Holy Emperor's Grandson Is A Necromancer Chapter 14

"I've read in a book that guns existed in this world, but never figured it'd be so common place."

Firearms were probably the best, and worst, invention humanity has come up with so far.

Unlike the weapons such as swords or bows that required one to be proficient with them, guns were far easier to familiarise yourself with and you only needed to pull the trigger to ‘kill' your opponent.

However, the guns in this world were treated as mere decorations.

Instead of using gunpowder, these musket rifles relied on the concept of 'Mana' to fire, so they were mainly used by the sorcerers.

Did that mean only they used it?

Nope, wrong.

Whether you were a knight, a mercenary, or even a commoner, as long as you knew how to wield Mana, divinity, or even demonic energy, you could potentially use guns.

So, many sorcerers and alchemists spent the next 200 or so years researching, trying to further refine that advantage of the firearms. And the eventual result arising from all that hullabaloo was…. simple ‘decorations'.

The reason?

"….Utterly nonsensical Mana consumption."

Because firing one consumed an exorbitant amount of Mana, that's why.

I read that even the seasoned sorcerers would exhaust all their Mana reserves after firing only five rounds or so. Also, it was said that you'd need at least five minutes to gather enough Mana to generate a bullet, too.

Meanwhile, the firing range was quite pathetic at only around 50 metres. Was it powerful enough to compensate for its shortcomings, then?

Nope, wrong again.

Right after firing, the coagulated Mana would begin breaking down and scatter away in the air. It wouldn't even be able to fatally wound an enemy 50 metres away.

So, rather than investing five minutes creating a bullet, that time would be best served if you went for a wide area attack magic instead to hit the enemy. Even when considering the Mana consumption, this method was much more effective.

However, guns still existed in the world, and there were two reasons for it.

One, for the purpose of…. diet.

There was no proof of any correlation between one's fatty tissues and Mana consumption, but nevertheless, the rumour had spread around among the n.o.bles that firing guns were good for one's diet, so many well-heeled ladies took up the sport of shooting targets.

Another one was the n.o.bles and their maniacal obsessive hobby of ‘collecting' stuff.

They served well as wonderful decorations, and since the moneyed n.o.bles only wanted the ‘authentic' stuff, sorcerers simply crafted these firearms as expensive ornaments and nothing more.

I guess the n.o.bles could be pretty dumb sometimes. With the exception of ‘diet', these firearms ostensibly served no real purpose, yet they were willing to spend a hefty chunk of moolah just so that they could put these…. ‘weapons' on display.

Well, people collect all sorts of junk in the name of their hobby, so there's that.

I wonder, how much was this particular musket rifle? I heard that each cost an arm and a leg….

"What a waste. If only I knew how to make gunpowder. I'd be living large as a munchkin by now…."

What could I do? It wasn't as if any cats or dogs could learn how to mix and match chemicals, and I certainly didn't study this and that knowing I'd be thrown into another world like this.

I lightly shook my head, and moved to put the musket rifle back on the wall, but then had a change of mind and sneaked a glance around.

"Should I fire it at least once?"

Suddenly I felt quite curious.

It was fun to mess around with a musket rifle of this world, but it might be even more fun to actually fire one.

Besides, I figured that the injection of only a tiny sliver of divinity wouldn't result in anything too powerful, anyway. I'd probably scratch the furniture or some such.

I sneakily took possession of the rifle once more.

Rather than shoving an iron ball and gunpowder using a rod, this particular rifle was a breech-loading type. The reason for a lid in the chamber was to let off the heat acc.u.mulating inside it after firing, or so I thought.

I took the rifle, and quietly breathed into where the bullet was supposed to go in, or in this case, Mana.

[A bullet has been generated through the usage of divin…..]

[You have entered Divinity Control state.]

[Divine Aura has activated. The equipment will temporarily be enhanced.]

[An even more precise bullet has been generated.]

Eh?

Messages began filling up my head. I had seen some of them pop up before, so they didn't fl.u.s.ter me, but that ‘Divine Aura' one did.

The one loved by the G.o.ds, or the one blessed by the G.o.ds, whatever - this was the unexplainable power where all sorts of nice-sounding modifiers found in this Continent would be attached to.

The [Divine Aura].

This ability was a supernatural power separate in nature from Mana, divinity, or the demonic energy.

"It's supposed to be treated like some kind of a superpower in this world, right?"

Hang on, could it be that this body was the wielder of this power even before I took over? Sure, he belonged to a super-duper important bloodline, but still, I didn't expect him to possess such an ability.

"How mystifying."

Now that I thought about it, I involuntarily used this power while facing off against the zombie bear, too. My shovel got reinforced and I was able to defend against the monster's vicious attack.

"So, it temporarily enhances any equipment…."

I guess it's like strengthening something?

Maybe that was the reason? The divinity consumption wasn't as high as I feared. Although I did feel a bit dizzy, it wasn't as bad as when creating holy water.

I had no trouble moving my body afterwards, too.

The time I took to create a bullet was about one minute or so. Or, it could be that I made a rubbish bullet. Who knows. Well, didn't the experienced sorcerers need around five minutes? So mine can't be that good.

I raised the musket rifle and aimed it at a vase resting on a shelf. I was really curious about its firepower now.

I felt like a little kid experimenting with his newly-purchased toy BB gun. With an expectant face, I pulled the trigger while murmuring a soft little sound effect.

"Bang."

What started off as me fooling around….

BOOOOM-!!

…Ended up becoming a huge problem.

A humongous explosion noise reverberated throughout the feudal lord's mansion.

I fell on my a*s with a dumbfounded face while letting go of the rifle. Not because I was too shocked, but more so because I couldn't deal with the weapon's recoil.

I heard servants and maids screaming outside. They were shocked by the sudden explosion.

Bang, bang!

"Your highness!! What happened??"

Next up, I heard the urgent voice of the Paladin from beyond the door. He sounded rather different from his previous machine-like calmness. Yup, he must've been shocked silly by the explosion of a second ago, too.

My response was late coming, so the Paladin simply decided to break open the door's lock.

"What ha…."

I quickly got up and pushed him back out the door even before he could set foot inside.

"It's nothing," said I.

"Pardon? But, your highness…."

The Paladin's eyes quickly s.h.i.+fted from beyond the helm, trying to observe the state of the room. I didn't miss that, so I summoned all of my strength to push him back out.

"Come on, dude. It's uncool to intrude upon a boy going through p.u.b.erty, you know?"

Actually, I didn't mind kicking him in the s.h.i.+ns if it meant making him retreat. Of course, I knew it'd be my leg bearing the brunt of that action due to his leg armour, so I could only pound on his chest plate and push back.

After forcing the Paladin outside, I closed shut the door.

While breathing a sigh of relief, I alternated my gaze between the musket rifle lying on the floor and hole large enough to fit a person's head in the nearby wall, before frowning deeply.

"Decorative ornament, my a*s!!"

Who the f*ck was it? Who said that these guns were useless ornaments only good for ladies' diet routine?!

With that much firepower, a regular person or an undead would definitely get killed in one shot.

Early next morning, Paladin Harman, tasked with escorting the Imperial Prince to the Ronia fiefdom, got right down to his new duties.

He stared at the ‘Priests' standing before his eyes and frowned heavily.

There were a total of eighty of them. And every single one was a ‘sly-as-fox' type. This group consisted of either the former students from the Humite Academy located in the centre of the Continent, currently being disciplined for their disreputable behaviours, or were Priests who got caught 'cheating' on the job.

Harman s.h.i.+fted his gaze.

Among these miscreants was the Imperial Prince ‘Allen Olfolse' s.h.i.+vering from the cold. The seventh grandson of the Holy Emperor, and the mangnani who tried to rape the granddaughter of an Archbishop.

He was the worst out of this ragtag bunch of miscreants.

His infamy being widespread throughout the Continent was no exaggeration. Thanks to this boy, even the n.o.ble, great Holy Emperor had to suffer from severe bouts of migraine….

‘He doesn't seem to have changed at all.'

Back in the monastery, he had a girl nearby with the excuse of her being a nun. And also, he began drooling over the feudal lord's maidservant as soon as arriving in the fortress.

Harman swore inwardly that, once this crisis was over, he'd send his full report back to His Majesty the Holy Emperor, and ask that silver-haired ‘nun' for the truth.

He'd ask her, "Were you forced into this position by the Imperial Prince?"

– Well, he's…. He's changed a lot, actually.

That's what the Paladin Harman had heard from the villagers while investigating on the Witch Morgana incident.

During this simple follow-up inquiry, he got to hear more about the young prince rather than the dead witch, the subject of his investigation.

– Haven't you also noticed it, sir Paladin? He has changed a lot ever since that suicide attempt three months ago. I'm not sure if its due to the mental shock, or maybe because he lost his memories, but regardless of what, it's as if he has turned over a new leaf.

Sure, the boy had changed.

When Harman came to see him before, the Imperial Prince tried to kick him in the nuts. And then, while complaining about the pain in his leg, the boy picked up a farming tool and tried to stab him with that.

It was none other than Harman himself who subdued the irate boy and then locked him up in his room, telling him to repent by praying and drink only water as his punishment.

Well, His Majesty the Holy Emperor gave his express permission to Harman, telling the knight to do whatever he saw fit, so it was fine. h.e.l.l, he was even told that, as long as the boy remained breathing, it'd be alright to break his arms and legs.

– He's doing a wonderful job as the gravekeeper. And when the zombie horde appeared, he stepped up first to hunt them down, too. And then….

The villagers all told him similar stories with warm smiles on their faces.

– He protected us. Most importantly, he didn't take a break or rest once while carefully performing the funerals of our loved ones. If you can't feel grat.i.tude but only hatred to a person like that, then you're not a human being but a trash who doesn't know what kindness is.

Paladin Harman frowned deeply again after recalling those words.

That statement made no b.l.o.o.d.y sense. The Imperial Prince actually hunted zombies down? He actually stepped forward to take down zombies when he used to get so scared by the sight of a single mouse…?

Also, he turned over a new leaf? You'd only say that when the person at fault had finally realised his past mistake and repented for them.

The Prince suffering from amnesia didn't mean he was absolved of all the wrongdoings he had committed in the past, nor was his record wiped clean and he could start brand-new.

‘He's probably using the excuse of amnesia as a pretext to return to the Imperial Palace.'

There was a good possibility that he asked the villagers to tell the matching tale using the opportune happenstance of the Witch Morgana incident.

He could be trying to create a way to return to the Imperial Palace by using the achievement of capturing the witch.

However, there was something odd about that explanation.

The Witch Morgana had already destroyed several other villages in the past. Even if she was a Necromancer, known to be weak against close-quarter battle, she couldn't have been so weak that the villagers were able to overpower her and beat her up half to death.

The Black Order was an organisation that fostered a.s.sa.s.sins. An agent of such an Order wouldn't get caught by mere villagers and then get beaten up by them.

That also didn't mean the Imperial Prince was responsible for capturing the witch, though. In the end, Harman had to deduce that the farmer Gril must've been quite strong as the man himself claimed.

His older age posed an issue, but well, Harman figured that it'd not be such a bad idea to write a letter of recommendation so that Gril could take the apprentice Paladin selection test later.

Harman s.h.i.+fted his gaze back to Imperial Prince Allen once more.

The boy pulled his cheap blanket around him even tighter, his dissatisfaction towards the cold weather clearly written on his face. He then shot a glare back at Harman that implied, "What you looking at??"

‘Yes, he doesn't seem to have changed at all.'

The Imperial Prince, fooling around with a woman even before the eyes of his monitor, resembled a local hoodlum rather than a n.o.ble. This was how the boy acted before Harman, so what would he be like when no one was looking?

‘However, just what happened yesterday?'

During the previous evening, the Imperial Prince Allen came to visit the local feudal lord and got himself a room. Not too long after he entered it, something inside exploded.

Even if the boy was a mangnani, he was the grandson of His Majesty, the one Harman swore his undying loyalty to.

The Prince might have been exiled, but he was also under his protection, so if something untoward happened to the boy during his watch, it'd be akin to disappointing the one he swore his allegiance to.

That's why he tried to break the door down and enter the room, but to his surprise, Prince Allen was fine, and even more surprisingly, the boy actually pushed Harman out of the room.

But in that brief moment, he saw it. He saw a large hole in the wall. A hole that featured the unique signs of magical attack that no swords, spears or arrows could make.

‘Just what was that?'

Was the Prince responsible for creating that head-sized hole?

If so, how?

There was no way that the Imperial Prince had in possession such a powerful magical skill or even dangerous artefacts.

And, with a monitor like himself around, he wouldn't have enough time to master a new magic, too. There were magic grimoires and sword training manuals left behind in the monastery's library, but none of them were low-cla.s.s books that could be learned in the s.p.a.ce of only a few months.

‘Could it be that he found something suspicious inside the Necromancer's cave?'

If that was the case, then things could become rather dangerous. He should go through the Prince's belongings later.

Paladin Harman s.h.i.+fted his gaze away to the soldiers next.

They were wearing rags as their attire, but also were fitted with quite thick cloth armours, too. Indeed, they weren't regular soldiers, but convicts dispatched to the Ronia fiefdom. Next to each of these sobs were a large rucksack, a shovel, and a water canteen.

‘Ronia's prisoners.'

If they managed to survive the Winter here, then either their sentences would be reduced, or they become free men. This was the method to maintain the forces necessary for this cruel, unforgiving Sacrificial Castle, as well as to suppress the convicts.

Of course, if someone wished to rebel, then…

"Uht?! Hey, that guy's running away!"

One of the convicts that arrived recently to the fiefdom was escaping in a hurry. The ‘real' soldiers fired their arrows and killed the escapee without a shred of hesitation. The remaining convicts witnessed that and shrunk back from the shock.

That was the fate awaiting those who dared to resist.

If you obediently endured the Winter year after year, your crimes would be washed away bit by bit. On the flip side, you'd be executed on the spot if you rebelled, regardless of what your original crime was.

Because, their role was to serve as sacrifices to decrease the rage of the undeads. Whether alive or dead, convicts were nothing more than expendable fodder.

The convicts stared at the dead escapee with tense expressions on their faces.

Paladin Harman spoke up. "What are you all doing? Get rid of that corpse! And distribute the uniforms."

This was the beginning.

Between the beginning of the Winter and 25th of December, the date when the king of the dead died, countless undeads would descend upon this fortress.

The living had to build a stronghold here in preparation for that, and then, eliminate the waves of undeads, thereby stopping them from spreading to the rest of the Continent.

Harman lifted up a rucksack and tossed it to Imperial Prince, Allen Olfolse.

"This contains a special medical uniform designed to ward off the plague, your highness. Please put it on and join the other Priests in their task."

The young Prince frowned heavily, perhaps not liking what Harman had told him. That sight only reaffirmed the Paladin's thoughts, however.

As he thought…. that dissatisfied glare hadn't changed at all.

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