Volume 9 Chapter 7 The Stirring of the Ghostly Host
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
The Quvarian Empire’s Western Frontier Overseer—a post now held by Rex Velacoat, aide to the Minister of Military Affairs Roshima—was not a man of noble lineage. Yet, through years of blood-soaked campaigns, deft logistics, and steady governance, he had won his Emperor’s trust. That trust had been shattered once before; his predecessor, who failed to anticipate the Lesta Kingdom’s invasion and abandoned McGaref to its fate, had already been executed.
From the beginning, I had harbored deep misgivings about the ghostly host being gathered for McGaref’s defense. At Roshima’s order, I had probed the truth behind the Underworld summoning festering in the Depths of the Labyrinth, but true knowledge was impossible to grasp. The First Emperor of Quvar, and the Eternal Witch Cartera, regarded mere descendants of their vassals as less than insects.
In theory, my post demanded that I uphold order along the western frontier. In truth, my duty was to act as a brake upon the First Emperor’s reckless will. A duty I had failed to fulfill.
Now the Emperor’s spectral legions had swelled to tens of thousands, straining at the leash, eager to march. By the time I realized the extent of their strength, it was already too late.
”It’s hopeless,” I muttered past midnight in my lamp-lit office, my gaze dragging from Roshima’s coded missive. “The First Emperor’s host has grown beyond control. The frontier army is nothing before it.” The letter’s command was stark: By any means, prevent His Majesty from further enlarging his army or launching a reckless assault. It also warned of the Empire’s precarious position—tensions with the Gonan Kingdom, unrest on the eastern and southern fronts, and the dangerous depletion of magic stone reserves. We could not afford escalation. Yet what power did I have to stop it?
I fed the parchment to the fire.
Exhaustion clawed at me—days without rest spent chasing rumors of the undead. But urgency permitted no pause.
”Sheryl’s efforts to dissuade them… I am grateful,” I sighed, clutching my head. “But will it be in time?” We had to stall until Princess Sheryl herself arrived.
”At dawn, I’ll ride to the labyrinth outpost and confront them directly,” I told myself. The thought weighed on me like iron.
* * *
We rode under a sky still heavy with night, knights flanking me as we turned not toward McGaref but toward the concealed labyrinth nearby, secretly linked to its five great halls.
”My lord, the army has grown… it could destroy the world itself,” one of my men reported.
”Every day, their numbers swell at an unnatural pace,” another added.
”They’ve already formed into a Fourth Division, perhaps thirty to fifty thousand strong.”
The words pressed down like stones. I still half-doubted the reports—until we entered.
The labyrinth opened into a barren plain. The air changed instantly, carrying an indescribable stench that made the living shudder. Terror prickled my skin. Ahead rose rows of vast tents—grey, black, and crimson, like dried blood. Silent guardians stood watch, but no laughter, no idle chatter, no trace of life stirred within.
”Is there no one to guide us?” asked a knight.
A warrior-shaped specter turned stiffly, his face a shriveled, pallid husk beneath the helmet. He raised a hand, bidding us halt. More gathered, staring with hollow menace, neither hostile nor welcoming.
I stepped forward. “I am Rex Velacoat, Overseer of the Quvarian Western Frontier. By order of Minister Roshima, I request audience with His Majesty the First Emperor and the Eternal Witch Cartera.”
The dead exchanged no glances, no murmurs. Then, from nowhere, a rasping voice ordered, “Let them pass.” The line of tents opened.
Inside, the air was thick with incense smoke. A throne dominated the chamber. Beside it stood an armored figure, radiating menace. Not the Emperor himself, but another.
”His Majesty is elsewhere. Who are you?” demanded a thin, death-pale general, voice rasping yet sharp as a blade. His eyes glowed with unsettling light.
”I am Rex Velacoat, Western Overseer of Quvar,” I said, forcing my voice steady.
”Hah. An overseer? If you seek audience, bring Roshima himself,” the specter sneered, skull-like face twisting in disdain.
”Forgive me. And you are—?”
”I am Grano, the Black Flame General. And that is Belhart, the Sword King of midnight steel.”
The names struck me like thunder. Legends—the undefeated general who crushed empires, and the greatest swordsman of our age. Now reduced to undead, yet still commanding awe.
Belhart’s voice cut through the smoky air. “A mere vassal. You’ve come to beg us to stay our hand, haven’t you? Pathetic. We see right through your groveling.”
”Yes… by the Minister’s order, I implore restraint,” I admitted.
Belhart’s armor rang as he stepped forward, sword upon his shoulder. “Since when has Quvar sunk so low? Shall our glory be halted by a sniveling bureaucrat?”
Grano sneered. “Our armies are ready. His Majesty and Cartera wait only for the signal. Whatever you say is buzzing fly’s noise.”
I tried, desperate: “Blind destruction will only doom Quvar. Enemies surround us on all fronts—”
”Spare us,” Grano snapped. “We accounted for that when we opened the Underworld. His Majesty knows. We shall ravage. That is Quvar’s way.”
Belhart’s killing intent pressed like a blade at my throat. My knights’ hands drifted toward hilts, but to draw steel here was suicide.
”…At least let me deliver Princess Sheryl’s letter to His Majesty,” I pleaded. “She will arrive herself within days. Please, grant him sight of her hand.”
”His Majesty waits deeper in the labyrinth,” Grano replied coldly. “He will not waste time on worms.”
”Leave. Come again and die where you stand.”
I bit my lip until it bled. My orders had failed before they even began.
”Very well,” I whispered.
”Leave the princess’s letter. If it bears her hand, His Majesty may find it amusing. When she arrives, bring her. If war has not begun by then.”
Outside, the guards stood in silent ranks, but did not strike. Their orders were clear: drive us off, not destroy. I turned without a word, retreating into the suffocating silence of the labyrinth. Only when we emerged did my knights’ faces show relief mingled with fear.
”What now, my lord?” one asked.
”…We withdraw. Sheryl’s letter is delivered. Now the rest lies with the Minister.”
I mounted my horse. Hooves thundered across the plain, echoing in place of the dreadful stillness. Above, dark clouds swirled, as if heaven itself mirrored the world’s descent.
”Ride hard,” I ordered. “Report to Sheryl and Roshima at once. We cannot stop them. The First Emperor is an ally who is no ally at all.”
My men nodded grimly. Perhaps, if word flew swiftly, Roshima could yet act. But could anything halt the dead?
Back at my quarters, I penned the report, though fatigue weighed upon every stroke. The generals’ mocking words burned in my ears—insect, worm, worthless vassal. Rage curdled into emptiness. Still, I could not indulge despair. Only swift warning could buy hope.
”…Please, let there be peace for Quvar… for this world,” I prayed.
Yet prayers do not still the blade.
By noon my corpse was discovered—struck down in silence by Alma Ria, the Witch of the Dead Hand, who acted without sanction. My death plunged the Western Frontier Army into chaos, its stabilizing tether cut.
And the ghostly host stirred.
Notes:
• Quvarian Empire – Ruling kingdom. Harsh world, restricted freedom.
• Lesta Kingdom – A kingdom neighboring the Quvarian Empire; currently at war with the Seron Dukedom and potentially the Empire.
• McGaref – Fortress city, adventurer hub.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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