Azadin's descent team—Zebeck, Brand, Ishmael, and the orc necromancer Scott—reinforced their winter gear with extra blankets and finished preparing to head down into the deepest depths.
"Leaving the knight behind and taking the scribe, huh."
Left behind above, Guillaumevalt gave a bitter smile at the absurdity of his situation. Did that mean they thought Brand was better in battle than him?
But to be honest, there was a part of him that felt relieved not to be going down there.
Every time he fought, his life was on the line, and he was only surviving thanks to high-grade armor crafted by a master artisan. Talk all you want about the duty and honor of a knight—when stepping into battle meant possibly dying at any moment, such talk didn't mean much.
"Well then, let's deal with the Wendigo as quickly as possible."
"Good luck to you, Herald Azadin."
Guillaumevalt sincerely hoped Azadin would succeed, and blessed his path ahead.
***
As the group made their way down the frozen path, they soon came across some piled-up cargo. It wasn't sewer trash that had flowed in from above—it was clean supply goods.
"Oh, found a palanquin!"
Scott, spotting a wooden box-like structure, sounded delighted.
"Palanquin?"
"It's a tool we orcs use to avoid physical exertion. Seeing it here, it must've belonged to Walter."
"Hmm. Doesn't seem to have any wheels, and I doubt it flies on its own. People carry it, right?"
"Yep. It can go through narrower paths or stairs where carriages can't."
"Probably comfortable for the rider, but brutal on the ones carrying it."
"That's why I use undead."
"..."
"I've advanced from that—these days I use a wheelchair. But man, I really wanna get rich and buy a magic carpet."
"A magic carpet? Like the flying kind from old stories?"
"In reality, it just floats slightly above the ground."
"That kind of thing exists? Hmm, I'd like to see one if it does."
"They're expensive. Oh, but if you gave me a copy of the Book of the Divine King, I could probably trade it for a magic carpet."
At Scott's words, Azadin didn't get angry—instead, he analyzed what was said.
"If you're talking like that, I'm guessing you actually know a vendor willing to trade a magic carpet for a copy of the Book of the Divine King. What is this, some black market run by the Kurt Pantheon Alliance?"
"Mm. I misspoke."
"Don't want to say more?"
"You saw that snake-headed woman—there are a lot of people who'd accuse me of betrayal if I shared that kind of info. I'm loyal to the captain because I see you as my employer, but I won't be able to do that forever, you know?"
"Captain?"
"Let's call you that. No matter how I hide my handsome orcish features with illusion, you humans get all jumpy the moment I use necromancy. If I call you 'captain,' it makes our relationship clearer and might ease their tension."
"Sounds like you're just shifting the responsibility onto me."
"You're the captain—shouldn't you shoulder at least that much? You're honored to have a genius of the age like me under your command…."
"Ah. Quiet."
Azadin had spotted enemies in the underground passage. A group of Wendigo were approaching—clothed, with massive shoulder guards, furred bodies, and antlers. They were once hobgoblins who had carried the palanquin—but now, they had turned into Wendigo.
"Grrrr."
The Wendigo exhaled frost as they picked up their battle axes.
"Head!"
Azadin threw a chunk of ice, slamming it into Wendigo's skull. Its neck snapped, and as it staggered, Brand rushed in and severed its leg with the axe-spear that once belonged to Walter.
"Well done!"
Zebeck, too, swung his sword alongside Brand, slicing another Wendigo's jaw and then crushing its collarbone with a stab.
Its arm dangling uselessly, the Wendigo tried to exhale frost. But with its jaw broken, the frost leaked down through its body—and it began to freeze itself solid.
Everyone shuddered as they watched it turn into an ice pillar from its own breath. Still, they had defeated the Wendigo without suffering any damage once again.
'If their numbers are small, they're no problem. The issue is…'
Azadin shivered from the eerie chill that grew stronger the deeper they went.
Then Ishmael spoke.
"I see the altar."
"You can see it?"
"Yes, over there in the ice…."
"Ah."
Among the icicles hanging from the ceiling was a transparent shard reflecting the surroundings, illuminating the space below the canal.
"We're almost there."
Azadin held his breath and approached the icy waterway, peering down into the depths. He could see Wendigo's altar—the Altar of Kin-Slaughter.
Made from the bones of some beast and brimming with a terrible curse, the altar was surrounded by monstrous creatures of a different caliber than ordinary Wendigo. These had once been the followers of the Spider Queen Arthra or the Rat King Mezeri, now turned into Wendigo after death and warped in form.
Compared to regular Wendigo—born from ordinary human deaths—these were far larger, far more menacing. Even Azadin couldn't help but feel the tension.
"They're too big and too many. Could we lure them out and handle them that way?"
"Let's give it a try."
Scott began using necromancy to control one of the Wendigo that had been turned into an ice pillar by Azadin's group.
"You're using it openly now, huh."
"Look, Holy Knight. I'm saving the world here. Do you seriously not grasp how many people will die if those Wendigo break free? Are you too stupid to imagine it?"
"I do understand, which is why I'm tolerating it. But if no one nags you about it, you'd use necromancy—the vile art—too recklessly, wouldn't you?"
"So you're saying you'll annoy me every time I use necromancy. Fine. But in return, whenever I help you with this evil magic, you have to say 'thank you.' Fair trade, right?"
"..."
"What? Is thanking an orc just too humiliating for you, Sir Holy Knight?"
"For starters—thank you for your help during that Wendigo ambush earlier. Without your aid, we surely would've taken casualties."
"Oh… you actually start with gratitude?"
Chuckling at Zebeck's thanks, Scott sent the controlled Wendigo down to the altar chamber.
But immediately, the Wendigo that had once been a follower of Arthra shot silk from its tail, ensnaring the undead puppet. In one swift motion, it yanked it up like a fishing rod and smashed it mid-air with its front legs.
"Gwoaaaaarrrgh!"
"Damn."
The ice cracked, and from beneath emerged grotesque spider-like monsters—except they had antlers like deer and long fur-covered bodies.
They had once been followers of Arthra, but now, having died and become Wendigo, they began scaling the ice walls from the underground paths, targeting Azadin's group.
—Mace of Judgment!
Zebeck hurled his mace and unleashed white magic. With a thunderous crash, the ice wall collapsed, sending the spider Wendigo scrambling back down in a cascade of broken ice.
But the massive spider Wendigo pushed through the crumbling wall with its body and continued to climb.
—Screeee!
An arrow fired by Ishmael pierced into the spider Wendigo's mouth.
Azadin hurled a chunk of ice, striking the tail end of Ishmael's arrow, driving it even deeper into the creature's gaping maw. The arrow burst through the back, and the Wendigo's head snapped backward.
As the spider Wendigo reeled, Brand charged with his axe-spear and struck the front legs the Wendigo had lodged into the ice wall for climbing, severing them cleanly.
The limbless Wendigo plummeted but got caught when its antlers embedded into the wall, halting its fall.
That actually made things worse. The spider Wendigo, with its head stuck in the wall and unable to touch the ground, flailed its legs wildly in the air—only getting in the way of the other Wendigo.
"Good. Looks like we've split them up enough. We're circling around to approach the altar!"
Avoiding the spider Wendigo, Azadin leapt sideways and plunged down the icy waterfall. It was a considerable height, but Azadin stabbed his sword into the ice wall to slow his descent and landed softly on the ground.
"Grrrhhh…"
Wendigo with long, rat-like snouts—likely former apostles of Mezeri—appeared, holding sickle-like swords curved forward in both hands to face Azadin.
"You want to fight me with swords?"
Azadin gripped his own blade and charged forward.
—Kazaz Haeseo, Yellow Crane!
His body swept sideways in a wide arc as he slashed. The moment the storm-like force channeled into the sword, all grew still, leaving only a refined blade aura behind.
What began as a wild charge suddenly transformed into a precise, restrained horizontal slash the instant his blade made contact—sublimating the earlier ferocity into elegance.
—Splat!
Azadin's sword cut through the Wendigo who had once served Mezeri, utterly annihilating them. At the same time, his body slid across the ground like a gliding phantom, instantly shifting positions.
"Incredible! No wonder his weapons never survive long!"
Ishmael clicked his tongue, realizing now why Azadin's weapons were always worn out after battle.
"Cover me! I'll investigate the altar!"
Azadin called out to his companions and darted toward the altar.
***
The Wendigo exhaled frost, freezing the surroundings solid. The cold from these terrifying undead mutations—born anew through transformation—was nightmarishly bitter.
'I'm reaching my limit.'
Azadin took a deep breath, circulating blood throughout his body. It consumed more stamina, but it drove away the cold. He broke through the Wendigo ranks and finally reached the altar.
"If I perform a proper funeral for the sacrificial victim… maybe I can weaken this!"
The victim offered to the cursed ritual—a human sacrifice. If Azadin entrusted his death to the Archangel of the Trinity he believed in, to the merciful angel, it might weaken the sacred relic the Wendigo's rite had conjured.
Azadin was also a disciple of Kazas, an elder who studied Nether magic, so he was no stranger to Nether magic and rituals. He deliberately pretended not to know in front of Liz and the others, and listened and asked questions.
Azadin spotted a human corpse lying next to the altar. The one used as a sacrifice to unseal the Wendigo was a young man—likely one of Brock's servants, muscular and tall.
As Azadin approached the body, the Wendigo concentrated their assault on him. But his companions struck back with fierce counterattacks, holding off the creatures.
"Good!"
Azadin secured the sacrificed corpse and folded its hands over its chest. The stomach had been ripped open, the innards devoured, and flesh torn from all over the body. Clear signs of human sacrifice, kin-slaying, and cannibalism—the basis of the Wendigo rite.
'That woman!'
Rage toward Liz surged within Azadin.
She'd insisted it was unavoidable, that things had just turned out that way—but the corpse made it clear. It was all lies. There was nothing accidental or mistaken about this.
'It was all intentional, wasn't it?'
Frowning, Azadin began the consecration of the corpse.
"Oh Archangel of Wisdom, Courage, and Mercy, have pity. Take compassion on the soul of this one who could not escape death, and guide them to their path."
And then, it happened.