Chapter 114
Chapter 114. Time of Blasphemy
Deep underground in the Demon Lord Castle.
In a certain room, the base of the Undead King—
The space, merely hollowed out of granite, was akin to a morgue. The bodies of humans and beastmen were strewn carelessly about. It was rugged, inorganic, cold, and filled with a thick stench of death.
However, to call it a morgue was—far too—
“—Gaaaaah… Aaaaaaah… Aaaaaaaaaah!!!”
It was a place devoid of tranquility.
Right before my eyes, a soul was screaming in agony. The spirit of the Sword Saint, forcibly summoned from the spirit world—
A slimy, evil curse throbbed like a terrifying circular saw, crushing and scraping the soul, tearing away its “flesh.”
“It’s only painful at the start, you know.”
Next to me, Enma manipulated the dark magic like a conductor.
“Aaaaah, Noooooo! S-stop it—!!!”
Initially resolute, the Sword Saint’s spirit had refused to cooperate with Enma and the Demon Lord Army, but now he was crying and wailing without regard for dignity.
His cheeks, nose, and ears were being ripped away, his spiritual eyes exploded into hollowness, and soon he could only rattle his teeth, unable to even voice his screams.
He was being transformed into a specimen of the human body. The features that represented his former self, his personality and dignity, were all stripped away—
“No matter how ugly or beautiful a person is, once you peel away the skin, they’re just meat.”
Enma said serenely, wearing a fabricated smile, while not ceasing the flow of dark magic—
“Once turned into a lump of flesh, kings and slaves are all the same. And if we reduce it to just bones, only the fact that they were human remains. Now, what do you say, Sword Saint?”
As the remaining skeletal framework of the soul was literally stripped of everything, Enma spoke once more.
“Will you cooperate with us?”
The soul rattled its teeth and nodded. It was like being shown a tasteless puppet show.
“Wonderful! Welcome to the world without pain!”
Enma infused dark magic into the corpse at his feet. Almost as if drawn by it, the soul that no longer bore any resemblance to its former self was sucked in.
—The corpse of the Sword Saint twitched.
Clumsily, it picked up the battered curved sword and round shield that lay by its sides, awkwardly standing up.
At this moment, my—Zilbagias, the Demon Lord’s Prince’s—senses could clearly perceive it.
The dark magic soaked into it, forcibly activating its bones. It was a low-level undead, the kind I had scattered as mere trash on the battlefield. Externally, remnants of flesh remained, but effectively, it was a bone puppet.
“…”
The former Sword Saint’s corpse moved its mouth, eyes vacant and unseeing, as it stood rigidly.
“Try swinging your sword.”
Upon Enma’s command, it instantly began to swing the curved sword around.
There was no technique, just clumsy, brute-force movements. It was a disgraceful sight, far removed from the refined swordsmanship it once possessed—
“See for yourself, Zil-kun.”
Enma said, beaming a fake smile.
“Even if you forcibly turn the Sword Saint into an undead, he cannot exhibit his former techniques. Moreover, he can barely even handle a sword.”
“…Well, that’s to be expected.”
I suppressed my nausea and answered with a neutral expression.
“His personality has been nearly stripped away, meaning he’s lost his former knowledge too, right? The fact that he can grip and swing a sword is surprising on its own.”
“Some minimal core of personality, or rather the essence of being human, is still intact. So, he can manage basic motions.”
When Enma said “stop!” the former Sword Saint froze mid-swing, holding the sword aloft.
“Now, begin shuffling in place.”
Like a new recruit thrown into training, he clumsily shuffled his feet.
The once agile Sword Saint, who could have surpassed distances in an instant, now moved so pathetically, so comically—being controlled at will…
“Relax, Alexander. Don’t let them notice.”
Antendeixis warned.
“—Ah.”
I consciously controlled my breathing and loosened up. I’d been gripping my fists too tightly and blood was starting to seep from my palms—
“I tried various methods. It would be amazing if I could turn the Sword Saint into an asset.”
Enma continued his exaggerated sigh.
“I sealed their consciousness right after summoning, altered their perception, made them mistake me for an ally, then had them showcase sword techniques as a performance. I carefully pared away all hostile aspects of their former personality… But it was all completely fruitless.”
He shrugged, sounding disappointed.
“Perhaps it’s tied to the pride of being a Sword Saint? Maybe the laws of nature no longer smile upon a corpse that moves via magical power…”
“…That might be right.”
I agreed while feeling my insides boil over with a mix of anger and frustration.
Enma, you wouldn’t understand—playing with the dead…! How much passion, obsession, and determination those Sword Saints poured into the path of the sword…!
Each swing of their sword held a piece of their soul. That’s how they could transcend the laws of nature. That’s why they could unleash strikes beyond human comprehension…!
Their souls are the very essence of supreme techniques!
What makes you think you can toy with that with your filthy dark sorcery as if it were a poorly-made craft…!
No divine art would ever emerge from a counterfeit! Such arrogance is beyond comprehension…!
“Because we have the example of Virosa.”
Antendeixis said, coldly cutting into my fury.
“Even in instances with wielders of magical power, there are ways supreme techniques can be used. If, as you say, the soul is the essence of techniques… then perhaps an unprocessed soul might…”
…That’s right.
The reason I’m so infuriated is—
Because I can only let them die…!!
This is the Undead King’s headquarters. The surroundings are crawling with undead. I don’t even know where Enma’s main body is, and even if I were to go on a rampage with my trump card here, I wouldn’t be able to save the Sword Saints…!
“…Prince, what’s wrong?”
I was tapped on the shoulder from behind.
Suddenly, a mischievous smile appeared beside my face.
“You look a bit pale?”
…Claire.
“No, I’m a warrior too. Seeing their state evokes some feelings in me.”
I feigned a dramatic sigh.
“Regardless of how much training they’ve undergone… to think this would be their fate brings up a sense of emptiness.”
“You’re quite kind, Zil-kun. Even as a demon.”
Enma chuckled. It was the first time I saw such an expression—had he added variations to his smiles?
For the undead, controlling expressions seems quite difficult. This was something Claire had mentioned, that they prepare a few fixed expressions in advance like masks to switch between as needed.
“If you don’t practice regularly, you might mess up at the critical moment,” Claire said, switching rapidly through serious, angry, smiling, and troubled faces, finally settling on the playful grin of her living self.
The expressions of her own creation—an expression she thought represented herself—
“…I’m a bit thirsty. Is there anything around?”
I swallowed a bitter lump in my throat and asked Enma.
“Ah! There is! My special tea. Since we’re at it, I’ll brew it for you myself!”
“Master, you practiced quite diligently.”
“That doesn’t need to be said… During that time, Zil-kun, feel free to practice as well. How about those beastmen over there? Given their horrific injuries, they can barely be turned into low-level undead anyway.”
With that, Enma left the room with a cheerful step.
…Practice, huh.
“Well, Prince, let’s see what you’ve got!”
Claire smiled as she watched, amused.
I focused on the Holy Sword at my waist.
Here, eliminating Claire and saving the souls of the Sword Saints—no, wait, I can’t. What could I say if Enma asked about why Claire turned to ash?
Damn it.
…I guess I’ll have to do it.
“Then, let’s give it a shot.”
I said to myself, adopting a light tone as if going out for a stroll—
And faced the corpses.
The beastman’s corpse—gray fur marred with white, shredded like it had been torn apart by a sharp blade.
Chanting a spell, I opened the gate to the spirit world and dragged its soul into this world—
“Ah… Aaaaaah… Aaaaaah…!!!”
The torn, withering soul of the beastman called out in a rasping voice.
Clutching its head, it moaned in sorrow and pain…
“What’s your name?”
In response to my question, the beastman with vacant eyes—
“D…Dogajin…”
…Is there little hatred left? No, more than that… What is this? Is it tormented by regret…?
“Wretched… Wretched…!”
In agony, the one who called himself Dogajin groaned.
“I couldn’t fulfill my mission…! I couldn’t pass it on…!!”
With an expression that looked like it bled.
“Anyone… Please tell them…!!”
With barely a fragment of sanity left in its gaze, it looked at me.
“Please, tell of the green-haired Demon Lord’s Prince… and his magic…!”
