Grand Duke's son, Everton, was utterly confused.
He didn't know why he was suddenly on horseback, nor did he know where he was headed.
From the moment he had "woken up," his mind had been hazy, as though he had forgotten something important.
Behind him, Switt was equally bewildered.
Something felt wrong — the Duke's son shouldn't be here at all. After all, how could a dead man possibly ride again?
But when he tried to recall when exactly the Duke's son had died, his memory went blank.
Maybe, he told himself, his hatred for the Duke's son ran too deep.
Maybe he had dreamed of killing him, and now couldn't tell dream from reality.
That had to be it — that was the only explanation that made sense.
And so, in their dazed state, both men rode along with the column, neither of them knowing where they were going or why.
No one knew how much time passed before a scout galloped up from the front of the formation.
"Lord Everton! We're approaching the Golden City!"
"The Golden City? Why are we going there?"
Everton frowned, but to maintain his dignity, he didn't question it aloud. He simply nodded and stayed silent.
Still, he thought, perhaps this isn't so bad. If he met with Marquis Gold there, he could request reinforcements.
Wait — why was I traveling in the first place?
He rubbed his temple, the dull ache behind his eyes refusing to fade.
Something was terribly wrong, but with the army still marching through this desolate countryside, there wasn't a doctor to be found.
He decided he would endure it for now. Once he returned to the capital, he'd go straight to the church and have them check whatever strange ailment this was.
The army pressed onward for some time, until at last, the towering walls of the Golden City came into view.
But the sight before them was far from the glory Everton remembered.
The walls were broken and stained with blood. Corpses littered the battlements. The northern section had even collapsed entirely.
"This is the Golden City? Didn't the Marquis say he held the walls?"
Everton scowled. Judging by the ruins, the city had been completely overrun. Even if the marquis still clung to life in the inner keep, what good could he possibly do?
"Lord Everton," the scout reported dutifully, "the beastmen launched a fierce assault. Marquis Gold was forced to withdraw into the inner city.
Though the beastmen have since retreated, the outer walls were too heavily damaged to defend, so he chose not to retake them."
"I see…"
Everton nodded and said nothing more, spurring his horse toward the city gates.
Behind him, the rest of the knights followed in an orderly column.
They galloped through the ruined streets until they reached the city's southern gate, where the portly Marquis Gold was already waiting.
"Lord Everton!" The marquis's round face broke into a sycophantic smile as he bowed deeply.
"You must be exhausted from your journey. I've prepared fine wine and a grand feast at my castle — please, do me the honor of attending."
His tone was oily, his grin obsequious. As a long-time supporter of Everton's faction, Marquis Gold was determined to stay in his good graces.
If his "investment" paid off, Everton would soon be the next Duke of Mandrake — and the marquis fully intended to secure his favor early.
As for the "errand" he'd been asked to handle concerning Hel… that wasn't the kind of thing one discussed in daylight.
Politics was politics — but flattery was survival.
"It's been a long time, Marquis Gold."
Everton didn't dismount; he merely nodded curtly before riding past him, straight through the gate and into the city.
A cloud of dust followed in his wake, leaving the marquis coughing and blinking behind him.
But he didn't take offense — instead, he smiled and hurried after the young lord, wobbling atop a small, overburdened pony.
The entourage made its way through half the ruined city before reaching the central square.
To the right lay the road to the inner keep; straight ahead stood another wall — this one intact.
Unlike the north, the southern defenses were completely unharmed, pristine even, as though no battle had ever touched them.
"Marquis Gold," Everton called.
The marquis puffed and wheezed as his short legs struggled to keep the tiny pony moving.
"Y-Yes, Lord Everton, what are your orders?"
"That wall up ahead — the beastmen didn't attack it?" Everton asked, pointing his riding crop toward it.
"Ah, no, of course not, my lord!" The marquis chuckled nervously. "That side faces the Free Kingdom, you see — and, well, the Free Kingdom is currently… overrun with undead.
Even those savage beastmen wouldn't dare touch that wall. If they breached it and let the undead through, the entire Mandrake domain would become another Free Kingdom overnight!"
"The Undead Scourge of the Free Kingdom…"
Everton's expression darkened. He turned his horse toward the inner city, intending to leave at once.
But before he could move, a whisper echoed through his mind — faint at first, then overwhelming.
His vision blurred. His thoughts clouded.
Without realizing it, he raised his whip and lashed at his horse's flank.
The stallion screamed and charged forward — straight toward the southern wall.
A thunderous explosion followed.
When Everton's senses returned, he found himself at the base of the opposite gate — his sword drawn, its blade wreathed in tendrils of inky-black energy.
Before him, the massive gate of the southern wall lay in ruins — shattered into a thousand fragments.
Gasps and screams erupted all around as the debris settled, revealing what lay beyond.
An endless tide of undead.
Corpses, skeletons, wights — a sea of death spilling through the breach.
"What… what have I done?"
Everton stared at his trembling hands, at the sword still dripping with dark, unholy power.
Behind him came a furious bellow.
"Damn you, Everton! What have you done!? Do you want to drag the entire Mandrake domain into the grave with you, you lunatic!?"
Marquis Gold's voice cracked with rage. "How could old Lord Mandrake have fathered such a fool? He'd have been better off with a howling baboon for a son—!"
His curses grew uglier by the second, spitting filth and fury in equal measure. He no longer cared for titles or respect — he just wanted to kill the man before him.
But it was far too late.
Through the shattered gate poured the endless army of the dead, flooding into the Golden City like a tide of decay.