In the northern reaches of the Mandrake Duchy lay the capital of the Snowveil Principality — once famed as the "Herbal Capital," known throughout the land for its vast fields of medicinal plants.
Now, it was nothing but ruins.
Blood and corpses littered the streets — beastmen and humans alike.
Inside the shattered royal castle, several figures cloaked in black robes stood in a circle.
Each held a lantern crafted from bone, its sickly flame flickering faintly as they gathered around a blood-drawn magic circle.
Dark, unsettling energy flowed continuously from their palms into the circle, and as the magic built up, the formation began to twist and writhe like a living thing.
From time to time, crimson tentacles would erupt from the blood pattern, forcing the robed magi to immediately blast them apart with bursts of energy before they could lash out.
No one knew how long this grim ritual lasted.
Eventually, the chaotic transformations began to subside — the tentacles retracted, giving way to dense layers of fleshy growths that spread across the circle's surface.
Up close, one could even see them pulsing rhythmically, as though the formation itself had grown a beating heart.
At that moment, a crow with blood-red eyes swooped in through a shattered window and landed on the shoulder of the lead cultist.
"Caw— Caw! News from the Mandrake Duchy!" the crow croaked in a raspy, almost human voice.
"The Grand Duke's eldest son is suspected of being one of our own! Three days ago, he broke open the Golden City's northern gate leading to the Free Kingdom, likely to lure the undead swarm through!
Bazel the Bishop has gone to investigate. He claims his Vice Bishop went missing months ago during a relic exchange with the Sacrificial Kingdom.
This 'young lord' who suddenly appeared might be connected to his subordinate, Allen. Caw~"
"Bazel's man?"
The old cultist muttered, his voice dry and creaking like bark scraping against bark.
"Tell that fool to deal with his own node before he interferes again. The Church's grand design must not falter — or the Scarlet Bishop will make sure his death is slow."
"Caw— caw! He already expected you'd say that," the crow replied smugly, flapping its wings. "And told me to deliver a message to you— caw~!"
The crow paused, cleared its throat like an actor preparing to mimic a voice, and then, in a much younger tone, it spoke:
"Old man, mind your own damn business. Just do your part."
"Ahem… caw~ that's it. Caw."
"W–Which bastard said that?!"
The old cultist's breath faltered with rage. He lost control of his energy for a split second, and immediately the circle reacted — a dozen tentacles burst forth, lashing toward him violently.
Fortunately, the other cultists were quick to respond, blasting the tendrils apart before they could pierce their leader.
"Ugh! You— go inform the Scarlet Bishop!" the old man snarled. "I don't care if Bazel wants to get himself killed, but he must not ruin our Church's millennia-long plan!"
"Caw caw, the Scarlet Bishop already knows," the crow said innocently. "She said to tell you to focus on your own task."
"What? She already knows? Wait— don't tell me—"
The old man froze, turning his withered face sharply toward the bird.
Beneath his hood, two bulging eyes widened so much it looked as though they might pop out of his skull.
"You— damn it! You're my familiar! You received word and didn't tell me first, but went to her instead?!"
The crow blinked its red eyes innocently and replied, its voice full of self-righteous conviction:
"All for the glory of the Holy Church."
Meanwhile, deep within the Beast Forest near Heim City, Hel and Niv walked silently through the shadows of the trees.
The soft crunch of fallen leaves echoed beneath their boots as twilight gradually gave way to night.
Navigating the forest after dark was no simple feat — but for them, it posed no problem.
One was an undead witch; the other, a mechanical doll. Both could see clearly in the dark.
After traveling for a while, they met no obstacles.
The forest, once teeming with dangerous magical beasts, had been ravaged twice — first by Arwin's cleansing expedition, then by the beastmen's rampage.
Now, even ordinary animals were scarce.
When they had gone far enough that Heim's lights were no longer visible, Hel finally stopped.
At once, Niv raised her hand — and a swarm of mechanical spiders scuttled out from the shadows behind them, fanning out across the forest floor with metallic precision.
It had been several days since Hel had sent off the Grand Duke's "prince" and his entourage.
By now, those two fools should have reached the Free Kingdom's heartland — likely busy recruiting the undead, believing themselves commanders of doom.
What they would never realize, however, was that the undead plague they summoned was about to be intercepted — by none other than Hel herself.
Of course, she wasn't stupid enough to steal control right at the Golden City.
Even if she had wanted to, she wouldn't have been able to.
On the very day after the undead breached the city, the Sacrificial Kingdom had mobilized.
They seized Mandrake's capital, retook the Golden City overnight, and restored order with terrifying efficiency — rivaling that of a five-star general from Hel's past life.
And with the new year approaching, Hel had no intention of letting her plans drag on.
She wanted to finish her "work" early and go home to enjoy a peaceful holiday.
As for what kind of "work" she meant?
Well — she was about to do something unspeakably devious to the undead legions.
As one of the most powerful necromancers alive, Hel's expertise in manipulating the dead was second to none.
For instance, she could embed hidden backdoors deep within a soul — invisible and dormant unless she chose to activate them.
Until then, the undead would behave like any other wild corpse.
But once triggered, she could seize control instantly.
Or, if she were feeling particularly malicious, she could plant curses, plagues, or hexes within their essence — traps that would unleash misery on anyone foolish enough to "adopt" a cute little skeleton as a pet.
There was even the possibility that the entire Free Kingdom's undead army was already under someone's control.
The Witch of the Underworld, that sly old fox, might have pretended to cast a simple Undead Plague spell — one that spread quickly but lacked fine control —
when in truth, she could have been using it to weave a soul network, watching every corner of the Free Kingdom through her undead minions.
If that were true, then capturing those undead wasn't as simple as sending two zealots to recruit them.
That was why Hel had come here — to build her own filter, right along the undead's migration path.
Through this "soul sieve," she would extract and capture only those undead suitable for her use —
leaving the rest to wander freely like the cannon fodder they were.