Arwen stood quietly in the middle of the road.
He had been there for a while already, and accompanying him was the old lich, Sebas.
At this moment, however, Sebas was nowhere to be seen—he was hiding carefully in the bushes beside the road, preparing the Night Veil Barrier.
That's right—as a Tier 3 high-level mage, Sebas was capable of casting Night Veil Barrier.
Even though the spell didn't originally exist within his repertoire of beginner necromancy spells,
Hel had managed to teach it to him in just half an hour.
One had to admit—Sebas was indeed talented when it came to necromantic magic.
However, this time Sebas was only playing a supporting role—his job was to ensure no one escaped.
The real attacker was Arwen.
"They're finally here."
Arwen murmured as he saw a large column of soldiers approaching in the distance.
With the strength he and Sebas possessed, it hadn't taken long to arrive and set up the ambush.
Benn's convoy, on the other hand, had been slowed down by the need to escort a large number of prisoners.
By the time they arrived, the sun had already set.
That was precisely why Arwen had chosen to strike here—the cover of night would make the Night Veil Barrier more effective and conceal the battle from nearby townsfolk.
As for whether Arwen alone could handle the two hundred or so soldiers?
That question had never even crossed Hel's or Arwen's minds.
Now clad in the rare, violet-colored mithril lance and mithril heavy armor once worn by the Death Knight,
Arwen's original strength of 93 points had skyrocketed to 181.
In other words, wiping out this rabble of weaklings wouldn't even take long.
And indeed, in less than two minutes—1 minute and 40 seconds, to be exact—
Benn, the two mid-tier knights, fifteen low-tier knights, and the 230 soldiers were all dead.
"One minute and forty seconds. A brilliant performance, Lord Arwen."
Sebas closed his pocket watch and carefully drew a necklace from his pocket—Hel's Holy Coffin of the Undead.
Using its power, he collected all the corpses into the artifact before dispelling the Night Veil Barrier.
"Let's go. It's time to report back."
Sebas called out as he turned to leave.
But after walking a few steps, he realized Arwen hadn't followed—his gaze was fixed on the mining town across the river.
"What's wrong, Lord Arwen?"
"There's something… unusual in that mining town.
I sense the presence of something powerful—or someone.
Something dangerous."
"Dangerous?"
Sebas's expression grew grim.
"But I think," Arwen said slowly, "that I might be strong enough to deal with it now."
"Please, Lord Arwen, don't act rashly," Sebas cautioned.
"We should report this to the young master first.
If our recklessness causes unnecessary trouble, it could be disastrous."
Sebas glanced toward the mining town himself, trying to feel what Arwen described—
but he sensed nothing unusual.
Shaking his head, he said,
"Let's go. We'll prepare properly before we act.
At the very least, we should wait until both of us have advanced to Tier 4."
That night passed quietly.
The next morning, Hel awoke under the gentle care of the young maid, Anna.
After a full night's rest, his body still felt… strange somehow—
but he couldn't quite put his finger on why.
Staring at the vast, empty castle, he eventually blamed it on "reincarnation aftereffects."
After breakfast, Sebas handed him the Holy Coffin of the Undead.
Hel didn't bother to inspect the bodies within.
Instead, he ordered Sebas to handle the aftermath—specifically, the pensions for those who had died in service.
Even if those people had been disloyal, they had still been his people in name.
If he failed to pay proper compensation, who would ever be willing to serve him again?
"There were 29 servants in the castle," Sebas reported.
"According to imperial law, each family must receive three years' worth of wages—3.6 gold coins each.
Seventy soldiers died—each entitled to 7.2 gold coins.
That's 608.4 gold coins in total.
The biggest expense, however, comes from the thirty knights.
Each must receive 36 gold coins—adding up to 1,080 gold coins altogether."
"So I'll need to pay 1,688.4 gold coins?" Hel frowned.
"I also need to make a donation to the Holy Tribunal Church, right?
How much money do we actually have left in the treasury?"
Listening to Sebas's report gave Hel a headache.
This world used a gold–silver–copper coin system, with a 1:100 exchange rate.
In other words:
1 gold coin = 100 silver coins = 10,000 copper coins.
A 100-gram loaf of dark bread cost about 5 copper coins.
If compared to Earth's currency, 1 copper coin was roughly equivalent to 1 RMB.
Which meant—1 gold coin was worth about 10,000 yuan.
However, Heim Territory was a small and poor region.
The average commoner earned only about 1,000 yuan per month—barely enough to survive.
A soldier might earn 2,000 yuan.
Knights and nobles, on the other hand, were the truly wealthy ones.
Even the lowest-ranking junior knight earned a salary equivalent to 10,000 yuan a month—an upper-class income by any standard.
"At present," Sebas continued, "the Heim treasury holds only 3,300 gold coins.
The Holy Tribunal donation is customary—100 gold coins.
The main burden is indeed the compensation payments."
"That's all we have?"
Hel's temples throbbed.
How had such a vast and once-prosperous fief ended up so broke?
Generations of wealth—gone.
"Seven years ago, Heim City's monthly income was still around 1,000 gold coins," Sebas explained.
"But since the family's decline, much of the Heim estate—its trade caravans and industries—has been seized by other noble houses.
Now, the city's income barely reaches 200 gold coins per month—just enough to keep basic operations running.
Add the occasional natural disaster or accident, and Heim Territory has been running a deficit for years."
"Damn nobles," Hel muttered.
"Unfortunately, I can't move against them openly yet—the Noble Council still holds sway."
From the memories of his predecessor, Hel knew that no lord truly ruled their land absolutely.
The nobles within a territory intermarried, exchanged favors, and formed sprawling networks of shared interests.
The lord was merely the largest stakeholder among them.
But Hel Heim, with his unmistakable black hair, was branded "the Demon's Child."
Among the nobles, he was an outcast—a heretic.
No one would ever willingly share their profits with him.
Moreover, in this world, the life of a noble was sacrosanct.
Even the death of a lowly baron within one's lands would trigger an official investigation by the Noble Council.
Without a proper justification, even a lord could be punished severely.
As for nobles killing other nobles?
That was practically a declaration of war.
So—for now, with his wings not yet fully grown—Hel couldn't move openly.
But that didn't mean he had no options.
"It seems," Hel murmured with a faint smile,
"that it's time to put our ancestors' wisdom to good use."