Chapter 19: Rain of Fire

Jack was in his bedchamber, pacing back and forth across the room.

His cane was in his right hand, striking the floor in agitated clack every time he turned around.

He was waiting for the bandits to make a mistake, but instead, he himself had just made a massive blunder.

He stopped pacing, rubbing his throbbing temples. When the bandits scaled the wall, he had used his Night Shift skeletons to repel them. He had ordered the skeletons to wear some clothes their bones just in case of an emergency like this. Visually, in the pitch-black darkness, the disguise was adequate.

But the fight itself was a complete disaster for his secrecy.

One of the bandits had driven an iron dagger directly into a skeleton’s chest. But there was no blood. And when the skeletons hurled the men down to the earth below, the display of raw strength was entirely unnatural.

The surviving bandits had escaped into the woods. The fight had doubtlessly aroused terrible suspicions. Those two Grey Core mages in the bandit camp were not ignorant peasants; they understood the rules of magic. They would put the pieces together soon enough.

Jack was very perplexed about what he should do next.

He must eliminate the bandits, no matter what. He obviously couldn’t win against them in a proper battle or a fight in the open. The opposing team had two Grey Core mages. A Fire Mage and a Wind Mage working together could create a firestorm if used properly. Jack’s own magic was useless for direct, offensive combat.

The best way out of this situation was if he could advance to the Iron Core somehow.

If he reached the second tier of magic, his raw power would increase exponentially. He would be able to control more undead simultaneously, and the skeletons he already commanded would become significantly faster and stronger, reinforced by a denser flow of death mana.

But Jack knew that was not possible at the moment.

Advancing a core was a long process. It required a ton of experience in the relevant magic to advance from one stage to the other. Jack closed his eyes, sifting through the inherited memories of the original John Frost-Grip. The knowledge of the world’s magic system was vast and deeply discouraging.

Only five to ten percent of the entire human population was either born with a core due to a family bloodline or lucky enough to awaken a core later in life. From jack’s understanding the original Jack was born with his core, a direct result of the old Frost-Grip noble bloodline since he couldn’t find his memories of certain times. Because core awakenings were wild and unpredictable, the type of magic a person received was entirely random. A man might awaken water magic, earth magic, wind magic, or lightning magic. Only through established bloodlines was a core prediction possible—the Frost-Grips mostly bred death mana.

But having a core was only the first step. Progression was incredibly rare.

From the original Jack’s memories, he knew that most of the mages in the world didn’t even get past the Silver Core throughout their entire lifetime. The vast majority of common mages lived and died at the Grey Core or Iron Core stage.

Jack sighed, leaning heavily on his cane. Even if he somehow achieved a miracle and broke through to the Iron Core tonight, would it actually solve his problem? He would be able to use his stronger undead, but would he be able to use them freely in front of everyone? The villagers were currently comfortable with his three armored mages, but if he suddenly marched an army of twenty impossibly strong, tireless warriors out of the castle gates, the disguise would fall apart entirely. Should he even risk using them?

After thinking in circles for several hours, Jack made a decision. If he couldn’t advance his own core, he needed better tools. Rusty, Dusty, and Bones were just ordinary human guards in their past lives. What if he raised something stronger?

He walked to the corner of the room, pulled the bear-skin rug aside, and opened the trapdoor.

Jack moved past the common guard niches and walked deeper. A heavy set of iron-bound doors was at the very back of the crypts.

Jack pushed the doors open.

This section was different from the normal crypts he had used his magic on before. These were the sacred tombs of the mages of the family and the elite mage guards.

Ornate stone sarcophagi were in rows across the floor. Above each tomb, a brass plaque was on the wall.

Jack raised his tallow candle, walking slowly down the aisle. He read the plaques. They did not just have the name of the person. They listed the age when they died, their specific magic type, and their final core level.

Jack went through them one by one. The number of mages was comparatively low. The Frost-Grip family was famous for death magic, but not everyone was born with magic and many used to awaken cores later on and occasionally, side-branch members or sworn elite guards possessed other elements.

“Arran Frost-Grip. Age 62. Earth Mage. Layer two of Bronze Core.”

“Lyra Vance. Age 29. Water Mage. Layer three of Iron Core.”

Jack kept walking, looking through every mage’s crypt. He was searching for something specific. He didn’t want a Bronze Core; the gap in power between Grey and Bronze was too massive, and he feared his magic wouldn’t even be able to touch the bones. He needed something just one step above his own level.

Finally, he stopped at a smaller stone tomb near the back wall.

The brass plaque was on the stone, covered in a thin layer of dust. Jack wiped it away with his thumb.

“Elias Varna. Sworn Guard. Age 34. Fire Mage. Layer One of the Iron Core.”

“Perfect,” Jack whispered.

The lid of the sarcophagus was heavy, but the mortar had crumbled with age. Jack wedged the tip of his brass cane under the edge and pushed with all his remaining strength. The stone lid shifted just enough to expose the remains inside.

A perfectly preserved human body was in the tomb. The bodies of the mages were preserved using magical herbs so that their flesh wouldn’t just rot away like the normal peasant guards.

Jack took a deep breath. To attempt this, he needed his absolute maximum focus.

He closed his eyes and unlinked every single skeleton currently active in the castle. The sudden emptiness in his mind was strange, but his Grey Core was now completely free.

Jack reached both hands out, hovering them over the open tomb. He grabbed the energy in his chest and forced it downward, pushing a concentrated stream of death mana directly into the remains of the Iron Core Fire Mage.

The moment the magic touched the dead body, the reaction was instantaneous and catastrophic.

BOOM.

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It was not a physical explosion, but a spiritual one. The body of Elias Varna violently rejected the death mana. A massive shockwave of residual, dormant fire energy erupted from the dead body, slamming directly into Jack’s invisible mental thread.

The backlash shot up Jack’s arms and smashed into his chest like a runaway carriage.

Jack screamed. He was thrown backward, his cane flying across the room. He crashed hard onto the stone floor, rolling onto his side.

The pain was indescribable. It felt as though someone had poured boiling lead directly into his Grey Core. He fell onto the ground, panting heavily, his fingers clawing at the stone floor as his body convulsed in agony. Blood poured freely from his nose, dripping onto the dusty floor.

It took several minutes for the pain to subside.

Jack slowly pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the floor. His entire body was shaking, slick with cold sweat. He looked up at the quiet body in the tomb.

“Just as I had thought,” Jack gasped. “I can’t make use of anyone’s dead body… unless my core is higher than, or equal to, theirs.”

The rules of necromancy were absolute. The residual spiritual weight of an Iron Core was simply too heavy for a Grey Core to dominate. If he tried to force it again, his own soul would shatter.

Defeated and completely drained, Jack crawled over to his cane. He pulled himself up, sealing the doors of the mage crypts behind him.

When he finally dragged the bear-skin rug over the trapdoor, he noticed the pale light filtering through the windowpanes. It was already morning.

Jack didn’t even have the strength to take off his boots. He collapsed onto his bed, his vision instantly fading into a deep blackness.

Deep in the woods, the atmosphere was entirely different. The bandit camp was a miserable, freezing collection of ragged tents and dying fires.

Kael, the leader of the Bandits, was near the edge of the tree line. His face was gaunt, his eyes sunken and wild. He was staring intensely through the snow-covered branches toward the distant walls of the Frost-Grip castle.

The two Grey Core mages were standing beside him.

A large iron pot was over a small campfire in front of them. The pot was filled with a bubbling, sticky mixture of scavenged pine pitch and the last remaining chunks of animal fat from their slaughtered pack mules.

Time kept passing.