The Emissary’s Scrutiny

In a dimly lit underground tunnel, lay a cavern with smoothly carved walls. Sturdy wooden support structures lined the edges of the walls, showcasing the dwarves’ exquisite craftsmanship within this small, yet perfect, chamber. The cavern’s sole source of light was a candelabrum held by a skull, its flickering flame swaying gently.

Daphne surveyed her surroundings but found nothing noteworthy. Her gaze returned to the lich standing before her.

Compared to other liches, Grover was an anomaly.

He particularly enjoyed adorning his dark golden ribs with metal chains and the medals he had earned in life. Rather than a necromancer, Grover resembled a general, passionate about war and glory.

Grover’s deference seemed disingenuous, his low chuckle chilling. “No one else will overhear us here,” he stated. “Our Great Lord Arsuga has slept for a millennium. Now, with his awakening imminent and the hour of vengeance approaching, why dispatch a Death Emissary to the front lines at this precise moment?”

“Watch your tone, lich,” Daphne warned, her voice cold. “First probing, now questioning… You have offended the Great Lord of the Ice Tomb’s emissary twice already. There will not be a third time.”

Grover subtly recoiled, though the clatter of chains against his skeletal frame resonated softly through the cavern.

The lich had repeatedly scrutinized the half-blood girl before him.

Her race was lowly, she possessed neither power nor faith, and she was as weak as an insect. He imagined a slight squeeze of his hand would instantly end her life.

Her stunning beauty, so coveted by the living, held no value for the undead.

‘Suspicion was only natural.’

‘Why would it be such a weak, lowly half-blood?’

‘Why would Great Lord Arsuga choose her as his esteemed Death Emissary?’

Yet, Grover had no choice but to believe.

He had seen the Snow-Fluff Cloak, fashioned from the perpetually frost-covered fur of Melville, the Great Lord’s mount, the ‘Solitary Alpha Wolf.’

He had also seen the ring, the supreme Death Sigil. It was a symbol of the Great Lord’s recognition; in Klogtia, even Arch-Liches would kneel before its bearer.

Young necromancers might not recognize these, but Grover certainly did.

Having been a lich for over a millennium, he had personally witnessed Great Lord Arsuga of the Ice Tomb’s last awakening. He was a majestic, true king, worthy of Grover’s almost endless lifetime of loyalty.

Grover had to trust the Great Lord’s choice and judgment.

‘Surely, his own understanding was too limited, still attempting to gauge the emissary’s power and worth by his own meager standards.’

‘He was like a frog in a well, laughably ignorant.’

‘Perhaps the things he valued were utterly insignificant to the Great Lord’s Death Emissary.’

With this thought, the lich couldn’t help but raise his gaze to observe Daphne’s eyes once more.

Her rose-red eyes, illuminated by the flickering candlelight, appeared bright yet profound. They were like a deep, ancient well; one could drop a coin into it and never hear an echo, their depths utterly unfathomable.

If a skeletal frame were capable of secreting cold sweat, Grover’s back would undoubtedly be drenched by now.

“Esteemed Death Emissary of Great Lord Arsuga of the Ice Tomb, I had no intention of offense. Should I have caused any misunderstanding, I am willing to apologize and offer compensation.”

He immediately knelt respectfully before Daphne, bowing his head in submission.

“Oh?” Daphne raised an eyebrow slightly.

‘Such high awareness? She hadn’t even started her coaxing, yet he was already offering himself up. Wasn’t that a little too eager?’

“Hmph, foolishness. I have no use for your trash.”

She immediately shifted her tone, revealing disdain and contempt.

“Rise, lich. Report on the enemy situation you’ve scouted, and only then shall I convey the supreme decree of the Great Lord of the Ice Tomb.”

As Grover rose, he clattered and clanked, all the metal objects on his body emitting crisp sounds of collision.

He led Daphne to a stone table beside the candelabrum. On its surface, he unfurled a hand-drawn map, marking the precise locations of the Northlands and the Dunnau Mountains.

Assuming Daphne was new to the region, Grover meticulously described Kol Town and its two nearby villages, before moving on to Lokan, Kol Town’s superior city.

“The Northlands’ northern defenses are generally weak. Lokan is impoverished and cannot support a large garrison, and its subordinate villages and towns possess no capacity for resistance whatsoever.”

Grover’s dark golden finger bones circled an area near Lokan, then moved further south.

“Before the beacon fires are lit, the provincial regular army stationed in Oston, the Northlands’ capital, will not react. Moreover, Oston is too far south; even the swift Ice Swans under Elector Ernest would require at least a week to reinforce us at full speed, and by then, it would be too late.”

Though the Death Hawks possessed formidable combat strength, they were essentially a reconnaissance vanguard. During their months stationed there, Grover and his undead scouts had thoroughly mapped the terrain and defensive capabilities across the Northlands.

Before the full assault on the Northlands officially began, the troop strength of every settlement and the potential number of reinforcements were completely transparent to Grover’s Death Hawks. The swiftness of their future collapse was entirely foreseeable.

“From what you say, this place can soon become the starting point for Great Lord Arsuga’s grand vengeance?” Daphne’s tone was light, her gaze merely brushing across the map.

The undead blue flames in Grover’s eye sockets flickered. “This…”

“Hmm?”

“There has been a slight unexpected development. The human Pope, traveling from the Salentz Religious Territory a thousand miles away, has stationed an entire Templar order in Kol Town, which should have been easily taken. They even brought numerous logistics teams, shuttling supplies between Oston and Lokan, seemingly intending a long-term stay.”

Grover’s voice grew fainter.

“The Pope? Mere Templars, how could they withstand the Great Lord’s army of the dead?”

Daphne secretly delighted but showed no outward sign, maintaining an air of contempt.

“Are you implying that you can’t even take a small town in the near future? Is Great Lord Arsuga’s grand vengeance to be delayed by your incompetence?”

“Esteemed Death Emissary, there is no need for haste. My informant within Kol Town has clarified the situation; the circumstances remain favorable to us.”

Grover bowed his head and waist to Daphne. “Their Pope has mysteriously vanished, and the entire Templar order is in a state of unease. I believe now is the optimal time for a surprise attack.”

Daphne’s brow furrowed slightly.

‘The news spread so quickly. There really is a spy within Kol Town.’

‘Those lore enthusiasts on the forums truly had something; to be able to deduce such crucial information from fragments of quest descriptions.’

“Fool!” Daphne chastised, her words sharp. “Even without the Pope, the Templar order still has its Captain and Vice-Captain. A rash assault would inevitably lead to severe losses!”

Grover was somewhat bewildered. Daphne was the one urging him to take Kol Town quickly, yet she was also the one forbidding the advance. He was struggling to understand what the Great Lord truly desired.

“Do you not comprehend? Great Lord Arsuga requires complete victory; such reckless and crude actions would surely squander this excellent opportunity.”

Daphne feigned importance, tapping the location of Kol Town with her fingertip. “Furthermore, your informant has deceived you. The Great Lord has already learned that their Pope is still among the ranks. This is most likely false information spread to disrupt our judgment.”

Grover suddenly understood. “So their Pope knew we would attack all along. This was all a ploy, waiting for us to fall into their trap!”

In a sense, he wasn’t wrong.

Daphne had led the Radiant Sun Holy Church’s Templar order and an astonishingly large logistics and transport team at great cost, precisely to defend Kol and repel Grover’s Death Hawks. Who could have known what would happen afterward?

“Then, what is the Great Lord’s will?” Grover cautiously inquired.

“Hold your ground, continue to observe the situation, and await the opportune moment,” Daphne stated calmly.

Grover’s empty skull buzzed, and even this seasoned general couldn’t help but doubt himself. “But… I must send a messenger to the Arch-Lich for instructions…” The lich retrieved a crimson-tinged scroll from his robes, preparing to write to the Arch-Lich far away in Klogtia.

“Are you questioning the Great Lord of the Ice Tomb’s decisions?!” Daphne hastily interjected. “The Arch-Lich has long received instructions from the Lord of the Ice Tomb. I am both Arsuga’s emissary and Lord Brumfield’s emissary. Why would you take such unnecessary action?”

Grover tremblingly tucked the scroll back into his robes.

“I am weary from my journey. Prepare a room for me to rest,” Daphne said, turning away with a sweep of her cloak. “Also, send a copy of the Great Lord of the Ice Tomb’s faith genealogy, by any means, as Great Lord Arsuga wishes to ascertain if the worship of Death remains orthodox.”