A powerful necromancer could dominate a human soul through a subjugation contract, turning the individual into a vassal to serve as a slave. Such tales were common in various tales. Necromancers would capture adventurers and torture them to the brink, ultimately turning them into serve as tools of evil. Naturally, Serati was horrified. Become a necromancer's vassal? It was unthinkable—something she could never accept. To reject the offer outright, the absence of her arms felt too overwhelming, and the bleakness of her future too unbearable. Could succumbing to darkness really be worse than living a miserable life without her arms? Serati stammered, her voice trembling. "If I were to become your vassal... could I really regain my arms?" Karnak hesitated for a moment before answering. "Yes." In truth, even necromancy couldn’t easily restore severed limbs. Not because it was inherently difficult, but because necromancers never saw the need to develop such techniques. Typically, they’d just graft another corpse's limb or conjure an entirely new arm of darkness—it was far simpler. Why would an evil necromancer take the trouble to consider the life of their subject, let alone pursue a more complex solution? But Karnak was different. He had the ability to fully restore Serati's lost arms, even with his meager current necrotic power. After all, he had done so countless times for Varos in the past. Varos had lost his limbs in combat quite often. Despite having a foul mouth, Varos was the only truly loyal soul Karnak could trust in his previous life. He had poured all his efforts into perfecting regenerative necromancy, refusing to leave his devoted servant disabled. Of course, once Varos became a death knight, the technique lost its relevance. "It’s possible. But..." Karnak trailed off, clearly reluctant. Serati, growing more anxious, pressed him. "Then what’s the problem?" "I don’t want to," Karnak admitted bluntly. "As I’ve said, I’m trying to avoid using necromancy whenever possible." Karnak was serious. He had only planned to erase a sliver of her memory and release her. Turning Serati into a vassal? Sure, as an aura user and a beauty, she might be valuable, but it wasn’t an appealing choice for him. That would just mean living as I did before. If power had been his goal, he would’ve simply resumed cultivating necromancy instead of developing chaos magic. Serati faltered. This was not the answer she had expected. Part of her had suspected Karnak of intentionally tempting her to enslave her. But now? His response had left her utterly confused. As she spiraled further into uncertainty, Karnak turned to Varos with a private magical whisper. [What’s up, young master?] [You did this on purpose, didn’t you?] Varos knew that a lost limb couldn’t be restored, even with the help of a priest. He had deliberately led the conversation in this direction, suggesting that she could be restored through necromancy. Thıs content belongs to 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝※𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖※𝕟𝕖𝕥 [Why did you do that?] [Look at her—she’s pitiful. I’ve lost my share of limbs, so I know how devastating it feels.] Later, he was unfazed, knowing that Karnak would craft him new limbs. But he remembered how despaired he had been when he first lost an arm. [I wanted to help her if I could. For you, this isn’t even a big deal, right?] Varos paused mid-thought, realizing something. Karnak wasn’t the Monarch of Death he once was. [Wait... Is it hard for you now?] Karnak sighed. [It’s not as easy as it used to be, but I can manage one person. The real question is, should I take her as my vassal?] Forcing a contract upon a vulnerable, young beauty, binding her as a vassal, and enslaving her soul for his own purposes... [This feels like something only the most despicable villains would do.] Varos quipped with mock surprise. [So, you do realize you were a despicable villain in your past life? That’s new.] [That’s why I’m trying to live differently now!] Karnak snapped. Still, the dilemma lingered. [Is this evil or good?] Varos offered a simple conclusion. [Let Miss Serati decide. [Explain the situation clearly and leave the choice to her. Whatever happens after, she will be responsible for the outcome. [That would put you in a better place than our previous lives, right?] Varos’ advice helped clear Karnak’s dilemma. He called out in a gentle voice. “Miss Serati.” Unconsciously, her tone shifted to one of formality—a sign that she had already resolved. “Even though I try to avoid necromancy, I can’t in good conscience leave you .” “The choice is yours, Miss Serati. I’ll do as you wish.” Would she live on, crippled and burdened by the loss of her arms, or reclaim her body in full at the cost of becoming Karnak’s vassal? Serati couldn’t answer. It was not a decision that could be made lightly. Though the desire to regain her arms burned fiercely, the implications of the price were overwhelming. “...What does it mean to become your thrall? Would I have to sell my soul?” Karnak let out a soft laugh. “Selling one’s soul is what happens when you make a deal with the demons of hell. I’m not granting you some grand power, am I?” Serati blinked in confusion. Why did he laugh? Was this supposed to be some kind of necromancer’s humor? She didn’t see the joke. “Then would my soul be tainted by darkness?” “Not particularly. It’s no different than when a divine spell heals a wound—does the healed area glow with sacred light forever? No. Necromancy works the same way. Once the regeneration is complete, your arms will simply be yours again. No darkness, no taint.” If anything, Karnak thought, a lingering dark aura would be inconvenient. “If my vassal exuded dark energy all the time, it would just make my identity harder to hide. I’d have to go out of my way to suppress it.” Serati’s confusion deepened. This was far from the stories she’d heard. Weren’t those who served necromancers supposed to turn into bloodthirsty demons, consumed by evil? “Then... if I were your vassal, what would happen to me?” “Your soul would be laid bare to me,” Karnak explained calmly. “To be exact, I would have full access to the structure of your soul. That way, I’d have the blueprint to reconstruct your arms.” Furthermore, there would be additional restrictions. “You would face death if you betrayed me. For example, revealing my identity, or attempting to harm me.” “And I would have to obey your every command?” “It’s possible for me to do that, but I wouldn’t enforce that.” “Because I’d have to manipulate your mind to do so. That would likely weaken your ability to wield aura, and what’s the point of a weakened vassal?” Absolute obedience wasn’t as advantageous as it seemed. For example, if Karnak got angry and shouted, “Go die!” in a fit of frustration, and Serati actually obeyed, it would only result in the loss of a valuable aura user. “Even other necromancers tend to avoid that middle ground. They either strip their vassals of all free will, turning them into mindless puppets, or allow them autonomy while binding them with a few key prohibitions.” Serati found herself wavering further. The terms didn’t seem as bad as she’d feared—assuming, of course, Karnak was telling the truth. This doesn’t seem all that different from knights swearing fealty to their liege. Of course, it was worse—Karnak would hold her life in his hands. But the alternative was a life without arms. Was pledging herself to a dangerous master truly an unfair trade for the chance to reclaim her future? “The choice is yours, Miss Serati,” Karnak said, his voice gentle yet piercing. “The freedom you may lose, and the arms you may regain, your future as a swordsman—only you can decide which is more important to you.” As he finished, Karnak felt quietly proud. He had explained everything thoroughly, offered her a clear choice, and refrained from forcing her hand. I’m really doing my best to live as a better person, aren’t I? Varos, watching the exchange, wore a peculiar expression. Though it was evident that Karnak was genuine, and even virtuous in his offer... Why does this feel like a demon seducing a naive maiden? Is it just me? Finally, Serati made her decision. “...Please, make me your vassal, Lord Karnak.” The binding contract was an extraordinarily complex and high-level spell. For an average necromancer, it would take at least half a day of preparation, followed by an extended ritual, to successfully form such a contract. For Karnak, the Monarch of Death, it required no more time than it took to enjoy a cup of tea. "By the name of the Master of Darkness, Karnak Zestrad, I ask you, Serati Allen, will you become my vassal?" "Then open your mind and accept the contract." Karnak placed his palm on Serati’s bowed head. Dark mana coursed through the crown of her head, flowing through her entire body. For a brief moment, she instinctively tried to resist by activating her aura—until she heard his voice. "By doing this, you shall regain what you have lost." Serati completely suppressed her aura and willingly accepted Karnak’s darkness. At the same time, excruciating pain radiated from her severed arm. Her groans were accompanied by a visible change. The scabbed-over remains of her charred arm began to peel away, and a new arm emerged. It wasn’t a sight for the faint of heart. Unlike the radiant healing spells of priests, which sealed wounds with blinding light, necromantic regeneration was gruesome. Bones grew first, followed by vivid red muscles, and finally, sinews and blood vessels wove together in a grotesque tapestry. It was disturbing to witness. Yet Serati was overcome with joy. Her arms. The arms she had lost were growing back. Even the searing pain was a sweet reminder of this miraculous moment. Karnak withdrew his hand from her head. "Serati Allen, from this moment, you are my vassal." Unbidden, a formal response slipped from her lips. "Yes, my master..." And then, she collapsed. Varos caught her unconscious body and chuckled softly. "This brings back memories. I fainted the same way when it happened to me." "Does it hurt that much?" "It feels like your entire body is being torn apart. That’s why this was never an option in the middle of a fight." "Fair enough. I’ll admit I envied the clergy’s healing magic for that reason." Varos tilted his head thoughtfully. "Wait a second... I’m no longer your vassal, am I?" With Karnak’s return to the past, all prior events had been erased. Naturally, the binding contract he once shared with Varos had also ceased to exist. "That’s why I was able to make Serati my vassal. Right now, my power limits me to maintaining one vassal at a time." "So if I lose an arm or a leg, I can’t regenerate them anymore?" Varos flinched, suddenly wondering if his attempt at kindness had dug his own grave. Karnak replied nonchalantly, "Why not? It’s possible." "By breaking my contract with Serati and making you my vassal again." "...If you break the contract, Miss Serati will die on the spot." "Well, that can’t be helped. I can’t possibly leave you disabled just to keep her alive.” "Well, I appreciate the sentiment, I suppose..." Varos stared at the unconscious Serati. I’d better take care of myself. This girl’s life depends on my limbs staying intact. If Serati had been awake to hear this conversation, she might have regretted her choice bitterly.Regardless, it was time to think about the future. Varos asked, "What’s the plan now?" "I’ve been deliberating." Karnak’s options were simple. The first was to prepare for a counterattack and rescue Alius and Riltaine. The second was to abandon them and escape Trist City. "If I want to live like a human being, the first option is obvious." The problem was that chaos magic alone wouldn’t be enough to face Straph. He had to use necromancy. It was the only way to win. “Why not? You’ve been using necromancy all along when no one was watching.” “That’s exactly the problem—there are too many eyes on me this time.” Straph’s necrotic power was formidable. Facing him with the subtle and restrained use of magic, as Karnak had done until now, would no longer suffice. “To confront him, I’ll need to use necromancy on a much larger scale, full force. But no matter how I look at it, it’s going to make it seem like I’ve gone back to the way I used to live.” Become a malevolent necromancer once more, turning the city into a hellscape to save his comrades. Or, abandon his comrades and flee, keeping his hands clean of dark power. “Which one is the right choice here?” “Good question. It’s genuinely confusing.” They racked their brains, discussing the dilemma at length, but the answer eluded them. In the end, Varos arrived at a familiar conclusion. “Let’s ask Miss Serati when she wakes up.” “She’s a proper human being, unlike us. Wouldn’t she come to a proper conclusion?” “You’re right! Varos, you’re getting smarter by the day!”