The sun had long since set when everything finally ended. The crimson dusk had been replaced by a curtain of pitch-black night, and only the metallic scent of blood drifting through the air remained as proof of how brutal the battle had been.
My body was soaked in sweat mixed with the blood of my enemies.
Around me, the ground was littered with corpses. They lay scattered like discarded, broken dolls, and I knew well that most of them died by my hand. I stood among them, breathing hard, my sword still dripping thick, sluggish darkness.
I lifted my face toward the starless night sky and shouted, calling out to whatever remained of my troops, if any still existed.
"HEY! ANYONE STILL ALIVE!?"
My voice echoed across the barren field, then vanished without an answer.
One hundred men. One hundred subordinates. One hundred soldiers who followed my orders without hesitation.
And now, one hundred bodies lay as proof of how insane this night had been. Facing more than five hundred trained Mordune soldiers? Of course the outcome looked like this. I wasn't even sure how I survived and was still breathing.
I walked slowly, stepping between the bodies scattered everywhere. The smell of death was so strong it felt like it seeped into my lungs. Amid the pile, I found someone I had hoped I wouldn't have to find.
Collin. My vice-commander. The man who had shoved an antidote down my throat earlier while rambling about his upcoming marriage, now lay dead.
His body was sprawled out, stomach split open. He had clearly died in a brutal, agonizing struggle.
"…Collin…" I muttered.
I knelt. And just as I reached out to close his eyes, his body… moved.
Collin's hand slowly lifted, and the head that should not have been able to move turned toward me with a series of sickening sounds that no living creature should make.
My eyes widened, and I said, "Collin, did you come back to life because you don't want to see your fiancée marry another man?"
Collin growled and tried to grab my throat. I simply sighed, rose to my feet, and severed his head cleanly.
"This isn't funny," I said flatly.
But before his head hit the ground, I sensed something far worse. Movement from every direction.
Hundreds of corpses—both my soldiers and the enemy—began to move almost at the same time. They rose slowly, lifting their heads, arms, legs… like puppets being tugged upright by an unseen puppeteer.
I narrowed my eyes. "A necromancer…"
The corpses began to swarm me in endless waves. I swung my blade, cutting them down one by one. Faces of my men flashed between the attacks, but now, they were nothing more than dolls moved by another's will.
I cut them without hesitation.
Fortunately, they were much weaker than they had been in life. I could kill them in a single casual swing. But…
There was a problem.
Every time I cut them down, their bodies fell, writhed… then pulled back together. Flesh and bone slithered like mud dragged by a magnet, reforming their original shapes.
"This is annoying…" I hissed, stepping back.
I wasn't heavily injured, but exhaustion clung to me like a parasite. My mana was nearly drained, and I couldn't use Severance freely.
The corpses flooded toward me, attacking from every angle. Closing in, forming a tight circle, sealing off every escape.
I grit my teeth. Then I channeled the last trickle of mana I had into my eyes. The world around me shifted. The darkness of night splintered into faint layers of energy, and among the soot-like haze of deathly aura, I searched for… one point.
The source of this chaos.
The bastard controlling all of this.
"Disgusting necromancer…" I muttered, my eyes glowing faintly.
Once I locked onto it, I moved. My body shot through the horde of undead, my sword slicing, shattering, breaking the rotten bodies that barred my path.
Behind a shallow dip in the terrain, hidden among thick weeds, I found him.
A skinny man with long, tangled hair like a crow's nest. His black robe swallowed the moonlight, making him nearly blend into the shadows. His eyes bulged when he saw me step out of the darkness—bloody, but still standing.
Yet what caught my attention more than his fear… was the thing in his hand.
An object the size of a chicken egg, pitch black like liquid obsidian. Inside it, a dark red whirlpool spun slowly, like the pupil of some colossal beast stirring from ancient slumber. Its surface gleamed faintly, as if something behind the glass was trying to peer out.
"…Oh Hope. Grant me the power to crush this blasphemous soul, destroy the one who dares disturb Your sacred rite—"
I scoffed coldly. "Are you praying to a god… or to a demon hoping to kill me?"
He didn't get to answer.
SHIKH!
I severed both his arms. They fell like brittle twigs. The black object tumbled to the ground with a thud, as if it had unnatural weight.
The necromancer screamed, but I didn't give him the time to mourn his limbs. Behind me, dozens of undead began sprinting, crawling, writhing toward us.
I kicked him. His thin body flew back, rolling onto the ground.
I stepped forward, slammed my boot onto his chest, hard enough to knock the breath from him, and stabbed my sword into the earth beside his neck, the blade grazing his skin just enough to draw warm blood.
"Stop," I growled. "Stop your rotten power now, or I'll carve you apart piece by piece while you watch."
He trembled violently, gasping. With wild, panicked eyes, he shifted his focus, or perhaps broke whatever connection he had to the undead.
Instantly, the dense mana pressure in the air vanished. The footsteps and motion behind me stopped. Hundreds of bodies collapsed all at once, crashing to the ground in a chorus of dull, heavy thuds.
The necromancer beneath my boot sighed in relief, only for that relief to twist into a wild, manic grin.
"Fool!" he spat, blood pouring from his missing arms and torn neck. "The ritual is already complete! Five hundred souls, the perfect offering! Give up, Mad Dog! The Angel of Salvation will descend and grant me limitless power! I will spare you if you kneel now!"
I stared at him. Then, without changing expression, I lifted my sword and stabbed it into one of his eyes.
Kchuck.
"ARGHHHH...."
His scream shattered the night, shriller and longer than before. He writhed, cursed, swore vengeance.
"Quiet," I said simply. "Now answer. My squad arrived here only recently. How did you know our position well enough to prepare an ambush? Who gave you the location?"
He hissed, glaring, refusing to speak.
I sighed. "So you're deaf, huh?"
I swung my blade and sliced off one of his ears. He shrieked. Blood spattered the dirt.
"I can mince you if you insist," I said plainly.
"Y–you… you said you wouldn't…!" he sobbed.
I looked at him like an insect attempting to negotiate. "Me? Said that? Don't remember. Maybe it was your ear."
Then I cut off the other one.
He spasmed, body quivering from pain. I leaned down, staring at him closely. The moonlight cast my reflection into his remaining eye: my cheek covered in rough scratches, forming a shape reminiscent of an inhuman smile.
His remaining pupil widened. He recognized me. The nightmarish rumors—about the Smiling Knight who carved his enemies apart, who tortured without mercy—became horrifyingly real and personal. Terror deeper than pain gripped him. He shook uncontrollably.
"You're right," I whispered, soft but clear. "You did summon an angel. I am your angel of death."
That broke him completely. His jaw trembled, and he finally spoke. Answering every question without resistance… without pride.
But then something else happened.
At first I didn't notice it. Only a subtle change in the air… cold… heavy. The wind stopped. The smell of blood thickened. The world fell silent.
Then I saw them.
Across the battlefield… souls began to rise.
Without faces. Without eyes.
Hundreds of them stood in ghostly silence, like shadows given mist-like form.
None spoke. None moved.
But all of them turned toward me, as if staring at me without eyes.
I stood among them, my boot still pressing down on the necromancer's chest.