Chapter Five: The Lich King, His Maid, and the Mischievous Dog [Please add to your favorites and recommend this new book!]

In the early morning, a light mist rose by the river. Having freshened up, Roald walked into the living room, where Erika, the soul-stealing banshee who had recently become both cashier and maid, greeted him sweetly and handed him a freshly brewed cup of coffee.

“Boss, there have been a lot of suspicious people spotted in the neighborhood lately.”

“Suspicious people?” Roald picked up the newspaper from the table. Besides reading the news, the paper was one of his main ways to gather information each day.

“And also, every time Vikaine goes out with that face of his, he draws a huge crowd of onlookers…” Erika sighed as she finished.

She genuinely worried herself sick for this household.

Death Knight Vikaine’s perpetually taunting expression was like a walking magnet for trouble.

As a death knight and a lackey of the Lich King, Vikaine was a proud man, and that pride showed in many ways.

Just as he loved to say: “Clad in full armor, wielding the Shadow Edge, charging astride my skeletal steed—my foes know only defeat and humiliation.”

His pride meant he never backed down from a challenge.

After all, he didn’t fear death. With Roald around, he’d be back the next day no matter what.

Every day, he’d parade that taunting face through Manhattan, causing endless trouble.

His mischief on the streets ranged from fighting with gangsters and disrupting public order, to displaying his “knightly spirit” to single women passing by, or conjuring light shows that made small children cry. He also got into altercations with the police, obstructing their duties, or even gleefully cleaving police cars in two with a swing of his sword.

He died and came back again and again, his true nature seemingly unleashed.

Erika turned on the television for Roald; on the screen, a replay showed Vikaine in black armor locked in fierce battle with a squad of police officers.

The Shadow Edge spun in his hands like a windmill, whirling and leaping with flawless precision. Bullets whistled by, clanging off the massive sword in a discordant symphony.

In the midst of mayhem, he found time to slice a police car in half to help them with their taxes, and flashed an internationally recognized gesture at the distant, gun-toting FBI agents.

“Is that all?”

Erika watched speechless, while Roald’s hand trembled as he held his coffee.

“I brought this on myself. I brought this on myself. I brought this on myself…” He repeated the thought three times, then downed his coffee in one gulp, the bitterness calming his nerves.

Erika glanced at her boss, her face full of helplessness. She felt that this newly minted Lich King might be even more trouble than Vikaine.

“Tch, let him cause his chaos… Just remember to open a portal for him every day so he doesn’t expose us. Honestly, the more trouble he stirs, the more fun we might have—or perhaps it’ll draw out some interesting characters.”

While his death knight was mischievous, he was still one of their own. Or rather, for the sake of experimenting with this timeline, Roald needed Vikaine to create a scene.

The bigger, the better.

Some forces still lurked beneath the placid surface, and Roald wanted to test the waters in advance.

Vikaine probed the limits in the open, while Roald plotted from the shadows—letting Vikaine draw attention as he quietly built up strength, all while running his antique shop and keeping watch.

That taunting face was simply wasted if it wasn’t causing trouble.

As for the suspicious people Erika mentioned, Roald had his own suspicions.

Could S.H.I.E.L.D. already have found them so quickly? If S.H.I.E.L.D. was close, could Coulson be far behind?

He also wondered if he might soon meet the legendary “village chief.”

But with so little information, he couldn’t make a judgment yet. For now, he wanted to gather more intel before acting.

“Maybe it’s the local gangs, or other intelligence agents?” Erika suggested after thinking it over.

“Tonight, go investigate. Use your powers to control a few targets and find out who they are. Once you know, make sure the people you control say something before they die.”

“What should they say?” Erika was curious.

“Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.”

Roald considered this, then instructed Erika. As a banshee, her abilities included invisibility, but what Roald valued more now was her temporary mind-control.

There was no better way to stir the pot than by invoking Hydra’s name and making them take the blame.

Roald wanted to understand the current storyline, and Hydra was the perfect catalyst.

It would be a shame to waste such a hardworking organization.

“Just that one line?” Erika didn’t quite understand.

She didn’t know what Hydra was, nor why Roald wanted her to go to such lengths to control targets, only to have them utter what seemed a meaningless phrase before dying.

“One line is enough. The more you say, the more chance for mistakes.” Roald paused. “Also, use your controlled targets to do a few things: find the best gangs nearby, kill a few people, recruit a batch, then take them to Zazet’s underground.”

Roald smiled, every inch the Godfather.

“Your will be done,” Erika promised.

“Also, be sure to conceal your identity. Don’t let any witnesses see you. Try to plant your controlled people in mid-to-upper ranks, but don’t be too predictable. Still, every controlled target must say the phrase when they die. And when you take people underground to Zazet, leave behind a few small clues that can be found.”

Roald thought for a moment, then continued to instruct Erika.

Absorbing surrounding factions was only the first step; the aim was to keep his identity hidden.

Sooner or later, what was happening in Zazet would come to light. Better to pin the blame on Hydra from the start and keep himself out of the frame. For his upcoming plans, Roald felt it was time to build his own network.

Eight-legged spiders and Hydra—at a glance, the names even sounded related.

Such subtle, almost mystical connections were often the most tempting for people to investigate. Even if it only served to mislead S.H.I.E.L.D. for a bit, Roald felt it was worth it.

“By the way, boss, since we’re founding a new organization, what should we call it?” Erika suddenly asked, as if just remembering.

“A name?” Roald stroked his chin, thought for a moment, then replied, “Let’s call it the Frozen Throne.”

Taking the newspaper, he sat down on the sofa. The television still played scenes of Vikaine’s latest antics; decisions made between sips of coffee felt as casual as eating breakfast.

Turning his attention to the paper in his hand, the headline caught his eye.

“Tony Stark Wins This Year’s Pinnacle Award!”

That distinctive mustached face took up almost half the front page; one glance was enough for Roald to remember it forever.

But now, he could also be sure of the timeline.

After attending the awards ceremony in Las Vegas, Tony Stark would be kidnapped on his way to the Middle East. It was in Afghanistan, in a cave, that he would cobble together the first suit of armor—thus began the Iron Man saga.

With the timeline confirmed, Roald instantly relaxed.

He was about to call to Erika, who was stepping through a portal, and stopped her.

“Erika, bring Vikaine back, and have one of our thralls open a stock account. Invest all our liquid assets in Justin Hammer’s shares.”

Relying on the gangs, Roald had completed the first stage of capital accumulation. Since Stark was destined for trouble, there was no harm in making some quick money on the stock market.

Making money was nothing to be ashamed of.

Even the Lich King found his household low on reserves.

Zazet’s daily provisions were measured in tons, not to mention the fact that his undead steed somehow demanded gourmet carrots every day.

Even Roald, the Lich King, didn’t get to eat as well.

At least Erika was reliable. Though she was a bit cold to hug, she saved on air conditioning in the summer.

A flash of light, and Vikaine appeared in the room, sword planted, hands on his hips. He opened his mouth to speak, but the look Roald gave him made him instantly drop to one knee, trembling.

Roald pointed at the newspaper’s front page, tapping Tony Stark’s unmistakable mustached photo.

“Find him. Follow him. Recruit him for the Scourge. If anyone gets in your way, kill them.”

The order was simple and direct.

Vikaine understood immediately.

A powerful aura surged from him at once.

If there was one thing he never failed at, it was fighting.

The glint in his eyes left no doubt—Roald knew this was what Vikaine did best.