh!
He stood, flame in hand, throat bulging as he spat out the liquor stored in his stomach.
The alcohol, refined into a potent fuel, ignited into a roaring blaze.

Fwoooosh!
Scarlet fire swept the tavern, burning away the toxic miasma.

I finally released the breath I’d been holding.
“Huff… huff…”

“Damn it! Who would do this!”

As the smoke cleared, the devastation came into view.
Some people still fought to hold their blood down, but ordinary folk couldn’t endure this.

“Cough!”

Those who vomited blood collapsed—and rose again to attack their former companions.

“Kiieeek!”
Their hairless heads streamed bloody tears, no longer human.

Without Harun, I would surely have died.

I steadied myself to stand when one relatively unscathed figure staggered toward us.

Damn it! What is happening!

Krishini clenched her teeth, struggling not to cough blood.

She had detected the teleport, stationed her assassins in the tavern, sealed both doors, and waited for the perfect moment to strike Harun—
even ready to kill the young Count with him if needed.
Rumor said the Count’s son was a worthless drunk of maybe Rank 1 or 2.

It had been a flawless plan.

Until that ragged stranger appeared…

BOOM!

The explosion and the stench told her exactly what it was.
A veteran of the underworld, she instantly recognized the Corpse-Ghost Blast.

She summoned mana to block the poison and covered her mouth and nose,
but her subordinates weren’t so quick.

“Ugh!”

Those who vomited blood died on the spot and rose again as ghouls, devouring the rest.
Ten had already turned; the survivors were being torn apart.

Aside from Geo Krishini herself, her entire force was lost.
The clan was on the brink of annihilation.

She bit her lip until it bled.

I can recruit new underlings later—if I can just take his head!

It wasn’t an empty hope.
Through layers of intermediaries she knew their client’s true identity:
Aluwin, the Dwarf King of Zeigelond.

If she could claim Harun’s life and extort more gold from Aluwin, she could rebuild the clan stronger than ever.