Necromancer King Karnak
Prologue
I was one who ruled over death.
Only after a hundred years had passed did I come to realize it.
That to live like a human being, one should never rule over something like that.
It was a grand and magnificent palace.
Endless rows of golden pillars, a marble hall spreading out beneath them, elegant paintings and decorations hanging on every wall, and exquisitely crafted statues.
Yet the people who should have been there were absent.
No king, no queen, no prince, no princess—not even a single minister or servant.
No, to be precise, there was a king. There were ministers and servants as well.
They simply were not human.
A massive golden throne bathed in dim moonlight.
Upon it sat a skeleton clad in a black robe, muttering to itself.
"Why did I do that...."
A single line spoken aloud, followed by a deep sigh.
"Haa… why on earth did I do that...."
As he sighed, his shoulders sagged and a hollow smile formed.
A smile not of a human, but of a skull.
"It's not that I don't know why I did it. I didn't really have a choice."
With no one to listen, the skeleton—Necromancer King Karnak—continued talking to himself as he blankly raised his hand.
"Heugh...."
A bluish aura gathered over the bare bones, forming the shape of a human hand.
A hand imbued with power enough to split seas and shake the heavens with a single swing.
A human form began to bloom over the skull as well.
A pale blue human face emerged, letting out a lament.
"Has it already been seventy years since I ended up with a body like this? Wow, time really flies."
Leaning back against the throne, Necromancer King Karnak continued his empty smile.
"Though sometimes it feels like it's crawling along at a disgustingly slow pace."
Karnak first came into contact with necromancy—the ultimate taboo—roughly a hundred years ago.
He had been born an illegitimate child of a fallen noble family, raised amid scorn and contempt.
To survive, he reached out to the forbidden, and fortune followed, granting him power—whether it was a blessing or a curse, he could not say.
In return, he strayed from the path of humanity.
He fought endlessly advancing enemies, sometimes striking first, killing innocent people again and again, living the life of a wicked necromancer.
The world hated him all the more for becoming a demon.
The central Rakeania Empire, the Seven Kingdoms Alliance in the west, the Berus Federation in the east, even the Church of the Seven Goddesses that worshipped the great goddesses—
The entire continent became his enemy.
Yet even while facing the whole world, Karnak never retreated.
Using the mighty authority of death, he turned those who attacked him into undead servants, expanding his power ever further.
The war only grew larger.
A living hell spread across the continent, where the dead walked among the living.
Before long, he came to be known as the Necromancer King—an absolute evil humanity could never tolerate.
At last, even humanity's final stronghold fell.
The Four Martial Kings, said to be the strongest beings in the mortal realm, and even the three great archmages whose authority was said to reach the heavens, were defeated and became servants of the Necromancer King.
In the end, even the world's guardian, the Dragon Emperor Grateria, revealed herself.
Indeed, the Dragon Emperor was powerful.
So powerful that even Karnak—who had committed every forbidden act imaginable—could see no answer.
Naturally so.
What could a paltry human who relied solely on dirty tricks do against the greatest of the dragonkin, the Dragon Emperor herself?
Left with no choice, he enacted the most dreadful secret art he had postponed until the very end.
He transformed himself into the ultimate transcendent being, Astra Shunaph, surpassing even Death Knights and Arch Liches, the strongest of undead.
In doing so, Karnak completely abandoned his humanity.
The greater the loss, the greater the price.
After three days of battle, Grateria lost her status as Dragon Emperor. In its place, she became the Death Dragon Grateria, a loyal slave of the Necromancer King.
Karnak—who had nothing remarkable about him beyond being born into a low-ranking noble family—
A mere human, born without heroic bloodlines or divine power, overcame heroes and gods alike and ascended to the supreme throne.
The world became entirely his.
"Yeah, sure. It's all good. A happy ending. Everything's perfect, but...."
Once more gazing at his hand, Karnak let out a deep, deep sigh.
"What am I supposed to do with a body that's nothing but bones?"
Gold and silver, elegant beauties, fine wine and exquisite songs—every luxury and pleasure humanity could imagine.
All of it had lost its meaning.
For this dead body had lost every human sense.
"I want to feel something...."
He wanted to taste.
He wanted to feel the warmth of another person.
He wanted to feel the gentle breeze and the warmly shining sunlight.
No—he would even have welcomed pain.
Even fragile skin pierced by a blade and wracked with agonizing pain would be better than these dull, lifeless bones.
"...Ah, no. Honestly, that's not it. No matter what, numbness is still better than pain. What kind of pampered noble nonsense am I spouting?"
Quickly correcting himself, Karnak let out a small laugh.
Still, it was true that he longed for sensation.
Back when he had it, he never realized how precious it was—but now that it was gone, the regret was enough to make his skin crawl.
"That's why there's always a reason people tell you not to do certain things. No wonder everyone despised necromancy, calling it forbidden and taboo."
There was no joy in living.
No driving force to keep life going.
Yet, even so, he did not want to commit suicide.
"Dying is still scary."
He had thought that becoming numb would also erase the fear of death, but that was not quite the case.
What he wanted was to enjoy being alive—not to die just to forget suffering.
All that came out was a sigh.
"If there's anything I can still put my faith in… is it only that?"
Karnak glanced over his shoulder, behind the throne.
There stood a massive blood-red monolith, emitting an eerie light as it flickered ominously.
His eyes gleamed.
"If that succeeds..."
To be precise, it wasn't that his eyes gleamed. His eyeballs had long since rotted away and vanished.
Rather, pupils formed of necromantic energy flashed within the hollow sockets of his skull.
"...Then there would be hope."
A long corridor shrouded in gloomy darkness, untouched by sunlight.
A gigantic knight, standing nearly two meters tall, walked down the passage.
At a glance he looked human—but he was not.
His pale skin covered thick muscles, yet held no warmth. He had no need to breathe, nor did he blink.
Clear proof that he was no longer among the living.
The second-in-command of the empire of the dead, Necropia.
A warrior who had defeated no fewer than three of the Four Martial Kings to claim the title of the strongest on the surface world, and the supreme commander of the Legion of Death.
The Necromancer King's closest aide—one who had served him faithfully even when Karnak was still human, before he had ever touched necromancy.
The Death Knight Lord, Baros, suddenly turned his head.
Another Death Knight followed behind him—broad-shouldered, though somewhat leaner by comparison.
Baros spoke.
"Why did he suddenly summon me, Sir Revan?"
The Death Knight Revan replied politely.
"How could I possibly know the depth of His will, Lord Baros?"
Baros gave a bitter smile.
"Always the same line. You really were better back when you were alive."
Revan Strauss—once one of the Four Martial Kings and the pinnacle of all swordsmen—bowed his head once more in courtesy.
"All things come to pass according to His will."
"Well, I suppose it can't be helped. You're not the man you used to be."
Leaving Revan behind, Baros continued walking.
At last, his steps reached the entrance of a vast hall.
He entered, dropped to one knee, and spoke with solemn respect.
"O Lord of all the dead, ruler of life and death, conqueror of the continent, I pay my respects to the great Necromancer King, His Majesty Karnak—"
The skeleton upon the throne immediately waved a hand.
"Ah, that's enough."
"Huh? You don't want the formalities?"
Baros lifted his head in confusion.
Karnak rested his chin on his hand and grumbled.
"What's the point of them? Who's going to look down on me if you skip the etiquette?"
Those who possess absolute power tend to be indifferent to formal manners.
After all, if necessary, they can simply force proper behavior into others on the spot.
Even so, the reason Baros maintained etiquette was that Necropia's undead—no matter how loyal to Karnak—were still influenced, to some extent, by the customs of their former lives.
Even if he had the power to impose manners instantly, wouldn't it be easier to avoid the situation altogether?
'But now he's telling us not to bother with formality?'
That meant there was no longer any need to rule the undead through such conventions.
"Ah… don't tell me?"
Baros used the old title he had called Karnak by for years—ever since his human days.
"Did it succeed, young master?"
Karnak shrugged proudly.
"Yeah. Looks like it did."
"My goodness."
Baros's gaze shifted behind the throne.
Looking at the massive blood-red monolith, he asked with lingering doubt.
"Are you sure it's really working? You've failed every time until now."
From the beginning, Karnak had not particularly lamented the loss of his living flesh.
Conquering the world—bringing all things under his dominion.
The thrill of being a ruler was immense.
The problem was that it didn't last very long.
After all, what meaning was there in seizing the world with absolute power, if one could not even enjoy pleasure?
That was why high-ranking undead such as liches tend to develop extremely sadistic tendencies.
They abuse and torture others, deriving vicarious satisfaction from their victims' suffering.
Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately?), Karnak did not possess such a sadistic nature.
"Someone else being in pain is just that—someone else being in pain. Why would that be enjoyable for me? It's not like I have antisocial empathy disorder."
Baros chimed in dryly.
"You say that, but considering what you've done so far..."
"Hey, I told you—I was just struggling to survive, alright?"
"I'm sure the people who died at your hands would find that very comforting to hear."
"...Shut it."
In any case, for those reasons, Karnak tried all sorts of methods.
The first thing he attempted was possession.
Honestly, there was no need to live in a living body all day long.
Wouldn't it be enough to feel sensations only when necessary, and only as much as needed?
So he captured countless living human slaves, erased their souls, and attempted to take over their bodies instead.
"...And you're still saying you're not antisocial?"
"Baros, shut up."
Sadly, the attempt failed.
Having become the ultimate transcendent being, Astra Schnapf, Karnak's spiritual energy was simply too vast.
Forget full possession—if even the tip of a spiritual finger entered, the body would be destroyed outright.
'So temporary possession of another body really is impossible?'
Next, he aimed for reincarnation instead.
From the start, he gathered carefully selected infants, chose the body best suited to his soul, and attempted to inhabit it.
The results were better than possession. At the very least, he managed to get as far as one leg in. Compared to a fingertip, that was significant progress.
Of course, that was still the limit.
He tried many other approaches as well.
Stealing others' senses, or finding ways for undead to pursue pleasure.
All were useless.
Wraiths who feel pleasure by absorbing souls, vampires who gain ecstasy through bloodsucking—
The common trait among such undead was that their pleasure was a side effect. They lacked something within themselves, and pleasure arose in the process of filling that void.
Karnak, who had become an ultimate transcendent being, lacked nothing.
With no deficiency, there was nothing to fill.
With nothing to fill, there was no pleasure.
He fell into despair.
Was he doomed to exist forever, unable to die?
With no enjoyment in life whatsoever?
As he wasted away in such emptiness, a thought suddenly occurred to him.
The reason he could not experience human pleasure was because he was not human.
The reason he was not human was because he had become an ultimate transcendent being.
'Then all I have to do… is stop being Astra Schnapf.'
He continued researching ways to lose the power he possessed—and at last, he found the answer.
'Return to the time when I was human.'
To the time when he was human.
When he was not the enemy of the world, not the object of hatred for all living beings.
Back to when he was merely the illegitimate son of a low-ranking noble, harboring only vague resentment toward the world.
'I'll turn back time!'
The result of that research was the blood-red monolith behind the throne—a manifestation of darkness that transcended space and time.
Karnak spoke proudly.
"The strongest necromancer in human history devoted himself to research with a desire more desperate than anyone else's. If this still fails, then it means no one could ever succeed!"
As if waiting for the moment, Baros snorted.
"Isn't that only because you're the only proper necromancer humanity's ever had, young master? You need something to compare against to talk about 'strongest' and all that..."
Necromancy was a forbidden art left behind by an unknown ancient race that existed in prehistoric times—before humans even invented writing.
Ever since, it had been regarded as the ultimate taboo, and no one had mastered it properly. Only third-rate fools who sought power half-heartedly and lost their heads along the way.
Naturally, Karnak would be the strongest necromancer in human history.
"Well… you're not wrong, I suppose..."
The skeleton seated on the throne clicked its jaw.
"Baros, if you weren't my trusted aide who grew up with me, I would've cut off your head long ago."
"And because I know that, I can talk back like this. If you cut off my head, do you really think you'd feel any better?"
"Tch, all talk."
Karnak rose from the throne.
He muttered as he approached the blood-red monolith.
"Anyway, let's go, Baros."
Baros stepped closer as well, examining the dark crimson surface from side to side.
"If this works, when exactly are we going back to? Don't tell me we're starting over as babies."
"That won't work. There has to be at least a minimum point of overlap."
Since it involved twisting space-time with dark magic, the destination had to share a common anchor.
With a nostalgic tone, Karnak continued.
"The moment I took my first step as a necromancer. The very moment I first absorbed dark mana."
"Then do I go back to the moment I became a Death Knight? The timelines wouldn't match."
"You're just hitching a ride with me, aren't you? We'll return to the same point in time."
"Ah, I see."
Still looking doubtful, Baros continued inspecting the monolith. Then he asked suddenly,
"What happens if it fails?"
"We'll be erased."
"Erasure isn't something you should talk about so lightly, is it?"
"Why? Are you attached to your life now?"
Baros let out a hollow laugh.
Second-in-command of a world-ruling empire.
An immortal body with superhuman power.
Was he attached to any of it?
"No."
Just like Karnak, his life held no pleasure.
"Nothing to gain, nothing to lose."
With a calm expression, Baros placed his hand on the monolith.
"Let's go, young master."
"Yeah."
Karnak also placed his bony palm against the stone.
The blood-red monolith began to billow forth immense darkness.
"Let's go back—to the time when we lived like real people."