《The Daily Life of a Lich》 The Breakfast of a Lich Guldur awoke slowly, as if in no hurry ¨C which made sense, since he had all eternity ahead of him. Still, there was something annoyingly uncomfortable about waking up after decades of hibernation. It wasn¡¯t like waking up from human sleep, of course. He didn¡¯t have dreams, or pillows to adjust, or even eyelids to open. But there was one thing he made sure to preserve from his past life, something that made the existential torment worth it: breakfast. ¡°Time for some tea, a few biscuits¡­ maybe a little cake if Ossaldo¡¯s feeling inspired,¡± he murmured to himself as he rose, shaking the dust from his robes. He stretched purely out of imitation of what he used to do when he was alive, the sound of his bones cracking echoing through the chamber. ¡°Skeleton!¡± he shouted, his voice reverberating theatrically. Ossaldo, the most reliable skeletal servant (which wasn¡¯t much of a compliment), came stumbling in. ¡°Here, master! Always ready to serve!¡± ¡°Tea,¡± Guldur commanded, waving dramatically. ¡°And some decent biscuits. None of those hard crackers you baked last time. And don¡¯t set the kitchen on fire again.¡± Ossaldo hesitated, which was already a bad sign. ¡°So¡­ about the biscuits, master¡­¡± Guldur narrowed his glowing eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you ate them all again.¡± ¡°Of course not, master! I don¡¯t have a stomach! It was the infestation¡­¡± ¡°Infestation?!¡± ¡°Yes, master.¡± Ossaldo shrank back. ¡°Spectral rats. They invaded the pantry while you were¡­ resting.¡± Guldur stood silent for a moment, staring at Ossaldo with an expression that could only be described as ¡®are you serious?¡¯ Finally, he sighed, sinking into his chair with the resignation of someone who had lived (and died) long enough not to be surprised by the world¡¯s nonsense anymore. ¡°Explain, Ossaldo. How the hell do rats without bodies eat anything?¡± ¡°Ah...¡± Ossaldo scratched his chin, or the place where a chin would be. ¡°Well, they don¡¯t exactly eat, master. It¡¯s more like... absorb. They dance around the food, make a strange noise, and... poof! It¡¯s gone.¡± ¡°Dance around?¡± ¡°Yes, master. It¡¯s quite beautiful, really, but also tragic. The last time it was with that cake you loved¡­ the one with dried fruit.¡± Guldur closed his glowing eye sockets for a moment, feeling something that could probably be interpreted as soul pain ¨C or what was left of it. ¡°My dried fruit cake¡­¡± He rubbed his non-existent temple. ¡°I made that cake with my own hands centuries ago! Raisins from a distant kingdom! Nuts that cost a war to harvest!¡± ¡°And it was delicious, master!¡± Ossaldo added eagerly, before realizing it wasn¡¯t the time for compliments. ¡°This is an outrage.¡± Guldur stood up, his cloak billowing dramatically. ¡°Spectral rats not only disrespected my fortress, but destroyed one of the few joys left from my past life! Do you have any idea how hard it is to replicate the taste of mortality?!¡± Ossaldo shook his head, but he knew Guldur wasn¡¯t expecting an answer. ¡°Well then, make the tea without the biscuits. And if I catch a spectral rat lurking around my pantry again, Ossaldo, I¡¯ll put it under a containment spell that will make it wish it had never died!¡± ¡°Understood, master. Can I add sugar to the tea? Or do you prefer it... bitter?¡± ¡°Always sweet, Ossaldo. I may be a lich, but I¡¯m not a psychopath.¡± As Ossaldo hurried to the kitchen, Guldur sank back into his chair. The sound of his servant stumbling over pots and pans was already comforting. He tried to distract himself with a grimoire on advanced necromancy spells, but the letters began to move on the page, forming the phrase: "Still thinking about the cake, huh?" ¡°Damn meddlesome book!¡± He threw the grimoire against the wall, but the irritation remained. ¡°One of these days, I¡¯ll go hunt those rats myself. Personally. And I¡¯ll make it a spectacle for the history of the dead!¡± Of course, he wouldn¡¯t actually do any of that. But at least the thought was comforting while he waited for the tea. Guldur was seated on his stone throne, tea finally served in a chipped cup he swore was an ancient artifact from a lost civilization (but was probably just old). He held the cup carefully, savoring the illusory warmth he knew made no difference to his bones, but still gave him a sense of normalcy. On the opposite side of the room, a line of undead servants formed, each more ragged and clumsy than the last. Ossaldo, still wearing the ¡°Best Boss of the Underworld¡± apron, led the procession with an expression that looked¡­ anxious? It was hard to read emotions on an empty skull.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Why are you all standing there like it¡¯s a wake? Just say what¡¯s going on,¡± Guldur ordered with a sigh. ¡°Master...¡± began Ossaldo, hesitantly. ¡°We have a¡­ matter.¡± ¡°Matter?¡± ¡°A labor issue, master.¡± Guldur spat out a sip of non-existent tea. ¡°WHAT?!¡± ¡°Well, the servants, um... the servants are complaining. We feel like we¡¯re working too much.¡± ¡°You¡­ feel? You don¡¯t even have sensory organs!¡± The skeletons murmured among themselves, some shaking their heads as if they were genuinely upset. A zombie in the middle of the line raised a decayed hand, causing parts of its fingers to fall to the floor. ¡°Yes, master!¡± Ossaldo continued. ¡°The spectral rats are out of control, the hallways are full of cobwebs, and no one here has had a day off since you resurrected us. We¡¯re overwhelmed!¡± Guldur stared at the group, incredulous. ¡°You don¡¯t need days off. You¡¯re dead! Every day is technically a day off!¡± A short skeleton at the end of the line raised its hand. ¡°With all due respect, master, we still have feelings. Well¡­ simulacra of feelings. And we like to feel valued.¡± ¡°Valued?¡± Guldur repeated, rubbing his non-existent temple. ¡°Do you realize that I brought all of you back to existence? That without me, you¡¯d be rotting in shallow graves or hanging as macabre decorations in some village somewhere?¡± The dead exchanged awkward glances. Another skeleton stepped forward, holding a torn piece of paper like a revolutionary manifesto. ¡°Master, we propose an agreement. A day off per decade, shorter work shifts, and an immediate solution to the spectral rats. We can¡¯t stand seeing them dance around the food anymore.¡± Guldur stared at the paper as if it were a forbidden curse. ¡°You think this is a democracy? You think you can unionize me?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a matter of respect, master,¡± Ossaldo said, now with renewed courage. ¡°Also, the rats are really unbearable. They ate the last pumpkin I was saving for a stew.¡± ¡°Pumpkin? What kind of lich¡¯s fortress has pumpkins?!¡± ¡°One that also cares about the morale of its servants, master.¡± Guldur opened his mouth to protest but stopped. He looked at the horde of undead gathered and, for the first time in centuries, felt something akin to... mental exhaustion. Is this what eternity did to people? Turned obedient servants into unionists and hungry ghosts into opportunistic dancers? He stood up, his cloak billowing dramatically (as always, because he didn¡¯t skimp on good visuals). ¡°Listen up,¡± he began, pointing a bony finger at the servants. ¡°I will resolve this rat issue. Personally, if necessary. But know this does not mean I approve of this¡­ rebellion disguised as ¡®labor rights¡¯. Understood?¡± The servants exchanged glances, murmuring to each other before nodding in unison. ¡°Great. Now get out. And someone sweep up those phalanges you¡¯re leaving all over the floor!¡± But not today. Today, he just wanted to finish his breakfast in peace. Guldur was hunched over an improvised stone counter, scribbling notes on a piece of yellowed parchment. The lab smelled faintly of mold, but he barely noticed. After all, when you live surrounded by undead, the concept of "fresh air" is more of a distant memory than a priority. ¡°I¡¯ll have to deal with those rats,¡± he murmured, taking a sip of his now cold tea. ¡°It can¡¯t be that hard,¡± he continued, more to himself than to Ossaldo, who was sitting in the corner sorting herbs and ingredients with the precision of someone without thumbs. ¡°I created a spell to fix clothes without stitching and another to make bread that never spoils. Surely I can deal with half a dozen spectral rats.¡± Ossaldo raised his skull, holding a small bottle of purple liquid. ¡°And do you remember how the bread spell turned out the first time?¡± ¡°Ah, shut up, Ossaldo,¡± grumbled Guldur, pushing a glass jar that almost fell off the table. ¡°They only stayed alive for a week. Details.¡± He turned his attention back to the parchment. The title, written in large, elegant letters, read: "Definitive Spectral Rat Repellent (Temporary)". ¡°Main ingredient,¡± he read aloud. ¡°Garlic essence... because everyone hates garlic, right? A pinch of bone powder ¨C and of course, the special touch, essence of crypt fungus.¡± Ossaldo looked at him, tilting his skull. ¡°And this will¡­ what? Make the rats leave?¡± ¡°Exactly, my dear skeleton. It will create such an unpleasant environment that even spectral rats will prefer to go to another dimension.¡± After several hours of work, mixing ingredients and reciting simple spells, the repellent was ready. It was a murky green potion, bubbling slightly as if it had a life of its own. The smell, however, was indescribable. Guldur pulled the bottle away from his nose and took two steps back, waving the air. ¡°Looks like it¡¯s working!¡± Ossaldo was more practical and simply fainted, or at least collapsed to the ground like a sack of bones. ¡°Take him to the pantry tunnels, Ossaldo,¡± Guldur ordered, trying not to inhale deeply. ¡°Spread it well. This will take care of the rats in seconds.¡± ¡°Yes, master,¡± said Ossaldo weakly, grabbing the bottle and staggering out of the lab. Half an hour later, Guldur was comfortably sitting on his throne, savoring another cup of tea. ¡°Well, at least something worked today,¡± he said, looking at the door. Ossaldo returned, looking... excited? No. That was impossible. He looked less defeated, at least. ¡°Master, the spell worked!¡± Ossaldo exclaimed. ¡°The rats fled immediately. They vanished as if they¡¯d never been there!¡± Guldur gave a satisfied smile, or as close to one as his fleshless face allowed. ¡°See? I¡¯m still a genius.¡± At that moment, a gust of wind blew through the room, bringing the smell of the repellent to the throne. ¡°ARGH!¡± Guldur dropped his tea, coughing violently. ¡°What is THIS?!¡± ¡°Oh,¡± said Ossaldo, nervously clapping his bony hands. ¡°Yes, well¡­ the smell seems to¡­ um¡­ linger, master.¡± ¡°Linger?¡± Guldur repeated, as the other skeletons in the room began to fall to the floor, one by one, pretending to faint. ¡°Well, the good news is, it repels more than just spectral rats. No form of life ¨C or death ¨C seems to tolerate the odor.¡± ¡°Great. My fortress now smells like a troll¡¯s backside in the middle of summer!¡± Ossaldo hesitated, then gave a small nod. ¡°Maybe it needs¡­ some ventilation, master?¡± Guldur sank into his throne, massaging his non-existent temples. ¡°Of course. Because nothing says ¡®all-powerful lich¡¯ like opening windows and airing out the fortress. What a wonderful day.¡± And so, while Ossaldo and the skeletons opened doors and windows to try to deal with the aromatic disaster, Guldur just sighed and muttered, ¡°The life of a lich is never as glamorous as they say.¡± Gronks Gig Economy Guldur slumped in his throne, his empty gaze fixed on a crack in the ceiling. It was his fourth cup of tea that day¡ªa somewhat touching attempt by a lich to maintain a semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos of his fortress. The ¡°repellent incident¡± was still a hot topic among the skeletons, and Ossaldo wouldn¡¯t stop bringing him reports about undead deserters. Guldur ignored most of the skeletons¡¯ grumbling, which now included vague threats of going on strike for ¡°unsafe working conditions.¡± He needed a solution. Another alignment meeting, perhaps? Or maybe a motivational workshop? Then the ground began to shake. At first, Guldur thought it might be an upset ghost or perhaps a wayward dragon. But the tremors quickly turned rhythmic¡ªgiant, deliberate footsteps. Guldur straightened up, reluctantly alert. Before he could grumble a protest, the main doors of the fortress were torn from their hinges and flung into the hall with a deafening crash. A hulking troll shoved its way through the entrance, shoulder-smashing part of the doorway as it entered. ¡°Was ripping the door off really necessary?¡± Guldur muttered, rubbing his temples. ¡°I already had enough trouble dealing with incompetent skeletons, and now this...¡± The troll ignored the remark, pounding its massive chest with one hand. ¡°I AM GRONK!¡± it roared, its voice booming through the chamber. ¡°Yes, yes, wonderful. Gronk. What a charming name. Now, what exactly do you want?¡± ¡°THIS IS GRONK¡¯S CAVE NOW!¡± the troll bellowed, completely ignoring Guldur¡¯s sarcasm. ¡°YOU WORK FOR GRONK! HUMANS PAY TRIBUTE! LOTS OF CHEESE FOR GRONK!¡± Guldur blinked, stunned, as Gronk pointed a thick finger at Ossaldo and the other skeletons in the hall. ¡°Does he know we¡¯re undead?¡± he murmured to himself. Ossaldo, watching from the corner, gave a helpless shrug. Gronk wasn¡¯t done. ¡°GRONK WANTS CHEESE AND SOFT BED! AND YOU SING WAR SONGS FOR GRONK!¡± ¡°Well, at least he¡¯s specific,¡± Guldur commented, leaning slightly to the side. ¡°But... human tributes? Does he really think you lot have skin?¡± The troll roared again, louder this time, as if sheer volume could intimidate an entire fortress. Guldur let out a long, weary sigh. ¡°All right, Gronk,¡± he said, rising slowly from his throne and descending the steps with the air of someone far too tired for this nonsense. ¡°First of all, I have to say your approach is... how should I put this? Amateurish.¡±The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Gronk froze, confused. ¡°What?¡± ¡°You storm in here, destroy my door, make absurd demands... Where¡¯s the plan? The strategy? The finesse, Gronk?¡± Guldur asked, gesturing dramatically. ¡°You¡¯re an imposing troll, but you¡¯re acting like a rookie. An amateur!¡± ¡°GRONK IS NOT AMATEUR!¡± the troll roared, thumping his chest. ¡°Of course not,¡± Guldur said smoothly. ¡°But imagine this: instead of raiding fortresses, you could become... a businessman. A professional. A partner.¡± ¡°Partner?¡± Gronk tilted his head, intrigued. ¡°Yes, exactly!¡± Guldur continued, stepping closer with a persuasive smile. ¡°Why settle for chaotic invasions when you could have steady tributes? No fighting, no hassle, and a respectable reputation in the monster community!¡± ¡°I like cheese,¡± Gronk muttered thoughtfully. ¡°And you shall have cheese! But first, every great leader must start somewhere.¡± ¡°Start where?¡± Gronk asked, scratching his head. ¡°At the foundation! Every fortress needs a strong pillar, someone to oversee daily operations¡ªmaintenance, cleaning, upkeep...¡± Guldur¡¯s smile widened. ¡°You, Gronk, would be perfect for the role. The Head of Fortress Maintenance and Custodial Services!¡± ¡°Head of what?¡± ¡°It¡¯s simple!¡± the lich exclaimed, spreading his arms. ¡°You¡¯ll oversee everything¡ªrepairs, defenses, the... humans.¡± He hesitated slightly on the last word, glancing meaningfully at Ossaldo. ¡°Gronk likes humans. They scream a lot. Funny!¡± ¡°Exactly! You¡¯ll organize the humans¡ªer, skeletons¡ªfor maximum efficiency. Picture it: you, in charge, giving inspiring speeches to your loyal workforce!¡± ¡°Speeches?¡± ¡°Of course! Like, ¡®Bring more stones!¡¯ or ¡®Fix that gate!¡¯ Leadership, Gronk. Power in your hands.¡± Gronk scratched his chin, considering. Finally, a wide, lopsided grin spread across his face. ¡°Gronk likes this. Gronk will be big boss!¡± ¡°Wonderful!¡± Guldur exclaimed, expertly hiding his sarcasm. Producing a contract with a flourish, he unrolled it. ¡°Now, we just need to formalize your promotion. Sign here, and it¡¯s official¡ªyou¡¯re the Head of Maintenance and Custodial Services!¡± ¡°Gronk can¡¯t read,¡± the troll said, a hint of suspicion in his tone. ¡°Exactly what makes you perfect for the role! No distractions from pesky paperwork. All you need to know is¡ªyou¡¯re in charge. Trust me, Gronk, opportunities like this don¡¯t come around every day!¡± Taking an oversized quill, Gronk scrawled what looked like a mountain with legs on the parchment. ¡°Excellent!¡± Guldur said, rolling up the document. ¡°Your first task as Head of Maintenance: organize the crew to fix the door you destroyed. Not an easy job, but I know you¡¯re up to it.¡± Gronk immediately turned to Ossaldo and the other skeletons. ¡°YOU, SKINNY HUMANS! FIX DOOR! GRONK COMMANDS!¡± Ossaldo cast a tired glance at Guldur, who merely shrugged. ¡°Perfect!¡± Guldur said, reclining on his throne. ¡°I knew he had leadership potential.¡± As night fell, Guldur watched from above as Gronk tried to lead what he called a ¡°team meeting,¡± using a broken piece of the door as a clipboard. ¡°Who would¡¯ve thought,¡± Guldur murmured, sipping tea, ¡°that turning a troll into Head of Maintenance could be so entertaining? At least he doesn¡¯t know what a labor contract is.¡± From the hall, Gronk¡¯s voice echoed: ¡°TOMORROW, BRING MORE CHEESE! HUMANS WORK BETTER WITH CHEESE!¡± Guldur sighed contentedly, smiling as Gronk¡¯s snores filled the fortress. ¡°Head of Maintenance... Maybe I should invent more fake positions. Organized chaos is just my style.¡± Delivery Guldur Von Desmarque casually walked through the corridors of his fortress. Dressed in his usual cloak (dramatically billowing, of course), he seemed lost in thought, though it was more likely he was simply thinking about nothing in particular. After all, being a lich meant having plenty of time to... well, procrastinate. The corridors were a mess. Ossovaldo, his most loyal skeletal servant, crouched in front of a pile of bones stacked in an artistic manner ¨C or at least artistic by undead standards. "Master, I think these ribs would make a great room ornament!" Ossovaldo shouted, holding up two pieces like trophies. "Great, Ossovaldo, add that to the never-ending list of things that will never get done," Guldur replied without looking up. He was more concerned with remembering if he had locked the room where he kept his most dangerous experiments (spoiler: he hadn''t). At that moment of peaceful disarray, the fortress was suddenly filled with an absolutely unbearable sound: DING-DONG-DING-CLANG-BAM-BAM. The entry alarm. Or, as Guldur called it: "The Awakener of Infinite Irritation." "WHAT THE DAMNATION IS THAT?!" Guldur screamed, his eye sockets glowing intensely. Ossovaldo shrugged ¨C or tried to, since he didn¡¯t really have shoulders that could move. "I think someone''s at the door, master." "Who had the idiotic idea to install an alarm that sounds like the fortress is under attack?" Guldur marched toward the main hall with all the elegance of an outraged lich. When he arrived, the sight was so ridiculous that even someone without facial muscles like Guldur might have furrowed his brow. A scrawny, greenish goblin stood in the center of the hall, holding a huge package and a rolled-up magazine. He wore an absurdly oversized mailman uniform and a crooked cap that looked ready to fall off. "DELIVERY FOR MASTER GULDUR VON DESMARQUE!" the goblin shouted, as if trying to be heard from across the underworld. "I am Guldur Von Desmarque," Guldur announced, his voice echoing. "And why are you shouting?" The goblin flashed a wide, toothless grin. "Company policy, boss! Shouting to make sure the dead hear! Now sign here, please." He pulled out a dirty clipboard that looked like it had been used as a plate at some point. "Sign? I¡¯m a lich! My status is signature enough!" "Look, boss," the goblin responded, rolling his eyes. "I just deliver packages. Rules are rules." Guldur snorted, grabbed the clipboard, and scribbled something that looked like a set of threatening runes ¨C or maybe just an attempt to draw a dragon. The goblin didn¡¯t seem to care. "Thanks, boss! Here¡¯s your mail. Have a nice day, and say hi to your... horde of undead!" Before Guldur could respond, the goblin ran off, leaving the package and the magazine on the floor. Ossovaldo, who had quietly followed Guldur, leaned in to take a look. "Master, I think this is an invitation." He picked up the magazine and started flipping through it. "Invitation?" Guldur asked, picking up the package with his bony hands. The seal bore the emblem of a skull with glasses ¨C an unmistakable symbol. He sighed. "Ah, of course. The General Association of Necromancers, Sorcerers, and the Like... also known as AGNEFA."The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. "AGN... EFA?" Ossovaldo repeated, trying to process the acronym. "That sounds kind of funny." "Dragon thing," Guldur muttered. He opened the package, revealing an ornate invitation and a magazine with the title: "Rituals on the Rise: Necromantic Trends for the New Era." "This must be for the Seventh Secular Gathering," he said, reading the invitation. "It¡¯s an event where necromancers pretend to care about networking and lectures on ethics in necromancy. Ridiculous." "But master, look at this!" Ossovaldo pointed to a page in the magazine. "Discount coupon for magic wands!" Guldur paused and looked at the page with more interest than he was willing to admit. "Hmm. A discount is never a bad thing..." Suddenly, his memory was jogged. "Ah, now I remember how I joined this association. It was that irritating skeletal dragon. Zarkhul. He sold the membership like it was a once-in-a-lifetime offer. ''Lifetime membership and exclusive discounts!'' he said." "Master, I think you mentioned something about discounts for your lich transformation," Ossovaldo said. "Yes," Guldur confirmed, looking at the invitation with disdain. "That was the only reason I joined. I got these glowing eyes in the deal." He pointed to his incandescent eye sockets. "They¡¯ve been glowing for all these centuries, which is surprisingly useful for late-night reading." Ossovaldo gave what might have been a smile. "So, shall we go to the meeting, master?" Guldur sighed. "We have no choice. Turning down the invitation means dealing with threatening letters signed by 300 liches and a skeletal dragon." He looked at the magazine again. "But at least I can grab that coupon. I think I¡¯ll see if there¡¯s anything good to buy." He paused, thoughtful. "But before that... tea and biscuits." Just as he finished speaking, a loud crash came from the main hall. "YOU, SKINNY BONES!" Gronk roared, dramatically spinning around while pointing a fat finger at a group of skeletons with exhausted, spectral expressions. "MOVE THE WALL CLOSER TO THE CEILING! IT''S NOT ALIGNED!" The skeletons, clearly confused, looked at each other. One of them raised a makeshift sign written in charcoal: "Walls don¡¯t move." "Gronk doesn¡¯t want excuses, he wants results!" the ogre replied, stomping his foot so hard that some stones on the floor cracked. "Master," Ossovaldo murmured, watching the scene, "I think he thinks he¡¯s... renovating the fortress?" "Renovating?" Guldur replied, raising an eyebrow (or what would be the lich equivalent). "What does he think he¡¯s doing?" As they spoke, Gronk turned to another group of skeletons struggling to hold up a giant log that clearly didn¡¯t fit anywhere. "LOG IS IMPORTANT! MAKES FORTRESS MORE WOODEN!" Gronk explained proudly when Guldur finally asked. "Wooden?" "YES! MAKES FORTRESS PRETTIER! MORE COMFORTABLE!" Gronk gave a satisfied grin, as if he¡¯d just solved a major structural issue. "AND ALSO... MORE SECURE! LOG BLOCKS INVADERS!" Meanwhile, the skeletons seemed ready to collapse under the weight of the log. One of them fell to the ground with a dry thud, its skull rolling to Ossovaldo¡¯s feet. "Master, this is going too far," Ossovaldo whispered, trying to return the skull to its owner. "And it doesn¡¯t stop there," Guldur said, pointing to what appeared to be a huge puddle of mud in the middle of the hall. Gronk was dumping buckets of water and dirt, turning the place into an improvised swamp. "What¡¯s this now, Gronk?" "INDOOR MOAT! FORTRESS SAFE FROM INSIDE OUT!" he announced, as if he were a master strategist. "A moat... inside the fortress?" "YES! SO IF INVADER ENTERS, THEY FALL! BONES TOO, IF NOT DONE RIGHT!" he shouted, pointing at the skeletons with a bucket in hand. "This makes absolutely no sense!" Guldur protested, as one of the skeletons slipped in the mud and fell into the moat. "YES IT DOES!" Gronk shot back proudly. "IF INVADER COMES IN, THEY FALL TOO! DOUBLE THE SAFETY! GRONK IS A GENIUS!" Ossovaldo turned to Guldur, whispering, "I didn¡¯t know undead could look depressed, but... they do." Indeed, one of the skeletons was holding an empty bucket and staring off into the distance as if reevaluating every decision that led it to this point. "Enough of this," Guldur said, his patience finally running out. He marched over to Gronk and, with a voice full of authority, declared, "Gronk, you are officially forbidden from giving orders!" The ogre froze, looking lost. "BUT... BUT GRONK IS THE BOSS! WITHOUT GRONK, WHO COMMANDS?" "I do, you idiot!" Gronk seemed to ponder this for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. "SO GRONK CAN BE THE BOSS¡¯S ASSISTANT? GRONK IS GOOD AT HELPING!" "Great," Guldur replied, exhausted. "Your first task as assistant is: stop doing things!" Gronk gave an exaggerated salute, pounding his fist against his chest. "GRONK WILL STOP DOING THINGS WITH EXCELLENCE!" The skeletons began dropping buckets, logs, and tools with palpable relief, some even applauding. As they walked away, Guldur shook his head. "I really created a monster." From the end of the corridor, Gronk shouted, "GRONK IS THE BEST MONSTER!"