327: The Mouth of a Venomous Serpent
I walked through the battlefield, with Samarkand by my side, and twelve death knights in a circle around us.
We finished off the living enemy soldiers, half out of mercy, half out of practicality.
It would be a problem if they became undead. To be half-dead, to die in agony, was the easiest way to become an undead. Incidentally, Rebecca had said that, from experience, to die of old age, in bed, surrounded by your grandchildren… was the least likely way to become an undead. Perhaps it was a matter of having regrets.
The enemy corpses were far more numerous, but there were also the remains of skeletons who had returned to their silent state, and the remnants of wraiths who had disappeared, leaving only their deep purple robes.
The ‘living’ undead were easy to spot, as they emitted a blue-green aura. A few had rejoined us on their own. Some had been crawling, their legs broken, and some had been using a spear as a crutch, but since they were undead, it wasn’t a problem. Fortunately, there were plenty of bones, so if Rebecca were to ‘treat’ them later, they would be able to return to the front lines. In the sense that there was no such thing as a medical discharge for the undead, Listrea was the blackest of all.
“A survivor, my master.”
“Show me.”
A skeleton, with half of its skull missing, its eye socket connected to the hole, so it had only one eye. Its left arm was also gone, and the left sleeve of its chainmail was a tattered ring. It had left its lower body somewhere, and the fact that it was ‘alive’ in this state was a testament to the ‘life force’ of an undead.
But its magical signature was so faint, it was a wonder they had found it. I tilted my mask and, after taking off my gloves, I held him.
“Hey, wake up. Who said you could die?”
I took the one remaining hand. Clack, its jawbone rattled. The blue-green aura that covered its body was faint, and the will-o’-the-wisp in its eye was as small as the flame on the tip of a needle.
“…Our master, that one is already…”
“Don’t be a fool.” I snapped at one of the death knights, who had spoken in a mournful voice, without even looking back.
I gritted my teeth. I had known. I knew. And I would know more. I would be made to understand.
I had given the order. To fight. To kill, and to be killed. To my enemies and to my subordinates, I had said, ‘Die.’
“Hurry up and eat. Be careful not to kill him, and take as much as you want. It’s a big sale.”
It seemed he didn’t even have the strength to absorb life force properly. I could feel the mana, the life, being drained from the hand that was touching them. If it hadn’t been for the gentlemanly adjustment, it would have been an unbearable pain. It was, after all, a predatory act, with no consideration for the prey. But now, I could barely feel it. And yet, I squeezed the bony hand.
“—That’s an order.”
The will-o’-the-wisp in its eye brightened slightly.
“Good boy. To refuse an order is… you know. The doghouse is your post, and the next day, you’re soup stock.”
I wasn’t even sure what I was saying anymore, but I desperately tried to talk to him, to keep him conscious.
“If you wake up now, you’ll be cool. Like you’ve seen the edge of hell and come back. Don’t you want to be a death knight who has absorbed the life force of the Lord of Disease and returned from hell?”
“I… want…”
“Good, I permit it. Now, absorb.”
The faint mana supply line from our clasped hands was on the verge of breaking.
“—Eat.”
I took off my other glove with my teeth and stuffed my bare hand into its mouth. Clack, its jawbone closed, almost reflexively, and the black darkness of its mouth enveloped my hand, and the faint mana supply line doubled.
“Ow… ow…” And the force increased, and my hand was bruised, and I could hear the bones creaking.
“My master!”
“My master!”
“Shut up. He’s eating.” I snapped at Samarkand and the death knights.
It hurt. It hurt a lot. I was afraid my hand would be bitten off. And yet, it wasn’t as scary as being left behind.
“…Ugh…” Tears fell, wetting the skull that was biting me. Emotionally, I was more happy than sad, but the physical pain was reaching its limit.
And the force in its jawbone disappeared.
“…Ah… huh?”
“Good, you’re awake. Do you know my name?”
I closed my eyes for a moment to hide my tears and, ignoring the throbbing pain in my hand, I smiled.
“Lord of Disease… sama…”
“Your memories?”
“I have them… your hand… I’m… sorry…”
I gently pulled my hand from its slowly opening jawbone.
“Make it a story. And I’ll forgive you.” I gestured to Samarkand and held out my hand, and he put my glove on, hiding the wound. If it hadn’t been for the defensive magic of my amulet, I would have been left with only my thumb.
The absorption from our clasped hands stabilized, and from the feeling of my whole body growing languid, at a pace that was even faster than a normal mana supply, I could tell that a considerable amount of my mana was being drained.
“Samarkand, my mana level?”
“You still have a surplus.”
“Good, I’ll leave the rest to you. —Welcome back.” I squeezed his hand one last time and entrusted him to Samarkand.
“Oops.” I stumbled, and a death knight gallantly supported me. I turned, and my eyes met the eyes of a burning blue-green will-o’-the-wisp.
“…Our master is reckless.”
“I’m the one who gives the reckless orders. I have to be a little reckless myself.”
“A hopeless case.”
The characteristic laughter of a skeleton, the rattling of its jawbone, echoed in unison.
