Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Chapter 630: Troublesome Knight

Behind Michael, Captain Rohan stood rigid, anger held on a short leash. His gauntleted fingers flexed and stilled on the pommel of his sword. Twice he drew breath to speak, and twice Michael’s slight tilt of the head kept him quiet.

Minutes went by.

The tea cooled.

Somewhere in the castle, a bell marked the hour.

At last, Darius Vellon entered. He took in the scene—the young Lord seated, the captain at his back, the open book in the young man’s hands—and allowed a ghost of a smile to touch his mouth.

Before offering greeting or courtesy, Darius walked to the opposite chair and sat.

Michael finished his paragraph, closed the book with gentle care, and set it atop the tray as though it too were part of the service. Only then did he look up, gaze steady, almost amused.

"Sir Darius," he said, voice mild. "Thank you for the tea."

Darius leaned back slightly, studying him. "It seems the rumors were right," he said at last. "You have a peculiar way of making another man feel like the guest in his own room."

Michael smiled faintly. "And you have a peculiar way of arriving late, Sir Darius. I was beginning to think the tea was meant to entertain me in your place."

The knight’s lips twitched. "If I thought you were the sort who’d enjoy my company, I’d have hurried. But I doubt I could match your conversation, Lord Thornvale."

Rohan shifted, but Michael lifted a hand—a gesture small enough to silence him. "Flattery from a knight known for bluntness? I must be doing something right."

Darius chuckled softly. "Bluntness suits me better than pretense. I respect strength and service, not titles given by paper and favor."

"That’s convenient," Michael said, tone still gentle. "Because refusing respect to one’s liege is a crime."

For a heartbeat, the air cooled. The knight’s smile remained, but his eyes sharpened. "Then I suppose you’ll have to decide whether you wish to rule by fear or by law."

Michael met his gaze evenly. "I prefer results. Fear and law are just tools. Which one I use depends on the man in front of me."

Darius tilted his head, then nodded as though acknowledging a hidden truth. "You speak well for someone so young."

"And sitting before your Lord without greeting him?" Michael replied smoothly. "Another dangerous habit. One that might be mistaken for contempt."

Darius’s brows rose, and for the first time, there was something almost nervous in his expression. But only for a moment. The knight’s lips curved again.

"Then perhaps you’ll have to punish me, my Lord," he said evenly. "A crime is a crime, after all."

It was a bold art of provocation. Like he was daring Michael to do his worse.

Michael leaned back in his chair, a quiet laugh slipping out before he could stop it.

His thoughts drifted elsewhere.

Duke Evermoon’s daughter...

The last person he’d spoken to in such a back-and-forth dance of words. Arianne Evermoon.

He found himself wondering if he’d see her again. Compared to her, this knight—while clever—was predictable. Every sentence had an edge, but no mystery.

Still, Michael couldn’t deny he enjoyed this little exchange.

Darius noticed the slight curve of his lips and frowned faintly. "You’re smiling. Should I be worried?"

Michael shook his head lightly, the faintest glimmer of humor in his eyes. "No, Sir Darius. I was simply thinking that you’d make an excellent conversational partner... if only you weren’t so boring."

Darius blinked, then laughed—deep and genuine this time. "Boring? My Lord, that’s the first insult I’ve heard wrapped so politely."

"Then I’ll consider it a success," Michael replied and spoke again, "Captain," he said without looking back, "wait outside."

Rohan hesitated. But Michael didn’t repeat himself.

After a moment’s pause, Rohan bowed stiffly. "Understood, my Lord." He turned toward Darius, offering a glare sharp enough to cut steel. "Sir Knight."

"Captain," Darius replied with a faint smirk.

The door shut softly behind Rohan. Silence filled the study again.

Darius reached to pour himself a drink to steady his nerves, when he froze.

The air had changed.

A faint chill slipped through the room, and temperature dropped steadily.

The tea on the tray frosted over. Tiny white veins spread across the surface of the cup.

Michael hadn’t moved an inch. He sat calmly, fingers resting lightly on the armrest of his chair, expression unreadable. But the air around him shimmered faintly.

Darius’s breath fogged as the chill deepened. A patch of frost bloomed across the wooden floor near Michael’s boots, spreading outward like a living thing.

The knight swallowed, every instinct in his body warning him that what stood before him was no ordinary lord.

Rumors had said the young Viscount of Thornvale possessed mana comparable to a Great Mage. Darius had dismissed most of that talk as noble exaggeration. Now, as the room groaned under invisible pressure, he realized the rumors hadn’t just been wrong—they had understated the truth.

His hand trembled slightly as he reached for his cup, only to find it frozen to the table.

"Lord Thornvale..." he began carefully, voice tight. "I was unaware my words had offended—"

"Offended?" Michael repeated softly, cutting him off. His tone carried no anger—only calm, measured interest, and somehow that was worse. "You mistake this, Sir Darius. I’m not offended."

Each word carried weight. The mana in the air grew thicker, like cold smoke.

Darius’s forehead beaded with sweat despite the freezing temperature. His vision dimmed at the edges, his heartbeat thudding painfully against his ribs. What... what is this pressure?

He tried to speak, but his voice faltered halfway.

And then Darius saw it.

Death.

He might actually die today.

Regret gripped his chest like iron.

He had tested the young lord to gauge the measure of the man he’d be serving. But now, sitting in this suffocating cold, he realized how foolish that had been.

The frost crept higher, coating the edge of his chair, the tips of his boots, the rim of his armor. His lungs burned with every breath.

Michael finally spoke again, eyes still calm. "Do you understand now, Sir Darius?"

Darius swallowed hard.

"...I do."

"Good."