I’ll Be the Boss Myself
Copyright© 2026 by lucifer_nov
Chapter 3: Crisis
“I can.” Nolan’s voice did not waver in the slightest.
“Young man, I must remind you—since the end of the First Mandala War, the kingdom and the Shiva Empire have maintained fifteen years of peace. Those piles of bones haven’t dared to touch a single walled city since.”
Hank’s voice was heavy, carrying the stubbornness of a veteran. Nolan knew that experience could be armor, but sometimes it was also a cage. He did not argue. Instead, he raised the bone staff and held out the skull emblem wrapped in chains at its tip for Hank to see. “Because what’s coming this time is not something as simple as the border warlords you’re used to. Captain Hank, you’ve fought the Shiva Empire and guarded Rosenberg for years. Have you ever seen this?”
Hank frowned and leaned in to examine it closely. After a moment, he shook his head. He had never seen such a mark.
“This is the insignia of the ‘Imperial Chosen Corps,’” Nolan said quietly. “A force within the Shiva Empire that answers directly to the Undead Monarch himself. They are the king’s blade—the will of the empire made manifest. Their appearance points to only two possibilities. Either this operation has the approval of the empire’s highest authority, or the monarch is using our blood to purge certain unruly elements. Either way, it means the Undead Monarch is no longer content with the empire’s current state.” Nolan’s speech quickened. “And when that empire’s ‘Black Pearl’ completes centralization, a war that sweeps across the entire kingdom will become inevitable!”
Silence fell between them. Hank needed time to process the weight of this information. He stared hard at Nolan. The certainty in the young man’s eyes sent a faint chill through him. That was not the look of someone seeking attention.
“This level of intelligence ... is far beyond what a border militiaman should have access to,” Hank said hoarsely. “Who are you, really? What do you want?”
Nolan had prepared for this. “My father ... was part of the Wyvern Unit of the Southern Legion. He died in that war fifteen years ago. I don’t even remember his face. All I remember is my mother, clutching his belongings, crying herself blind. From that day on, I swore I would learn everything about these walking bones, better than I know myself. Every legion, every insignia, every cursed habit—they’re all carved into my mind!”
The story was only half true, but the hatred in his eyes was real, carrying the weight of two lifetimes. In his previous life, after the tragedy of Rosenberg, players had realized how critically lacking their intelligence was.
The kingdom could not reach that far, so countless players relied on their “immortality” to form reconnaissance teams, throwing themselves again and again into the heart of the Shiva Empire to gather information. On the official game forums, a thread compiling undead intelligence had been pinned for two and a half years, updated daily without fail.
Nolan had been one of them. In the mid-to-late stages, he had joined those reconnaissance teams, even sacrificing his own level progression, falling out of the top ranks, until the kingdom fell.
His explanation had flaws, but the mention of the First Mandala War struck directly at a veteran’s heart. That was exactly Nolan’s strategy—prescribe the right remedy.
Hank fell silent. How long had it been since he last heard those words? The glory and pain of the past had grown so distant they felt like someone else’s story. Ash from the cigar at his lips fell unnoticed onto the back of his hand. Before his eyes rose once more that hellscape of corpses and blood, the dying roars of his comrades still echoing in his ears. Barely one in ten had survived. That war was a wound his generation would never forget.
When he looked at Nolan again, his gaze had completely changed. Scrutiny and suspicion gave way to sympathy and understanding. If this young man was the son of a fallen comrade, then his maturity beyond his years and his near-obsessive knowledge of the undead all made sense.
So this was what the fire of vengeance looked like.
“ ... Hah.” Hank let out a long breath, then crushed the half-smoked cigar hard against the table, as if extinguishing the last trace of hesitation in his heart. He turned sharply, tore the military map off the wall, and slapped it down with a crack. “Kid, show me where you encountered the scouts!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Nolan pointed precisely to a narrow pass between two small hills on the map. “Here.” His voice was crisp and certain. “At the undead’s marching speed, their main force will reach Rosenberg in at most two days.”
Hank’s eyes widened. That estimate matched exactly the calculation he had just made in his own mind. He stared at the map and asked the most crucial question, “The undead main force you mentioned ... what’s your basis for that?”
Nolan knew the decisive moment had arrived. He hadn’t had time to scout personally, but he carried knowledge of what was to come. Whether he could convince this legendary figure depended entirely on what he said next. He met Hank’s sharp gaze without the slightest flaw in his expression. “I took a risk and got closer, hiding in the mass grave outside Parson Town. The vanguard has already begun collecting corpses—that’s preparation for war. I didn’t dare stay long, but from what I saw alone, there were at least four infantry formations. At least ... two thousand.”
Hank stiffened, but Nolan wasn’t finished.
“There’s also a mage corps made up of at least fifty low-tier corpse mages.”
“What?!”
The color drained instantly from Hank’s face. He staggered, one hand bracing hard against the table. Cold sweat soaked his temples.
Two thousand infantry—and a fully formed mage corps. If Nolan hadn’t brought this information, with Rosenberg’s current lax defenses and total lack of preparation, once such a force struck ... The city would fall in the blink of an eye.
“Captain Hank, it’s not too late to prepare!” Nolan’s voice cut in, pulling him back from the shock.
That’s right!
Hank straightened abruptly, the discipline of a hardened soldier crushing down all fear and hesitation.
“Move!”
He grabbed the helmet from the table.
“To the garrison!”
The two of them rushed out of the guardroom one after the other, almost breaking into a run as they headed toward the western garrison. The streets were in chaos—refugees fleeing here mixed with local residents, cries, curses, and the shouts of guards blending into a deafening uproar.
This unrest was a preview of the crisis about to descend upon the city.
Hank’s steps grew heavier.
When they finally reached the garrison entrance, the sound of arguing from inside made his expression darken further.
A young guard, dressed in a crisp uniform and wearing a faintly glowing enchanted longsword at his waist, was pointing angrily at a shorter squad member, as if about to strike him.
“Stop!” Hank’s roar silenced the entire courtyard.
The two arguing guards froze in terror when they saw him. They snapped apart and stood at attention, left hands pressed to their chests in a stiff salute.
“Captain Hank!”
The taller young man swallowed nervously. “Y-you ... weren’t you out on patrol?”
Nolan couldn’t help glancing at Hank. This man’s authority within the guard was no joke.
But Hank was in no mood for idle talk. His face was as hard as iron as he barked, “Klose! I left you in charge of the garrison—is this what you do, beating your fellow soldiers?!”
The young man called Klose flushed red and pale in turns, looking thoroughly embarrassed. He pointed at the shorter guard and hurried to explain, “It’s Little Donnie! He heard some rumors from survivors who fled from Parson Town and started spreading nonsense about an undead army coming! The whole city is already on edge, and now he even wants to take a team out of the city to ‘scout’ on his own—that’s blatant disobedience! I stopped him to stabilize morale and prevent further chaos!”
Little Donnie immediately grew agitated, about to argue back.
“Enough!” Hank’s sharp command cut him off. Both men fell silent, not daring to utter another word.
Ignoring them, Hank gave Nolan a slight nod. “The command room is this way.”
Klose and Little Donnie were stunned to see Hank treating a dust-covered young man in a worn militia uniform with such respect.
Who exactly was this guy?
As they stood there in confusion, Hank took a few steps forward, then suddenly stopped. Without turning around, he let out a cold snort at the two who were still standing there like posts.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.