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.

Now that his outside obligations had eased, Roland finally had time to deliberate on his future plans. One of his key projects was the expansion of his workshop, a task made possible through magical excavation. He was in the process of pushing some earth away, hoping to create a new facility to aid him and some others.

“The soil here’s a lot drier than in other places, Maybe I should’ve worn a full helmet.”

He dusted off his gloves, the clumps of dirt falling to the ground as his mana mantle let them through. He squinted into the half-finished chamber as he returned to his work. He was wearing a metal harness covered in runes, just spliced together metal to make use of his magic.

“This shouldn’t take long…”

The ground rumbled slightly as it parted. The process was both methodical and straightforward – he had mastered the art of handling earth magic with the aid of his runes. Instead of being discarded, the displaced earth was compacted into smaller blocks, which could later be used as wall reinforcements or ground panels. These blocks, however, required treatment with specific alchemical concoctions. For now, he simply transported them into a container off to the side – one equipped with a spatial rune.

The process was remarkably efficient, far faster than any modern excavation method he had ever heard of. If he wished, he could likely start a construction company specializing in underground lairs, as he had honed this skill to perfection. Once the area was cleared, he used other magical tools and mathematical calculations to identify all the weak points. At these critical spots, he placed support columns, which had been prepared in advance and stored in another spatial rune container.

Using a combination of his mage hand spell and a flotation spell, he positioned everything with precision, requiring little external assistance. His spider golems then moved in to secure the structures, melting the hardened blocks together seamlessly. The process felt almost like playing a game. In just a few hours, he had the entire chamber set up, and many more chambers like this one could be created for his future plans. His goal was to turn the area into a leveling ground for himself and others.

“Should I keep the monsters together or separate them into groups?”

He pondered as he stepped onto the hardened floor he had constructed. The next phase involved creating corridors leading to holding cells, where he would contain monsters. These monsters wouldn’t be used for leveling up but rather for honing specific skills. His plan was straightforward: capture a few tier 3 skeletons. They would serve as training targets for people like Robert and Lucille. While practicing on training dummies was effective, striking an actual creature – especially one of a higher level – was exponentially more beneficial.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Oh, I should probably test that new theory before deciding anything.”

Roland murmured to himself and moved toward a special rune-covered container resembling a large iron chest. A skull symbol engraved on its side served as a warning about the dangerous contents within. When he activated the spell, the skull symbol began to glow with a crimson hue, and an eerie sound emanated from inside – howling and the unsettling clatter of bones.