Chương 65: Chapter 64. Capital talks

Rayne stiffened as the words settled into the tent. He felt his spine go cold. Commander Evans spoke after a stretch of silence, leaning against his chair.

"Hundreds of them. Packed into the boss chamber and the tunnels leading to it. Common undead, revenants and whatnot—moving corpses that attacked the party as soon as they opened the chamber. Two of my best war mages nearly lost their lives." Captain Clark nodded, a little colour draining off his face.

"And you never mentioned anything like that? Why, forsaken?" Rayne immediately turned to him, realising it as a ploy to make him come across defensive.

"I reported on the undead. But I never ventured deep enough to reach the boss chamber."

"Maybe you did and never told us."

"What would I gain by doing that?" Rayne barely held off a frown.

"I had no reason to risk the others by keeping crucial information to myself."

"We can't trust that, going by your blood—" Captain Edran clicked his tongue.

"Why don't you play your games later, Clark? You very well know Commander Evans only called Rayne to see if he had any other information." Captain Clark shrugged.

"I'm just saying."

"Enough!" Commander Evans grunted, then raised his face.

"Rayne, did you see anything else you might have forgotten to mention? Anything explaining why there were undead in the dungeon? All of them were unnatural, and the party found the boss monster chopped to pieces in the core room." He didn't speak instantly, ignoring all the eyes on him. Rayne was sure he had missed nothing, but he still went back through his memory, trying to find even a small thing that he hadn't mentioned. When he found nothing, he shook his head.

"I told you everything, my lord." Commander Evans lowered his head as if disappointed. Rayne could also see the inner workings behind his eyes, trying to piece together the mystery of why there were undead in the dungeon. He felt the parchment brush inside his pocket, and decided there was no better time to talk about this.

"If I may, I do have something to report," he said, bringing all the attention back to him.

"You recalled something?" Captain Verella asked absently.

"No, but the dungeon I came back from today—we found undead there in the boss chamber. An undead lord, to be specific. And after killing it and its minions, we found these parchments in the core room." He immediately took them out and crossed the length of the tent to give them to Commander Evans. He stood beside him as he put the sketches on the table. Each of the captains leaned in to take a good look at them.

Under the light of the brazier, all of their eyes narrowed, and standing so close to the commander, Rayne caught sight of the blade that sat near his leg. At a glance, it looked massive, nearly as big as the one held by the undead lord. He briefly wondered how strong the commander was to be carrying such a weapon.

"Did you find anything else with it?" Evans asked, breaking the growing silence. Rayne nodded.

"There were signs of habitation. A bedroll, charcoal. But they were at least a month old. We searched around the chamber, but found nothing else."

"So, a man entered the dungeons a month ago. Maybe more. Probably before we started this expedition to conquer dungeons, and left behind undead of all kinds." The commander huffed a small laugh, but the lines on his face only tightened.

"Never a dull day in the army."

"Do you think there's a necromancer, my lord?" Captain Edran spoke, and a few others nodded.

"Either that or a demon spawned from one of the nine hells. But no demon would bother to set up such a trap. They aren't known to be patient." As Rayne watched, a discussion ensued, with each captain putting out his own theories. Captain Verella took the lead, having led the expedition to the bug dungeon, and from time to time, more questions were thrown at him. He took time to reply to each of them, avoiding any speculation on his own part. That was the job of the captains.

In the end, most of them seemed to believe that a necromancer was at play, and one which might be quite strong. After all, in just two dungeons, the necromancer had left over a hundred undead. If one could control a level forty undead lord, Rayne couldn't imagine how strong he or she was. Once the discussion reached a point where no captain had anything substantial to say, Commander Evans turned to look at him.

"You can leave. Write a written report and submit it to Edran about the undead lord and everything else you faced. But first, get yourself cleaned." Rayne immediately put a hand on his chest in salute, not wanting to stay in the command tent any longer. Captain Clark glared at him as he stepped outside, but Rayne didn't look back. He had no idea about Clark's personal enmity beyond the man's hatred for the Fraysers, which felt like a safe guess.

Until Clark did something more than glare, Rayne was content to ignore it. As Rayne stepped outside the tent, he realised the moon was already high in the sky. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. He stank even worse now, undead blood having seeped into fabric and armour. His gear felt heavy and uncomfortable, but he still took slow steps toward his squad's camp.

The discussion inside the tent echoed in his mind, and the thought of a necromancer operating in the dungeons made his chest feel cold. Part of Rayne told him he had no reason to worry. A mage that strong wasn't his problem. But if undead were being seeded across multiple dungeons, then it was only a matter of time before he encountered more of them. Just the undead lord emerging from the core room had nearly killed him. What if there were more?

A small army with multiple undead lords would surely be the end of him and his party. With every step, that possibility felt more real. Everything had been trying to kill him since his first day in this body. He doubted that would change anytime soon.

"I can only get stronger," he muttered, looking up at the dark sky. When he focused inward, he felt his core swirling with mana, flowing through his newly opened pathways. His thoughts drifted to his new [Death Strike] skill, and to how close the undead lord had come to tearing him apart with it. He had wanted a mana skill ever since seeing Captain Edran use one. Now he had it. But knowing how to use a skill and being able to wield it properly were different things.

If he wanted to survive what was coming, he needed to master it. And that came with its own problems. He couldn't let anyone know he had it. Casper might be someone he could trust, but he didn't know how others would react. And having trump cards had already saved his life more than once. So as Rayne walked, he wondered where he could safely practice. But before that, he needed to bathe, eat, and see if Master Lander was available to repair his armour. There was always something to do in the camp.

Commander Evans remained seated long after the tent had emptied. The flap had fallen closed behind the last captain, muting the sharp voices and scraping boots, but the sounds of the camp still seeped through the canvas—metal clinking, low laughter, the distant crackle of cookfires. An army never truly slept. Someone was always up, and you never truly felt the quiet. But by now, Evans enjoyed the noises more. His brain didn't let him rest when he had silence around him.

Though, tonight, even with the noise, his brain had a lot to think about. He rested his forearms on the table and stared at the Pascar Plains map spread before him, marked with the location of every dungeon portal. Necromancer. The word tasted foul even in thought. Evans exhaled slowly through his nose. He had fought in three campaigns where necromancers had been involved. None of them had ended cleanly. Undead didn't rout. They didn't panic. They didn't starve or bleed out.

And worse—A necromancer always had corpses to claim. There was a reason even the Valerian kingdom, infamous for the inclusivity for all types of magics, banned them. He reached for his cup, found it empty, and set it back down with a faint click. But before he could call someone to fill it up, the tent flap shifted. Evans didn't look up immediately. He already knew who it would be. There were only a handful of people in the camp who would enter his tent unannounced, and only one who would do so quietly.

"Still awake, commander?" Captain Verella asked. Her voice was calm, but he heard the edge under it. Evans lifted his gaze as she stepped inside, letting the flap fall closed behind her. She removed her gloves slowly, eyes flicking to the maps, the notes, and then at his hardened face.

"Hard to sleep when the whole campaign might be going to shit," he replied. Verella gave a humorless smile and took the seat opposite him.

"Are you sure it's a necromancer?"

"Everything points to it," Evans said.

"You know it. You've been sharp since childhood, and I'd be blind to ignore that. I just can't understand how a necromancer commanding hundreds of undead could have marched straight past us." Verella folded her hands together.

"It could be anything. There's mountains beyond the plains he could have climbed through. So many types of spells too. Teleportation is rare, but not uncommon," she said, then added after a second.

"Though, yes it surprised me to hear how many undead were reported. The last major necromancer incident only had around seven dozen of them, and we are well past that." Evans nodded.

"Yes, with new dungeons already popping up everyday, I don't think the army is prepared for necrotic creatures too." Silence stretched between them for a minute, filled by the muffled noise of the camp outside.

"I get it," Verella said finally.

"A necromancer is hardly ever only the army's problem. The crown would want to know about it, and then they would send the hand." Evans leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight.

"I know. I don't like those arrogant bastards. But you're right."

"The churches will demand involvement once word spreads," she continued.

"And they will spread it. They always do."

"Before that, His Majesty will want to know about it. Pascar Plains fills the kingdom's coffers every few years, and this is too big for me to add directly in the final report. Either way, I was planning to send a raven out to ask them about the list of necromancers that hadn't been burned yet." Verella nodded, then her lips stretched into a smile. Evans winced, knowing she only smiled like that when she had found something very interesting. And she never kept it to just herself.

"What is it?" He asked, feeling dread.

"It's just in your report, you would surely add how we got to know about the necromancer's presence, and if you do that, a name is surely going to jump out to any court advisor or minister that would read it. Maybe even King Xanders will take time out of bedding another maid to read through it." Evans bit his lips, feeling another headache erupting.

"The Frayser bastard." Verella nodded.

"Yes, everyone in the court sent him to die, and here he's earning merits and making a name for himself. I love to see those old goats' reactions to your report." Evans sighed, knowing such information would just get him more invitations to gatherings where all the nobles would want to hear about the bastard. The king sparing him from direct death had been a major topic, and his rising in ranks would surely interest nobles that had nothing to do but gossip.

But out of everyone, Evans knew who would be the most interested in him.

"Are you thinking the same thing as me?" He asked, looking at Verella. She tapped the table before slowly getting up and walking towards the flap. For a second, he felt like he wouldn't get the answer, but then she paused and turned. Her smile stretched even wider.

"Yes, I'm. The most interested to read the reports won't be King Xanders or those senile nobles, but the princes." Evans nodded, rubbing his temple.

"Especially the third prince."

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