Chapter 70: Value
Kaito and Greed walked along the main thoroughfare of Iron Fortress.
On either side of the road, the stone pavers were newly laid, clean and uniform. Within the newly constructed drainage channels, clear water flowed with a gentle, rhythmic murmur.
"My Lord," Greed's voice drifted toward Kaito. "Based on my preliminary observations, skeletons converted from humans are superior in every metric."
Greed's tone was as analytical as a ledger. "Their reaction speed to complex tactical commands and their inherent learning capacity far exceed individuals converted from livestock. The preliminary conclusion is that the human soul structure is more 'complete.' After conversion, their potential for evolution is significantly higher."
Greed paused, his red eyes scanning the crowd. "I recommend establishing a Regular Elimination Mechanism. By converting a designated percentage of the human population into undead on a scheduled basis, we can optimize the overall quality of our military resources."
Kaito said nothing, his boots clicking rhythmically against the stone as he continued forward.
A human child, chasing a rolling wooden ball, burst out of an alleyway. Unaware of his surroundings, the boy ran headlong into Greed's leg. The child fell to the ground, frozen in shock. He looked up at Greed—at that handsome, deathly pale face—but didn't cry.
A woman rushed over, frantic. It was the boy's mother. There was no fear on her face, only a sincere apology.
"My deepest apologies, Lord! The boy is far too playful. I hope he didn't cause you any discomfort!" She lifted the child, dusting off his tunic, and offered Greed a deep, respectful bow.
Greed watched them for a moment, then simply waved a hand, signaling for them to proceed. The woman clutched her child and hurried away.
The two continued their walk. As they passed a fruit stall, the middle-aged vendor immediately snatched the reddest apple from his crate. He polished it against his apron and offered it out.
"My Lord, these arrived from the orchards only this morning. Please, have a taste."
Greed's movement faltered for a fraction of a second. He reached out and accepted the fruit. As a Vampire, he had no physical need for such things; his sustenance came from an organized Blood Compensation System, where residents provided small amounts of blood in exchange for coin and medical care. This system ensured both food for the high-ranking undead and a massive medical blood bank for the living.
Kaito watched the exchange.
The humans of this territory no longer viewed the undead as symbols of annihilation. The towering Skeleton Soldiers were their guardians; the skeletal artisans were the architects of their homes. Together, they maintained a strange, brand-new order.
In the roadside plaza, children played tag around the feet of patrolling Skeleton Soldiers. The skeletons marched with perfect, mechanical synchronization, neither side bothering the other. Everything was in perfect, eerie harmony.
Kaito's gaze landed on a bench near a fountain. He walked over and sat down, patting the seat beside him. Greed understood the gesture and took a seat.
"Greed," Kaito's voice was a calm, resonant hum. "How long does it take for a newborn skeleton to be trained into a soldier capable of holding a frontline?"
Greed answered without hesitation. "For a basic combat unit, conversion and command-imprinting take less than a day. For an elite unit, teaching requires perhaps three days."
Kaito cast his gaze into the distance. The child who had bumped into Greed was now kicking the wooden ball with his friends again.
"And a human child?" Kaito asked. "From birth until he becomes a soldier capable of the same task... how long does that take?"
Greed fell silent. He began to calculate, his mind whirring through data. "Without considering variations in talent, and calculating only for basic physical and tactical proficiency... at least fourteen years."
Kaito withdrew his gaze, looking Greed in the eye sockets.
"The meaning of the dead is bestowed by the living," Kaito said.
His eyes swept over a young mother nearby, holding a picture book and teaching her child to read.
"I do not want my Generals to become saintly weaklings who only know how to pity the frail. But I also do not want you to become unfeeling monsters who only know how to calculate profit and loss."
"Think, Greed."
"Think on the Value of Life."
"Not just the lives of our enemies... but our own."
With that, Kaito stood and walked away, leaving Greed alone on the bench. In the vampire's hand, the red apple remained gripped, untouched.
The Imperial Capital, Pierre's House.
Karl sat at the table, leaning forward with every fiber of his being focused on the single egg before him. In his world, that was no egg. It was a bloodshot, pulsating eyeball, wet with gore.
Karl's breathing was ragged, his chest heaving with the effort to remain present. He raised his right hand, his finger trembling in the air. He wanted to touch it, but the terror anchored deep in his soul forced him to jerk back again and again. Sweat poured from his brow, stinging his eyes, but he didn't dare blink.
Pierre stood behind him, his face a mask of suppressed, soaring emotion. This was the first time Karl had attempted the challenge without being prompted. Pierre remained silent, holding his breath, like a believer waiting for a miracle.
Seconds turned into minutes.
Tap.
Karl's finger finally, gently, flicked the egg. A tiny, hairline fracture appeared on the shell.
Pierre lunged forward, sweeping his son into a fierce embrace. He placed a warm palm on Karl's head, rubbing it gently. "You were magnificent, Karl! You did it! You've conquered it again!"
Pierre's eyes were wet, but a radiant smile split his face. This was the greatest progress they had made in ten years. He helped the nearly catatonic Karl back to his room to rest.
"Sleep for a while, son. I have to go on duty at the Palace. When I return tonight, we'll have the roasted meat you like best."
Pierre donned his knight's uniform, buckled his sword, and stepped out the door with a renewed spring in his step. He would work harder, earn a higher rank, and secure more coin. That way, even if he were gone one day, Karl would never want for anything.
Pierre walked the patrol route toward the Palace. As he crossed the Central Plaza, the world ended.
Without warning, the sky turned a bruised, sickening blood-red. A gargantuan, translucent crimson barrier—looking like an inverted bowl of gore—descended, sealing the Capital from the world.
The populace stopped in their tracks, staring upward in paralyzed horror. Screams erupted from every alley simultaneously.
"What is this?!"
"Is it a Divine Punishment?!"
Pierre drew his longsword instantly, his Battle Aura igniting to its peak as he scanned the perimeter. Beside him, a drunkard who had been vomiting against a wall suddenly began to convulse violently. Wisps of acrid black smoke hissed from the man's shoulders.
His body twisted with a wet, bone-snapping crunch. His skin withered and peeled away in grey flakes, revealing the bleached white skeleton beneath.
"Heh... hhhh..."
In the blink of an eye, the drunkard was a skeleton. This scene replayed in every corner of the Capital at once. The Imperial Capital had become a living hell in a heartbeat.
The City Guard tried to rally, but their enemies were already among them. One moment, they were standing beside a comrade, a neighbor, or a friend—the next, that person was a shrieking monster of bone lunging for their throat.
Chaos detonated across the city. Pierre kicked away a lunging skeleton and swung his blade in a backhand arc, decapitating another. But more undead poured from the shadows, fearless and endless.
Pierre's Battle Aura flared as his sword became a blur of silver light, but he was being surrounded. In his mind, only one thought remained.
Karl.
His home was at the other end of the block. Karl was there. Karl, who was so timid, so fragile. If those things broke into the house...
Pierre refused to let the thought finish.
"OUT OF MY WAY!"
He let out a guttural roar, his Tier 2 Battle Aura exploding without reservation. The skeletons in front of him were blasted into splinters. He carved a path through the carnage, sprinting toward his home with desperate, manic speed.
He had to get back. He must get back. He had to protect his only son.
The Peak of the Capital's Bell Tower.
A figure wrapped in tattered rags stood motionless, overlooking the city below as if admiring a masterpiece. The rags slid away, revealing the truth beneath.
It was a skeleton. A genuine Undead Lord—a Ruler of Death. His power pulsed at the peak of Tier 5, bordering on Tier 6.
He had lurked in the Capital for months. The most dangerous place was the safest. He had waited for this exact day. The Capital's elite—Altlais and the Lionheart Guard—had departed. The city's throat was exposed. The two or three Tier 5s remaining in the Palace were of no concern to him.
He spread his skeletal arms and spoke.
" [Authority: Death Return] ."
The crimson barrier in the sky flared with a blinding light. An invisible wave of necromantic energy rippled through the city. Every soul he had previously "marked" completed their transformation in that instant.
The weak became unranked skeletons. The strongest became Tier 2s.
But it was enough. The massacre from within had begun.
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