Grandson of the Holy Emperor is a Necromancer

**

Oscal Baldur gulped the water down and then shoved a big chunk of meat in his mouth.

"Thank you, archbishop," he muttered out while munching on a mouthful of food.

Raphael Astoria heard the gist of what happened from the sword king.

Oscal said that for the last four months, he'd been wandering the desert all alone. He had nothing to drink or to eat, and whenever he was about to collapse from hunger and fatigue, the monsters residing in the vast desert proved to be his hope of survival.

He killed giant desert scorpions and consumed their meat, then after slaughtering the Brown Orcs trying to ambush him, he cut open their bladders and quenched his thirst that way.

Afterwards, he walked, and then continued walking some more.

He would sometimes spot a town or a troupe of mercenaries once every month or so, but he did his absolute best to avoid getting in contact with them.

Aslan was in the middle of war.

Oscal was well aware of how badly twisted the impoverished citizens of an exhausted nation could get. Ill intentions hidden behind the facade of kindness – that was the situation people usually encountered within a country that had turned into a warzone.

He could have ambushed them, but it'd be a challenging task with his worn-out body. He had to consider the possibilities of him failing to catch up to the escapees running away on the camels, as well as the enemies getting the whiff of his current whereabouts.

And so, he decided to avoid people as much as possible during his journey across the desert.

It didn't take him long to spot Aslan's military camp. He caught one of the soldiers trying to desert the army and interrogated him.

He learned from the soldier that Aslan couldn't stop the Theocratic Empire's invasion and repeatedly went through the cycle of defeat and retreat. And now, the kingdom's army was mobilising to sneak attack Evelyum of all places.

After hearing that, Oscal killed the deserter and headed in the direction of the Theocratic Empire's relentless march.

"What about the Imperial Princes?"

Raphael's question was met with Oscal's shaking head. "I don't have any clues regarding the whereabouts of his highness the Seventh Prince. As for the traitor Ruppel, he and I landed on the same spot of the desert together, but..."

The problem was, the warp magic had sent them straight into a fierce sandstorm. It wasn't a regular sandstorm either, but a monstrous tornado consisting of two, three different storms combined together.

Thanks to this freaky misfortune, Oscal and Ruppel ended up being flung far away from one another, and the old man was left to wander aimlessly inside a storm boasting a scale that he had never even seen or heard before in his entire life.

"In the case of the Third Imperial Prince, the odds of him dying under the layers of desert sand are quite high. I barely managed to walk out of that storm after all."

Even if he was the revered sword king, it wouldn't be easy to bend the great mother nature to his will.

Once he filled up his empty belly, he stood up from the chair.

However, Raphael tried to dissuade him. "Shouldn't you rest for a little longer?"

"No, I must give my report to his majesty first."

Ten minutes of break was sufficient for Oscal.

He quickly walked away with his new destination being the commander's tent.

Once he stepped inside, he was greeted by the sight of many great warriors waiting for his arrival.

On either side of him, the leaders of the Orders of the Crimson Cross and the Verdant Cross, as well as the dwarf legion, the Paladin Corps and the Heavenly Army. Finally, the newly-installed head of the White Cross was present as well.

Commanders and vice-commanders who represented the strongest combat forces in the Theocratic Empire had gathered in one place. And in the seat of honour ahead of them, a certain old man was sitting on a throne.

The ruler of the Theocratic Empire, and the commander responsible for creating and personally leading the Order of the Golden Cross. The Holy Emperor wearing a set of brilliant golden armour, Kelt Olfolse.

He was staring at Oscal with an indifferent expression.

"Report, Oscal Baldur."

The emperor didn't even bother with a simple greeting to ask whether Oscal was doing well or not. Not even a shock or a welcoming reaction. Nothing at all.

The emperor's attitude was as indifferent as one could possibly get.

However, Oscal's heart became more tranquil from this lack of reaction. That's because the emperor wasn't demanding an answer for his failure to protect the Imperial Prince and to capture the traitor.

Without a doubt, Kelt Olfolse was the ideal ruler who'd never be shaken up by anything. As the sacred sovereign Oscal swore to serve until his dying day, this emperor was the embodiment of perfection.

Oscal knelt down on one knee and bowed his head. "Please forgive this one's disloyalty, your majesty. I failed to hold onto the traitor as mentioned in your decree, Ruppel Olfolse. Also, I failed to protect the noble Saint, his highness Allen Olfolse."

The moment the Seventh Imperial Prince was brought up, the head of the Order of the White Cross ever so briefly flinched.

She was standing tall with her pure-white sword stabbed into the ground below with both of her hands holding its hilt. For a moment there, her eyes trembled a little.

Oscal could only grin bitterly at Charlotte still acting unsatisfactorily even to this day.

The Holy Emperor spoke with a low voice, "Any other report to make besides that?"

Even though the fate of his youngest grandson was up in the air, the emperor showed not one single glimpse of unrest.

"I've witnessed Aslan's army on the move, your majesty. Their King, Rahamma, was personally leading the formation." Oscal reported on what he saw and heard. "Their destination was Evelyum, a place referred to as the city of slaves."

"Was it to protect the city?"

"No, your majesty. It was to attack."

"The reason?"

"This servant does not know, but there must be 'something' in that city. For that man to attack one of his own cities in this current wartime situation, there can only be one reason, your majesty."

Aslan's capital city was, figuratively speaking, only a stone's throw away. Yet Rahamma was pulling his troops back?

Just like what Oscal said, there must've been 'something' else at play here. And there was little to doubt that this 'something' were the Imperial Princes.

But some part of that deduction didn't make logical sense. You wouldn't necessarily need to attack the whole city if you wanted to hit only the 'Imperial Princes'.

Which meant that there could be something else exceeding the 'Imperial Princes' in that location in terms of sheer urgency.

...Something else capable of making King Rahamma fearful enough to act like this.

The Holy Emperor's eyes narrowed to slits. "Oscal Baldur."

"Yes, your majesty."

"From this moment henceforth, I grant you the authority over the entire army." Kelt Olfolse got up from his throne and walked up to Oscal. "And your new task is to bring me their unconditional surrender."

Oscal raised his head and looked up at the Holy Emperor.

The aura the latter gave off was icy-cold. So much so that it sent a creeping chill down Oscal's spine.

Emperor Kelt Olfolse stared at him with eyes utterly devoid of any and all emotions, causing Oscal to shudder from the unnatural chill.

"If they do not wish to surrender, then..." The Holy Emperor spoke without a hint of hesitation, "...Kill them all."

Oscal bowed his head once more. "This servant shall obey."

**

The Crown Imperial Prince of the Theocratic Empire, White Olfolse, was on standby in the tournament arena as the night fell.

Ruppel Olfolse, his son, had already achieved nine victories. Just one more win and he'd become a free man once more. White planned to take his son and quickly return to the empire.

However...

"...I guess this matter just got a bit more complicated."

White standing by the coliseum's entrance could only scratch the back of his head.

He scanned his vicinity and saw a cordon of skeletons surrounding him, the eerie crimson light glowing from within their eye sockets. The Necromancers were standing in a line behind the horde of undead.

Rather obviously, these dark magicians didn't come here to rob him of his pocket money. Which means that them being here could only mean...

"...I got found out, huh?"

Indeed, it seemed that they had cottoned unto his true identity.

But then again, he'd been too conspicuous lately. Aslan's leadership should've detected his and Ruppel's location by now.

Seeing that his son hadn't come to the arena yet, Ruppel must've been apprehended already.

'This means that Ruppel is being held inside the fortress.'

At the very least, he should be unharmed. Well, as a hostage, he'd prove to be an excellent bargaining chip during the negotiation with the Theocratic Empire, after all.

'In that case, should I go and rescue him? My son's in danger, and also... it'll be no good if a rumour spreads around the continent, one about how the empire was left quaking in its boots because measly little Aslan dared to threaten it.'

Sooner or later, White Olfolse was destined to ascend to the throne of the Holy Emperor. His empire, sometimes called the nation of devout believers, was also referred to as the strongest on the continent. It meant that he could not afford to display even a hint of yielding to the likes of Aslan.

"Can't be helped, it seems." He glanced around at the Necromancers and skeletons before cracking his neck muscles. "Should I go and rescue Ruppel first then?"

**

(TL: In 1st person POV.)

There were two ways to rescue my not-so-sharp older brother.

The first option would be to silently sneak into the fortress – covertly scale the fortress walls, and start searching for Ruppel throughout the place since I had no idea where he'd be locked up.

Mm... But that would take way too long. Even if this option offered the advantage of taking care of things quietly, it was a no-no.

Besides, I'd be discovered in a few hours anyways. Without a doubt, the castellan would send pursuers after us as soon as they realised that Ruppel was gone.

In that case, option number two could prove to be far more simpler for me.

With it, I wouldn't have to scale any tall walls or search for Ruppel all by myself. I could even save myself a lot of time too, and if all goes well, the castellan wouldn't even be able to think about coming after us.

Yes, the second option was for the best.

And this second option was...

"Halt!"

I arrived before the huge fortress located on top of the hill after night fell.

The walls alone seemed to reach at least ten metres in height. I spotted the soldiers guarding the fortress's gate.

They weren't the Necromancers, though, just regular soldiers. It was them who were calling out to me, telling me to stop.

I stared at them with a slight pout before shifting my gaze back to the large castle behind them, one that boasted the distinctive architecture of Aslan's culture, and spat out some words of appreciation. "Eeiya~. Man, if it wasn't for the war, I'd have taken my time to enjoy these sights, you know. Too bad."

There couldn't have been more than five, maybe six hundred people max in this fortress. The soldiers saw how 'amazed' I was and seemed to lower their guard a litte, then withdrew their spears.

"What the heck. It was just some random traveller?"

"What brings you here? Do you have any business with his lordship, the castellan?"

The soldiers scanned me from top to bottom. And their wariness dropped even further to the ground. Which wasn't all that surprising since the robe I was currently wearing almost resembled a dirty rag at this point.

"Ah, actually. Rather than having business with the dear lord castellan, it's more like my older brother is inside this fortress, you see."

"Your older brother, is it?"

I smiled brightly while nodding theatrically. "Yes. He's currently imprisoned inside as a slave."

And those words completely undid the last remnants of wariness in the soldiers. They instead burst into a round of loud chuckles.

"What was that? He's a slave?"

"Oh, so you were just a commoner?"

I maintained my bright smile but shook my head this time. "Nope. My station is actually quite high."

When I said that, the soldiers stopped laughing and clamped their mouths shut. They sneakily exchanged glances with each other, wondering if they made a foolish mistake just now.

"W-which noble house are you from, lad?"

I stared straight at them and responded while enunciating every word clearly. "I'm the Seventh Imperial Prince of the Theocratic Empire, Allen Olfolse."

"..."