The stench of decay hung thick in the dark sewer. Feces, sewage, rotting trash—even corpses—were dumped into this sunless waterway to fester. Ancient stone walls, slick with moisture, arched overhead, their design maximizing the stone’s load-bearing strength. Narrow stone walkways, barely a meter wide, flanked the murky channel. Rats darted across them, vanishing into the gloom.

Lucius covered his face with a vinegar-soaked cloth, fighting the pervasive stink. Ten soldiers followed him, trailed by two slaves lugging packs. Besides food, they carried two large water flasks. The foul air might ruin meals, but clean water was non-negotiable. Sewage here meant dysentery, gut infections, death. Many runaway slaves had perished after drinking from the underground river, lost and desperate.

His father had been a sewer-slave. Young Lucius often accompanied him, learning its secrets—a stroke of luck now. For this mission, he’d equipped everyone, slaves included, with vinegar cloths and thick-soled shoes. The cloths blocked the stench; the shoes shielded feet from sewage-borne bacteria and tetanus.

Thirteen figures advanced slowly, torchlight carving a path through the dark but failing to pierce the deeper shadows. The turbid river reeked, litter bobbing on its surface as it oozed toward the city moat. Turning the moat into a cesspool harmed the environment, yet in sieges, its bacteria became weapons. Soldiers wading across risked infected wounds. In this world of crude medicine, tetanus meant agony and death—unless blessed by the God of Light Uther.

A white shape suddenly surfaced. Lucius halted the column.

Torches thrust forward illuminated the black water. The object drifted closer on the current. Relief washed over Lucius and his men as it came into focus: just a bloated sack, air trapped inside making it seem like something else.

“Move out,” Lucius sheathed his sword. “Stay sharp.”

Muffled grunts answered him. Even vinegar cloths couldn’t fully mask the sewer’s reek.

Ahead, a corner. A rusted metal bracket held a half-rotted torch on the wall. Lucius lit it with his own flame. Orange light flooded the junction. These torches, left by maintenance crews and slaves, marked safe paths—lit when entering, extinguished when leaving. Fail that, and the lightless labyrinth meant death.

Rounding the bend, a girl materialized in the torchlight. Lucius froze, hand flying to his sword hilt. Encountering anyone here was rare; a girl was unthinkable. More shocking was her beauty: snow-pale skin, crimson eyes, silver hair gleaming with a platinum sheen. An otherworldly face. A goddess? A demon? Or a ghost luring the living?

“Hold!” She raised both hands. “I’m no enemy.”

She spoke the Imperial tongue. Resolve burned in her red eyes. Lucius hesitated a second, then lifted his hand from his sword. The torchlight glinted on the badge pinned to her chest—the insignia of the Hamodia Swordsmen. She was one of them.

“My apologies, milady,” he said. “I never expected to meet a Hamodia swordsman here.”

“No, the fault is mine,” she smiled. That gentle smile, paired with her breathtaking beauty, instantly captivated Lucius.

“May I ask your name?”

“Mio.” She gave a slight, polite bow.

“The Third Royal Candidate!” Lucius gasped. “I am Lucius, decurion of the Imperial Capital Guard. Forgive my boldness, Your Highness—but what brings you to this place? It’s far too dangerous for an expedition!”

“Don’t worry, Decurion Lucius. I have a formidable bodyguard.”

The scrape of iron boots echoed. A young blonde woman stepped into the light. Seeing her defiant smirk, Lucius bowed deeply.

“To encounter the Sword Saint here…” he murmured. “This humble officer is deeply honored.”

Though the Hamodia Swordsmen operated outside the Imperial Army’s chain of command, their Grandmaster and Sword Saint held general’s rank. Above them, the Grand Tutor stood equal to an Imperial Marshal.

“Spare the formalities—I’m just a rough soldier,” Aimee said. “Heads-up: the path ahead is blocked. We doubled back. Don’t waste your time.”

“Blocked?” Lucius frowned. “Impossible.”

“You seem to know these sewers well,” Mio said. “But the way truly is cut off. We turned back after failing to pass—and met you.”

“No. There *is* a path.” Lucius gestured forward. “Follow me.”

Mio and Aimee exchanged glances, then fell in behind him.

The fifteen-strong group advanced another hundred meters. Suddenly, the stone walkway ended. A massive sinkhole gaped where the man-made tunnel should have been. Sewage roared into the abyss.

“What in blazes happened here?” Lucius stared. “This hole didn’t exist before.”

“How long ago?” Mio asked.

“Fifteen years since I last walked this stretch,” Lucius grimaced. “My father maintained this sector. I helped him clear silt as a boy. He died of illness later… others took over.”

“I see.” Mio ran her fingers over the sinkhole’s edge. “These rocks lack sediment buildup. They look fresh. This was recent.”

“True,” Lucius touched the stone. “No slimy film at all.”

“Step back, everyone,” Mio ordered.

She focused, tapping the darkness within her soul. Black sludge coalesced in her palm, forming a spherical drone. Mio synced with it tactically, then tossed it aloft. The drone’s rotors whirred to life, darting into the sinkhole’s darkness. Through the tactical feed, Mio saw jagged rock walls—clearly excavated by tools. This was man-made.

The drone descended. Murky water churned below. Designed for tight spaces, it weaved effortlessly through twisting passages. Its infrared camera painted the scene in crisp daylight. The tunnel stretched astonishingly far, sloping sharply downward—then opened into a vast underground chamber.

A ritual altar, carved from bedrock, dominated the space. A colossal magic circle spun on the floor, pulsing with unsettling violet light. At its center stood a massive cauldron. Mio guided the drone closer. The camera feed made her blood run cold: human souls writhed in the violet liquid, dissolving under torment. Some were already formless shadows.

*So this is how souls are unmade.*

Mio edged the drone nearer the cauldron. A targeting reticle flashed red over a figure. She zoomed in: a man in black robes chanted before the altar, a bone staff glowing with purple energy.

“Samilian?” A vicious smile spread across Mio’s face. “Found you at last.”

At that name, even Aimee’s expression darkened. Two young soldiers wet themselves on the spot. The name of a Death Servant carried that terror.

“Lady Mio,” Lucius stammered, “is it truly the ‘Necro-King’ Samilian?”

“Silence.” Mio activated her weapon systems. “Let’s see if I can blast his head off.”

The drone unfolded a micro-laser from its underbelly, targeting the necromancer’s skull.

The high-energy beam fired—then the feed cut abruptly. The drone’s signal blinked “LOST.” But in its final frames, it captured the attacker: a bandage-wrapped swordsman grinned savagely, lidless eyes burning.

“Shit! Iduchi!” Mio yelled. “Fall back—NOW!”

She hurled grenades into the sinkhole. Explosions boomed, collapsing the tunnel.

“That’ll buy us minutes,” she snapped at Lucius. “Decurion! Take your men and report this to your superiors—immediately!”

“Understood!” Lucius barked. “Full retreat!”

Before his order faded, screams erupted from the rear. Black beetles swarmed over the two slaves, tearing flesh, burrowing inside. They thrashed on the ground. One leapt into the sewage river, flailing wildly. Then—abruptly—they stilled. Slowly, they rose.

“Hey! You okay?” A soldier stepped toward them.

“Don’t go near them!” Lucius roared. “It’s a trap!”

Too late. The slave seized the soldier’s neck and bit down. Black beetles erupted from its mouth, flooding into the soldier’s body. Within seconds, they turned. The slave and soldier pivoted, black eyes fixed on the others, and lunged. A rear soldier swung his sword, cleaving the slave’s torso—but it didn’t fall. It grinned. Beetles poured from the wound, surging up the blade toward his hand.

“Gods, help me!”

The soldier dropped his sword and stumbled back. A bloodless hand clamped his ankle—the sewage-drenched slave grinned up, sinking teeth into his leg. Beetles flooded the wound. Dozens of tiny bulges writhed beneath his skin.

*BANG! BANG!* Holy Silver Bullets tore through heads. Mio shot low, blowing apart the submerged slave’s skull. But the headless corpses didn’t fall. More beetles burst from the wounds. Ten thousand black insects carpeted the ground, surging toward the living.

“What nightmare is this?!” Lucius recoiled.

“Corpse beetles,” Mio said calmly. “A necromancer’s favorite pets. But Samilian’s modified them—they turn victims into Undead on contact.”

“Monstrous!” Lucius turned to Mio—and froze. A tube spewing flame now blazed in her hands. “Lady Mio, that’s—”

“OUT OF MY WAY!” Mio shoved past him, aiming the flamethrower at the onrushing insect tide.

In the next instant, napalm shot out, propelled by compressed gas. Ignited by the front flame, it transformed into a fire dragon, sweeping across the horde of undead worms.

Flames instantly engulfed the entire sewer. Both zombie victims and crawling corpse worms writhed in a macabre dance as they burned to ashes.

As oxygen levels dropped, the fire weakened. Mio handed a respirator to Aimee behind her and shouted, "Everyone, follow me out!"

Before her words faded, rocks blocking the cave behind shattered under countless flashes of cold light. Iduchi, wielding two curved blades, emerged from the darkness. His lipless mouth curled into a sinister grin.