The Necromancer's Servant

When Asa regained consciousness, he found he was surrounded by total darkness. There was no light, no sound—just an overwhelming stench that nearly suffocated him and the cold, hard sensation against his back. For a brief moment, he thought he might already be dead.

But if he wasn't dead, then where was this pitch-black, silent place? The stench was familiar—it was the same foul odor he had encountered while battling beamons, though never this intense.

His body was immobile, yet his senses remained sharp. The stench carried a blend of excrement, decaying remains, and an unidentifiable, peculiar smell he couldn't place. The air was thick with moisture, and he lay on a cold, hard slab of rock. This had to be a beamon's lair. Not a single ray of light penetrated the darkness, leaving him to wonder just how deep this cave extended into the mountain.

His last memory was of drawing his sword, swinging it, and releasing the overwhelming life force he had extracted from the beamon. That strike had drained every ounce of strength and consciousness from his body, and after that, there was nothing.

What happened to others? He vaguely recalled that, as he made his final strike, everyone else was already down. Could they all be dead? The thought stabbed at his heart. Could it be that the orcs who had fought alongside him, risking their lives in the Saundfest Mountains, were now all dead, reduced to food for beamons and grey renders? But if that were the case, why was he in a beamon's nest? Beamons, being simple-minded creatures, had no habit of storing food—especially not living prey.

Asa desperately wanted to get up, even just to observe his surroundings. But his body refused to cooperate. He was weighed down by an unbearable heaviness, as though filled with lead, accompanied by searing, fragmented pain. He couldn't even move a single finger.

The method he used to kill the beamon had pushed both his body and magical reserves far beyond their limits. Though Sandru had explained the unique ability of the blade to him and assured him that the method was theoretically feasible, its success depended entirely on the target. No matter how clever or strange the blade's ability, or how much magic Asa poured into it, it was still a beamon—a creature with the most robust vitality on the continent. Without first using paralysis magic to disrupt its life force and necromantic puppetry to inflict some wounds, Asa wouldn't have been able to pull the blade out, let alone avoid having his own life force drained by the weapon instead.

Ultimately, using the beamon's immense life force as a weapon exceeded his capabilities. It was like trying to wield a weapon ten times his own weight to strike down an enemy. Thanks to the Sunwell and the leaf of the world tree, which granted him an exceptionally deep magical foundation, and his unyielding determination, he managed to unleash that earth-shattering blow. But in doing so, his body and magical reserves were nearly shattered. If it had been an ordinary person, they would have died hard.

His last meal had been before setting out that morning. Grey render meat was notoriously tough and hard to digest—so much so that rumors claimed half the mages who ventured into the Saundfest Mountains perished from eating it. Asa had eaten plenty before leaving, but now he felt completely empty. His stomach was empty, his thirst unbearable. He must have been in this cave for more than a full day.

He tried several more times to sit up, but his body remained unresponsive. Even the slightest muscle movement triggered waves of excruciating pain. He considered using a basic healing spell on himself, but his magical structure felt like shattered glass that had been struck with a hammer. Though not completely destroyed, it was far from functional. After several failed attempts, the effort left him in agony, and his consciousness began to blur again.

Asa sighed and turned to deep meditation.

Ever since he had learned more about the stories behind this meditation technique from Sandru and Theodorus, he had developed an inexplicable aversion to it. It wasn't disgust—it was fear. He always felt that this technique would take him to a place he desperately did not want to go. As a result, he had avoided using or practicing it, especially the deepest, most transcendent form of meditation.

But now, under these circumstances, meditation might be his only hope—a slim chance for a miracle or a glimmer of salvation.

As Asa's meditation deepened, his awareness began to fade while simultaneously becoming sharper. He could see the internal injuries inflicted by pushing his body beyond its limits—countless torn muscles and ruptured blood vessels, fine fractures on his bones, and magic shattered like a web of cracks. His body was riddled with wounds, almost beyond repair. Yet under the effects of meditation, these injuries began to heal ever so slowly.

But this time, the meditation felt different. It was as though something was gently brushing against his skin, passing through his body. Shifting his focus outward, he became aware of the omnipresent magical fluctuations around him.

He realized he must be deep within the Saundfest Mountains, where the chaotic magical currents unique to the region were far more intense and pure than those felt in the valley. The currents washed over him like a gentle breeze, passing through his body effortlessly, like light through glass. Subtle and almost imperceptible, these fluctuations were ubiquitous, unending, and eternal, as if they were an intrinsic attribute of the space itself. Despite their lack of attributes or discernible patterns, there was a faint sense of something underlying them—an elusive presence or logic that defied comprehension. Paradoxically, the more one tried to grasp it, the more impossible it became to feel. It was only when he stopped focusing, letting his mind drift, that the all-encompassing nature of this presence became apparent.

Asa had faced many powerful individuals, including world-class mages. Each radiated their own intimidating magical aura—pitch-black dark magic, the icy chill of necromancy, the warm radiance of white magic, or the sharpness of sword energy and the destructive might of battle aura. Yet in comparison to these chaotic and faint magical waves, those auras seemed insignificant—almost trivial.

When confronting great power, one might feel pressure, fear, resolve, or awe. But these strange fluctuations evoked only one emotion: insignificance. It was the insignificance a person feels when standing before the vastness of the world.

Acknowledging his own smallness, Asa felt a deep tranquility—like a fish swimming in an endless, empty ocean. Immersed in the profound stillness of deep meditation, he lost track of time and, without realizing it, fell asleep.

Had Sandru or any other necromancer learned that someone had fallen asleep while practicing what they considered a sacred, supreme discipline, they would have been furious enough to spit blood. Yet Asa not only fell asleep but slept deeply—and even dreamed.

In his dream, he stood atop the infinite peaks of the Saundfest Mountains, gazing down at everything in creation. The earth below was colorless—not black, white, or transparent, but undeniably solid ground, though its color was indescribable. The blazing sun above cast its radiant light, and as the light touched the ground, it transformed into vibrant green, teeming with life. The countless patches of green began to stir, to gather, until the entire land became a sea of emerald waves, pulsating with vitality. The surging green grew increasingly animated, eventually boiling over with energy. Its hue darkened, shifting from light green to deep green, then to a foreboding black in the most chaotic spots.

At last, the entire land turned black. The sea of vibrant life had become a cauldron of boiling filth.

From the churning darkness arose a shape—a sword. It was darker than the deepest shadow, a weapon that seemed to devour all light and matter, as if it were a singularity forged into a blade. This dark sword leaped up and plunged into the earth, unleashing a sound beyond description. It was a sound that encompassed screams, collapse, decay, tearing, and burning—the sound of death itself.

And then, silence. The darkness dissipated entirely. The sky remained the sky, the earth remained the earth, and the mountains stood as they always had.

After a long pause, the same sequence repeated itself. Again, the sun's green radiance stirred the land, turning it vibrant and alive, only to descend into darkness, which then subsided into stillness. The cycle repeated endlessly, like the rising and setting of the sun. Asa stood atop the peak, witnessing it all over and over. In his heart, an inexplicable sorrow welled up.

Asa lost count of how many times he had watched the visions unfold. Slowly, they blurred together, becoming an indistinct whirl of light, green vitality, black decay, life, and death, spinning in a perpetual cycle. Then, as if drawn by some unseen force, the swirling images merged into his body. Asa felt a strange realization: perhaps what he had witnessed was not a landscape but a reflection of his own existence—his body, his life. The scene continued to churn within him, endlessly alternating, as though it would never cease.

He awoke to the faint sound of footsteps. It was a soft but hurried patter, like thick pads striking stone, accompanied by heavy breathing. Asa instinctively tried to sit up, only to find himself surprised by the progress his body had made. Though still weak, his wounds had mostly healed, and his magic flowed unimpeded. Such recovery, even with white magic, should have taken a much longer time.

The footsteps grew closer—a distinct sound of thick paws against rock. Could it be a young beamon? Before he could ponder further, a faint light appeared—fire. Beside it, two emerald-green eyes glinted in the darkness. Orc's eyes.

"Thank…good…ness, you're…still alive," came Alkin's voice, thick with emotion. His usual stammer worsened as he spoke in excitement. Holding a small torch, the orc sprinted toward him.

Asa's own excitement and relief matched Alkin's. If Alkin was here, did that mean they had escaped the Saundfest Mountains? He tried to speak but found himself too weak to control his tongue or lips. The reflexive effort to sit up earlier had drained the last of his strength. Though his injuries had healed, he was utterly depleted, as if his body were an empty sack incapable of even holding itself upright.

In the dim firelight, Asa finally saw the full extent of the cavern. It was vast, spanning over a hundred meters in width and several dozen meters in height. He had been lying in a narrow crevice in one corner. Nearby loomed a massive pile of bones like a small mountain, confirming this was indeed a beamon's lair.

Alkin helped Asa to his feet and then hoisted him onto his back. The sound of more footsteps echoed from outside, and three more orcs entered the cave. They went to where Asa had been lying and picked up five heavy sacks. Asa realized with some surprise that these were the raw magical ores they had painstakingly collected earlier. Next to the sacks were several enormous beamon claws—likely from the two beamons Asa had killed at the valley entrance, judging by their colossal size.

Without wasting time, Alkin dashed toward the cave's exit, Asa clinging weakly to his fur, his face pressed into the orc's back. Even so, the moment they stepped into the sunlight, the brightness stung Asa's eyes, bringing tears from the pain.

He heard the heavy, rhythmic sounds of the orcs hauling their cargo and the labored breathing of Kodo beasts. Alkin placed Asa on one of the beasts, and after the remaining orcs loaded their burdens, the Kodo beasts began their lumbering gallop, their movements urgent and rough.

A sweet, cooling liquid flowed into Asa's mouth—diluted honey. The exquisite taste shocked his senses, sending spasms through his taste buds and jaw muscles. Based on his past experience, he must have gone at least four days without food or water.

Above, the cries of giant eagles rang out. Asa's heart filled with unease. Clearly, they were still deep within the Saundfest Mountains. But why were the other orcs here? Why hadn't the raw ores been transported out yet? And what were the Kodo beasts—giant, slow-moving animals that served as living lures for eagles and beamons—doing in these perilous mountains?

The honey water had an immediate effect, restoring a sliver of Asa's strength. His eyes adjusted to the sunlight as he cautiously opened them. He saw three massive eagles descending with powerful wingbeats, aiming directly for their group. Around them, the towering, majestic peaks of the Saundfest Mountains remained unbroken, their colossal forms connecting earth and sky. They were still trapped within the valleys of this deadly range.

As the two Kodo beasts charged forward, their backs laden with supplies and passengers, four orcs manned two massive ballistae mounted on the beasts. These siege weapons, more akin to catapults than crossbows, required the combined strength of two orcs to operate. Their sheer size and power were designed for defending city walls, and their bolts were capable of piercing steel shields, making them more than a match for the giant raptors descending upon them.

The orcs aimed carefully at the incoming eagles and fired. One bolt shot through the chest of a great eagle, its screech abruptly silenced as it plummeted from the sky. The second bolt narrowly missed its mark, grazing another eagle that managed to dodge with remarkable agility. The injured bird let out a cry of pain, shedding feathers and blood as it retreated into the clouds.

The remaining orcs, dropping their ballistae, took up flails and spiked maces, readying themselves for a final defense. However, the last eagle hesitated, circling low as if weighing its options. After a moment, it turned away, following its injured companion back into the sky.

"We must hurry. Within an hour, they'll return with more—a flock of eagles, perhaps even thunderbirds," Asa rasped, his voice weak but urgent. "What about the others? Why haven't you delivered the raw ores yet? What happened all this time?"

"Don't worry," Alkin panted as he lashed a Kodo beast hard enough to draw blood, urging it into a faster gallop. "The others… are outside… waiting…"

They passed through the valley entrance where Asa had defeated the beamons. The dark, dried bloodstains and the massive trenches left by the battle were still visible, but the beamons' corpses had been stripped to bones. The timing of their return seemed deliberate—midday, when predators were less active. The Kodo beasts lumbered out of the valley unscathed, but Asa's anxiety lingered. The valley might no longer be a beamon's territory, but the scent and sounds of the Kodo beasts could easily draw new predators, who would relentlessly pursue their prey.

The orcs drove the Kodo beasts mercilessly, their whips leaving raw, bleeding welts on the creatures' thick hides. The beasts bellowed in pain, their frothing mouths leaving trails of foam, but their plodding gait was no match for a beamon's speed. Worse, at this frantic pace, they would collapse within minutes.

Sure enough, the Kodo beasts faltered after only twenty miles, their legs trembling as they struggled to continue. Just as despair threatened to take hold, Asa spotted two fresh Kodo beasts waiting up ahead, each with a figure atop. One was a lizardman—Viste—who waved a clawed hand to signal them forward.

The orcs quickly transferred Asa and their cargo onto the fresh mounts. Alkin knelt, pressing his ear to the ground, then leaped atop the Kodo beast, his face grim as he lashed the new mount into action. "Three… beamons… chasing…" he explained between breaths.

"What about the ones we left?" Asa asked, glancing back at the two exhausted beasts, now lying on the ground and heaving their final breaths.

"Food… for the beamons…" Alkin's voice was barely audible over the pounding hooves and the wind.

Asa understood. The two abandoned Kodo beasts were sacrifices to slow the pursuing predators. The orcs' desperate measures spoke volumes about the stakes. Even so, sacrificing Kodo beasts—precious and rare among the half-beast tribes—was a painful loss.

Viste's cold, unexpressive face offered a rare moment of acknowledgment as he greeted Asa with a curt nod. "Still alive. Good," the lizardman said. For someone as stoic as Viste, this brief word was almost a celebration.

"Barely," Asa replied with a faint, bitter smile. If they survived this leg of the journey, they might finally escape the most dangerous parts of the Saundfest Mountains. The beamons would be unlikely to pursue beyond their own territories.

Asa turned back to Alkin, whose furrowed brow betrayed his discomfort. "I'm sorry," the orc began hesitantly, "for… leaving you there. That was… Luken's decision. We… couldn't bring… you."

"Couldn't bring me? What was so important that you had to abandon me? You even left the raw ores behind!" Asa's voice was sharp, despite his exhaustion.

Alkin hesitated before answering, his expression darkening. "Two… newborn… beamons," he said, baring his teeth in what might have been a grin but looked more like a grimace.