Chapter Forty-Three - Terrific Troubleshooting

The conquest of Opalhorn began not with a clash of steel or the roar of spells, but with a quiet acceptance. More of a' 'huh, I guess that makes sense' and perhaps a few 'well, what can you dos?' from the locals.

The people of Opalhorn had long lived under... or over, the shadowy guidance of their unseen undead rulers. I suspect that while the council being made up of necromancers and Death Knights wasn't common knowledge, it was also not exactly the best kept of secrets.

Things like that had a tendency to live in rumour and whispers, stories passed on from one curious child to another and from one old person's retelling into the next generation's rumour mill.

So, the city didn't devolve into full-fledged panic as a cadre of Death Knights and an army of lesser Death Squires marched out of the city council chambers in the northern graveyard.

A few undead were left behind. A single Death Knight, long injured and now more proficient with pen than the sword, a few undead bureaucrats, and a small group of skeletal servants and ghostly apparitions that would rather stay close to their resting place.

The rest moved out in orderly rows.

These were the parents, grandparents, and great grandparents of the citizens of Opalhorn, some stretching back many more generations. They might have been far less recognizable as an army of the undead, but some familiarity remained.

The roads were lined with locals quietly watching the processions march through the town, and I was amused to see some of the dead waving at family members.

From the perspective of a local of Opalhorn, today must have been a strange day indeed.

Fortunately, this army wasn't here to pillage and plunder. Sir Cophagus and his council emerged from the depths of their ancient chambers, the city's leaders—those who had been carefully groomed by the undead over centuries—bowed low, their deference a silent testament to the power that had always lain just beneath the surface.

The common folk whispered among themselves, but there was no fear in their voices. The undead had been their protectors, their silent guardians in times of strife. The revelation that their protectors were not of the living but of the dead seemed to matter little. After all, hadn't the city flourished under their guidance? Hadn't the roads been safe, the harvests plentiful?

At least, I'd hope that people wouldn't cause a fuss, a hope that I'd never seen realized.

Some of the locals were barely local at all. First-generation immigrants from other parts of the Empire, without the cultural backing to understand that this was all a little strange but rather innocent. Merchants from elsewhere packed up their goods in a hurry and skedaddled, and then there was the reaction from the sect.

The bells of the Flame's Heart sect began to toll a warning, deep chimes echoing across the city. I turned my attention up and to the large pagoda tower that dominated the centre of the city.

"Shall we pay them a visit, father?" Alex asked. "Before they cause any trouble?"

I grinned. "I suppose it's warranted. Sir Cophagus, what do you think?"

Sir Cophagus, who had been guiding his undead companions through the city, turned to face me. He adjusted the great helm that rattled a little atop his head. "The sect has always been a thorne in our side," he said. "They have power, but it's granted to them either through the force of their arms or by the will of their distant emperor. We've put up with them because to not do so would risk the legitimacy of Opalhorn, but they have little respect for the city council."

"Ah, a troublesome lot, then?" I asked.

"You can say that," he replied. "They take perfectly good, hard-working citizens and turn them into mind-addled fools hooked to power they barely comprehend with no respect for tradition."

I nodded along. "Quite terrible. Well, no need to let them linger here. If we won't be in Opalhorn to watch over them then we might as well be rid of the lot of them!"

The bells continued to toll as we wandered over to the pavilion. Clearly the cultivators there had noticed the small army marching their way already if they were sounding the alarm, so I wasn't surprised that we arrived at the gates surrounding the building to find a group of them waiting for us.

They were clad in the sect's traditional robes. Red, with flaming patterns embroidered into the silk. They had burning hearts sewn over their chests and many of them carried long poles with lanterns fixed onto the ends where others might have had spearheads.

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At their head was a white-haired man, wiry and thin and sharp-eyed. He didn't hold any weapons, but the air around him shimmered in a heat haze of barely contained spiritual energy.

"You dare march into our city!" the sect leader shouted. "The Flame's Heart will not allow this insult!"

"Insult? Because we're out here taking a leisurely stroll? A calming mid-afternoon walk?"

The sect leader's eyes narrowed, and he began to channel his spiritual energy, the air around him growing hot as flames began to flicker into existence around his hands. I could feel the intensity of his cultivation, the deep reservoir of power he had built up over decades.

But it was just that. Power built over mere decades.

Sir Cophagus shifted, a hand resting on the pommel of his ancient sword. Here was a man, dead as he might be, who'd been alive for millenia. "Shall I handle this, my lord?" he asked.

"Hmm, no need. Let's see what kind of heat they can muster?"

The sect leader's hands blazed with fire, and he thrust them forward, sending a wave of scorching heat towards us. The other cultivators followed suit, launching fireballs and streams of flame that lit up the courtyard like a midsummer's bonfire.

I watched the display with mild interest. It was a decent effort, the kind that might have sent a lesser force running. But against the undead, it was little more than a light show.

"Oh, you've forgotten," I said, raising a hand as I gathered a dense cloud of necrotic energy. "Fire may burn bright, but it is easily snuffed out."

With a flick of my wrist, I unleashed the necrotic energy, a roiling cloud of darkness that swept through the courtyard, devouring the flames and leaving the air cold and still. The spell was Hunger of Harold, a slight modification of a spell created by a bit of a star of a mage known as Hadar. Dark tendrils burst from the ground, beating the cultivators back.

The sect leader's eyes widened in shock as his flames were extinguished with barely any effort. He took a step back, clearly realising the futility of his resistance.

"Your power is impressive, but limited," I said, my voice echoing through the now-silent courtyard. "And so is your influence. The Flame's Heart is extinguished. Opalhorn belongs to us."

The remaining cultivators, seeing their leader's defeat, hesitated only a moment before they began to retreat. Some fled back into the pagoda, while others took to the streets, their confidence shattered.

"Sir Cophagus?" I asked.

"Yes, my lord?" he replied.

"See to it that the pagoda is secured. I think we'll be putting an end to this sect's influence over your fine city."

He bowed deeply. "As you command, my lord."

Death Knights were impressively powerful warriors at the best of times. Against fledgling cultivators whose tricks mostly relied on lighting things on fire... well, it wasn't much of a contest. Alex and I continued our walk through the city, heading towards the southern walls while Death Knights roamed the city as black blurs seeking out any traces of the Flame's Heart sect.

Surprisingly, the sect proved very flammable.

It was a little disappointing, but this was how a coup had to work if it was to succeed. Of course, their treasures would be preserved. I trusted the Death Knights to have that much common sense. We were entering a new period of governance, which would mean a tightening of belts for a short period while things were set back up.

It would be an easy transition for Opalhorn which was already ruled by the undead. Now it was merely more obvious than it had once been.

With the last of the resistance in Opalhorn crumbling, the city was firmly under our control. The Flame's Heart sect was broken, their influence over the city reduced to ashes. Now, with the city secured, my thoughts turned to the south—to the Limpet, my wayward apprentice.

"Alex," I said, turning to my ever-faithful companion. "We march at dawn."

Alex smiled, their cat ears twitching in excitement. "The south won't know what hit them."

And so, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Opalhorn settled into its new role as the heart of an undead empire. The conquest had been... mostly bloodless, the transition smooth—but the true test lay ahead, in the lands to the south, where war and glory and the Limpet awaited.

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