The Genesis Of A Necromancer - Chapter 140

Chapter 140: Throne Game
The tent’s air was heavy with tension, the kind that made even seasoned leaders shift uneasily in their seats. The circular table at the center, an ornate piece carved from dark, enchanted wood, bore the weight of both maps and tempers.

“How could such a thing even happen?!” The King of Beasts roared, his voice reverberating through the canvas walls like a caged lion’s growl. His massive fist slammed onto the table, rattling the intricate array sketches strewn across its surface. “How is it possible? I thought the church and its people were resistant to the corrupt energy flowing through these planes!”

The other leaders exchanged glances, their expressions betraying mixtures of anger, disbelief, and frustration. Though no one mirrored the King of Beasts’ outburst, the tension on their faces was undeniable. Among the grim expressions, one figure stood out. The King of Swords leaned back in his chair, a faint, almost mocking smile curling his lips.

“What did you expect?” he drawled, his tone laced with derision. “The church always prides itself on its self-proclaimed purity and indispensability. And now look where that arrogance has brought us—their so-called Holy Lady corrupted, and we’re all dragged into her mess.”

Drack and Aldermond, the Alchemist King and the King of Blades, exchanged a knowing look but remained silent. Everyone present was well aware of the longstanding animosity between the Avalonian Kingdom and the church. The King of Swords was notorious for using any opportunity to slander the ecclesiastical order. Yet, this time, even they couldn’t entirely fault his criticism. Trust in the church had led them to this precarious situation, and the bitter taste of disappointment lingered in the air.

Carlos, however, showed no visible reaction to the insult. The church’s representative and commander of this coalition, he merely cast a glance at the King of Swords before addressing the group in a steady, unyielding tone.

“Regardless of opinions,” Carlos began, “the moment the Holy Lady is sighted, she is to be executed. Her corpse will be returned to the church for cleansing. That is my decree.”

His words cut through the murmurs like a blade. The finality in his voice left no room for argument. The leaders stiffened, their dissatisfaction evident, but none openly challenged him. Even the King of Swords, though seething, refrained from further provocation. The opportunity to spark a confrontation with Carlos had slipped away, leaving only smoldering embers of frustration.

“Very well,” Aldermond said at last, releasing a weary sigh. “We will issue the command to our forces.”

Carlos nodded and left the tent without a backward glance, his robes trailing behind him like shadows. His departure left a void in the room, an oppressive silence that lingered until the kings began to disperse one by one.

The King of Swords departed in stiff, simmering silence. Drack and Aldermond remained behind, their expressions contemplative as the tent’s flaps closed, muting the noise of the camp beyond.

“It seems my sister is in good health,” Drack remarked casually, taking a sip from the cup of tea before him. The Alchemist King’s voice was calm, measured, and utterly unbothered by the chaos unfolding around them.

Aldermond’s lips twitched into a strained smile. “She is, though trouble brews in the court. Some of the higher nobles are plotting to unseat me and my family.”

Drack raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “The Duke? Is that why his successor is here?” His tone was conversational, but his eyes betrayed sharp calculation.

Aldermond’s jaw tightened. “You’ve seen it for yourself. Umbra is here under the guise of aiding our forces, but I suspect he’s gathering information. They’re looking for any weakness in our family.”

Drack’s expression didn’t waver. “And your son? Have you warned him?”

“Of course,” Aldermond replied grimly. “Arin knows to keep his distance and say nothing. But the rumors… they’re already spreading. The whispers about my firstborn’s lack of magic power have only fueled their ambitions. If I hand the throne to Arin, it will confirm their suspicions. They’ll claim our bloodline’s magic is fading.”

Drack tapped a finger against the rim of his cup, his eyes narrowing. “Do you regret it? Bringing him here?”

Aldermond’s shoulders sagged. “Regret doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. But I do question my decisions. Sometimes I think it would have been better if that boy had died at birth.”

Drack didn’t react to the harsh statement. Instead, he offered a measured response. “We both know what’s at stake. The Duke’s camp won’t act openly unless they’re certain of success. But you’re playing a dangerous game. If Umbra discovers anything significant, it could spell the end for your house.”

“I’ve made preparations,” Aldermond said firmly. “If the time comes, I’ll act decisively. I won’t let my family’s legacy crumble under my watch.”

Drack studied him for a moment before nodding. “Good. But remember, this campaign offers you a chance to strengthen your position. If Arin proves himself against the demons, the mages will spread the word of his prowess. That could turn the tide in your favor.”

“That was one of the reasons I brought him,” Aldermond admitted. “And it’s also why the Duke sent Umbra. They’re trying to outshine us.”

Drack smirked faintly. “A lot will happen in these planes, far more than any of us anticipated. The angels—furious about the artifact stolen by the Holy Lady—are preparing to attack. The demon overlords continue their games, toying with humanity. And here we are, mortals, fighting battles on foreign soil while the earth we left behind teeters on the brink.”

He took another sip of tea, only to find the cup empty. He tilted it slightly, peering inside with a faint frown. “Ah, it’s finished.”

Setting the cup down, Drack rose to his feet. “I’ve done what I can. The rest is up to you all.”

Aldermond watched him leave, the weight of their conversation settling heavily on his shoulders. Outside, the camp’s noises seemed distant, muffled by the grim thoughts swirling in his mind. As the flap of the tent fell shut, he couldn’t help but wonder if any of them would survive the days to come—and whether the alliances forged here would hold when the true battle began.

——-

Jack stared at the large castle with awe. Even he didn’t expect to find a castle of such caliber inside the planes, yet here it stood before him.

The walls were made of smooth black stones, ones that blended well with the atmosphere of the planes. It was wide and looked to be very exquisite. If anything, it appeared even more grand than his castle back at home.

After admiring the beautiful castle for a few seconds, Zamazo led them inside. The two guards who stood by the gates didn’t say a word as their master passed, carrying three humans with him. They could only ponder silently to themselves.

As soon as they entered the castle, Jack paused, causing Alisha and Missy, who were behind him, to stop as well.

“I’ll have Hegen give both of you a room. Refresh yourselves, and when you’re done, we will discuss our next plan. With the sands from the temple, let’s see what direction the map will show us next. I have a feeling things are going to get worse soon—much worse,” Jack said as he walked behind Zamazo, leaving the two.