The corpses moved. They staggered forward, swaying their split skulls and entrails dragging behind them. Severed arms and legs lay in pools of blood as the quiet night filled with their guttural groans. Every alley was teeming with zombies. Every street overflowed with corpses. Serati watched the horrific scene unfold from the rooftop of a building. She let out a faint lament. There were too many corpses. Far too many. Dozens? Hundreds? No. Such small numbers were laughable. By even the most conservative estimate, there were at least three thousand of them. How else could everything in sight be nothing but corpses? She turned to look at the black-haired young man who had dragged this hellish reality into existence—her new master. Karnak stood there, grinning with satisfaction as he gazed upon the city of the dead. “This should be enough, don’t you think?” “Now we can rescue Priest Alius and Mister Riltaine,” Varos replied. “Come to think of it, this is the first time I’m going to save someone other than you,” Karnak said. “Same here. Never thought I’d be helping anyone but you, young master.” Regret washed over Serati. Perhaps she could have stopped this. If only she hadn’t spoken so carelessly, maybe the rivers wouldn’t have been dyed red. She muttered once more, “...What have I done?” Beyond the advancing horde of corpses, the Ranpelt estate emerged under the dim light of the clouded moon. The undead army stretched their hands toward the estate’s walls and began climbing upward. Zombies trampled over one another, forming a massive wave that engulfed the estate from all sides. Like swarming ants drawn to sugar, the undead blanketed the estate, covering every corner in a sea of blackened decay. Deep in the basement of the estate, Straph watched the chaos unfold. “What... what is this...?” he muttered. It was clear this was Karnak’s doing, but something didn’t add up. Was he really such a powerful necromancer? But his necrotic power seemed so... ordinary.... By Straph’s estimation, Karnak possessed meager power, enough only to control a dozen zombies at once. Was he hiding his strength? That didn’t seem likely. If Karnak were this strong, there would’ve been no reason for him to flee earlier. Unless... there’s another necromancer. A really powerful necromancer. This explanation made sense. If Karnak had fled to bring reinforcements, the sequence of events would align. Confident in his deduction, Straph smiled wickedly. “In that case, this might work out even better.” If such a powerful necromancer existed, they must possess incredible power. If I absorb that darkness, my strength will grow exponentially. Straph stretched his arms wide. From the grotesque walls of flesh covering the basement, dozens of tentacles shot forth. “Come forth, infernal darkness. Descend upon this land under the shadow of all evil....” Dark mana pulsed, coursing through the tentacles like a living river. The energy coiled around the entire estate, transforming into an enormous surge of power. “Let the true legions of darkness rise and strike down my enemies....” The corrupted priest’s eyes turned pitch black. “This is the decree of the king who commands death....” A strange, unholy sound began to echo above the Ranpelt estate. The first trumpet of darkness sounded through the sky. Tears opened across the night sky, and from the void came an otherworldly wail as a flood of monstrous creatures poured forth. These creatures, their limbs, heads, and wings grotesquely mismatched, resembled malformed clay sculptures brought to life. They were the lowest-rank amorphous demonic beasts of hell. They charged at the zombie horde while screeching discordantly. The second trumpet followed. The ground trembled as countless tentacles erupted from the earth, wrapping around corpses, crushing, flinging, and smashing them apart. Blood and flesh sprayed everywhere, painting the chaotic battlefield in a grotesque mosaic of gore. And the trumpets did not stop. The third, the fourth, the fifth... each blast brought a new layer of horror. Landscapes melted into surreal hellscapes, turning the world into a nightmare beyond recognition. Moving corpses and twisted monsters roamed freely among flesh-like trees and bone-crafted petals, spewing blood and screams into the air. It was a grotesque cauldron of chaos. The entire estate resounded with groans, explosions, and the clash of metal, filling the night sky with an unbearable cacophony. Watching the scene unfold, Karnak raised an eyebrow, his expression tinged with surprise. “Those are the Seven Trumpeters of the Death Dragon, aren’t they? Didn’t expect to see that technique here. Where’d he learn it?” In his past life, Karnak had been the only one who knew that necromantic art. He had unearthed the ancient ritual from a forgotten vault of the Hatoba Church, where it had languished for centuries, and painstakingly recreated it in secret. “Ah, that guy used to be a priest of the Hatoba Church, didn’t he? I guess it makes sense now.” That realization brought a new concern to Karnak’s mind. The knowledge he had once monopolized might have fallen into the hands of others. After all, unlike in his past life, this era was teeming with all manner of rogue necromancers. I might end up being caught off guard by my own techniques. I’ll need to prepare for that. Still, that was a problem for another time. “It’s about time we moved.” With a flick of his hand, Karnak signaled their advance. Until now, they had remained hidden under a veil of darkness on the rooftop of a nearby building. But with the battle raging below, they could use the chaos to slip closer to the Ranpelt estate unnoticed. “Let’s rescue our comrades while we’ve got the chance.” Serati snapped out of her daze. He was right—this wasn’t the time to wallow in regret. Alius and Riltaine needed saving. After surveying the battlefield, she hesitated and asked, “Isn’t it too early to move?” The battle had just begun. Tactically speaking, it would be better to wait for the chaos to grow before making their move. Karnak shook his head. “If we wait too long, they’ll figure it out.” Figure it out? Figure what out? “They’ll figure out it’s all an illusion.” Serati turned in shock to stare at the thousands of zombies swarming over the Ranpelt estate. “...All of that is an illusion?” “Not all of it—about 200 of them are real.” He scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish. “C’mon, do you really think I could kill thousands of people with my current necromantic power?” She still couldn’t understand why that embarrassed him, but he clearly felt the need to explain. “Well, I mean, if I had enough time, I could....” To amass a zombie horde in the thousands, he’d need more than just the Ranpelt organization’s men. Even though the Ranpelt family controlled most of Trist City, they didn’t have enough troops to meet that number. Which meant Karnak would have to target Trist City’s ordinary citizens. “Even I know that would be crossing a line! I mean, unless you think something like that would be justified in a situation ? What do you think?” Serati frantically shook her head. “You made the right choice! Of course, you shouldn’t go that far!” A weight lifted from her chest as relief washed over her. He’s not as evil as I thought! Of course, killing 200 people in a single night was still a massive slaughter. But there was a huge difference between killing those who deserved it and killing the innocent. “You have to stick to killing villains. From experience, killing good people always comes back to haunt you,” Karnak said, nodding sagely as if this were an unshakable truth. “Villains don’t seek revenge, after all.” Serati frowned, puzzled. “Villains don’t seek revenge?” Wasn’t revenge practically the one thing they sought? They were always shouting, I’ll get you for this! or I’ll have my revenge! “Yeah, they say that. But in reality, if you deal with them thoroughly, they give up. Hardly any of them are willing to risk their lives for revenge.” The death of a good person, however, was a different matter entirely. When a good person died, others with goodness in their hearts would rise like a wildfire. And when that collective will gained the shape of justice, it became a terrifying force that feared no death. As the Monarch of Death, Karnak had experienced that power firsthand. Though he had ultimately crushed it and conquered the world, the price he paid was far too great. I’m not living like I used to. Never again. Reaffirming his resolve, Karnak turned to Varos and Serati. “Let’s go rescue our comrades.” Battles raged on all sides. Wherever one looked, corpses and monsters stretched endlessly. It was a veritable hell on earth. Through this living hell, three figures moved: Karnak, Varos, and Serati, cloaked in a shroud of darkness. Walking past zombies and monsters alike, Serati couldn’t help but gape in disbelief. This... is all an illusion? A zombie collapsed to her side, only to rise again with a screech and charge at a grotesque creature. Its dangling entrails, torn limbs, and pallid, blue-tinged skin were disturbingly vivid. It looks real in every way. Illusions, Serati knew, relied heavily on the imagination of their caster. Which made it all the more baffling. Could human imagination alone create something this intricate? Even down to the texture of the blood, the entrails, and the skin? Watching Serati’s reaction, Karnak felt a surge of satisfaction. She hasn’t figured it out yet. This was the brilliance of Karnak’s illusion technique, Copy and Paste. Creating illusions purely from imagination required immense focus and memory. But simply copying something that already existed drastically reduced the difficulty. In reality, only around 200 zombies were physically present. Karnak had copied and multiplied them twentyfold, blending illusionary zombies with real ones and scattering them across the battlefield. But why hadn’t Serati noticed the repetition among the zombies? Karnak had accounted for that, intentionally making small tweaks: mirroring their appearances, altering their size, varying their speed and movements. These subtle differences ensured that only the most observant viewer would suspect anything amiss. On top of that, the tattered state of every corpse provided a unique advantage. The ragged clothing helped mask any patterns in the illusions. I really do have a talent for theatrics. Of course, the illusion would be discovered quickly if monsters simply passed through it without effect. But Karnak’s illusions had another feature—reaction. The most important part of any illusion is how it reacts, he thought to himself. The illusion would appear to be wounded if struck with a sword. If kicked, it would fall back, only to rise again and charge. Ordinary illusions of humans tended to show their flaw at this stage. For instance, if a sword cut through an illusionary figure and it kept attacking unscathed, it was obvious that it wasn’t real. But zombies had no such issue. They were already tattered and broken. Rising again after being struck was perfectly in character for them. It wasn’t a coincidence that necromancers so often used grotesque zombies or skeletons as the subjects of their illusions. While the goal was partly to inspire fear, the true reason was practical—creating horrific, damaged subjects reduced the mental strain of maintaining realism. Even Serati, a seasoned aura user, couldn’t discern the truth behind Karnak’s illusions—despite being told outright that they were illusions. And what did that mean? That bastard Straph hasn’t noticed yet either. I’ve bought us enough time. Karnak’s assumptions were correct. “Hmph, impressive skills, but...” Straph never even dreamed that the massive zombie horde surrounding his estate might be an illusion. “No matter how many of these wretched zombies there are, they’re no match for me!” Pouring out dark energy with reckless abandon, he continued unleashing his necromantic arts. The expenditure of his power was considerable, but he didn’t care. After all, he was winning. He could see the number of zombies surrounding the estate decreasing rapidly. Meanwhile, the demons he had summoned and his necromantic barriers remained virtually untouched. Why should he worry when victory seemed inevitable? In reality, the illusions were fading in tandem with the defeat of the real zombies, but Straph was oblivious to this. Likewise, the lack of damage to his demonic creatures and barriers was because most of the attacking zombies were illusions. But Straph had no idea. He was too exhilarated by the prospect of consuming a powerful necromancer to strengthen himself even further. His vision swept across the battlefield, searching for his targets. Karnak and his group had to be hiding somewhere nearby. Where are you hiding? As Straph’s eyes narrowed, ready to gather his forces and crush his prey the moment he found them, a voice suddenly rang out. “Oh, so this is what’s under the estate?” Startled, Straph froze. “Well, this is spacious! Why’d you make your basement so big?” “Probably used to be a wine cellar. We have one under our house, too, don’t we?” “Come on, it’s not this big.” The voices weren’t coming through his necromantic senses—they reached his ears directly. Straph whipped around, his blood running cold. Standing at the entrance of a gruesome, blood-soaked chamber were three figures. The young, dark-haired mage grinned brightly and spoke. “You must be Straph. So, this is what you look like.” Tʜe source of this ᴄontent ɪs 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝·𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖·𝕟𝕖𝕥 Straph’s face twisted into a grimace. How did they get here?!