Chapter 111 – Transport
"Witchcraft of the Ancient World?"
Charles glanced at the thick black tome bound in ancient parchment, feeling a vague sense of awe he couldn't quite explain. Unfortunately, the book was imbued with a Paralysis Curse, so he didn't dare have his zombie open it to take a look.
Instead, the corpse pushed the book straight into the traversal gate.
Then came the second book.
The third.
The Book of Hopkins, Mysteries of the Astral Spirits, How to Bind Curses, The Devil's Testament, The Necromancer's Lexicon, Gregory's Bloodline Extraction Technique, Seventeen Forbidden Death Rituals That Should Not Exist…
An entire day passed without incident.
Once the time limit arrived, Charles smoothly began his "plundering operation" inside this danger-filled house.
Ripples spread across the pale-blue light screen as books of all shapes and colors were steadily shoved into the traversal gate—spellbooks, historical records, reference manuals, and others whose purposes were impossible to guess from their titles alone.
Charles had already tested this using zombies: as long as the books were not opened, the curses sealed within them would not activate. Simple contact was safe.
Even so, out of an abundance of caution, he never touched them himself. He only issued commands and let the zombies do the work. It was slower—but far safer.
"Connie won't wake up unless I call her… The Church won't arrive that fast… and as for everything else…"
Shaking his head, Charles lowered his gaze to a thin, gray-covered book in his hands.
Unlike the cursed volumes on the shelves, this one bore no curse at all.
Its gray cover featured a skull crowned with a bishop's mitre. The title read:
Church Prevention Manual – Seventh Edition
Charles hadn't found it on the bookshelf, but rather wedged under a corner of the desk—used as a makeshift table leg support.
Useless trash to its former owner.
Extremely valuable to Charles.
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"Mediumship-oriented paths can ignore the repulsion of sacred church domains.
However, any death path involving bloodline alteration—such as liches, ghouls, or vampires—must avoid holy ground at all costs, or they will be exposed by the Church's Thornlight."
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"If you are merely a low-level nobody, even if you break the rules, the Church will not make a big fuss.
Ordinary guards, aided by low-ranking witch-hunters, will likely be your final destination."
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"If you accomplish something 'noteworthy,' you may attract the Church's Blackcloaks.
They excel at tracking. Unless you completely sever contact with the world, capture is only a matter of time."
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"If you are deemed critically important, the Church will pursue you with full force.
They will commune with certain heavenly entities capable of prophecy.
Once your true name is known, you are exposed."
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"Therefore—hide your true name.
Never speak it.
Not to anyone.
Ever."
"If the Church discovers a crime scene within twenty-four hours, everything you have done can be reconstructed through magic.
To counter such investigations, the best solution is to turn the scene itself into a complete dead zone."
"Here, I solemnly recommend So-Called Death by Senior Anthony Lucius.
While there are many ways to create a land of death, the methods recorded in this book are unquestionably the best!"
"Of course, the optimal approach is still to keep a low profile and never expose your true identity.
No matter how subtle your methods, they will eventually be deciphered—especially in this era of endlessly evolving magic."
"Finally, let us all offer our blessings that the damn mangy old bastard in the Church's Divine Arts Development Department ascends to Heaven as soon as possible!"
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Charles slowly closed the book, his expression turning grave.
"This," he muttered, "is the real inheritance."
He realized that this book was less a tactical guide against the Church and more a survival manual for necromancers.
Its contents went far beyond evading Church investigations. It also covered how to deal with secular authorities, unofficial organizations, and various shadow factions.
Scattered throughout the pages were fleeting references to other dark practitioners—or even entire underground forces: mentions of Dark Conclaves, the Bone Gazette, and other ominous-sounding entities that inspired equal parts curiosity and unease.
"So this is the so-called dark underworld?"
After skimming through the book, Charles reached that conclusion.
Although crushed beneath the Thorn Church's dominance, these underground forces were clearly not without means of resistance. Ordinary people simply had no idea they existed.
Yet instead of feeling excited at the prospect of "finding his people," Charles felt conflicted.
He couldn't decide whether it would be better if these dark forces were powerful—or utterly pathetic.
On the continent of Akavia, nations were merely auxiliaries. The Thorn Church was the true pillar maintaining stability. And judging by everything he had learned so far—
Anyone who studied black magic was unlikely to be a good person.
Including himself.
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Time passed quietly.
The bookshelf before him was gradually emptied. The zombies worked tirelessly, devoid of fatigue or emotion, while Charles remained absorbed in the book in his hands.
From time to time, he would scan his surroundings or glance toward the island's edge through the window, half-expecting Connie to wake up. But this worry proved unnecessary—two full days passed without the slightest movement.
"Could she starve to death?"
The thought crossed his mind, but he dismissed it almost immediately. Unlike himself, she possessed celestial blood. At this point, it was hard to say whether she even counted as human anymore.
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Night fell, plunging the surroundings into darkness.
Out of caution, Charles didn't light any torches or lamps. He continued working solely by the faint blue glow of the traversal gate.
Books were removed one by one. Because he dared not handle them roughly, progress was slow. By midnight, the bookshelf was mostly empty.
"Mostly," because there were still several volumes he dared not touch.
Those imbued with explosive enchantments could technically be sent through the traversal gate as well—but Charles had no guarantee they wouldn't be opened accidentally on the other side.
That was a risk he refused to take.
Casting a regretful glance at the dozen or so remaining books, he finally tossed the one in his hands into the gate. Then, accompanied by the zombie, he stepped through himself.
Ideally, he would have preferred not to enter immediately—but once the traversal gate was opened, the only way to close it was for him to go through and come back out.
"There's nothing smart about this thing at all."
By the time he finished complaining, he was already back where he started.
Hunger swelled in his stomach, and the exhaustion from standing for hours vanished in an instant. Charles surveyed the dangerous study and hesitated.
The next twenty-four hours would be the most perilous.
According to the manual, if a Church expert arrived during this window and investigated the site, everything he had done could be exposed.
"I don't have any 'death-zone' spells… Burning the place down might work, but…"
Given all the dangers hidden within the house, recklessly destroying it didn't seem wise.
If certain restraints were broken and something escaped, where would he even run?
The island was tiny.
Abandoning the idea, Charles carefully exited the study, climbed down the building with effort, and leaned against a nearby coconut tree.
He decided to remain near the house for twenty-four hours.
If the Church showed up, he'd torch the place without hesitation. If not—then all would be well.
As for Connie, who had been lying unconscious in the dungeon for several days…
Charles vaguely recalled that an ordinary person wouldn't starve to death for four or five days.
And someone not quite ordinary?
Probably even longer.
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