Chapter Six: The Looming Darkness

Verna felt irritated.

As a half-dark elf, Verna had done much to achieve her current standing. She relied on the power of her dark elven heritage to gather the bear goblins and half-orcs, and through her own strength and ruthlessness, she gained considerable prestige in the Northlands. For someone who had left her homeland and lost the protection of her family, Verna believed no one could have done better.

When she accepted the gray dwarves’ commission to explore the ruins deep within the mine tunnels, Verna knew her opportunity had arrived. If she could complete this task, she would be able to secure her foothold in Brandon Stone City. From there, she had plenty of ways to slowly climb to the peak and rule the city.

Perhaps even all of the Northlands.

Verna paid no heed to the dangers the gray dwarves mentioned lurking in the mines. In her eyes, those wretched creatures merely wanted her to give up. But for a woman with dark elven blood, facing challenges head-on was her nature. She made thorough preparations and was convinced of her inevitable success.

It was precisely for this reason that she held no fondness for the necromancer and his companion, who had abruptly joined her group. She even suspected the gray dwarves had already guessed at her ambitions and intentionally sent the necromancer to hinder her. Thus, Verna had no goodwill for these two uninvited guests.

“Remember your place, you lowly male!”

Verna stomped her foot heavily; her metal-heeled boots echoed loudly against the ground. Arms crossed, she gazed with disdain at the figure swathed in black robes—Jahn—and the noble maiden standing at his side.

“Don’t think being a mage makes you so formidable. Since you requested to join my party and act with us, you must obey my orders! I know you’re a mage, but I can assure you—if you refuse to follow my commands or cause me any trouble, my sword will pierce your throat before you can utter a single spell! I promise, it’ll be faster than your magic!”

Jahn said nothing in response to Verna’s furious threats. Instead, Enoia frowned slightly and, with elegant poise, stepped forward—her movement reminiscent of a lady inviting a partner to dance at a ball.

“I hope you will retract your insulting words to my master, beautiful ‘half-blood’ dark elf.”

Enoia’s quiet gaze met Verna’s violet eyes. Whether by intention or not, she placed particular emphasis on the word “half-blood.”

“We are here solely at the gray dwarves’ invitation. If not for our shared destination, we would have no need to travel with you. I hope you understand this deeply.”

“You…”

Enoia’s words nearly drove Verna mad with rage. In the cities of the dark elves, anyone who dared to speak to her that way would be tortured to death. Unfortunately, this was not a dark elf city, and Enoia’s pale, almost bluish skin was a clear warning of her true identity.

Undead.

Through her special dark elven vision, Verna could see the glow of life’s warmth emanating from Jahn—a sign of the living. But in the girl before her, there was nothing of the sort. If she didn’t switch back to normal sight, Verna would have thought she was looking at nothing more than a stone or some other object.

Verna’s knowledge told her that any undead possessing intelligence comparable to the living was a formidable foe. Even the First Matron Mother of Baronso would afford such walking corpses a measure of respect. Verna was certain her sword could pierce the girl’s delicate throat in an instant, but she didn’t doubt the girl could tear out her heart at the very same moment.

The answer to who would truly die then was all but obvious.

In the end, Verna chose to withdraw. She stomped her foot in anger, then turned and strode ahead. Only after confirming her concession did Enoia return to Jahn’s side with a composed smile.

“You shouldn’t have teased her.”

Jahn, who had quietly enjoyed the scene, finally spoke. Enoia’s loyalty would not allow any insult or derision directed at him. Jahn was certain that if Verna had uttered another word, Enoia would now be holding her heart in her hand.

On this, Enoia was unwavering. She had demonstrated the fearless courage of the undead more than once—not only with Verna, but even among the demons, she had never backed down, even when facing the mightiest of their kind.

Jahn recalled vividly the time his sister had come to find him while he was occupied with an experiment that could not be disturbed. Enoia had used all her strength to bar Vivian at the door, and even after the furious half-dragon girl shattered her limbs, Enoia showed neither fear nor retreat.

In the end, even Vivian was unnerved by Enoia’s persistence and had to be dragged away by Naberius, who arrived upon hearing the commotion. After that, no one dared underestimate the necromancer’s summoned maiden again.

Only Jahn knew how deep the bond between himself and Enoia truly ran—deeper than anyone could imagine.

“In the endless dark below, an amusing toy is a fine way to pass the time, master.”

Enoia gave Jahn a playful wink in reply.

“And I think you’ve noticed as well.”

“Yes… that’s right…”

Jahn nodded, pushing his glasses up as he glanced at Verna—a glint of light flashing across his lenses—as she strode at the front of the party, cracking her whip and barking orders.

Verna’s display of anger before Jahn was not merely to preserve her prestige and position; it was born of fear. As a demon, Jahn could sense that within the dark elf’s body flowed blood ignited by dark flames.

Demonic blood.

This was the true reason for Verna’s agitation in his presence. The other half of her blood was instinctively warning her that she stood before a demon—one of royal descent, no less. In the demons’ rigid, hierarchical society, nothing was more important.

Thus, even if Jahn did nothing but stand before her, the half-blood dark elf would feel an instinctive urge to kneel and pledge her loyalty—exactly what one of lower blood should do before noble lineage.

But Verna was clearly unaware of this. That was why she feared this sudden feeling so much. From her expression, Jahn guessed she had no idea she possessed demon blood. Otherwise, she would have recognized his identity at once. For in the dark subterranean world, only demons are eternal—the supreme rulers above all.

“It seems she has no idea of her own heritage.”

Jahn muttered, and Enoia nodded in agreement. During his years in the demon realm, Jahn had learned much. Though his power was insufficient for the most devastating spells, knowledge’s strength was never limited to battle alone.

In fact, Jahn had already guessed how Verna was born. To the dark elves, demons are their sovereigns and rulers, all bowing to a demon queen named Lolth.

To gain demonic strength and favor, the dark elves would often conduct rituals to summon powerful demons from their realm, offering their bodies in hopes of alliance. Occasionally, such rituals would produce children of mixed demon blood.

Verna was clearly one of those children.

What truly piqued Jahn’s curiosity was that dark elves born of demon blood typically possessed high status. There were few like Verna—exiled, outcast. What had she done that even her bloodline could not protect her?

Jahn found himself deeply intrigued.

Perhaps this would become a significant entry in his records.

Unaware that she had become Jahn’s “subject of observation,” Verna was at that moment lashing her whip, driving the hulking bear goblins forward. She could not understand why she felt such fear and unease upon seeing the necromancer. She found herself overly concerned with his actions, as if she were a student constantly worried about her teacher’s judgment.

Such feelings unsettled her. Even in the dark elven cities, facing her own Matron Mother, she had never been so cautious or so concerned with another’s opinions.

But why, before this necromancer, was she so careful? Was it his status as a mage? She had dealt with mages before, so why did this one feel so different?

Clang… clang…!

As Verna pondered, a sudden, heavy clattering of stone rang out. Before she could react, a piercing scream echoed from ahead. Beside the party, what had appeared to be harmless piles of stone suddenly rose up, swinging massive claws as they launched their attack!

At the sound, Verna’s face changed dramatically.

“This is bad—it’s a Terrorclaw!”