"So death row inmates are out of the question?"
"Exactly. They’re only considered evil under human law. Gods don’t care about human laws. The sacrifice has to be truly depraved—so vile it makes you wonder if their blood’s even red."
"There’s no one more evil than dark mages. Agree, Shaman? I’m wondering if your soul might appeal to the Black Sheep."
"If we’re talking about the most vile scum, wouldn’t that be you—the Lord of the Dark Arts? Maybe you should just slit your own throat and resurrect your wife right now."
"Careful. Sounds like you’re volunteering to be burned alive again. I’ve been curious if dead people can die again." Fethan raised his wand threateningly, and the shaman fell silent. He had no desire to be cursed again—especially not by the Flame Curse of Ruin. As a soul now, a curse would hurt ten times worse than when he was alive.
Azrael quietly sipped his hot water, watching the two men snipe at each other. Pity souls couldn’t taste anything. Cocoa and a tub of popcorn would’ve made this petty squabble even more entertaining.
"Tell me how many dark mages there are in Neo-Caster. Names, affiliations—spill everything."
"Tch... You want me to sell out my friends? Too bad—I don’t have any. And I’m not close to anyone to know their whereabouts. Smart dark mages never tell anyone where they live. I’ve got nothing for you."
"How sad. Azrael, this guy’s nearly forty and still friendless. Can you believe it?"
"My exalted Lord, some humans are so pathetic they die and rot for months before anyone finds them. Maggots pick their bones clean and not a single neighbor drops by. This man might be one of them—a bottom-feeder of society."
"Wow. Even I, a shut-in, have friends and a girlfriend. This guy’s a lone wolf. All right! If you won’t help, don’t blame me when I exercise my Everland Lord rights and rename you Shaman the Friendless."
"You two assholes—why the hell does my lack of friends concern you?!" The shaman glared, but imagining people calling him Shaman the Friendless everywhere he went was too much. If he didn’t cooperate, he’d be stuck in this eternal Everland prison. His mental health couldn’t take it.
"Fine, I’ll tell you. Not an official organization, but there’s a group of dark mages in the sewer city developing a Curse Queen. They’re called the Hameln Society."
"Hameln Society? In the sewer city?" Fethan’s curiosity was piqued.
"During the century-long war between holy and dark mages, some people built an underground city to escape the chaos. After the war ended, most returned to the surface and built Neo-Caster. But the underground city wasn’t destroyed—it was abandoned. You’ve heard about death rats escaping from the Hollow Zone into the sewers, right?"
"Yeah. They breed in the sewers, steal pets and food, spread disease. Annual extermination missions target them."
"That’s just the surface. They’ve taken over the old city and built an empire. Their numbers keep growing. The weak get driven up top and get hunted by people like you. Only the scum make it above."
Fethan had more questions. "Where do they get food? The sewers can’t support thousands of rats. Theft alone can’t sustain them."
"They breed mold, cockroaches... and abduct humans. Not to eat—at least not immediately. They rape the captives and force them to give birth. Then they eat the babies. Most of Neo-Caster’s missing persons cases? That’s them."
"They feed roaches and maggots from garbage. Occasionally, they abduct women, rape them, force childbirth, then eat the infants. Once the mother dies, they find a new one. They’re psychotic rodents who eat their own offspring—and ours."
"The government knows?"
"You think they’re blind and deaf? Of course they know. But the underground city is deep and vast. You kill ten thousand, and a year later, a few hundred survivors repopulate it. They’ve been purged and reborn many times. Their hatred for humans runs deep. There’s no better place to breed high-level cursed spirits."
The shaman sneered at the long-ignored catastrophe. Death rats—overlooked by most—were among humanity’s greatest hidden threats.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
The Hameln Society was a joint project of multiple dark mages using death rats’ grudges to create high-level cursed spirits. They each conducted independent research and shared findings to refine curse-spirit development. Their ultimate goal: creating a Curse Queen from the most potent death rat curse.
A Curse Queen or Curse King had combat power equal to or greater than dark-dimension beings. Owning one was like holding a WMD. The shaman himself nearly succeeded in turning Stella into one—but had failed miserably.
Hameln’s project had dragged on for over six years without success. If the shaman had succeeded with Stella, it would’ve accelerated their timeline by years. Any dark mage who saw her would want to make her a Curse Queen.
"You can go down to the sewer city if you want. Plenty of cursed spirits and sewer rats to kill. But the moment you do, over twenty dark mages will mark you for death. You touch their rice bowls, they’ll come for your head. If you value your life, stay away."
He tried to bait Fethan into diving headfirst into danger, hoping the horde of rats and dark mages stronger than himself would kill him. But if Fethan died, what then? For his own benefit, he had to at least caution him.
"I get it. So if I’m going down there, I need to be well-prepared."
"Wait... you’re actually going?"
"I already planned to clear the sewers. And just the thought of filthy rats raping women keeps me up at night. And if dark mages are using the sewers to breed cursed spirits, then that place is rotten to the core."
"Smart deduction."
"Gives me all the more reason not to let them be." Fethan swore he’d keep hunting dark mages until he got everything he wanted. The Hameln Society was too ambitious. One day, they’d attack his beloved city. He had to stop them first.
The Deathbringer God lets me summon 200 spirits. To summon more, I’d need higher Glory—which I can’t do yet. So the undead army must prioritize quality over quantity.
He now had the Dog Village, which could turn hellhounds into werewolves. A werewolf army was no longer just a dream. His next goal was upgrading equipment—but that had a bottleneck.
[Darkforge LV1] [Special Structure: Produces equipment and weapons for arcane or dark arts. All essential facilities included.] [Position: Vacant – no suitable soul available for employment.]
The Darkforge was a special structure dropped by Demi-Slime, allowing him to craft gear. But no one had the blacksmithing knowledge to use it.
"Shaman, I need your help."
...
Outside Everland, somewhere in Neo-Caster—a dim room. A dull-colored laptop connected to the internet. Fethan, joined by two spirits, entered the forbidden world of the dark web. With only surface-level tech knowledge, this was something he’d never expected to pull off.
The website interface was shockingly cute: bright colors, white backgrounds, cartoon mascots, floral motifs. But its contents were criminal and vile.
"Wow. My first time on the dark web. The site’s creator must have the heart of a teenage girl," Lumi blinked in surprise. She expected something grim and edgy, not a candy-colored fairytale.
"Depends on the dev’s taste. Just because the dark web’s known for shady stuff doesn’t mean it has to look grim. Some people just want a colorful browsing experience. That’s why this site’s so popular," the shaman explained.
"Every time I tried accessing the dark web, my brother or dad would find out. Then it was wooden sword training until I nearly died," Lumi recalled bitterly. Her body still remembered the bruises. Two attempts had been enough to scare her off forever.
"Hmph. If you access the dark web recklessly, hackers will gift you things you don’t want—and you really don’t want to know what they are. You should thank your father and brother. Their protection saved you from wrecking your life." The shaman scoffed at the pampered girl.
Fethan browsed the listings: candy, toys, fairy tales, and comics... but also:
- [Harassment service – 15,000 Dennis]
- [Cursing service – Insomnia, accidents, hallucinations – 20,000 Dennis/day]
- [Buying cursed objects – human organs and bones]
- [Assassination service – 50,000 Dennis per target]
- [Counterfeit currency – 10,000 for 100 Dennis]
- [Kidnapping, theft, arson, assault services]
- [Buying humans] [Buying infant corpses]
"Disgusting," Lumi scrolled through the listings. She couldn’t believe regular people accessed this site.
"99% of dark web users aren’t dark mages. They’re regular folks wanting to hire dark mages to commit crimes. This place exists because people want it. It’s not just an illegal marketplace—it’s a hub for twisted minds to connect," said the shaman.
If there are buyers, there will always be sellers.
"Don’t mind it, Lumi. There’s nothing we can do," Fethan reassured her. His heterochromatic eyes locked onto the listings—sweet poison wrapped in sugar. His glare grew intense, his thumb digging into his palm. Lumi gently placed a hand on his head.
"Found it." Fethan navigated to a toy shop page. Inside: dozens of arcane weapons and ritual artifacts.
[Martin’s Magical Game Shop]
Every item listed was expensive. The cheapest started at 100,000 Dennis, the most expensive at ten million.
"Insane prices!" Lumi fumed. Her father and brother’s lifetime earnings couldn’t match this black market merchant. If someone bought out Martin’s stock, they’d make hundreds of millions.
"Martin’s been crafting for dark mages for years. His prices are steep, but his work’s legit. Every dark mage today has bought from him at least once. If you want a dark arts craftsman, it has to be him."
"Why just him? Surely there are others."
"He’s the only one you can access. Know how magic trades are delivered?"
"...Mail?" Fethan and Lumi said together. The shaman rolled his eyes.
"I know you’re joking, but yes. Magic goods are mailed. Expensive ones use intermediaries—found via the dark web. Sometimes more than two, just for one trade. Merchants are paranoid. But not Martin."
"Don’t tell me that old guy doesn’t use intermediaries?!" Lumi’s eyes widened.
"He doesn’t. Saves money. Always uses someone close. Every time I bought from him, the same guy delivered."
"Martin probably curses his delivery guy to hide his location. Others can’t trace him easily. But you’re not just anyone, are you... Lord of Everland."
Fethan clicked to purchase a million-Dennis artifact. Transferred bitcoin. The order was confirmed within a minute. Delivery time and location popped up onscreen.
"You’re right," he said.