Chương 75: Silas's Message

Three more days passed in the Frost-Grip fief, blending seamlessly into the routine of the valley. Under the diligent oversight of Giles, Barnaby, and Old Miller, the slaves and the original villagers worked as they were supposed to do. Down in the village square, the carpenters were putting the finishing touches on the new furniture, utilizing the high-quality timber they had logged.

The heavy wooden frames were sturdy and imposing, while the older cushions—now thoroughly washed and scrubbed—were set out in the sun to dry before being attached. Inside his study, Jack was managing his own secret, parallel workforce. Over the past three days, his twenty-one skeletal miners had unearthed seven more raw gemstones. It was a slow trickle of wealth, but highly consistent. Currently, Jack was standing in his bedroom, staring intently at Elias.

"The harvest will be ready before the first frost," Elias said. The mage's jaw moved, and the voice that came out sounded raspy but human. Jack didn't reply out loud. He didn't need to. He was the one making Elias speak. It was an incredibly surreal exercise, like a man talking to himself in a mirror, except the mirror was a corpse standing few feet away. Jack was practicing throwing his voice and maintaining fluid control over the undead man's vocal cords. He needed to get thoroughly acclimated to this process.

If there ever came a time when Elias had to act like a living human guard in front of unsuspecting people, Jack couldn't afford a single slip-up. It placed a heavy, constant strain on his Iron Core to manage the puppet's speech patterns while simultaneously thinking his own thoughts, but the practice was necessary. Later that afternoon, Jack descended into the cold, silent depths of the crypt beneath the castle. He took an accurate inventory of the resources he had left.

Lining the dark stone walls were sixty more ordinary human skeletons, alongside the massive, intimidating bones of three magical beasts in another corner of the crypt. He ignored them for now; he didn't need a larger labor force at the moment, and animating them would only drain his mana reserves unnecessarily. He moved past them to the preserved corpses of the mages. He examined a female wind mage. She had been an Iron Core at Layer One. Sylvia, Jack remembered her name as it was mentioned on the tomb.

He considered awakening her, but quickly decided against it. Controlling Elias already required a significant portion of his active concentration. Trying to micromanage two Iron Core mages simultaneously, along with twenty-one mining skeletons, would push his mental capacity past its breaking point. He left Sylvia resting in the cold stone alcove for the future. Before leaving the crypt, Jack pulled out his grandfather's diary and read through the passages one more time. As he read, his brow furrowed.

He finally noticed a flaw in the text. His grandfather had written about the power levels in broad, comparative terms, but the specific, details of the magic were entirely missing. There was no mention of the necromancer's ability to temporarily share the senses of their undead, to see clearly in the dark through their eyes, or to possess them temporarily. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Are there more passive abilities in the later stages that aren't recorded here? Jack wondered, closing the book. It was highly probable. The Frost-Grip family hadn't produced a true necromancer in generations. The knowledge in the diary was likely based on fragmented word-of-mouth stories passed down from ancestors. His grandfather simply didn't know all the details, or perhaps he had purposely hidden the most dangerous techniques to protect the family. Either way, Jack realized he was charting unknown territory.

Four more days passed. The valley continued its steady growth, and the newly crafted furniture was finally moved into the castle. The heavy wooden tables and cushioned chairs were arraned strategically in the Great Hall and the guest rooms, transforming the dusty, barren spaces into something resembling a proper, dignified noble's residence. The stage was set for the neighboring lord's envoy. Far to the south, in the heart of the Holy Capital, the atmosphere inside the grand Cathedral of Light was heavy and tense.

Inquisitor Silas Thorne knelt on the polished marble floor, his head bowed respectfully as he delivered his report to Cardinal Xander.

"You have done well, Silas," Xander said, his voice echoing in the vast, empty chamber.

"But what of your primary assignment?" Silas kept his expression neutral. He needed more time to uncover the truth, and he knew that if he failed his orders, his life was forfeit. He decided to test the waters with a calculated lie.

"Regarding the mission you gave me, Your Eminence—to bring the northern boy to the Atera continent by the end of summer," Silas began smoothly.

"I attempted to broach the subject. I started several conversations to lead him in that direction, but he firmly refused to leave his fief. He is incredibly stubborn. Should I use force to extract him?" Xander was silent for a moment.

"Oh? And what is the boy's current core level?" Silas didn't dare lie about this. The Church had ways of verifying magical progression.

"If my assessment is correct, he has recently broken through to Layer One of the Iron Core."

"Iron Core, Layer One," Xander repeated, his tone shifting into one of dark contemplation.

"I see. No matter. We can delay the matters for now." Silas blinked in surprise but kept his head down.

"Delay, Your Eminence?"

"Unfortunately, Lord Pontiff has passed away," Xander stated bluntly, his voice devoid of any real grief.

"Because of this, the grand plans must be shifted. We can delay the matter of the necromancer for a few years. Keep up your surveillance. I will be off the continent for some time, dealing with the fallout. Your new orders are to help the boy advance in his cores. Do not bring him to Atera until he reaches the Gold Core. When he does, inform me immediately." Silas's heart pounded against his ribs, though his face remained a mask of obedience. How could the Pontiff die?

The old man had looked exactly the same since the day Silas had first joined the Church—ancient, yes, but overflowing with a terrifying vitality. Had something happened on the Atera continent? Silas suddenly remembered the chaotic commotion he had witnessed in the lower halls of the cathedral earlier that morning. It all made sense now.

"The Pontiff's funeral will be held soon," Xander commanded.

"Attend it, pay your respects, and then get back to your job. Make absolutely sure no one knows about it. Do you understand?"

"I understand Your Eminence," Silas said. When Silas finally raised his head, Xander's figure had already vanished, leaving the Inquisitor alone in the massive hall. Several hours later, sitting in the dimly lit corner of a high-end capital tavern, Silastook out the whistle that was connected with the Jack's whistle, and he then deleivered a message. The message was brief. It informed Jack that Silas would be entirely out of reach for several weeks due to urgent Church business.

If Jack needed absolute emergency assistance, Silas would have to send a proxy. When the message arrived in the northern valley, Jack listened it while he standing in his courtyard. A genuine, relaxed smile spread across his face.

"Good," Jack thought." What kind of necromancer actually wants a Church Inquisitor hovering over their shoulder anyway? He had the time he needed to build his strength." One day later, Silas Thorne stood on the deck of a massive, mana-powered airship, watching the Holy Capital shrink beneath the clouds as the vessel set a direct course across the ocean toward the Atera continent.