Grandson of the Holy Emperor is a Necromancer - Chapter 133
Chapter 133: 073. City of Slaves -1 (Part One)
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In the campsite of Aslan’s army.
Countless tents had been set up on the barren wasteland.
“Uwaaaah! It hurts… It freaking hurts! Healer. Where’s a healer?!”
Soldiers were crying out in anguish while the medics were urgently running around here and there.
They stitched up the grievous wounds and poured healing potions on the injuries to heal their patients.
The current status of Aslan’s camp was truly wretched to behold.
The number of wounded soldiers were mind-numbingly numerous, while quite a few of the still-healthy soldiers were holding onto their stomachs out of starvation. They were also visibly panting laboriously.
Even the Necromancers, usually treated as high-ranking nobles, hadn’t had a proper drink of water for a while now.
In the beginning, this army boasted fifty thousand combatants. But in less than a month, that number dwindled down to about thirty thousand. While trying to defend against the Theocratic Empire’s invasion, many soldiers lost their lives, and after experiencing several defeats, just as many had abandoned the frontlines.
With how things currently stood, Aslan was only barely holding on against the empire’s invasion. But the kingdom didn’t have much more strength left to keep up with their resistance.
In the end, King Rahamma had to lower his pride and suggest a ceasefire to the Theocratic Empire. With this move, Aslan now found itself in a situation where they now had to do whatever the empire demanded from them.
“Y-your majesty, the communique has arrived!”
The empire had finally made its reply.
The twelve feudal lords – no, now only eight remained – who were also previously known as renowned generals of their respective territories, all held their breaths.
Their gazes shifted over to a certain man sitting on the seat of honour inside the commander’s tent.
It was a man in his mid to late sixties, boasting a burly physique currently hidden underneath the sturdy armour – it was the king of Aslan, Rahamma.
The slaves stood on either side of him, waiting. The king had his eyes closed, but when the arrival of the communique was announced, he opened them and stared at the scout.
He spoke up. “Is it from the Theocratic Empire?”
The scout bringing the communique from the empire swallowed back his dry saliva.
While trembling away, he bowed deeply and addressed his king. “…Y-your majesty. It’s indeed a message from the Holy Emperor. His reaction seems to be in favour of the declaration of ceasefire.”
Rahamma slowly rubbed his face down.
This was truly humiliating.
It was him who started this war first, yet after a string of bitter defeats, he now found himself basically begging the enemy to spare him. Honestly, who would’ve guessed that an old man over one hundred years of age was that vicious and insane?
Rahamma finally understood why the Vampires were so scared of that old man and stayed hidden all this time.
Even though ‘sword king’ Oscal Baldur wasn’t around, just the Holy Emperor alone proved to be impossible to deal with.
To make matters worse, all communications with Nasus, who was supposed to battle the sword king, had been severed as well. Even the scouting party sent there to investigate had gone missing.
The situation had gone as badly as it possibly could.
‘It can’t be helped. This time, it is clearly my defeat.’
Rahamma had no choice but to accept this fact. If things continued on at this rate, then it’d be only a matter of time before the Theocratic Empire invades Aslan’s capital and captures it.
One of the slaves took the communique from the scout, and while trembling from fear, delivered it to Rahamma.
The king of Aslan flipped open the letter and quietly read its contents.
“…”
Once he confirmed what was written on it, his head gradually cocked to one side. And then… He suddenly reached out and grabbed the throat of a slave nearby, before twisting it.
Crunch!
The slave’s neck was broken, and at the same time, his vitality seeped out and his body withered into a mummified corpse.
The remaining slave barely managed to stop an inevitable scream from jumping out by blocking his mouth.
Meanwhile, Rahamma’s complexion was getting increasingly redder by the moment. Unchecked rage distorted his expression and the aura of death began spreading out from all around him.
The surviving feudal lords gasped out in surprise and hurriedly knelt down before their king and bowed their heads.
Rahamma growled out in rage. “That wretched bastard of an old man dares to…!”
The letter’s contents were fairly simple in nature.
One, to immediately announce Aslan’s surrender. Two, for the period of next ten years, Aslan must pay tribute to the Theocratic Empire and serve the latter’s needs.
Finally, Aslan’s king, Rahamma, must bear all the responsibilities of this war, and…
“…I must kowtow in nude and kiss the emperor’s feet?!”
Rahamma angrily ripped the letter into pieces. This was not a declaration of ceasefire, but a contract of subordination. Also, a ruler of a nation should be afforded at least a minimum level of respect, yet the Holy Emperor even dared to trample on such a notion.
This was clearly a provocation. From the very beginning, the empire hadn’t even considered the possibility of a ceasefire.
The Holy Emperor was enraged. And he was venting all of that anger on Aslan. Many more cities would be burned down in the coming months, and eventually, all of Aslan would be lost to the invaders.
A total annihilation.
Holy Emperor Kelt Olfolse was really trying to wipe the kingdom of Aslan off the map.
King Rahamma gritted his teeth.
“…No, wait. It’s still fine.”
He worked hard to calm his boiling head. He settled back down on his chair and tightly massaged his temples.
‘Indeed, I still have my children.’
As a matter of fact, over one hundred demi-human children. They formed a troop evolved specially for the tasks of assassination and Necromancy.
They were called the ‘Hashashin.’
These were the warriors that Rahamma spent the last several decades carefully nurturing. By using them, the Theocratic Empire’s invasion could potentially be stopped.
In the worst case scenario, they would even have to plan for the Holy Emperor’s assassination.
That monstrous old man was gradually slowing down with his invasion effort. He might be trying hard not to show it, but without a doubt, the Holy Emperor should be getting exhausted by now too.
When the invading army stops advancing out of exhaustion, that would prove to be the decisive opening.
Just as King Rahamma fell deeper into his contemplation…
“A-and your majesty.”
Rahamma glanced at the scout.
“There is one more matter that needs to be reported to you.”
The king furrowed his brows.
After the scout’s trembling hands presented the written report, Rahamma personally stood up from his chair to take the scroll. He yanked the report open and took a look at its contents.
The report spoke of the current whereabouts of the Imperial Family’s missing scions.
Rahamma’s eyes opened wider.
“In the city of slaves, Evelyum, a man who looks similar to Third Imperial Prince Ruppel Olfolse has been discovered, your majesty.”
There he was, one of the grandsons the Holy Emperor was so desperately searching for.
Not only that…
“And also! The one and only son of the Holy Emperor, the Crown Imperial Prince of the Theocratic Empire…” The scout bowed his head even further as cold sweat continued to trickle down his face. “…White Olfolse! We presume that he is also staying somewhere in the city of slaves, Eve…”
The scout couldn’t finish the rest of his report.
Rahamma’s hand shot out and grabbed the poor soldier’s head, crushing it in the blink of an eye. Blood and brain matter splattered everywhere.
The clearly-agitated Rahamma panted like a bull.
He too was shedding cold sweat now; his eyes alternated between the pieces of the torn communique from the empire and the scout’s report in his hand.
The Third Imperial Prince wouldn’t be an issue as he was already a discarded pawn in this matter. But the real problem was White Olfolse, the Crown Imperial Prince and the son of the Holy Emperor himself!
To think that man was still alive! Why did the Holy Emperor’s son, who went missing for over eleven years, have to show up now? More than that, why was he near the Third Imperial Prince’s vicinity? Could it be that Nasus had failed to kill ‘sword king’ Oscal Baldur and the abduction of the Imperial Princes?
‘It can’t be…?’
An ominous foreboding quickly washed over Rahamma.
Nasus had indeed failed to defeat the sword king, which allowed Oscal and the Imperial Princes to quietly hide within Aslan. But what if they joined up with White Olfolse instead? What then?
‘…A combination of absolute monsters.’
The Crown Imperial Prince, White Olfolse, was acknowledged as a bona fide monster second only to the Holy Emperor in terms of pure combat strength. Not to forget, Oscal Baldur the ‘sword king’ was another symbol of terror as well.
‘All of them are hiding within Aslan!’
It was already impossible to count all the vampires that lost their lives to the Crown Prince. A man who was once called the object of fear to all the vampires in existence was currently in Aslan. Not only that, in the city of Evelyum which happened to be quite close to the capital of the kingdom.
What if Holy Emperor Kelt Olfolse, Crown Prince White, and Oscal the sword king all attacked the capital from three different sides?
There would be no way for Rahamma to deal with them all.
The king of Aslan had to grab his own trembling hand. A glorious kingdom that existed for thousands of years was about to be destroyed because of his ambition.
He couldn’t help but seriously consider whether or not he should bow down to the Holy Emperor.
‘No, not yet… Not yet! Before I do something to taint the glorious title of the King of Aslan, I will kill myself first!’
Rahamma gritted his teeth and spoke up, “…Mobilise the troops.”
The surviving feudal lords raised their heads and stared at their king.
“Our new target will be…”
Rahamma walked away from his spot and got closer to the map of the kingdom placed atop the commander’s table. He picked up the pawns meant to indicate Aslan’s forces on the map and moved them nearer the city of Evelyum.
“…The city of slaves, Evelyum. We will burn this place down.”
Every feudal lord gasped out in shock, their complexions quickly drained of all colour. What was their king even talking about? Attacking one of their own cities?!
Rahamma gritted his teeth and continued on, “It’s already too much to deal with the Holy Emperor alone. The ceasefire agreement is no more than a pipe dream now. In that case, we must prevent what the Theocratic Empire is trying to do at all cost.”
“H-however, your majesty! According to the report, it’s not a clear confirmation, but merely an estimation. Our court is growing ever more suspicious that this war only began because our own nobles were sacri…”
Rahamma glared murderously at the feudal lord voicing his objection. The latter couldn’t finish the rest of his sentence and quickly lowered his head.
A period of deathly-still silence ensued, and eventually, King Rahamman opened his mouth once more. “Before the Crown Prince or the Imperial Princes notice it, we shall surround the whole city and slaughter every being found within the city’s limits.”
For the time being, they had to somehow decrease the combat force of the Theocratic Empire as much as possible. Rather than waiting for their doom without doing anything at all, they should at least struggle bitterly until the very end, instead!
“Aslan will not perish from this war. Regardless of what sacrifices we must make, this one will stop that outcome! Anyone who wishes to object, offer me your heads first. I shall listen to your opinions afterwards.”
Rahamma declared that he wouldn’t accept any dissent on this matter.
At his decree, all the feudal lords bowed their heads.
“We shall obey, your majesty.”
After getting the consent from the feudal lords, Rahamma stared at the report once more.
White Olfolse.
Just what was the reason for this man who went missing for eleven years to suddenly resurface like this?
Still feeling enraged, Rahamma tore the report to shreds.