Building A Human Empire By Creating A Clan [EN]: Chapter 161

A frigid wind howled.

A wind born of nature, untouched by magic.

A wind so cold, life struggled to endure.

Thud, thud…

Amidst this desolate gale, an Old God sought a city.

Satima, an Old God with the lower body of a horse and the upper torso of an elf.

Though unclad, the cold seemed to have no hold on her.

Yet, her breath plumed out in thick, white clouds.

Thud, thud…

Satima walked, her gaze sweeping over the abandoned city.

Once, this city had thrived on its rich orichalcum [a mythical metal] deposits. But resource-based prosperity is finite. When the orichalcum veins ran dry, the city collapsed almost overnight.

Who would choose to live in a land where farming and animal husbandry were impossible?

If it held strategic value as a base, perhaps it would have been different, but even the poorest had deserted it. A dwarf once lamented that the city’s demise foreshadowed the fall of the mountain kingdoms.

“…”

But the city’s current state was… unusual.

Figures that shouldn’t be there were scattered throughout the ruins.

Frozen in time, as if the very flow of moments had ceased.

Only the biting wind whispered of the passage of time.

“Still indulging in grotesque hobbies.”

The figures populating the city were someone’s creations.

Dolls modeled after elves, dwarves, and humans, and grotesque monsters cobbled together from various life forms, filled the empty spaces. It was as if some twisted child was playing with toys.

Creak—

Satima descended into a warehouse beneath the city.

Though long neglected, it remained functional. As the iron door swung shut, the fierce wind outside was abruptly silenced, its howling fading away.

Rustle…

Another sound emerged to fill the void.

The whisper of something being cut, a sound that pricked Satima’s sensitive hearing.

“Good.”

A thin, piercing voice followed.

Knowing the voice, Satima smiled.

At least she hadn’t come at the wrong time, hadn’t made a wasted journey.

Thud, thud, she descended the stairs into a vast chamber.

– Ethemos.

The Old God with the face of a crow remained unresponsive to her mental call.

He was too absorbed in his work to perceive the message.

That was why Satima had come to this forsaken city.

Rustle, rustle…

Ethemos was hunched over, meticulously dissecting the corpse of a human male with a surgical knife in his left hand. The crow’s face was unreadable, but Satima knew from experience that he was smiling, a subtle, chilling expression.

“Hmm.”

The warehouse reeked with a foul stench.

Over a hundred corpses lay scattered across the floor.

Satima wrinkled her nose and cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Ahem.”

“Rise.”

Still oblivious to Satima’s presence, Ethemos spoke, channeling magic into the corpse of the human male. Then, twitch, a corpse lying nearby jerked into motion.

“…”

It wasn’t the corpse he intended to animate. He tilted his head, channeled magic again, and repeated the command, but the result was the same. The corpse before him remained still, while the corpses around him twitched and stirred.

“Not working well.”

Only then did Ethemos finally notice Satima.

“Satima.”

“Are you so engrossed in your work that you can’t even acknowledge a visitor? You should at least respond.”

Ethemos, unfazed by her slightly reproachful tone, turned his gaze back to the corpse. A flicker of avarice danced in his eyes.

“It’s fascinating. It refuses to move.”

“Are there things you can’t control? I find that even more fascinating.”

“Come and see.”

Satima approached the unmoving corpse.

All the corpses in the warehouse were human, but this one was unique. Slightly taller than the others, it was the only one with a faint magical energy swirling within.

It was a different kind of magic than what Ethemos had channeled, and though the amount was small, its resistance was strong enough to repel the power of an Old God. This was likely why the corpse remained inert.

“What is this? I’ve never encountered magic like this before.”

“The Emperor of Humanity’s thrall, a slave crafted by him.”

“Ah. The Emperor, the successor of the Lord. His creation, then.”

He exclaimed, his eyes gleaming with renewed interest.

“A being that is human, yet not entirely human. He went to such lengths to obtain even one.”

“Well, I would have preferred a living specimen, though.”

Still, it’s fortunate that the form is intact, Satima thought.

“What did you discover when you dissected it? Did you find anything interesting?”

“Interesting indeed. The exterior is human, but the interior… is not.”

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

He gestured to the thrall and a regular human corpse lying side-by-side.

The two corpses, their organs exposed, appeared identical.

Only their relative size differed; the composition seemed the same.

“Look. You see digestive organs, right? But the humans created by the Emperor don’t consume food. They can, but they don’t need to. They don’t starve to death.”

“Didn’t you say it was a living being?”

“That’s what makes it so interesting. It’s alive, but it doesn’t need to consume food. Yet, it’s not like a homunculus [an artificially created human] or a golem [an animated, inanimate object] that moves with magic.”

Ethemos confessed that it had taken him over ten days to capture the thrall before him.

During that time, the thrall hadn’t eaten or drunk a single drop of water, yet it showed no signs of dehydration and barely felt any fatigue.

“Hard to believe.”

“But it’s true. Look.”

The dead thrall was pale, but it didn’t appear to have starved for ten days.

The muscles were well-developed, and the cheeks were full.

“Does the Emperor possess a manufacturing method that even you don’t know?”

“Perhaps.”

“Huh.”

Ethemos was among the most skilled of the Old Gods, yet the Emperor possessed abilities that eluded his grasp.

“A life that requires neither magic nor food.”

“That’s not all. It also exhibits high magic resistance and immunity to many diseases. Its lifespan is unknown, but if it also possesses longevity, it could be considered a superior being, even compared to elves.”

“Impressive.”

“But there’s something even more important than that.”

More important than this?

Satima narrowed her eyes.

“Loyalty. The Emperor’s slaves never betray their master. I tested it repeatedly in illusions, but they never wavered. Eventually, they even took their own lives.”

The scars on the thrall’s neck bore testament to his words.

Satima’s gaze intensified as she studied the corpse.

Because the thrall represented the perfect template for the slaves they craved.

“If you could create more of these…”

“If that were possible, there would be no need to meddle with the World Tree.”

Why else would they perform twisted rituals like baptisms on different races such as orcs, lizardmen, and elves?

The Old Gods sought unwavering servants. One of the reasons they had submitted to the Lord was their lack of reliable slaves. The various races followed the Lord and opposed the Old Gods.

Based on that experience, the Old Gods were convinced that they needed slaves who would never betray them.

“A bizarre existence, somewhere between humans and dolls. I wonder how he can create such a thing. The Emperor might be more formidable than we realize.”

“Hmm…”

Ethemos, who had been gazing at the thrall with greedy eyes, suddenly looked up as if struck by a thought.

“So? Why did you come?”

“Kimon is looking for you.”

“Kimon? Looking for me?”

Ethemos tilted his head.

The crow’s head made a cracking sound as it shifted on his shoulder.

“Is it that again?”

He waved his hand dismissively, sounding bored.

Kimon was one of the Old Gods who commanded orcs and goblins.

He coveted human territory and was constantly plotting an invasion.

However, Ethemos had always opposed it, thwarting his plans.

He must be seeking his agreement once more.

“Tell him not to do anything foolish.”

“Why don’t you just agree?”

Satima asked before sending a mental message to Kimon.

“Have you forgotten what lies beyond that Empire?”

“Beyond the Empire? Tiamar, you mean?”

“Aleon claims that Tiamar is sealed in the far southwest. Satima, do you truly believe that seal is holding?”

Of course not.

Satima scoffed.

The fact that Emperor Vlad of Mikene was being manipulated by Tiamar was an open secret. All the Old Gods knew it, and among the various races, Aleon and his closest advisors were aware of it.

“The seal that bound us, the seal that bound that bitch, both were created by the Lord. We’ve been released, so there’s no way the other side remains intact.”

“Probably.”

“She must be planning something.”

The seal was clearly a mere formality.

Tiamar was simply hiding under the guise of the seal.

Concealing herself and preparing to reveal her true power.

“It’s not time to engage directly. The Emperor also has some kind of connection. It’s evident in his alliance with Vlad. In this situation, should we stir up a hornet’s nest before we’ve fully recovered our strength?”

“I find such caution excessive.”

“If you have complaints, take them to Karkas. It’s his decision.”

Karkas, the most powerful of the Old Gods.

“For the time being, we’ll only deploy uncontrollable elements like Barmet. We need to remind the rebellious ones who defy orders that they can be sealed in the abyss once more. That way, they’ll be more compliant.”

Satima clicked her tongue, about to retort, but stopped. As she connected her mind with Kimon to relay Ethemos’s intentions, an unexpected thought intruded.

Ethemos noticed the change in Satima’s expression and inquired, “What’s wrong?”

“The Empire is advancing.”

The crow blinked its eyes.

Not someone attacking the Empire, but the Empire launching an offensive?

He stared at Satima intently, wondering if he had misheard.

“It seems to be quite a formidable force. Your experimental subjects have been wiped out as well.”

Experimental subjects.

A term referring to the orcs and goblins that Ethemos, Kimon, and other Old Gods had mutated by injecting blood and magic.

“Hmph. They were trash, barely worthy of being called works. I didn’t create them for practical use in the first place, so it’s only natural they were eliminated.”

“Kimon will be disappointed. He seemed to have some expectations.”

“So what? I’ll simply provide him with something better.”

Ethemos stirred the air with magic, raising the corpses lying in the warehouse. The corpses, bearing the clear marks of sutures, moved with unnatural grace, as if they were living humans.

“This is perfect timing.”

Thump, thump, the ceiling vibrated.

Loud footsteps, like a giant running across the ground, echoed above.

Satima recognized the source of the sound.

The creations scattered throughout the city.

The creations that Ethemos had placed outside were beginning to stir, infused with the breath of magic.

“I need to gather more specimens. If Kimon claims it’s difficult, that implies there are many of them, correct? Then it will be easy to acquire them. And I’ll also determine which is superior, the Emperor’s creations or mine.”