Chương 19: B6C18 - Studying

Tyron sat quietly, his eyes closed and hands resting on the arms of his seat. Though he appeared to be at rest, his mind was furiously engaged in a multitude of tasks. Although the injection of new leadership into his horde might seem a minor thing, just fifty new wights and demi-liches into an undead army numbering in the tens of thousands, it enabled his basic skeletons to move that much more efficiently and cover much more ground.

With his new minions busying themselves fighting at the rifts, the rest continued to spread out across the Western Province, heading to more Slayer Keeps and harvesting all the bones they could get their skeletal fingers on. Already there were a dozen different working groups, harvesting and processing remains in different towns, cities and villages.

Any promising bones were interred in the Ossuary and brought back to the temple complex in Granin for the specialists to work on, while the rest were prepared to either become equipment or basic skeletons. His horde was rapidly approaching the point where he didn't need to take every body he found and make an undead out of it, even if it were complete and in good condition.

With so many basic skeletons and the very real chance he would reach his maximum capacity before leaving for a new battleground, he could start to be picky. At the keeps, he found the bones of many a Slayer, high level individuals, bronze or silver ranks, who had proven themselves in battle and gained power. If he had their souls, he would have been more than willing to make them revenants. Instead, they were treated as well as he could before being turned into basic skeletons and skeletal mages.

Once he was certain all of his minions were doing as they should, he brought his mind back to himself. Slowly, he opened his eyes and contemplated the embers of the fire before him, their soft glow the only illumination in the room. Although he could never truly be alone in his own head, the many conduits that bound him to his minions weren't something he could turn off, moments such as these were the closest he could get to real quiet.

Even more than the minions, however, his own thoughts, rattling incessantly within his skull, were what robbed him of his peace. Before too much time had passed, they returned again, a dozen different ideas bubbling up in the stillness, each one leading to its own branching path that he didn't have the time to properly explore. Unwilling to simply sit still and think, Tyron conjured more light with a gesture before he rose from his seat.

Although he had moved most of the furniture here in the sitting room, in the adjoining space he still had a bed, a desk and a bookshelf, all he truly needed to sustain himself. A few more sigils, a few more lights about the room, and he placed himself down in front of the desk. His satchel, worn leather but of good quality, had travelled everywhere with him since his time in Kenmor. From within, he began to withdraw several volumes, including his original notebook, now running short of pages.

Placing it on the table, he reached deeper and retrieved his pen and ink, carefully stored, then placed them on the table. With his horde taken care of for the time being and his work with the Patrons completed, at least for now, he was finally free to return to his research. Flicking through his notes, there were so many half-formed thoughts and incomplete arrays that it set Tyron's teeth on edge.

Even now, he didn't properly have the time to go back and finish them, though many would likely prove to be dead ends or unimportant. Right now, he had a few projects that needed his attention, each capable of pushing his Necromancy further. Most importantly, he needed to unpack and study what he had learned by adding the Arcane Marrow ability to his crest.

Like the other skills he had added to the crest, it had evolved to a higher form: Soul Marrow, and though he had poked at the edges of what the Unseen had granted him, Tyron wasn't anywhere close to unpacking the whole of it. It was possible he might learn the secrets of creating a true lich, or at least gain a clue. If possible, he would love to grant Master Willhem that capacity.

A part of him wanted to ensure that his former teacher, if he was going to be undead, would always be the strongest possible version that Tyron could create. This was his first priority, but there were many others. With the capacity to create his own spells, there were any number of avenues Tyron could explore to help overcome his deficiencies. New curses, defensive magick, offensive magic, he had a dozen concepts for each.

Perhaps even more important than this, he needed to spend time expanding upon his rather short list of viable construct designs. His recent creation, the conduit relay, had been such a success it had entirely changed how he was able to operate. Not every concept had to have such grand consequences, but it was proof of just how impactful a construct could be. Especially if he combined them with a demi-lich, which would let him inscribe ritual circles on them and have the undead Mage manage them for him.

That meant he could pass all sorts of magickal effects out of his own hands and into his minions', freeing energy and attention for other things. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it A construct that healed all of the skeletons in an area around it would certainly add more resilience to his horde, or one that permanently imbued their weapons with the Death Blades effect. Or one that did both….

However, such constructs would immediately become prime targets in any engagement. If they weren't resilient, then they would instantly fall to a dedicated assault. And he needed to recalculate just what 'resilient' meant in the face of his more powerful opponents. He had seen just how devastating the Golden Legion's attacks could be, shredding even noctic bone with ease.

If he faced more platinum rank opponents, then they would be able to unleash devastating magicks or potent weapon skills from an even longer range, sniping his constructs from hundreds of metres, or even kilometres away, in the case of Archers or specialised Mages. But what would be the best method? Hardening the bone to endure impacts? Magick-nullifying ritual circles and sigils would be effective, but increase the energy drain and complexity of the build.

Armour plating was also worth consideration, he had an enormous supply of spare bone right now. Mind awhirl with possibilities, Tyron drew his various books and notes towards himself, already starting to consider the many branching paths ahead of him. Even as he began to scribble away, sketching designs and outlining sigil arrays, he was reaching out to his nearby demi-liches, calling them to him so he could utilise them in his testing.

Hours passed as he worked feverishly, lost to time and drawn wholly into the work. Truly, he could never grow bored with magick. ~~~ Colder weather, as it turned out, was both a blessing and a curse to Georg. Zombies were prone to decomposing when the weather was hot, the tissues digesting themselves at an increased pace, breaking down and requiring more attention from Georg or the Flesh Crafters to keep them in an optimal state.

However, while colder temperatures slowed the rate of decay, it also stiffened the undead tissues, causing the zombies to move slower and require more magick to keep pace with the humans. Especially at times like now.

"Damn this frost," Georg muttered, breathing into his hands and rubbing them together, hoping to capture a touch of warmth.

"Maybe we should have taken a few more blankets with us," Merrit groaned, stamping his feet to try and encourage blood flow.

"I doubt they would have needed them." A Corpse Handler, there hadn't been much for the young man to do on the journey so far. The only bodies he'd had to work on had been the companions who had fallen along the way.

"You don't think it will be cold in Granin?" Georg asked him, stretching out his fingers. Even with diligent practice and a feat to help, his thick fingers still struggled with the necessary dexterity for spellcasting. If conditions didn't improve, he might need to invest in some gloves. Stiff hands were the last thing he needed.

"I was more thinking that they would all be dead by now," Merrit said softly.

"I wish I could have convinced my mam to come along."

"If we slowed down even a little, then we wouldn't make it. We may not make it as it is." Privately, Georg wasn't as certain that Granin had fallen as the others were. Underestimating Tyron had done immense damage to the Empire; he didn't intend to make the same mistake. In some ways, his old master being alive would be helpful for Georg, keeping the Empire off his back until he could get settled in the North. With time, and a core of loyal followers… make hay while the sun shines, as the saying went.

"Let's concentrate on staying alive," was all he said, and Merrit nodded glumly. Spirits were low in the camp. They'd been travelling for weeks, and despite everything they'd taken, supplies were still running low. Georg had expected they would find more wild game, but once they'd moved beyond the borders of the Empire, finding anything that wasn't a monster had proven all but impossible.

"Wake the others," he said.

"I know it's early, but we need to get moving. I'll look after the horde."

"Got it." For now, nobody was questioning his leadership, or the decision to leave, but that might change if they were delayed much further. Georg walked to the zombies, standing stone-still, their white eyes blank and staring, jaws hanging distended and loose. After all the time he'd spent working with them, he was no longer bothered at all by their grisly appearance, but he couldn't blame others for avoiding them. One by one, he walked to each of the dead, touching each to sense if they needed his attention.

Thankfully, not many did and he was able to hold onto a good store of magick. He would need it for the day ahead. Zombies might take less magick to move around than skeletons, but they still needed some. When he returned to the camp, it was mostly packed, his followers going through the familiar motions, downcast and struggling.

"I know things are tough," he said, just loud enough to gather their attention.

"The journey has been harder than we expected, but we're only a few days out from the Northern Province, if we're reading the map properly." There was a little laughter at that, but it was weak and tired.

"Let's push hard today," he urged them, clapping his hands together.

"The closer we get, the more likely we are to find some game. If the Hunters go out in the afternoon, we might be able to eat venison tonight. A little meat in our bellies and a hot fire will make all the difference." It was dangerous to promise a reward he might not be able to deliver, but the odds were in his favour. The vegetation had been growing thicker every day and the monster attacks less frequent. Surely their luck would change soon. He could see his words were having the desired effect.

There was a glimmer of life in their eyes where a few moments ago it was hard to differentiate from the zombies. Georg smiled, tired of having to act the gregarious leader but knowing it was too important to neglect.

"Let's go. The future awaits."