Lord of Rot

"Jamie?" Inside the cavern, Leech’s voice faded into the distance.

Jamie gritted his teeth and jumped down into the cavern. ’If a gravely wounded, dying man isn’t afraid, then what do I have to fear? Maybe there really is some kind of treasure inside! Besides, this mysterious cavern would be the perfect place to bury Baron Leech!’

It was pitch-black ahead, the light from the cavern entrance so faint it was practically nonexistent. Jamie could only grope his way forward in the darkness. After a short distance, he heard footsteps.

The other person stopped in front of Jamie.

"My lord?" Jamie asked, clenching his fist, ready to land a heavy blow to the man’s chest.

SWOOSH!

But the figure acted with far more decisiveness. A scythe swung down out of the darkness, hacking heavily into Jamie’s shoulder. The crude blade, however, got stuck in his shoulder muscle rather than severing his arm.

Jamie’s eyes widened in pain as he roared, "You’re asking to die!"

He shot out a hand and grabbed his attacker’s wrist. It was ice-cold, but Jamie had no time to think about it. He didn’t even stop to wonder why he couldn’t hear any breathing in the silent cavern.

With a sharp twist, he snapped his attacker’s wrist. His other hand seized the man’s neck, and as he pulled him close, he saw that it wasn’t Leech who had ambushed him, but a farmer.

"It’s you!" He recognized the farmer as one of the four who had followed them into the mysterious tomb the day before.

"You’ve sided with him? Heh, you foolish farmer!"

Jamie snapped the farmer’s neck, tossed the body to the ground, and pulled the scythe from his shoulder. Gripping it in his hand, he continued forward.

He had only taken two steps when a pair of hands clutched his right leg. Jamie glanced down, using the faint light from the entrance, and saw that the one holding his leg was none other than the farmer whose neck he had just snapped.

More footsteps approached from ahead.

Three farmers, holding hoes, axes, and other farm tools, charged at him. Jamie immediately brandished the scythe. Even without his greatsword, as the "Warg Slayer," he could still unleash powerful sword techniques. In this narrow cavern, fighting three at once was no problem.

’Especially since they were just three farmers. This would be easier than killing vicious dogs.’

The scythe flashed across the three men’s necks, the blade hooking and tearing open their throats.

"Hmph," Jamie snorted in contempt and continued forward.

But what the three farmers did next left him in disbelief. Though their throats had been slit, they didn’t fall. Instead, they continued to swing their farm tools. A hoe slammed into Jamie’s head, leaving him dizzy and seeing stars. An axe, landing near the previous scythe wound, chopped viciously into his collarbone. A sickening crack echoed as the bone gave way and an artery was severed. Blood gushed out!

"Aargh!!"

Jamie exploded in a rage. He yanked the axe from his collarbone and hacked the three farmers to pieces. Then he clapped a hand to his neck, but he couldn’t staunch the torrential bleeding. His strength drained away with the blood.

He didn’t understand why these farmers, who were usually as timid as mice, would attack him so desperately, nor why they didn’t die after having their throats slit.

Finally, Jamie’s strength gave out. He collapsed, his eyelids growing heavy.

"Teacher Jamie, why?" Leech’s voice drifted from the depths of the darkness. He had yet to show his face.

"Why?"

Blood spilled from Jamie’s mouth. "Because... I wanted to become a Knight, but your father didn’t think I was worthy."

His vision began to blur. In the distance, a flicker of firelight finally appeared.

Holding a torch, Leech stood in the distance, looking down on Jamie with the cold, noble air of the previous Baron Porcupine. His face was devoid of expression. "That’s right. You betrayed your lord and your honor. You truly are unworthy."

After waiting a few minutes for Jamie to die, Leech walked over, bent down, and began slowly dragging the still-warm corpse deeper into the cavern. The three farmers’ bodies were ruined. The fourth could be repaired, but it would require a large amount of gold—and unfortunately, gold was the one thing Baron Leech’s castle was desperately short on.

But now, he had the corpse of a "Warg Slayer."

’The wound to the collarbone is deep, and there’s a depression in the skull...’

Reviving a corpse wasn’t difficult; the hard part was ensuring it was "whole." Any incomplete parts had to be filled in with gold. Leech was already starting to think that in the future, he should kill his enemies with poison or assassination. He had to preserve the bodies’ integrity; otherwise, it was far too wasteful.

After moving Jamie’s body into a coffin and adding gold to begin the refinement process, he quickly left the underground cavern.

It was already light outside. ’News that I’ve woken up has probably reached my stepmother by now. I should go deal with her, to show some respect.’

"Where’s Pitchfork?"

Leech stepped out of his room, forbidding anyone from entering. He was the Baron of Porcupine Territory, and in this place, his word was a command that everyone had to obey. To defy a lord’s order was considered an act of rebellion—punishable by whipping for lesser offenses and by hanging for greater ones.

As for his injuries, Leech simply gave a vague excuse. The absence of his manservant, Pitchfork, provided the perfect cover story.

"He has gone to the farmers in Porcupine Territory to gather Pig’s Eye Grass for you, my lord.

Pitchfork is your most loyal servant. The night you were unconscious, he tossed and turned, unable to sleep, and he cried until his eyes were red and swollen. He will be overjoyed to learn that you have awoken."

This man, who spouted such refined words it seemed he wanted to cram an idiom into every sentence, was Leech’s steward, "Rabbit" Simon.

He had brown hair and what one might call a high, full forehead. But aside from his drooping eyelids, which he deliberately held wide, the most unforgettable thing about him was his philtrum. It was said that he had been born with a cleft lip. Fortunately, his father had found a scholar to perform surgery on him at the time. Though the cleft lip was cured, it left him with a philtrum far deeper than most.

Leech recalled what he knew about the man’s conduct and personality. He had to admit, Simon was an exceptionally competent steward, managing the castle’s internal affairs with perfect order. As for whether he was involved in the previous Baron’s murder, Leech wasn’t concerned. Even if Porcupine Castle went through a hundred more Barons, Simon would still be just a steward. A man with no heroic achievements and no noble blood, Simon was fated to be a steward for life.

’Betrayal requires sufficient reward, and my stepmother had little to offer. Other than my teacher, Jamie, whose brain must have been squashed by a Warg’s ass, no one would believe a Knight’s daughter could provide any meaningful incentive.’

’Of course, the steward Simon must have guessed what happened when I returned gravely injured and near death. But he still wants to be the steward, so he’s chosen to play dumb. And right now, with no one to help me, I have to play dumb as well. I’ll just have to be more careful using such a disloyal person in the future.’

"Let’s have breakfast. If I’m going to die soon, I hope it won’t be from starvation."

The steward, Simon, replied at once, "I will have the kitchen prepare it immediately, my lord."