"Ahhh—!"
Fortunately, the young man reacted quickly, rolling backward to dodge as he let out a scream: "River demon! There's a man-eating river demon!"
He scrambled away in a panic, and that was just the beginning. Moments later, terrified screams rose from all directions—the port was under attack everywhere. Panic gripped every unarmed boatman by the heart!
"It's Ghouls!"
Not far away, the port guard captain—dressed in chainmail and wielding a spear—shouted as he directed his squad: "Pick up your shields! Block and dodge! Don't let them scratch your skin!"
Demonstrating himself, he lunged forward and thrust his spear right through one of the ghouls' chests.
His blow landed true, but before he could catch his breath, more ghouls charged the lines with bloodcurdling howls, colliding with the lightly-armored guards in a roiling melee!
The guards were outnumbered, and soon began to fall back under the swarm.
Ghoul teeth and claws were not only razor-sharp, tearing straight through leather armor, but also coated with deadly poison. One scratch, and a guard's wounds would quickly fester—soon after, all strength would drain from their bodies, leaving them unable even to grip their weapons!
Agonized howls filled the air. Terror nearly shattered the guards' morale—and things only grew worse, as more undead flooded from the sea: fishfolk zombies, skeletal warriors, even banshees in ghostly form rampaged ashore, snarling as they descended on the helpless townsfolk, turning the vibrant port into a living hell in the blink of an eye!
The port guards realized they had no way to stop these foes, and desperately called for a retreat, but the nightmare only escalated: every slain guard swiftly rose again, pale blue soul-flames burning in their eyes as they seized weapons and turned on their own comrades!
From a distance, reinforcements rushed to help—but overhead, a colossal shadow blacked out the sun.
The soldiers looked up in terror, only to see a massive bone dragon looming overhead, raining down a blast of freezing, deadly dragonbreath.
In moments, the once-thriving port was turned into a literal hell on earth.
...
Liberl Port.
Malena's fashion show was an overwhelming success, and the media coverage that followed sent shockwaves through the city. The progressive crowd praised her for breaking new ground, celebrating how she showcased the beauty of young women; the more conservative audience, on the other hand, denounced her for shattering traditions and corrupting public morals, calling this generation "a generation in decline."
Debates raged back and forth in the newspapers, each camp rebutting the other, with Nigel Malena' name growing more and more familiar to the public as her designs gained unprecedented fame.
But talk is cheap—the body never lies. Whether out of self-expression or a desire to see their loved ones in beautiful clothes, women and men alike began quietly placing orders. Soon every design was sold out, and demand soared beyond anything they could supply.
Afterward, Malena found herself drifting in a haze of exhaustion and happiness. Mentally drained but deeply satisfied, she poured herself into her career with renewed ambition, already planning an even more grand show for the following year.
Charles, of course, was happy to see it all unfold. But after the show, he left daily operations to the nuns, returning to his own studies, focusing on growing his own strength.
At this very moment, he was alone on the second floor of the scriptorium, poring over a brand-new spellbook, hoping to master a new 7th-level spell.
Sure, the System had gifted him Plane Shift when he leveled up, but that was more a travel utility than a true combat enhancement. What he really wanted now was a new offensive spell.
He already had solid single-target firepower—Eldritch Blast and his twin-bladed polearm were enough for small skirmishes.
But on a battlefield with hundreds or thousands of opponents, he'd be helpless. After thinking it over, he chose to study one of the largest-area spells he could find—something even more overwhelming than Theresa's Prismatic Spray.
Fire Storm.
The spell conjured a fiery tornado, sweeping forward and igniting all in its path.
At full potential, it could cover an entire square kilometer—an entire small town or a little mountain.
It would take time to master, but so far, this was the highest value AOE spell he could access.
"Whew…"
Rubbing his temples, he glanced at the wall clock—it was time for his break.
Approaching footsteps sounded from upstairs, and a slim figure came into view—it was Sephera, carrying a cup of hot milk.
She set it in front of him, then reached out to gently massage his neck. "Master, take a break, all right?"
Charles closed his eyes, enjoying the massage, lifted the milk, and took a slow sip.
"Thank you, dear," he said. "By the way, the newspaper's arrived, right? Anything interesting in the news today?"
"Yes, Master." Sephera slipped her hand into her nun's habit and drew out a newspaper, still scented faintly with her perfume. "Here's the top story for you—the major port in Bharata was attacked."
Charles raised an eyebrow, information about that country immediately surfacing in his mind.
Bharata—a huge nation about four thousand kilometers to the west of Liberl Port.
Most of its territory sat in the subtropics, lush and green—less than half the size of the Empire of Sein, but its population rivaled Sein's at its peak.
Now, as Sein declined, they proudly claimed to be "the world's largest country."
There's been constant rivalry between Bharata and Sein, their heartlands separated by the mile-high Ridgecrest Plateau. Bharata always claimed it was their holy mountain, but the records showed that for thousands of years, no matter how Sein shattered or split, the plateau was at best autonomous—and never really Bharata's.
The country also had a unique caste system. As a result, the population was mostly sorted into four groups:
At the top were Elephants—revered as living gods, able to drive sacred war-elephants, worshipped throughout the land as the true ruling class.
Second came Minotaurs—Bharata's steel-working wasn't advanced, so the minotaurs' strength and endurance kept them on top in both labor and war.
Third were 'others'—Heng River Tribe humans, outsider races, and every foreigner, who earned some respect but always had to make way for the first two.
Lowest of all were the self-proclaimed "Heng River Tribe," the ethnic humans who considered the great Heng River their mother and their faith. There were over a hundred million of them—yet, astonishingly, they lived at the bottom of the ladder.
Oddly, these were the people most loyal to their country.
Some strange cultural reasoning made them believe they had ten-thousand years of history—older than Sein, even the elves. This claim was famous, but lacking in archaeological evidence, so it was usually chalked up as Bharatan braggadocio.
Charles frowned at the newspaper's report. Knowing the country's reputation for exaggerated stories, he couldn't help but mutter, "Bharata? For real? Or is this just some local squabble overblown for headlines again?"
Buying sheep in the east, mourning in the west—Bharata was infamous for this sort of rumor-mongering.
Sephera shook her head. "Doesn't seem like it. There was no rumor beforehand, and everything about this feels strange."
"News commentators have offered every kind of analysis. I have a feeling this might be just the prologue to something much bigger, so I wanted to warn you, Master."
She gently squatted down beside the table and, as she did, slowly undid Charles's belt. "Master, you read the news. Let me help you relax."
Without missing a beat, she freed his already-growing dragon, her delicate, forked tongue swirling around the head before taking it whole into her mouth.
Charles leaned back, one hand cradling the paper, the other resting idly as Sephera's attentive mouth worked its magic. The more he read, the deeper his frown grew—this wasn't like anything he'd seen before.
A wild guess flashed in his mind.
Was it possible… the disaster had been caused by the fallen prince he'd deliberately left sleeping?
No way.
But… not impossible, either. Especially since the prince's brother was awake and he'd never bothered to check that guy's status—truthfully, he'd been too scared. That place not only had the death knight—but also an ancient silver dragon-turned-dracolich, plus a small army.
With a dracolich's breath and a few swings from the death knight, he'd be instantly wiped out. Not worth the risk.
Much as he wanted Purification Points, he had a moral duty to protect his battle nuns.
And besides, no one claimed that territory. Even Liberl Port left it alone. Charles had told Anno, she'd reported it to Blackstaff Tower, but when she and Charles set out, they'd gone alone—Blackstaff Tower never sent a single soldier, making it plain they considered it out of their jurisdiction.
Now, knowing that so many far-off people were suffering undead horrors, his heart felt heavy and miserable. He buried his face in the newspaper, shut out every other sense, and focused on the pleasure Sephera's small mouth brought—
—Until he finally reached his peak and released within her.
"Ah…"
Sephera looked up, swallowing every drop, then gently cleaned him off before rising, gathering the newspaper and empty cup. "Master, keep up the good work!~"
Charles nodded absently, watching her leave. He let out a long sigh, tried to study, but found he couldn't focus.
After thinking it over, he finally decided to give up on spells for now. Rising, he called out, "Andny, let Hattie know—we're going to Garbage Island to check it out!"
Andny responded immediately. Hattie dropped everything and rushed to the port, prepared a small boat, and gunned the engine, speeding toward Garbage Island at full throttle.
A day later, over Garbage Island.
Charles looked down from above at the shattered ruins—and at what little remained of the undead. He couldn't help but cover his face.
Crap. The death knight really did awaken. And he already left!
He took his undead army with him!
West from here—just over three thousand kilometers—you'd hit Bharata's coast. Given the timeline, even marching along the seafloor, they'd have gotten there by now.
Which meant…the Port Kendra massacre really was the work of the fallen prince?
The thought made Charles's scalp tingle.
Crap! In the game, this never happened—he never went berserk and marched an army around the world!
What now?
No point in panicking. All he could do was brace himself and prepare.
"Let's head back," he said, sighing. Beside him, Hattie sensed his mood and said nothing, instead casting magic to speed their boat's return.
On the way home, Charles didn't waste a second. He flipped out Vajra's badge and sent a message: "My lord, can you hear me?"
"Yes, hello—it's urgent. I have a gut feeling that a crisis on par with the Montport disaster is closing in on this world, fast."
"Yes, as soon as I return, I'll report in at Blackstaff Tower."
...
Bharata, Jaipur.
The third largest city in eastern Bharata, covering over ten thousand square kilometers; an ancient city, steeped in Bharata's oldest and strangest beliefs—many of them can be traced to this place.
For example, the greatest behemoths in Bharata—those holy war-elephants descended from the heroic ancestors of the elephant people—could only be driven by elephant-folk.
Typically, this city was crowded but peaceful, with the hardworking able to get by.
But today, calm was broken. The streets were blockaded, people huddled inside, terrified to set foot outside.
Word had spread: the entire city—perhaps even the whole nation of over a hundred million—was at risk. A horde of undead, millions strong, was marching directly toward them.
The undead had already destroyed the largest port—Port Kendra. Massive flows of refugees fled inland, and Jaipur was one of their main destinations.
Rumors and horror stories spread like wildfire, and the whole city shivered in fear, worried Jaipur would be the next city to fall.
No matter how hard the authorities tried to calm them, only victory would end the terror.
"Pah! These peasants can barely hold their weapons. How are they supposed to defend our city?"
Atop the twelve-meter-high wall, a plate-armored elephant commander over two meters tall—with only his eyes and long trunk showing—spat in contempt as he looked down at the trembling human soldiers, clad in leather armor, fumbling with bows.
"Sharma, don't be so harsh."
Another elephant-folk, equally tall and armored, approached with a gentle voice. "They've never seen the power of the great holy elephants. Being afraid of undead is only natural."
Sharma snorted. "That's why humans are naturally a low-born race. When the holy elephants trample the enemy, these guys will be left cowering on their knees, completely useless to the fight!"
The other elephant offered no comment. "Enough complaining. Get ready. The prophet says the undead arrive today."
Sharma wanted to retort, but suddenly froze; even without a telescope, he could see the undead horde, an endless wave, approaching in the distance!
They had arrived!
In less than a month, the undead army had swelled from thousands to over a million. Not only did they wipe out the nation's largest port city, but Bharata's chaotic state gave necromancers free reign.
The vast majority of the country's humans faced ruthless discrimination and oppression; order was nearly impossible to maintain. Bandits, rapists—even human-on-lizard atrocities—were common.
Poor sanitation claimed countless lives on the riverbanks. The nation's death rate was always high; it was only a strange, persistent faith and a shockingly high birth rate that had kept the people from dying out completely.
~~~
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