The Runesmith

Chapter 518: Necromatic.

The sun had begun to burn away the morning mist, but the camp remained cloaked in an air of stillness. Two soldiers stood outside the Lord Marshal’s tent, their breath fogging in the crisp air. Their armor clinked softly as they shifted their weight, both visibly uneasy.

“Think we’ll get some leave soon?”

One asked, his voice barely above a murmur.

“I hope so, but knowing the Lord Marshal, he’ll have us patrolling the border again...”

He glanced warily at the tent’s canvas flaps. Their leader was inside, communicating through magical means. No sound escaped the thick material, as it was under a silencing enchantment. If someone were being murdered in there, they wouldn’t hear a thing.

“Yeah...”

They shared a brief, grim chuckle, but their amusement quickly faded. The Lord Marshal’s sternness was infamous, a subject of both dread and legend. They didn’t dare complain too loudly, not while standing so close to his tent. Even in whispered tones, neither was certain their leader wouldn’t hear them through the canvas walls.

Their uneasy conversation came to an abrupt end when the tent flap rustled - and then, without warning, the tent exploded. A powerful force erupted from within, sending the two men flying as a gale of wind blasted outward. Shards of dirt, cloth, and splintered wood flew in all directions, turning the serene camp into chaos.

The soldiers scrambled to their feet, coughing as a cloud of dust and debris settled over the campsite. A sudden, oppressive silence fell over the scene, save for the faint crackle of breaking wood. They stared wide-eyed at the remnants of the Lord Marshal’s tent, now reduced to a jagged ring of shredded fabric and splintered poles.

Their leader, Lord Marshal, Wentworth Arden, emerged from the center of the wreckage. Though smeared with dirt, his silver armor gleamed in the growing sunlight, as if untouched by the explosion. His cape fluttered behind him in a gust of unseen force, his imposing figure framed by a faint, crackling aura of residual aura energy. His gauntleted hand slowly unclenched, and the earth beneath his feet was visibly scorched, as if it had borne the brunt of his fury. His face was a mask of coldness, but his clenched jaw and the flicker of rage in his eyes betrayed his true feelings.

The soldiers exchanged uncertain glances, neither daring to speak. Wentworth’s gaze swept over them briefly, his eyes like steel, before he spoke, his voice calm yet filled with authority.

“We’re leaving, you have ten minutes.”

The two soldiers stiffened to attention, unsure whether they should ask questions or simply obey. Before either could respond, Wentworth strode forward, his voice not loud but easily heard by the thousands of soldiers here.

“Pack the camp and mobilize the men. We march for the northern border.”

The soldier swallowed hard and saluted.

“At once, Lord Marshal!”

As the soldiers hurried off to carry out his orders, Wentworth stopped at the edge of the wreckage and gazed toward the horizon. The morning sun blazed through the thinning mist, its golden light glinting off his polished armor. His eyes fixed on the direction of the inner kingdom, his brows furrowed in thought. For a moment, he stood still, as though pondering an unseen adversary - the one responsible for his fury.

Finally, he turned away. A horse stood ready for him, its dark frame towering and imposing. His troops moved like a well-oiled machine, dismantling and packing up the remaining tents with practiced precision. The camp bustled with activity, soldiers preparing for an unexpected march. Wentworth mounted his steed, a massive warhorse clad in barding as resplendent as its rider’s armor. The animal snorted and pawed the ground, as if sensing the seething anger of its master.

The Lord Marshal surveyed the camp one last time, his thoughts racing. He needed answers - and quickly. Whoever this "man in green" was, his actions had disrupted a precarious balance, pitting two powerful houses against each other and exposing dangerous vulnerabilities in the kingdom’s defenses. Wentworth clenched the reins tightly. Not today, but soon, he would uncover the identity of this man and see justice done.

*****

“Aaa... chooo!”

Roland sneezed, raising a hand to cover his mouth as dust swirled thickly around him. Grimacing, he activated a mana mantle, its shimmering field enveloping him and blocking out the floating particles. He was not wearing his usual armor but a lighter set of gear, better suited for maneuvering through the underground tunnels of his workshop. Also more suited for the messy work he was engaged in now.

Once his mana was applied to it, a dark greenish aura erupted from this peculiar device. The dark green aura snaked outward from the cube like tendrils of smoke, permanating the air around Roland and the broken skeleton. The effect was immediate. The shards of bone scattered across the chamber floor began to tremble, then shift, as if drawn by an invisible force. Roland’s eyes shone with satisfaction as he watched his experiment unfold.

The fractured remains of the skeleton clattered and scraped together, assembling like pieces of a grotesque puzzle. The flames in its skull reignited, this time glowing with a sinister green hue. A strange bone-chilling sound echoed through the chamber as necrotic energy pulsed from the cube, imbuing the monster with unnatural vitality. Its form seemed sturdier now, its jagged fractures fusing seamlessly. Even its shattered lower half regenerated, bone knitting itself back together with eerie precision.

“Hm, interesting. Did it get strengthened by the higher-tier necrotic mana?”

There was an unforeseen side effect to his experiment. His goal had been simple: to test whether he could replicate necromancer spells using his runes, much like he had successfully done with divine mana and healing spells. His primary aim was to restore the skeletal ‘training dummies’ he was developing for skill practice. Capturing undead creatures repeatedly was both tedious and dangerous, and he sought a more efficient solution.

To that end, he had attempted to emulate necrotic mana, intending to ‘heal’ the undead and make them reusable. However, the results exceeded his expectations. He discovered that pure, concentrated death energy could not only enhance these creatures but also overwrite their existing programming entirely.

“Fascinating, it’s not trying to attack me, does it see me as a necromancer or a Lich it has to obey now?”

Roland examined the newly reanimated skeleton, its posture more upright and its movements unnervingly smooth compared to before. The green flames in its eyes flickered with a faint intelligence, though its mind remained bound by the necrotic energies that Roland had infused into it. It stood at attention, awaiting his next command like a soldier awaiting orders.

“Let’s see...Walk forward?”

The skeleton immediately obeyed, taking a few halting steps. The clatter of its bony feet against the chamber’s stone floor echoed faintly. It moved as if he was a true necromancer and had been summoned by his very own hands, yet it still remained a regular monster, something that he could kill to gain experience points.

“Stop.”

The skeleton froze mid-step, its compliance immediate. Roland nodded, intrigued by the apparent responsiveness and also by the fact that it didn’t turn into a summoned creature. If it did, then he would have to readjust his spell. For some reason, summoned monsters made worse training partners, giving less experience to skills for hitting them, probably as a way to keep people from cheating just like he was intending to.

“Perhaps because I’m emulating lich spells rather than necromancer spells, the system still registers it as a monster minion. But I won’t know for sure until someone tests their skills by striking it.”

This unexpected bonus to his magic was intriguing, but not critical. More tests would be required to understand the full implications. Enhancing these monsters carried some risks. If one of them were to go rogue, especially when he wasn’t present at the testing facility he intended to automate, it could become a disaster.

“Now... return to the chest.”

The monster obeyed, turning silently and crawling back into the spatial box from which it had been summoned. That marked the end of this test. However, one thing stood out to him: the lingering presence of these energies. Even after deactivating the cube, he could still feel the oppressive mana of death permeating the chamber.

“If the Solarian Inquisition knew what I was doing now...”

The Solarian Church despised necromancers more than even cultists, and if they ever discovered what he was up to, it would mean a swift execution. Fortunately, he had methods to deal with the necrotic energy in the area, ensuring it didn’t escape. With the aid of divine mana, purging it was a simple matter.

After reaching for another cube - this one inscribed with divine runes - he activated it. The artifact began to glow, and as though disinfecting a contaminated space, the undead mana was gradually eradicated. Anyone who entered the chamber now would believe they had stepped into a holy sanctum fit for Solaria herself.

“Now then, once this place is finished, leveling skills up to tier 3 will be quite simple...”

This was just one of many projects Roland was working on, but now that most of the tedious tasks were out of the way, there was finally enough time to focus on much more. There were multiple ways for him to gain more strength and he intended to push himself forward. Only when he reached tier 4 or close to it, would he begin to stop.

“So, what’s next...”

He glanced over at a nearby blackboard, where a detailed plan was laid out. Several tasks were listed, each requiring attention. All he needed to do now was choose which one to tackle next.