《Blown Away (LitRPG)》


 Chapter 1

    You can never fully understand the depths of another person''s experience, especially when it comes to trauma and the invisible wounds she leaves behind.


    <hr>


    In the cramped confines of her tent, Lance Corporal Sarah Kemp lay rigid on her cot. Her hazel-green eyes, usually vibrant and quick, were swollen and bloodshot, raw from the relentless scrubbing she''d subjected them to. Sleep offered no escape; her mind was a projector, endlessly looping yesterday''s horror.


    The image burned into her eyelids: the insurgent, indistinguishable from any other civilian in the crowded marketplace, hurling himself through the window of the lead Humvee.


    The flash, the roar, the sickening crunch of metal ¨C it all played out again and again, each repetition a fresh wave of nausea and a tightening in her chest.


    She could almost smell the acrid tang of cordite and the coppery scent of blood. Her patrol. Her responsibility. The weight of it pressed down on her, a crushing burden she couldn''t seem to shake.


    Four dead. The number echoed in Sarah''s mind, a constant, accusing drumbeat. Two of them, friends of the Lance Corporal, their laughter still ringing in her ears. She''d seen the civilian, a shadow detaching itself from the crowd, but the warning hadn''t translated to action quickly enough. The weight of those lost lives settled heavily on her shoulders.


    "Kemp! Five minutes to wheels up. Main Gate. Move it!" Malone''s voice barked through the thin, fabric walls. Sarah swore under her breath. Not again. Not now. She scrubbed a hand across her tired eyes. Sam. Dean. A pair of goddamn kids. How could they miss him? How did I miss him? The thought gnawed at her. With a frustrated groan, she dragged herself to the edge of the cot. Reluctantly, she swung her legs over the side. Duty called, even if every fiber of her being screamed for her to stay put. She knew she had no choice.


    Orders were orders and soldiers followed them.


    That was that.


    "Fuck!" Sarah grumbled, grabbing her gear. She pushed through the tent flap and stepped out into the harsh glare of the midday sun. The base was a cacophony of noise and movement: the rumble of trucks, shouted orders, and the rhythmic thud of marching feet. Shielding her eyes, she almost collided with a platoon of soldiers jogging past her tent, their boots kicking up dust in the dry air.


    The dry, gritty wind shifted abruptly as rotor blades churned the air nearby. A plume of dust, the color of rust, billowed across the makeshift camp ¨C air support. The sight and sound were meant to be a balm, but Sarah remained unmoved. She still didn''t want to go.


    Heading in the opposite direction of the bird, Sarah made her way toward the main gate. The shrill screams of those less fortunate grew louder, a chilling symphony of panic and pain. Each step took her closer to the source, a stark reminder of the brutal reality of their situation. The raw emotion in those cries twisted in her gut, threatening to betray her own hard-won composure.


    Passing the casualty tent, Sarah couldn''t help but glance inside. She instantly regretted it. Eight of the cots had their covers drawn completely over them, the white sheets stained crimson. She knew, with a sickening certainty, that no life remained beneath. Medics swarmed the remaining patients, their movements frantic, a desperate race against time.


    Those that survived would be sent home.


    A fate some say is worse than death.


    Why the hell did I ever sign up for this?! she thought, the memory of that cheery career office visit flashing through her mind. "See the world," they''d chirped. "Gain valuable qualifications," they''d promised. "Watch your mates get incinerated in front of you while you''re paralyzed with terror?" Yeah, that little gem he conveniently left out. "Bastard!" she spat, the word laced with pure venom.


    Shaking her head, Sarah reached her squad. The sight wasn''t encouraging. Where once laughter and shouts would have filled the air, now only a heavy silence hung. Eyes were downcast, the whole group more reserved than she''d ever seen them.


    "Ready, Kemp?" Sergeant Green''s voice was clipped, his gaze intense. The question hung in the close confines of the vehicle, heavy with unspoken implications. Kemp swallowed hard. "Yes, Sergeant," she managed, though the word felt like a lie.


    "Alright, you''re rear left, Jenkins. Sanders, behind me. Atkin, saddle up top. Mitch, you''re point. Eyes peeled, people. Nobody wants a repeat of yesterday''s clusterfuck. Let''s move!" The sergeant''s gravelly voice cut through the pre-mission jitters. The squad scrambled into their positions in the humvee, their vehicle sandwiched in the middle of a five-truck convoy. The engine rumbled to life, a low growl that vibrated through the chassis. Mitch gave a thumbs-up, confirming they were ready to roll. With a jolt, the convoy lurched forward, leaving the relative safety of the base behind.


    Twenty minutes later, Sarah hunched behind the crumbling stone wall, hands clutching her gut, and wondered what cosmic sins she''d committed in a past life to deserve this hell. Peeking over the rough stones, she stared at the downed helicopter, a twisted pyre against the desolate landscape.


    Flames licked at the shattered metal, casting a morbid glow on the carnage. Two ground vehicles, now charred husks, lay nearby, silent testament to the desperate, failed escape. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning fuel and something else... Something that made her stomach churn. She didn''t need to look closely to know what lay scattered around the wreckage; the flickering firelight painted a grim tableau on the ground.


    A hidden combatant''s tactical strike crippled their air support. The RPG found its mark, slamming into the helicopter and sending it nose-diving into the rear vehicle of the convoy. The resulting explosion wiped out the entire squad within and created an impassable roadblock. A second rocket, fired simultaneously, targeted the ground detail, adding to the chaos.


    The rocket found its mark, detonating on impact and flipping the lead vehicle. It careened into parked cars, blocking the street. The second Humvee, unable to react, slammed into the overturned vehicle. The chaos unfolded in a blur. Only Mitch''s quick thinking, yanking their Humvee to the right, averted the pileup.


    Not that it helped.


    Dust swirled in the sudden stillness of the street, coating the Humvees in a film of ochre. Sarah crouched low, the heat radiating off the sun-baked metal. They were caught in the open, a perfect target. She scanned the surrounding buildings, searching for a less exposed position. "Squad, move out!" Sergeant Green yelled, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Use the vehicles for cover and advance into that alley!" The enemy had shown their hand with rockets; it was only a matter of time before the rest came.


    "Fuck." Sarah''s voice was barely a whisper, the word swallowed by the tense quiet. Her eyes, wide and dark, scanned the street from behind the crumbling brick wall. She moved. At twenty, she was the youngest of the squad, the one they all subconsciously expected to crack first. But her gaze was sharp, focused, betraying none of the terror that clawed at her insides. "What do we do now?" The question hung in the air, heavier than the dust and the smell of cordite. It wasn''t a panicked outburst, but a cold, tactical assessment, the kind she''d heard seasoned veterans make. Her knuckles were white where she gripped her rifle as she ran.


    "Fuck. Fuck! We''re dead. We''re fucking dead!" Miller screamed, his voice raw with terror. He flailed his arms, a whirlwind of nervous energy. Beside him, the driver sat motionless, a statue carved from fear. His eyes were fixed on some unseen point beyond the alley, his breath shallow and ragged. The contrast was stark: one man a volcano of panic, the other a frozen monument to it. Sarah felt a wave of nausea. The burning wreckage at the alley''s mouth painted the scene in hellish light. What the hell were they supposed to do now?


    The ambush had been devastatingly effective, leaving them pinned down and completely disoriented. They had no idea of the enemy''s numbers, or their location. It could have been a handful of men with rockets, or a much larger force of rebels. Their situation couldn''t have been more precarious.


    Wishful thinking.


    "They killed Atkin!" Sanders shrieked, the words torn from his throat. He clawed at his uniform, his fingers slick with blood and¡­other things. He was only succeeding in smearing it further, but he didn''t seem to notice. His eyes were wide, unfocused, filled with a terror that went beyond the immediate carnage. "His¡­his blood¡­" he choked out, his voice catching in his throat. A sob wracked his body. He clutched at his chest, as if trying to hold back the pain, both physical and emotional. "Everywhere¡­" he whispered, his voice broken. He looked down at his hands, now crimson and slick, and a fresh wave of grief washed over him. He crumpled to his knees.


    Sergeant Green''s gut churned. Panic clawed at him, a cold, sharp thing, but he shoved it down. Outwardly, he projected an icy calm. "Shut it, both of you!" he snapped, his voice low and dangerous. He needed to think, and their panicked chatter was only making it harder. The situation was a clusterfuck, plain and simple. Every angle he considered led to a dead end, literally. This alley, meant to be a quick shortcut, had turned into a trap. Their only way out was back the way they came, to the street they''d just left. He didn''t like those odds. Not one bit.


    "My baby boy..." Sanders whispered, the words catching in his throat. Sarah knew Sanders'' wife had given birth just before he deployed. He hadn''t stopped beaming, showing off pictures of his daughter the entire tour. A pang of something akin to envy, but mostly just a deep, hollow ache settled in her chest. Poor bastard, she thought, the phrase laced with a bittersweet understanding. Glad I''m not in his position... And slightly envious that he has someone waiting for him. Sarah didn''t have any family to speak of, just the faded memory of a foster mom she hadn''t seen in years


    Carol Lewitt had taken Sarah in when she was twelve, a fact that had always struck Sarah as odd. Most people looking to adopt wanted younger children, not teenagers already stamped with a reputation. "Who wants a rebellious teenager?" she''d thought back then. "It''s like asking for trouble."


    Yet, Carol had opened her home and her heart. Sarah had continued her rebellious streak, at least initially, until it finally dawned on her: Carol genuinely cared. It wasn''t just words; it was in the way she looked at Sarah, the unwavering support, the quiet understanding. For the first time, someone was truly on her side.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    The realization was a turning point. The rebellion simmered down, replaced by a tentative trust that blossomed into something akin to love. Life became smoother, brighter. From rebellious teen to Lance Corporal ¨C a path that now seemed impossibly distant, a cruel reminder of what she''d lost.


    It had all come crashing down when Carol passed away, just after Sarah turned eighteen. The grief had been a physical blow, a gaping hole in her world. Sarah had found solace in the structure and purpose of the army, a lifeline that had helped her navigate the initial devastation. But now, staring into the bleakness of her current situation, even that felt fragile, threatened.


    "Kemp, eyes on." Sergeant Green''s voice was steady, but the urgency in his request was clear. He needed information ¨C enemy numbers, positions, the lay of the land ¨C before he could plan their next move. Sarah, her focus drifting moments before, now locked onto her surroundings.


    "Empty, Sarge. They might have only had two rockets..." Sarah trailed off, squinting at the rooftop. "Wait, movement. One man, heading south... Damn, he''s gone to ground." She leaned further out from behind the crumbling wall, scanning for any sign of the enemy. A sharp clang of metal on stone snapped her attention back. Instinctively, she flinched, her body already reacting before her mind could catch up.


    Carol''s words hung in the air: "A moment. That''s all it takes to see yourself clearly. The question is, Sarah: who are you, really? The darkness you project? Or something brighter, twisted by circumstance?"


    Why now? The thought echoed in her mind, a hollow counterpoint to the thunder of her heart. It hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the sudden, ringing silence that had fallen after the grenade''s appearance. She was small, too small, to stop it completely. But she was all that stood between the shrapnel and the rest of her squad. Why now, of all times, am I thinking about this? The question clawed at her, desperate for an answer as she braced for the inevitable.


    At least Sanders will get to see his baby, Sarah thought, the picture a saving grace. She glanced at the man whose face was ashen. If they can make it out of here. A flicker of dark humor crossed her face. And Mitch can get a fresh pair of fucking pants.


    "Kemp!" Sergeant Green''s shout was a distorted echo, the last sound Sarah heard before the world dissolved into a blinding flash. The ringing in her ears wasn''t the whine of incoming fire anymore; it was a high-pitched scream that grew louder and louder, until it consumed everything.


    Fucking idiot! she spat, the echo of the explosion still ringing in her ears, though she wasn''t sure where her ears were anymore. Why did I do that? A wave of self-recrimination washed over her, quickly followed by a weary acceptance. It wasn''t as if she had to jump on that grenade. No obligation, no real reason, except... It felt right. A flicker of warmth spread through her, quickly extinguished by the cold reality. Hopefully, Sanders'' kid won''t grow up without a dad. The thought hung in the strange void she occupied, surprisingly coherent.


    How is this possible? she wondered, the question forming without lips or tongue. Am I still conscious? The sensation of... Existing... Persisted, a bizarre awareness detached from her physical form. Hmm, I suppose there are many different phenomena that science can''t explain. A wry, internal chuckle escaped her. This might be the last sparks of my mind fizzing out, and here I am wasting it trying to work it out.


    The futility of it all settled in, a quiet resignation. Why? Even if I managed to unravel a sliver of the unknown, it''s not like I''ll be able to tell anyone... The memory of the blast, the searing pain, flashed through her non-existent receptors. I''m pretty sure my body exploded with the grenade... I think... The certainty of death warred with the undeniable presence of her consciousness, leaving her adrift in a sea of unknowing.


    < Congratulations! You have performed a heroic action


    - 25 stat points have been awarded.


    Who the hell is congratulating my death? She thought, the words echoing strangely in her mind. A chill ran down her spine, even amidst the adrenaline still coursing through her. And why do they sound like... An AI prompt? The thought was bizarre, almost comical, but it stuck. My inner voice usually sounded a lot more¡­ Well, me. Less robotic. More¡­ Messy.


    Sarah replayed the moment in her head ¨C the chaos, the split-second decision, the¡­ Yeah, the heroic sacrifice. A small, almost smug feeling grew inside. Okay, maybe I was a little badass. If some disembodied voice thinks so too, who am I to argue? The unsettling feeling of the congratulatory message hadn''t entirely vanished, but she pushed it aside. Besides, she muttered, a touch of dark humor creeping in, better to be congratulated for dying heroically than for living boringly, right?


    < Congratulations! You have earned a title.


    A title this time? A shiver ran down her spine, though she wasn''t sure if she even had a spine anymore. The grenade saw to that. Was this some bizarre afterlife reward system? Earning points and titles? The whole concept felt absurd, unsettling. A wave of confusion washed over her. Aren''t I... Dead?


    - Titles are earned by completing significant achievements. Each title grants unique bonuses, ranging from minor enhancements to powerful, game-changing effects. Strive to acquire as many Titles as possible, as they are a direct measure of your power and influence within the system. Remember, only dedicated effort will unlock the most prestigious and rewarding Titles. Half-hearted attempts will yield only meager results.


    I like what I''m hearing, but that doesn''t answer my question, does it? What good''s a title to me if I''m dead?


    [What Death?]


    Now you''re just having a laugh.


    - Through trials of despair and destruction, both physical and mental, your spirit has remained unbroken. Even when your mortal form was lost, your soul defied the abyss! Your resilience has granted you a boon: +5 to all stats. Furthermore, in recognition of your indomitable spirit, you have unlocked the Unique Skill: Immortality.


    Really?


    (Immortality)


    - Once a day, revive at a spawn point of your choosing. This skill has no levels and can not be advanced any further. Don''t fuck up this time!


    What? Don''t fuck up? Don''t... What''s that supposed to mean? I didn''t fuck up last time. I saved my squad. The thought barely had time to root when the world dissolved. One moment she was there, the next, swallowed by an absolute, lightless void. Then, a tiny white spark ignited in the nothingness, blossoming into a blinding kaleidoscope of colour.


    The vibrant explosion surged past her, an overwhelming rush that defied her non-physical form. The sensation was as abrupt as it was complete. One instant she was adrift in the dark, the next, she was back, drenched in a cold sweat, her stomach violently rebelling. Sarah retched, surprised by the suddenness of it all.


    The cold of the wall bit into Sarah''s palm as she hauled herself upright. She spat, a grimace twisting her face. Bits of something unidentifiable landed on the concrete. Her mind struggled to grasp the reality of the situation. The grenade. She remembered the flash, the deafening roar. She remembered... Nothing. Then, this. Alive. Unscathed. It defied logic. She patted herself down, a growing unease creeping into her gut. What had happened? And what, exactly, had she just spat out?


    Disoriented, she pushed herself up, wincing as a jolt of pain shot through her arm. How did I get here? The last thing she remembered was that nauseating light show, a blinding flash that had swallowed her whole.


    A frantic self-assessment followed. Arms? Check. Legs? Check. Relief washed over her as she confirmed everything was, more or less, in its proper place. Then, she noticed her clothes. Or rather, what was left of them.


    The uniform she''d been wearing was now a tattered mess, clinging precariously to her body. The ragged edges spoke of violence, of some terrible force that had ripped through the fabric ¨C and, she feared, potentially through her as well. It was bad. Sarah''s breath hitched. A new wave of panic crashed over her. The others¡­ Were they alright? Had they made it out? She had to find them.


    "Forget them!" she spat, the words laced with a strange, exhilarating venom. A laugh, sharp and bordering on hysterical, ripped from her throat. It was unbelievable. Unbelievable. How was she still alive? Was it that Immortality skill? Was that all there was to it? A hollow, mocking thought. As she strained to recall the fragmented description, words shimmered into existence before her eyes, clinging to her vision like a film. They danced and shifted, following her gaze as she turned, a ghostly overlay on the world.


    <strong style="font-style: italic">(Immortality)


    - Once a day revive at a spawn point of your choosing. This skill has no levels and can not be advanced any further. Don''t fuck up this time!


    Imagine if you could read books like this! No more tired arms. Though that hardly matters right now. Don''t fuck up. The words hung in the air, shimmering faintly. I didn''t fuck up! Sarah thought, the phrase echoing in her mind even as she saw it floating before her. I saved my squad at the cost of my life, you prick. The words were accusatory, raw. You could have at least called it self-sacrifice or something.


    Trying to distract herself, Sarah focused on the other information she¡¯d seen heard before everything went sideways. She could see words. Not just on pages, but adrift, like shimmering thought-bubbles in the space around her.


    [What Death?]


    - Through trials of despair and destruction, both physical and mental, your spirit has remained unbroken. Even when your mortal form was lost, your soul defied the abyss! Your resilience has granted you a boon: +5 to all stats. Furthermore, in recognition of your indomitable spirit, you have unlocked the Unique Skill: Immortality.


    Sarah stared at the text that filled her vision, a mix of confusion and excitement swirling within her. "So, the title gave me the skill then?" she mused, a grin spreading across her face. "It''s like I''m the protagonist in my own movie!"


    A thought struck her, and her grin faltered slightly.


    "Although," she muttered, "it''s usually the antagonist who gets the (Immortality) skill. They''re always evil and shit, coming back no matter how many times the hero beats them down. I''m definitely not a villain though, so..." She trailed off, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.


    Shaking off the thought, she focused on the more immediate issue. "What about those +5 stat boosts?" she wondered, her eyes scanning the text for an answer. "How do I use them?"


    As if in response to her question, the text in front of her eyes shifted and rearranged itself, new words forming and old ones fading away.


    Name: Sarah-Jane Kemp


    - Unspent Points: 25


    Class: <em style="font-family: "comic sans ms", sans-serif">None


    <em style="font-family: "comic sans ms", sans-serif">Title: What Death?


    Skills:


    - Identify - 1


    Unique Skills:


    - Universal Language


    - Immortality


    Status:


    Vitality: 10


    Strength: 10


    Endurance: 10


    Dexterity: 10


    Intelligence: 10


    Wisdom: 10


    Health: 200/200


    Mana: 200/200


    Stamina: 200/200


    Well... That''s something!

 Chapter 2

    "Well, that''s... Something," Sarah muttered, a frown creasing her brow as she scrutinized the numbers and words meant to define her abilities. Seeing them all uniformly sat at ten felt¡­ Wrong. A cheat.


    Shouldn''t I be stronger than this? More enduring?  The thought gnawed at her. What was the point of all that training, all that pushing, if they were all the same? And if the +5 bonus from her title was already factored in, that meant her base stats were even lower. The injustice of it prickled at her. Dismissing the swirling confusion in her head, Sarah forced herself to focus on her surroundings.


    She was definitely no longer in the desert. The relentless sun, the gritty sand stinging her eyes, the dry, rasping wind ¨C all were gone. Instead, she was enclosed. The air, though warm, was thick and still, heavy with a cloying scent, something vaguely metallic and faintly sweet, like overripe fruit mixed with old pennies.


    The small, empty room offered a single exit, a decaying door that seemed to hum with a low, unseen energy. Still, it was a vast improvement over the besieged alleyway she¡¯d just escaped. Even if it did have a distinct horror movie vibe.


    Before venturing through, Sarah stripped away the remnants of her uniform. ¡°Uniform¡± was a generous term; what remained was little more than tattered rags, offering scant modesty. Even her undergarments had been consumed by the incident.


    Incident was a light term.


    After several frustrating attempts, hampered by the lack of material, she managed to fashion a makeshift wrap from the salvaged cloth, securing it as best she could. Decent enough to move on. Pressing questions clawed at her: Where was she? How had she gotten here? But as she reached for the door, a more immediate, visceral question pushed its way to the forefront of her mind: What in God''s name am I going to do about my hair? It felt like a bird''s nest.


    My mouth tastes like burnt coffee and regret. I need something to drink.


    The door groaned open, a sound as ancient as Carol''s mum, and just as weathered. Splintered and cracked, with a few screws loose, it offered glimpses of the darkness beyond. A forced the hair on the back of Sarah''s neck to stand up. The location screamed "bad horror movie." Please don''t let this be some ''Wrong Turn'' sequel, she thought, her hand hovering over the handle.


    Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open. The hinges shrieked in protest, each creak a hammer blow against her already frayed nerves. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the oppressive silence. Gotta get out of here.


    She slipped through the narrow opening and into the corridor, her fingers trailing along the rough stone wall. The only sounds were the frantic thump-thump-thump of her heart and the scuff of her battered boots on the cold flagstones. At least it wasn''t the suffocating nothingness she''d experienced after¡­ Well, after. Ahead, where the corridor bent, shadows flickered and danced, offering a sliver of light in the oppressive gloom.


    I would have to go that way, wouldn''t I?


    Watching the light flicker and dance against the bend ahead, Sarah''s heart pounded in her chest. I don''t like this, but it has to be done. No other options presented themselves, save for retracing her steps, a path she knew led only back to the beginning.


    A sobering realization washed over her: she was trapped, caught in the same agonizing loop as the one before her death. "Shit!" she muttered under her breath. "What sort of bullshit is this? I''m pinned down all over again."


    Taking a deep, steadying breath, Sarah fought to control the rising panic. I''m a soldier, she reminded herself. I can do this. She straightened her shoulders, the chill of the wall a stark contrast to the heat of her resolve. I''ve faced worse. I''ve survived worse.


    The thought gave her a flicker of strength. She focused on the light, using it as a beacon, a point of focus in the oppressive darkness. One step at a time. She tightened her grip on the wall, the rough stone a tangible anchor in the swirling chaos of her thoughts. I will not break.


    Just gotta push through the fear.


    <strong style="font-style: italic">< You have acquired the skill: Fear Resistance


    Actually getting a response, Sarah was caught off guard and stood motionless for a moment.


    "Are you fucking joking?"


    Gritting her teeth and scowling at the words displayed before her, Sarah decided to ignore them and push on. A little less worried than before, her heart had calmed somewhat, though it still beat fast enough to keep her alert. As she reached the corner, she slowly leaned out to scout the area.


    "What''s that?" she whispered, immediately intrigued by what she saw.


    < <strong style="font-style: italic">Mana Crystal


    Less than twenty feet away, a well-lit octagonal room beckoned. The light Sarah had mistaken for fire pulsed from crystal torches suspended between the room''s four exits. It seemed the universe, having finally decided to offer a clue, had revealed the true nature of the light. Why do you tell me some answers, but not others? she silently demanded, frustration bubbling.


    Silence. The universe ignored her and no further revelations arrived. After a moment of internal debate, Sarah hugged the wall and cautiously edged closer to the room, her footsteps tentative. Is anyone here? she thought, the question hanging unspoken in the stillness. Come on, Sarah, get a grip! she chided herself. This place is obviously deserted.


    Taking a deep breath, she straightened and stepped into the room. Cautiously, she moved towards the center. The only feature besides the illuminating torches was a small, ornate fountain. Its gentle trickle drew her in.


    I wonder if that water''s drinkable? The thought was accompanied by a grimace. It''s probably sketchy, seeing how this place is empty, but my mouth feels like sandpaper.  She hesitated. I''ll just try a little. I don''t want to die from dehydration. But even as she reasoned with herself, a prickle of unease ran down her spine. The silence of the room, broken only by the fountain''s whisper, felt heavy with untold stories.


    A wave of relief washed over her. The foul taste was gone, and she finally had a moment to examine the source of the water she¡¯d so hastily consumed. Something she probably should have done first. The water was crystal clear, a vibrant blue that seemed almost unnatural.


    Strange.


    Ignoring the nagging feeling that she should have been more cautious, Sarah decided her desperate thirst outweighed any potential risk. "Besides," she reasoned, "I feel fine." And with that, she began to drink deeply.


    < You have drunk from the Water of Sin. HP, MP, and Stamina recovery are increased by 500% for the next 2 hours.


    Sarah stared at the notification, her brow furrowed. Water of Sin? The name conjured images of dark rituals and forbidden magic, not refreshment. Why had she been so reckless? Yet, despite the ominous name, she felt¡­ Fantastic. Energetic. Invigorated. "I don''t feel bad," she muttered, a hint of awe in her voice. "Actually, I feel¡­ Really fucking good. That¡¯s some kick-ass H2O, even if it is called the Water of Sin." A wry smile touched her lips. "Maybe sin isn''t so bad after all."


    As Sarah gazed down the three newly revealed corridors, their inky blackness a stark contrast to the glowing hexagonal room, a surge of determination filled her. "I''m taking one of them," she announced, striding towards the nearest wall fixture, a small, glowing orb that illuminated the junction. She grasped it firmly, intending to detach it and bring a little light into the darkness.


    The fixture, however, proved more stubborn than she anticipated. Despite her best efforts, twisting and pulling with growing frustration, it barely budged. She managed to loosen it slightly, a small victory, but the effort left her surprisingly winded. Sarah stepped back, panting, a frown creasing her brow.


    Why am I so tired all of a sudden? she wondered, her gaze drifting down to the translucent blue screen that hovered in her vision ¨C her status. That''s either a seriously strong light fixing, or I''m just weak as fuck. As she pondered the numbers displayed, she moved to the fountain, taking a long, refreshing gulp. It''s got a terrible name, but damn that water tastes good! she thought wryly, the cool liquid revitalizing her slightly.


    Her eyes flicked back to the loosened light fixture. A flicker of memory sparked in her mind. Unspent points¡­  She recalled something about them from her status screen. Is it like the games on my phone? A hopeful thought, a chance to improve her situation. Sarah refocused her attention on the translucent blue screen, willing it to expand, searching for the information she needed.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Name: Sarah-Jane Kemp


    - Unspent Points: 25


    Class: None


    Title: What Death?


    Skills:


    - Identify - 1


    - Fear Resistance - 1


    Unique Skills:


    - Universal Language


    - Immortality


    Status:


    Vitality: 10


    Strength: 10


    Endurance: 10


    Dexterity: 10


    Intelligence: 10


    Wisdom: 10


    Health: 200/200


    Mana: 200/200


    Stamina: 12/200


    "Okay, then,¡± she muttered to herself. ¡°No time like the present to find out how this works. And my stamina¡­¡± She frowned. ¡°That must be why I feel so exhausted. These numbers are weak if I tire that easily.¡±


    As her stamina slowly refilled, Sarah tentatively allocated three points to Strength. The effect was immediate. Her muscles constricted, then grew slightly, becoming firmer. The subtle change was enough to make her marvel. She flexed her arm, testing the newfound strength while she waited for her stamina to fully replenish.


    Studying her status, Sarah calculated it would take several minutes for her stamina to recover naturally. Not ideal, she thought. From a military perspective, rapid recovery and the ability to push through discomfort are crucial. She reminded herself that the Waters of Sin, whatever they were, were supposed to multiply her recovery fivefold. Hopefully, that would make a significant difference.


    Once her stamina was full, Sarah tried again to wrench the mana crystal free. This time, she managed to pry it loose. With a surge of adrenaline, she quickly allocated two more points to Strength and, with a grunt, ripped the crystal from the wall.


    ¡°Yes!¡± she breathed, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. Then, remembering her surroundings, she clamped a hand over her mouth. Shit. Shush, me. That was loud. She glanced nervously around the silent tunnel. ¡°Okay, now that I¡¯ve got light, I should try another tunnel, I suppose. I can check my stats on the way.¡±


    ???????????


    Two tunnels, and a level in (Fear Resistance), later, Sarah was royally pissed off. Her initial worries had long since evaporated, replaced by a simmering anger.


    "What is this place supposed to be, anyway?" she muttered, the sound echoing slightly in the oppressive silence.


    The rough-hewn stone walls showed no signs of age or wear, yet the few wooden objects scattered about looked like they''d been rotting for a millennium. Both previous tunnels had led her to identical rooms: empty, dark, and filled with a creeping, unsettling atmosphere.


    "This place sucks!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing again. "At first, it was kind of creepy, like a horror movie. But now¡­ it''s like I''m trapped in my own personal, frigging prison. I might have more than one room, but there''s nothing to do. And it''s freezing¡­"


    She glanced at the tattered, burnt wraps that barely covered her skin, then her gaze drifted to the last remaining exit ¨C the only unexplored corridor. Sitting by the stagnant fountain, she crossed her fingers. "It has to be this one, right? It has to be!"


    Her hopes weren''t high as she started down the final passage. The fact that it began exactly like the others did nothing to bolster her optimism. But as she rounded the first bend, a flicker of something new ignited in her eyes, a spark of renewed determination. This time, something felt different.


    Before her stood a set of doors, exquisitely decorated. Gold filigree danced across their surfaces, swirling into elegant spirals at the top and bottom. Crimson runes, glowing softly, ran down the center of each. Sarah didn''t understand the runes, nor could she imagine what lay beyond, or if it was safe. But the desperate hope that they led outside pulsed within her.


    She reached out, her hand hovering just before the cool surface of the door, then hesitated. A wave of uncertainty washed over her, and she pulled back. Staring at the intricate gold patterns, she saw words shimmer into existence, etched into the air even though she wasn''t touching the door:


    < The price for entrance is expensive. Will you pay it?


    "What do I have to pay with?" she whispered, the question echoing in the sudden silence. She had no money, no cards, nothing of material value. I''m going to be so screwed when I get out of here, she thought, a flicker of panic rising. But the thought was fleeting. She had no choice. Taking a deep breath, Sarah placed both hands on the ornate doors.


    < The price for entrance is expensive, can you pay it?


    Sarah¡¯s brow furrowed. The subtle shift in phrasing from the initial question hadn¡¯t escaped her notice. ¡°What¡¯s the price?¡± she asked, a prickle of unease crawling up her spine. Talking to a door felt absurd, something relegated to the realm of movies, yet here she was.


    < Death.


    The single, stark word hung in the air, a chilling reminder of her predicament. She still hadn''t found a bathroom, a fact that added a layer of discomfort to her growing anxiety.


    ¡°How am I supposed to get in if I have to die to do that?¡± she countered, desperate for some semblance of logic. The curt reply offered no solace.


    < That is the one rule.


    Well, that¡¯s just great, Sarah thought, frustration bubbling. The worst and most ridiculous rule I¡¯ve ever heard.


    She weighed her limited options. Starvation loomed as a distinct possibility; her exploration of this strange prison had yielded neither food nor any exit besides the ominous door. But death by door? That defied comprehension.


    Yet, a flicker of hope ignited within her. The burning need to escape, coupled with the bizarre logic of her situation, sparked a train of thought. If the events so far were anything to go by, perhaps¡­ Perhaps she already possessed the means to move forward. A dangerous idea began to form in her mind, a gamble based on the absurd rules of this impossible place.


    "That skill had better damn well work as advertised," she muttered, the words barely a whisper in the oppressive silence. There was nowhere else to go, nothing else here. Resignation settled over her like a shroud. "I really, really don''t want to do this."


    Sarah reread the description of the (Immortality) skill, her eyes tracing the familiar words for perhaps the hundredth time. With trembling hands, she set her spawn point directly in front of the ancient, imposing door. The weight of what she was about to do pressed down on her, a physical manifestation of fear.


    The price of death was not something to be trifled with, not something so easily dismissed. Even with the skill active, a cold dread coiled in her stomach. For someone usually so confident, it had been an unsettling morning.


    Her hand, hesitant at first, reached out and touched the door. Unlike everything else in this desolate place, the wooden surface was untouched by rot. The contact, however slight, was enough. Sarah exhaled, a breath she hadn''t realized she was holding trapped in her chest.


    < You have heard the price. The only rule. Will you still pay?


    In a way, she thought, I suppose I already died. On top of that grenade. Trying to give Miller a chance to see his daughter, to give the others a second chance. A flicker of doubt crept in. This¡­ This could all be some nonsensical, fucked-up hallucination. A construct of my dying mind.


    Probably. The thought offered little comfort. The cold certainty of the door, the tangible weight of her fear, argued otherwise. She pushed the door open.


    "I suppose so," Sarah replied, as casually as if asked about catching a movie. The word was barely out of her mouth when a searing agony ripped through her, every nerve ending screaming in protest. It felt like her body was being electrocuted from the inside out, red lightning erupting from every pore, charring her skin a sickening black. Her hair ignited, the flames licking at her scalp before melting away into wisps of smoke that billowed around her collapsing form.


    What felt like an eternity of torment was over in less than five seconds. Sarah''s body hit the ground with a sickening thud, the abrupt stillness marking the premature end of her second life. She¡¯d been right, at least about one thing: it was quicker than starvation.


    < You have acquired the skill: Lightning Resistance.


    < You have been awarded a new title: The Unkillable


    [The Unkillable]


    - You have died again in an act of unknown foolery, yet Fate, in its infinite amusement, has seen fit to grant you another reprieve. +5 to all stats. You have earned a Unique Skill: Second Chance.


    (Second Chance)


    - When faced with imminent death (again, apparently), your perception of time will slow down for five seconds. This skill can only be used once per day. Try not to waste it. You''ll probably need it.


    Unbeknownst to Sarah, as her lifeless form lay sprawled on the ground, a brilliant white light erupted from within her. The aura, a manifestation of her Immortality, enveloped her entirely, mending the horrific damage inflicted just moments before. The light receded, disappearing back into her as seamlessly as it had appeared. Later, when Sarah finally got around to reading the skill''s description, she would go on to complain about injustice once again.


    The rasp of wood against stone echoed through the chamber as Sarah¡¯s newly-revived body snapped upright with alarming speed.


    ¡°Ugh, that was foul!¡± she gagged, the phantom taste of burnt tongue still lingering. She shuddered, sticking her tongue out in disgust. The sight of the open door was a beacon of salvation, even if it had come at the cost of her life.


    ¡°Seriously, that was the rule? Total bullshit!¡± she muttered, shaking her head. ¡°But hey,¡± her expression brightened, a grin spreading across her face. ¡°Immortality! Yes! That¡¯s what I¡¯m talking about! I can¡¯t believe I didn¡¯t¡­ Well, I did die, and it definitely wasn¡¯t fun, but I came back! How awesome is that?¡±


    Peering into the chamber beyond, Sarah spotted a crackling fireplace. Someone was inside! A surge of adrenaline propelled her to her feet, but as she moved forward, the massive doors began to grind shut with alarming speed. The thunderous clang threatened to burst her eardrums. Realizing she¡¯d been duped by a talking door of all things, Sarah reacted instinctively. She quickly set her spawn point directly in front of the hearth, just before the doors slammed shut with a resounding boom.


    A minute ticked by, the ringing in her ears slowly fading. The golden patterns etched on the door¡¯s surface writhed and shifted, coalescing into a grotesque face.


    "Hahaha," the door boomed, its lips flapping out of sync with the words, like a badly dubbed film. "I confess, I didn''t expect such convenient foolishness. But I''ll take any power I can get these days. Times are tough. Now, begone, cursed creature. I''ve no further use for you¡­ Unless you¡¯re eager for another demise?"


    Stupid door, Sarah thought, a flicker of anger tightening her jaw. We¡¯ll see who¡¯s laughing when I get back.

 Chapter 3

    Sweat beaded on Sarah''s brow, dripping onto the cracked pavement before the Fountain of Sin. Her arms trembled slightly, but she held the plank position, body rigid just inches above the ground.


    Two hours. Two hours, she thought, her eyes flicking to the fountain''s still surface. If my internal clock isn''t completely screwed. A faint warmth spread through her muscles, the promised burn barely a whisper.


    These stat points... They were a cheat code, a shortcut to improvement without the grueling grind. Except for the whole dying part. That was a definite downside. Still, a little hard work never hurt anyone. Well, mostly.


    Pushing herself up, Sarah brushed off invisible dust, a wry smile twisting her lips. She crouched, cupping her hands to drink from the fountain. Her reflection stared back, a ghost of sadness lingering in her eyes, before the light blue water rippled and distorted the image.


    "Waters of Sin," she murmured, the name heavy with unspoken questions. "What am I supposed to do with you? And what awaits me on the other side of that damn door? Can''t exactly bottle you up and take you with me."


    As the cool water slid down her throat, a notification flashed in her peripheral vision:


    You have drunk from the water of sin. HP, MP and Stamina recovery are increased by 500% for the next 2 hours.


    Sarah was bone-tired. The unfamiliar surroundings had initially triggered a flicker of primal unease, a vestigial instinct for vigilance. She''d almost chuckled at the thought of "stag duty" ¨C a lone sentinel in this strange, silent place. There was no one to watch over her as she slept, and no one for her to watch over. She was utterly, completely alone.


    But the solitude, after the initial prickle of anxiety, settled into something almost comforting. She''d thoroughly explored the area, every nook and cranny, and found nothing. Well, almost nothing. There was the sentient door, of course, with its unsettlingly quick dismissal and implied threat. But even that seemed unlikely to be a problem anytime soon. It wasn''t as if it was going to sprout legs and chase her. The thought brought a small smile to her lips. The quiet, the emptiness, the lack of immediate danger... It was strangely reassuring. She could finally let down her guard.


    Leaning against the cool stone of the fountain, she closed her eyes. Exhaustion claimed her quickly, pulling her down into a deep, dreamless sleep.


    When she woke, her mouth felt like sandpaper and her back was stiff, a familiar ache that spoke of makeshift beds and less-than-ideal sleeping arrangements. It wasn''t as bad as it usually was after a night against a wall, but it was still noticeable. As she stood and stretched, a thought drifted through her mind: Maybe another few points in Endurance would fix that.


    Sarah chuckled, the sound echoing slightly in the otherwise still chamber. Skill points? The absurdity of it all was almost comforting, a bizarre counterpoint to the equally absurd, yet undeniably refreshing, fountain she''d just drunk from.


    The magical water had banished her thirst and fatigue in an instant, but it hadn''t done a thing for the weariness in her eyes as she glanced at her reflection. Rough around the edges, definitely. With a sigh, she scanned the room again, confirming her suspicion: nothing had changed.


    Restlessness gnawed at her. Sleep was out of the question, so Sarah sank back down, resigned to the familiar ritual. Time to kill meant time to delve into the endless details of her status screen. She''d read it a dozen times already, but maybe, just maybe, something new would jump out at her.


    It was a long shot, but anything was better than staring at the bare stone walls. Methodically, she began to reread the descriptions, starting with her title and skills, then moving on to everything else, even the most mundane entries. Everything had a description, no matter how pointless it seemed, even her name.


    - Name: Sarah-Jane Kemp


    The name given to her by the orphanage. Abandoned at birth.


    - Class: None


    Classes are a reflection of an individual. Who they are, what they want to be and what they can become are decided upon selection. Different from subclasses, of which a person can have many, only a single class is permitted at once. Skills that are learned through leveling up are tied to the soul and can still be used even if the class is switched


    Most descriptions were easy enough to grasp, but some meanings remained frustratingly elusive. How am I supposed to know what a subclass is when I don''t even have a main class? she grumbled, rereading the confusing class description. Subclasses were absent from her status screen, likely due to her lack of a primary class, or some other unknown reason. Some descriptions were just plain weird, others oddly mystical.


    - Stamina


    The rate at which the host expends physical energy. The more you have, the longer you last. Greater effort depletes reserves faster. At your age, you should be capable of more. Get fit.


    - Magic


    The essence of creation, the foundation of the world. It resides within all living creatures. Even you. Mastering the elements is a daunting task, and only the truly devout will unlock its secrets.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Some were actually encouraging, even flattering.


    - Endurance


    The body''s innate capacity to recover and adapt. It''s not merely about how much punishment one can endure, but how quickly one rebounds. High endurance means faster injury recovery, resistance to poisons and diseases, and resilience against the corrupting influence of dark magic. Strive to be Unmovable!


    - Strength


    More than just muscle; it''s the will to overcome, the unyielding spirit fueling physical action. It''s the fire in the belly that propels a warrior forward, the unwavering resolve that allows blacksmiths to shape steel. It governs not only physical attack power, knockback resistance, and carrying capacity, but numerous other factors. Your muscles are quite lean. Have you been working out?


    And those cheesy catchphrases! Dorks!


    She suspected those last two descriptions reflected the extra points she¡¯d invested in them.


    Sarah gauged the passage of time by the cooldown on (Immortality). Sixteen hours had passed since her death, leaving her eight hours to kill until the skill could be used again. She''d already scrutinized her status screen twice.


    "This shit blows!" Sarah shouted, the echo of her voice bouncing off the unseen walls of her would-be prison. No longer worried about unseen observers, frustration boiled over. The rooms were empty, save for the one guarded by the talking, murderous door. She was trapped, bored, and utterly at a loss.


    "Might as well work out," she muttered. "Training''s never a bad idea." She began stretching, methodical and thorough. Legs, arms, core ¨C each position held for ten seconds, the tingling sensation a welcome distraction. She repeated the sequence on the other side, then shook herself loose. "Right, here we go!"


    Determination, fueled by boredom, propelled her. She began jogging around the small room, setting a steady pace. Sarah was one of the few who actually enjoyed a pre-workout run, and with her pulse elevated, she knew this session would be a good one. She craved the burn.


    For over an hour, she ran, varying her pace, reveling in the newfound benefits of her improved Endurance stat. The thought of what a few points could do was intoxicating. Eventually, the dizzying effect of circling the fountain forced her to utilize the corridors instead.


    Why did I think running in circles was a good idea? she thought, a wry smile tugging at her lips.


    Properly warmed up, Sarah launched into a full-body workout. The fountain became her makeshift gym ¨C tricep dips, elevated push-ups. Limited by the lack of equipment, she stuck to the basics: push-ups, sit-ups, tricep dips, burpees, squats. Each repetition was a small act of defiance against her confinement.


    Four hours later, exhaustion hit her like a wave. But it wasn''t in vain. A notification flashed in her mind:


    < You have pushed past your limits. +1 Strength and +1 Endurance.


    "This place is weird," she panted, "Kind of cool, pretty lonely, and very fucking weird." She stood, and her stomach rumbled in protest. It was surprising that only now, after so many hours and a grueling workout, was she feeling the pangs of hunger.


    Back on base, she, the 5''2" girl with dark brown hair, was known as "the glutton." She could easily put away three full servings, even more after a PT session. The image of the fire behind the murderous door, and the feast she imagined waiting there, filled her mind.


    Dejection settled over her. No food, no options. Sarah slumped to the cold ground, the vision of that imaginary feast dancing behind her eyelids. She could almost smell the roasting meat, hear the crackle of the fire. The contrast between the imagined warmth and the cold reality of her situation was almost unbearable.


    Waking with a jolt, Sarah felt the lingering fuzz of unwanted sleep. She¡¯d drifted off, damn it, and now the price was due. The cooldown on (Immortality) had expired, the countdown to her next¡­ Demise¡­ Complete. This is going to suck, she thought, the understatement of rhis lifetime.


    Dragging her feet, she shuffled down the corridor, each step a testament to her utter lack of enthusiasm. She aimed for what she desperately hoped was the final death of this particular cycle ¨C until, of course, the sweet release of old age finally claimed her. I fucking hate this place, she thought, the sentiment echoing in the sterile silence.


    The door, predictably, had reverted to its original, unsettling form. The intricate criss-cross pattern and golden circles coalesced into the same mocking face that had sneered her away last time.


    "Back again, Demon?" The golden lips moved, but the words seemed to lag, creating a creepy, disjointed effect.


    "Who are you calling Demon? I''m not the talking murder door. You''re the one with the face on its¡­ Surface.¡± Sarah retorted, not expecting a profound philosophical debate, but unable to resist the jab.


    "I am far from such a¡­ Thing. I am a magical being, not the lowly creature you imply." The door¡¯s voice dripped with disdain, as if the very idea of being labeled a demon was an insult.


    "Whatever. Doesn''t change the situation. So, are we doing this or what?" Sarah just wanted it over with. She yearned to move on, to escape this recurring nightmare, even if only temporarily. She was tired, bone-tired, soul-tired, of this macabre dance with death.


    "You have more spirit this time, I see. As such, I''ll be considerate and only take your legs. What do you think of my price?" The offer took Sarah aback, not that she''d ever agree. As much as the thought of dying again made her stomach churn, the idea of losing her legs felt infinitely worse. Besides, she''d never make it through in time without them. The doors would slam shut, and he''d be laughing at her again. Not today.


    "That doesn''t quite suit me," Sarah replied, stalling. "Why is the price lower than before?" She was still fuzzy on the specifics of her (Immortality) skill. Resurrection was incredible, but would it work on just parts of her? And even if it did, how long would it take for her legs to grow back?


    "I do not mind taking all you have," the voice boomed, laced with something that sounded suspiciously like petulance. "Especially if that is what you desire. I have heard some demons even enjoy that sort of¡­ Activity."


    Gotcha, Sarah thought, a small, grim smile playing on her lips. "Come on then," she taunted. "I bet I can get through this time before you close up, you¡­ Crafty corridor blocker."


    The air crackled. "How dare you! Someone like you has no chance of entering the sanctuary, not while I am here. I will destroy your body and soul for that insult! You will not use your demon magic this time, Beast!"


    Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Sarah briefly wondered why nothing was happening, then remembered another one of her awkwardly acquired skills. As time snapped back to normal, her body was once again engulfed in crimson lightning, far more intense than before. Her taunt had clearly hit a nerve.


    She screamed, the sound cut short as her vision vanished, followed swiftly by her body. The overcharged attack, fueled by the relic''s wounded pride, obliterated her. There was nothing left of Lance Corporal Sarah-Jane Kemp.


    The doors, having fully opened to unleash the devastating blast, slammed shut. "Stupid automated functions," the relic grumbled, then, its voice dripping with smug satisfaction, it considered the now-nonexistent demon. "Showed her. Nobody calls me a corridor blocker! Bitch."

 Chapter 4

    Opening her eyes, Sarah inundated with notifications. Dismissing them with a flick of her wrist, the ragged Lance Corporal had only one thought: Warmth.


    A genuine smile tugged at her lips as she sat on the floor before the fireplace, the open flames licking hungrily at the logs. The heat radiating towards her barely-clothed body was a balm after the past two days'' brutal chill.


    I didn''t even realize how cold I was, she thought. This is heaven.


    Her gaze swept over the room, roughly the same size as the other three she¡¯d seen in this bizarre prison. But this one was different. This one¡­ Was furnished. The emptiness of the others had gnawed at her nerves, but this room offered a sliver of comfort.


    Above the crackling fire, an array of unfamiliar tools lay neatly arranged on the mantelpiece. To the right, an armchair beckoned, its plushness practically shouting sink into me. Behind it, a large bookshelf stretched along the wall. Mostly bare, a few well-loved volumes still graced its dust-free shelves.


    Opposite the bookshelf, a neatly made bed stood with a chest of drawers at its foot. And beside the bed, catching and holding Sarah¡¯s attention like a lodestone, was the real prize. Her eyes locked on it, and a string of drool escaped her lips, unnoticed.


    A small alcove-like shelves were next to the bed. Each shelf was etched with runes, simpler versions of the intricate designs on the murder door, but runes nonetheless. Sarah¡¯s mind raced, every thought converging on a single, glorious possibility. Please, God, she prayed, the gluttonous side of her taking over, let them be what I think they are.


    ¡°Meat,¡± Sarah breathed, almost reverently, as she scrambled to her feet and snatched the largest slice of what she assumed was ham. She devoured it almost whole. The meat looked freshly cut, and Sarah¡¯s theory solidified: the runes were some kind of magical refrigeration, preserving the food. ¡°Sho good,¡± she mumbled around a second slice.


    ¡°How the hell did you get in here?!¡±


    The familiar voice, laced with outrage, startled her. The murderous door stood behind her, its golden brows comically furrowed, a mixture of shock and anger twisting its features. It was clearly surprised to see her again so soon, and even more so to find her inside the room. Sarah, however, was unfazed. Turning, she offered the door her most disarming smile.


    ¡°And why aren¡¯t you dead?¡± it demanded.


    ¡°Sho shorry¡­ Can¡¯t talk¡­ Mmm¡­ Eating.¡± Sarah continued to shovel chunks of the mystery meat into her mouth, finally addressing the gnawing hunger that had plagued her. She completely ignored the door¡¯s obvious frustration. Its furrowed brows seemed permanently etched in place. If anyone was going to win a staring contest, it would definitely be the murderous door.


    Keeping her eyes fixed on the ranting door, Sarah mentally ticked off the death-related achievements she''d brushed off earlier.


    Lightning Resistance has leveled up


    Meh.


    You have acquired the skill: Pain Resistance


    Useful, probably.


    You have been awarded a new Title: Three Times a Lady


    Finally, a title that doesn''t sound like a consolation prize.


    [Three Times a Lady]


    - The goddess of death has taken a shine to your resilient soul. You''ve danced with the grim reaper a few too many times, and now death itself seems hesitant to claim you. Your mental fortitude is legendary, and your body is catching up. +20 Vitality, +20 Wisdom. Unique Skill Acquired: Indomitable Will.


    (Indomitable Will)


    - Your body may crumble, but your spirit remains unbroken. Mana has woven its way into your very soul, shielding it from external influence, be it physical or mental. Keep pushing your limits, and one day you might even be able to stare down a dragon¡­ or at least a particularly grumpy drake. Now go forth and live. And maybe try to die a little less, okay?


    Another title and another quirky Unique Skill. My reward for dying. Twenty points to both Vitality and Wisdom. That''s huge! Still, these Unique Skills feel less unique with how often I''m getting them. Sarah glanced at her last notification, chewing thoughtfully and keeping a wary eye on the pouting door.


    Congratulations! Through sheer grit and determination, you have withstood Solus the Gatekeeper''s soul-rending attack. Resisting such devastating power is a testament to your strength. You have completed the final challenge of Karinth''s Tower of Death. +10 to all stats.


    Unfortunately, a blessing cannot be bestowed, as the tower currently lacks a Master. Only a Master can grant blessings to those who conquer its trials.


    Would you like to claim Karinth''s Tower of Death as your own?


    [Yes/No]


    "Years of training?" Sarah muttered. "Is this supposed to be a training ground? ''Come train in Karinth''s Tower of Death! Get your soul ripped apart by Solus, the psychotic murder door! Fun for the whole family!''" She snorted. "Yeah, no thanks."


    Sarah couldn''t stop a chuckle escaping at the ridiculousness of it all just as Solus, the being in question, decided that it had done being patient. "How did you get in here? You will answer me now!"


    "Not with an attitude like that, I won''t. Maybe if you ask me nicely, I might tell you." Sarah didn''t want to claim the Tower of Death, but there were no other exits inside the final room, other than the one whose face was visibly twitching as it tried to rein in its emotions.


    Congratulations! You are now the Owner of Karinth''s Tower of Death.


    You have been awarded the class: Necromancer


    "Really?" Sarah''s knowledge of gaming was limited. Her understanding of all things magic came from a steady source of literature during her downtime. Even without either, she''d heard others reference the term and wasn''t a total idiot.


    That fucking sucks. She thought. I''m already riddled with death, and I''m 99.9% sure that most people consider Necromancers to be evil. Why couldn''t this be Karinth''s Tower of Seven Star Heroes? The Pagoda of Righteousness? Hell, I''d even take Average Joe''s Average Burger Bar over the Tower of Death just to nudge my karma a little closer to the light.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    (Karinthian) Necromancer: Through prolonged contact with the undead, death itself gathers around you. This odd branch of necromancy concentrates of assimilating death energy inside the user''s body. Beware, necromancers are treated with disdain at the best of times throughout the entire world. It would be wise to keep your power hidden until you can raise your strength, or an army.


    - Vitality +10


    - Endurance +10


    - Wisdom +20


    - Intelligence +20


    - Necromancy magic is increased 100%


    - Your body''s natural regeneration is increased 100%


    New Skills have been awarded:


    - Create Undead: Whether bones, rotted flesh, or spirits lingering through sentimental attachment, you can grant life where none should be found.


    - Eye of the Dead: You have become Death''s apprentice, able to bear witness to any incidents of death that have occurred in your nearby vicinity.


    - Necrotic Body: In your body resides the secrets of death, obtained by becoming master of the tower. Your body radiates with power that increases magic prowess. Dexterity, Intelligence, and Wisdom are increased by 20% while in this form.


    - Necrotic Soul: Your soul has been shrouded in the magic of death. All damage received is reduced by 50%, whether physical or mental. You are even capable of healing minor wounds without the services of a paid healer.


    - Form of the Necromancer: You have harnessed knowledge of a secret style of hand-to-hand combat known only to those in the order of Karinth. Train your form in the Tower of Death, and you will gain access to even more techniques. All damage inflicted through physical or magical actions in this form is 75% stronger.


    Those buffs are ridiculous, she thought, but I knew it. I knew it wasn''t a good class. Fucking Necromancers! It''s like I''m asking people to kill me now. ''Hi, yeah, I''m Sarah, a Necromancer. I bring people back from death and fiddle around with dead bodies and shit. Pleased to meet you.'' Who the fuck is going to take kindly to that?


    Mocking her future self, Sarah slumped onto the bed and let out a sigh. She had only just noticed that Solus, the old murder door, had turned extremely quiet. He wasn''t even frowning anymore; his face showed more shock than his previously angry self.


    "Those additional stat points, though. Wow." She still had some unspent points, but she was a little anxious to use them. "Is there any point in keeping them, though? I''ll be stronger in one way or another if I use them. Fuck it! Let''s do it."


    After spending her points to round herself off, Sarah felt the difference take hold. It was much stronger than before. She was extremely pleased with the results and even looked better physically¡ªnot that she was bad before, but it was amazing what a couple dozen stat points could do for the body.


    A new confidence radiated from her, her posture straighter, her eyes brighter. The power thrumming beneath her skin was palpable, a thrilling mix of dark energy and raw potential. It was unsettling and exhilarating all at once. She flexed her fingers, marveling at the subtle shift in her reflexes, the heightened awareness that now pulsed through her veins.


    The Necromancer class might be social suicide, but damn, it made her powerful. She glanced at Solus, who was still staring, his jaw slightly agape. A small, almost wicked smile played on Sarah''s lips. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn''t be so bad after all.


    Name: Sarah-Jane Kemp


    Unspent Points: 0


    Class: Necromancer - 1


    - Create Undead - 1


    - Eyes of Death - 1


    - Necrotic Body - 1


    - Necrotic Soul - 1


    - Form of the Necromancer - 1


    Title: What Death?


    Skills:


    - Identify - 1


    - Fear Resistance - 2


    - Lightning Resistance - 2


    - Pain Resistance - 1


    Unique Skills:


    - Universal Language


    - Immortality


    - Second Chance


    - Indomitable Will


    Status:


    - Strength: 40


    - Vitality: 55


    - Dexterity: 32


    - Endurance: 40


    - Intelligence: 45


    - Wisdom: 65


    Health: 650/650


    Stamina: 500/500


    Mana: 750/750


    The numbers swam before Sarah''s eyes, a testament to a transformation so profound it bordered on the surreal. Strength 40? Wisdom 65?  It was ludicrous. From what she could parse, everything had stated on five. Health, stamina, and mana, one hundred and fifty. One hundred base and an extra ten for each point in the corresponding attribute.


    She flexed her fingers, the unfamiliar power thrumming beneath her skin. Her mind, too, felt different. A serene calmness had settled over her, a clarity she''d never known. It was as if a crushing weight had been lifted, leaving her feeling lighter, more focused.


    "Solus," she called, her voice echoing slightly in the chamber. The door¡¯s name had appeared in a system notification, and she saw no reason to be coy. "Why the sudden silence? Weren''t you eager to know how I got in?"


    The massive, ornate door ¨C the same door that had ended her life, twice ¨C shifted slightly. "M-Master¡­ Yes. I am¡­ Intrigued. I was merely¡­ Observing." Its tone was a strange mix of deference and lingering resentment.


    Sarah snorted. "Drop the ''Master'' bit. Just Sarah is fine. And frankly, after your earlier performance, you can skip the formalities. As for how I got in? Simple. I respawned." She kept her explanation deliberately vague, enjoying the door''s obvious confusion.


    "Respawned?" Solus echoed, the word sounding alien. "But¡­ You claimed the tower I serve. Please, explain this¡­ Respawning."


    Sarah strolled over to a nearby bookcase, idly flipping through a thick tome titled Magic Arts III. The lingering aroma of roasted meat made her stomach rumble, but she resisted. Best to conserve what little remained. "Respawning means coming back to life after you die. And thanks to my (Immortality) skill, I can choose where I come back, as long as I¡¯ve set a spawn point. Think of it like¡­ A save point in a game.¡±


    "So¡­ You cannot die?" Solus asked, its metallic voice laced with disbelief.


    Sarah chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Oh, I can die alright. And it hurts like hell. Have you ever experienced death?" She paused, glancing at the unmoving door. "Probably not. Lucky you."


    She sank into a nearby armchair, its worn leather surprisingly comfortable, and picked up a book from the overflowing shelves. The door''s silence hung heavy in the air, thick with its incomprehension. Solus was clearly struggling with this new reality, and Sarah found a sliver of dark amusement in its bewilderment.


    Solus remained silent, and Sarah left the sentient door to ruminate on her words. It was time for her own education. She needed answers, and books were the best place to start. Magic Arts III wasn''t exactly light reading, but intrigue trumped scholarly pursuits for the moment. Lost in the dense text, Sarah¡¯s mind briefly escaped the confines of the tower.


    Hours later, the last page turned, Sarah was left with a strange mix of exhilaration and unease. "Well, we''re not in Kansas anymore, Toto," she muttered, a dry laugh escaping her lips as she returned the book to its crowded place on the shelf. Her literary deep dive had confirmed what the status screen and talking door had already hinted at: she was no longer on Earth. The maps and geographical descriptions within the books painted a clear picture.


    Her current location, the Tower of Death, resided within the Vari Forest, nestled in the country of Rys. The forest was vast, sprawling across a significant portion of the nation, yet still only a fraction of Rys''s total landmass.


    The closest city, River Stone, lay to the south, almost a hundred miles away. It was strategically positioned at the base of the imposing Karak mountain range, serving as both a defensive stronghold and a bustling trade hub. The mountains formed a natural barrier, separating Rys from its southern neighbors, and the river that carved its way through the peaks gave the city its practical, if unimaginative, name. River and stone. How original.


    The distance to civilization wasn''t Sarah''s immediate concern. Despite her thorough search of the tower ¨C every nook and cranny, every shelf and drawer ¨C and the mountain of reading material she¡¯d consumed, she remained trapped. Aside from a change of clothes in the drawers, which were unfortunately two sizes too large, she had found no means of escape.


    I don''t understand! Even though she supposedly owned the tower, she was still a prisoner within its stone walls.


    "Solus..." Reluctantly, she decided to consult the one being who might have answers. The murderous door-turned-servant was her only option.


    "Yes, Master?" the door responded, its tone still tinged with resentment. Perhaps it was struggling with the indignity of being owned by the very person who had so easily usurped its domain.


    "How do I get out of here?" Sarah asked, her voice laced with frustration.

 Chapter 5

    Everything Solus had witnessed throughout its long tenure as guardian of the tower did little to prepare it for its new master¡¯s arrival. Not that the ancient door considered the small girl before it worthy of the title. Instead, Solus remained in a state of bewildered disbelief.


    How had she gotten through? Even after Sarah¡¯s explanation of her¡­ ¡°Skill,¡± the ageless being still didn¡¯t quite grasp the concept. Neither, for that matter, did Sarah, but that was of less concern to Solus than its own profound confusion.


    I still don¡¯t understand what a respawn point is?


    Solus¡¯s long existence had instilled in it a pride that prevented it from asking the girl to further simplify her explanation, even though it was desperately curious about the workings of her mystical power. What she asked after finishing the last book on the shelf finally pushed Solus past its breaking point, shattering its carefully maintained composure.


    ¡°How in the seven hells did you get in the tower in the first place?!¡± The question burst out, an accidental eruption of frustration. It wasn¡¯t angry because of her lack of power, nor even because she had become its master. It was the sheer, baffling stupidity of her question that drove it to distraction. Worse, Solus didn¡¯t actually know. No one had ever explained how they came and went from the tower, and even if they had, the old soul¡¯s memory was¡­ unreliable these days.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you, like¡­ a magical door? Can¡¯t you just, like, open up to another location or something?¡±


    If Solus had possessed arms, it would have slapped its¡­ frame? What did she think it was, a teleportation gate? The very idea! She continued to pepper it with ridiculous questions, one after another, until Solus simply tuned her out.


    It would be easier to return to slumber than endure this¡­ This. The thought drifted through its consciousness, a welcome escape from the girl¡¯s bewildering presence.


    ???????????


    Sarah glared at the unyielding door, mirroring her own frustration. It wasn''t just locked; it was practically radiating stubborn silence. "Fine," she muttered, sinking into a nearby armchair. "Be that way." She was beyond tired of this tower. A hot meal, a chilled drink, a long, luxurious bath ¨C those were the things her soul craved.


    "What''s the point of having magic if I''m stuck in here?" she grumbled, then paused. Magic! Her eyes widened. "Wait a second..." She sprang to her feet and hurried over to Solus, the object that had become both her prison and potentially her escape route. "Hey, Solus? Remember when I had to, you know... Die to go through you? Now that I''m the master, that shouldn''t be necessary anymore, right?"


    "As you command, Master," Solus replied, his usual ethereal voice finally breaking its sullen silence.


    "Perfect! Open up, then." Sarah bounced on the balls of her feet, anticipation bubbling inside her. Why was it taking so long this time? She fidgeted, shoving her hands into the pockets of the dark green trousers she''d liberated from a nearby drawer. A matching shirt, also green, had replaced the uncomfortable bandages she''d initially worn.


    Even though everything in the tower was technically hers now, a small thrill of mischief ran through her as she thought of her "loot." It still felt like she was raiding someone else''s wardrobe. I really need to stop thinking like a thief, she thought with a small smile.


    She rocked on her heels, a surge of anticipation bubbling inside her. Solus was taking its sweet time opening. Honestly, the Karinthian order had zero fashion sense.  Hopefully, I can find some decent clothes before I get out of here. At least it''s not a black robe.


    "Where are you going, Master?" Stepping into the familiar, dimly lit corridor, Sarah heard Solus''s plaintive query. It sounded like a lost lamb, echoing the same question it had bleated for millennia.


    "I need to get out of here. Why? What''s wrong?" Sarah already suspected what was bothering her new, surprisingly expressive servant. Even if it was a door, that didn''t mean it wouldn''t get lonely after who knew how long on its own.


    "Your company... Though brief and peculiar... Was... Warming to my wood." The answer gave Sarah pause. Was that¡­ A joke? Or actual sentiment? A strange pang of guilt pricked her. It felt oddly cruel leaving the sentient door alone now, but lugging a heavy relic around wasn''t exactly practical.


    "Since you''re made of magic, can''t you just, like, shapeshift into a ring or something? Then you could come with me." The image of a talking ring made Sarah grin. Solus''s response, however, deflated her amusement.


    "I don''t know where your idea of what magic can do comes from, but how would I change into something so small? It''s physically impossible. Plus, who would guard the control room while you were away? Anyone could walk in and claim ownership if you weren''t there and I didn''t stop them."


    So that''s how it works? Because there was no Master present, I took ownership of the tower. Sarah understood that even though she had died twice to get into the so-called control room, a considerable amount of luck had played a part. That, and an incredible amount of pain she desperately wanted to forget.


    "In that case, I''ll leave alone. Sorry, Solus. After I get out of here, I''ll scout the area to see if the reports in the books are still accurate. Then I''ll come back and let you know what''s happening. I need to plan my next steps carefully. I''m pretty sure a ''friendly neighbourhood Necromancer'' isn''t a thing around here. I mean, even the class description was pretty blunt about that. Anyway, please guard my room, and I''ll be back as soon as I can. Thank you, Solus."


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    With that, Sarah headed down the corridor and around the corner. She had formulated two escape plans, having finally remembered that magic was real and that she had yet to experiment with it.


    Got to stop forgetting the good stuff!


    Plan A was to re-examine the fountain, the other rooms, and everything in between, now that she controlled the tower, hoping some magical switch might respond to her touch or presence. Sarah meticulously checked each room, scrutinizing every wall, door, and floor tile, but to no avail.


    She examined every brick and slab of the fountain, even shaking the basin so violently she almost ripped it from its moorings. She was still getting used to her newfound strength, and that, combined with her rising frustration, wasn''t helping.


    Well, Plan A was a bust. Sarah took a much-needed drink from the fountain, the cool water refreshing her before she moved on to Plan B.


    <strong style="font-style: italic">You have consumed the Water of Sin. HP, MP and Stamina recovery are increased by 500% for the next 2 hours.


    Plan B was much simpler than plan A. It involved one of the three empty rooms, and it was something she was eager to test. Truth be told, she was strangely happy her first option had failed. She had only designated this as plan B because the tower was hers, and Sarah had never been a fan of destroying her own things. With little choice left, it was time to test the limits of her strength and brute force her way out of the tower.


    Sarah returned to the room she had arrived in. It felt fitting. The cold, empty room was the perfect location to start some renovations.


    "Please don''t hurt too much," she muttered to herself. Taking a few deep breaths, Sarah mustered all her willpower to not pull her punch. Then, with a grunt, she drove her clenched fist straight into the floor with all her might.


    "Argh! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You fucking bastard. Ow." Sarah cradled her throbbing fist, tears welling up in her eyes. She didn''t do anything other than wallow in self-pity, nursing her self-inflicted injury for the next ten minutes.


    Slowly, the pain began to fade, eventually disappearing completely. Sarah wiped her eyes with her uninjured hand before inspecting her now, magically-healed right hand. It still looked a little red, but it was much better than the mangled mess of bones it had been a quarter of an hour ago. Her body still flinched when she tentatively touched it.


    Congratulations! Necrotic Soul has leveled up.


    That''s the magic that heals my wounds, right? Checking her skills, Sarah confirmed her assumption after rereading the skill''s description. A small smile played on her lips. Perhaps this wouldn''t be so bad after all. She flexed her hand, the redness already fading. Time to try again.


    - Necrotic Soul: Your soul has been shrouded in the magic of death. All damage received is reduced by 50%, whether physical or mental. You are even capable of healing minor wounds without the services of a paid healer.


    Sarah wasn''t deterred by the pain; she knew it was necessary. The fractured stone floor, spiderwebbed from her first attack, was a testament to its impact. A smile tugged at her lips as she considered the time it would take to break through.


    "If that first hit hadn''t done so much damage, I might have given up and starved to death when my¡­ Meat source ran out," she mused. "Not that death is permanent, but I definitely don''t want to go out like that. Especially if I''m just going to come back and experience it all over again." A sigh escaped her lips. There was no point dwelling on what had happened. The military, professionals if not the best, were adaptable. And so would she be.


    "It''s insane to think I managed to damage this floor with a single punch," she marveled. "I''m not sure how many more it will take, but at least I will eventually break through¡­ Eventually." She grimaced at the last word, a flicker of doubt creeping in. With renewed determination, she slammed her fist into the ground again.


    The pain would have been unbearable, forcing her to stop, if not for the desperate need to escape.


    After the third punch, a bit of trial and error, and agonizing waits for flesh to regenerate and reform, Sarah began incorporating the Karinthian Form into her attacks. The power behind each blow intensified, the stone groaning under the assault.


    - Form of the Necromancer: You have harnessed knowledge of a secret style of hand-to-hand combat known only to those in the order of Karinth. Train your form in the Tower of Death, and you will gain access to even more techniques. All damage inflicted through physical or magical actions in this form is 75% stronger.


    The skill didn''t boost her attack power against the floor, but what it did do was allow her to increase the precision of her strikes, each one subsequently dealing more damage.


    After the first hour, the stone floor had fractured, allowing Sarah to remove large segments. She was acutely aware of the weight of the rock chunks she was carrying¡ªa testament to her Strength sitting in thirty and another feat impossible back on Earth. Each subsequent strike caused even more pieces to break away as she carved her way deeper.


    Another hour passed, and Sarah returned to the octagonal room to replenish her buffs. The Waters of Sin, which had initially seemed dubious, were now a welcome sight. She took a few minutes to rest before continuing.


    Her plan was working. Though she was in no rush to throw herself back into the pit of self-inflicted pain, she did want to escape the tower as quickly as possible. "You''d think the Master would be able to teleport in their own tower, right?" Sarah grumbled, flexing the fingers of her right hand. A shiver ran down her spine at the memory of bones breaking under her own strength.


    "I hate this place," she complained gloomily, bringing up her stats.


    (Form of the Necromancer) had increased a level. (Necrotic Soul) and (Pain Resistance) had both reached level 3. It was rather depressing. Sarah''s magic wasn''t the dazzling type, it was more focused on augmentation. Apart from (Create Undead), which she couldn''t see herself using at all.


    "There''s got to be a faster way to do this," Sarah grunted, her arms aching. "My tiny arms weren''t built for this kind of work."


    A spark ignited in her eyes. Simple, she thought. Why didn''t I think of that before? A surge of excitement propelled her down the corridor to the workroom. The damage, while still significant, seemed less daunting now, fueled by her newfound energy.


    Sarah wasted no time. She began stomping, each strike sending shockwaves that rattled her teeth. Duh, she thought, a grin spreading across her face. My legs are way stronger than my arms.


    For the next two hours, Sarah stomped and hurled chunks of stone, pausing only briefly to replenish her buffs with the Water of Sin. The larger muscles in her legs made the work far more efficient. (Necrotic Soul), now used less frequently, quickly mended any tissue damage ¨C a stark contrast to the agonizing wait for the bones in her hand to heal.


    Throughout the entire process, Sarah maintained (Form of the Necromancer). Even though she was using her feet, she focused on precision, ensuring every stomp delivered maximum destructive force.


    Just as a fresh wave of notifications appeared, her foot plunged through the floor.


    Congratulations! Necrotic Soul has leveled up.


    Congratulations! Your Class (Necromancer) has leveled up: +1 Vitality, Endurance. +2 Intelligence, Wisdom.


    +5 stat points have been awarded.


    The fleeting elation of leveling up vanished, replaced by shock and confusion. The floor had simply given way. Before she could scold herself for the obvious flaw in her plan, Sarah was falling, plunging into the darkness below.


    It wasn''t what she''d expected, but as the wind whipped past her face, a strange sense of liberation washed over her. At least, she was finally free.

 Chapter 6

    Sarah''s fall stretched on, an unnerving eternity. She''d expected the floor below to mirror the one above, but the descent seemed endless, gravity''s relentless hand accelerating her plummet. Shit! Is (Immortality) off cooldown? She frantically tried to recall the skill''s timer, but before she could check, the air was violently expelled from her lungs as she slammed into the unseen floor.


    The impact was brutal. Her body seemed to melt into the surface, a disturbing echo of a long-ago experiment with acid. She felt herself merging with¡­ Something. Panic clawed at her throat when she realized she couldn''t breathe. Her pain-wracked body fought to surface, the solid she''d initially perceived proving deceptive. It was water. And something else, something the system notification clarified:


    You have consumed the Water of Sin. HP, MP and Stamina recovery are increased by 500% for the next 2 hours.


    A quick status check revealed the near-fatal consequences of her face-plant. Her health, hovering precariously at 34, was now slowly climbing back up. That was almost death number four. And I might not have survived it. The chilling realization struck her: time hadn''t slowed before impact. (Immortality) is still on cooldown. I really need to start listening to those warnings about being careful.


    Looking up, Sarah could barely make out the faint, ethereal glow of the mana crystal. It was a tiny speck of light against the oppressive darkness, a distant beacon in the vast, watery expanse. How did I even survive that fall? she wondered, her body aching with a thousand protests. Every muscle screamed in agony, and a quick mental check confirmed her fears ¨C her health was critically low.


    The distant ceiling, barely visible through the inky water, offered no comfort. A single, faint dot of light marked the crystal''s position, impossibly high above. And how is anyone supposed to get up there in the first place? she thought, a surge of frustration bubbling to the surface. She grumbled internally, cursing the sheer absurdity of the tower she owned.


    Guess I won''t be visiting Solus for a while, she thought, a pang of regret hitting her. Sorry, buddy. She sent a silent apology to the guardian waiting patiently above, before turning her attention back to her immediate surroundings. With the meager light filtering down, she strained her eyes, trying to pierce the gloom.


    "I can''t fucking see anything down here!" she muttered, the words echoing slightly in the cavernous space. "Where are the bastard lights in the Tower of Death?" The name now felt chillingly appropriate. The cold water lapped at her chin, and a shiver ran down her spine, unrelated to the temperature. She was alone, injured, and in the dark. The mana crystal, her only hope, seemed miles away.


    Tower of Death - 1


    - Since the passing of the last Master, the tower has regressed back to its original state. Unlock new features by performing sacrifices and granting souls to the Tower of Death.


    Current floors: 1


    Souls: 2


    Features need to advance: 1


    Features available: 1


    - Lighting (1)


    "Are you fucking kidding me? Those are my sacrifices?!" Sarah cursed, treading water to stay afloat. Her Endurance was the only thing keeping her from sinking, and a bitter taste filled her mouth.


    "I''m more than a little annoyed," she muttered, "but at least my deaths weren''t entirely in vain." Forcing a positive outlook, she tapped "Confirm" on the only available feature.


    Mana crystals erupted from the black-green walls, spiraling upwards like luminous vines and bathing the silo-like structure in an eerie glow.


    The walls, previously shrouded in darkness, now revealed a mystical texture, their shadowy depths hinting at something ancient and powerful.


    Congratulations! The Tower of Death has leveled up: New features are available.


    No new rooms materialized, which wasn''t surprising given the status update and the fact that she was still on the same, solitary floor.


    "How the hell am I supposed to get out of here then?" As the light stabilized, Sarah spotted a stone slab jutting out from the wall. She swam towards it, the chilling thought crossing her mind that she could have just as easily hit solid rock instead of water.


    Pulling herself onto the slab, she shivered, the dampness clinging to her clothes. She hoped the upgrade had changed the tower''s status, perhaps offering a clue to her predicament.


    Tower of Death - 2


    - Since the passing of the last Master, the tower has regressed back to its original state. Unlock new features by performing sacrifices and granting souls to the Tower of Death.


    Current floors: 1


    Souls: 1


    Features need to advance: 2


    Features available: 2


    - Ground Floor (1)


    - Door (1)


    Damn it! It has to be the door, right? The ground floor probably doesn''t have another exit. But what if it does? Argh, what if it doesn''t?! And what if the door leads nowhere? These stupid choices! Sarah''s health was slowly recovering as the pain from her fall subsided.


    Stupid tower and its bullshit choices. There''s a third option, but I really don''t want to go there.


    Skill: Immortality ¨C ready for use.


    Seriously? Talk about timing.


    Sarah was contemplating suicide. This time, however, it definitely qualified. What she hadn''t expected was the universe, in all its infinite wisdom, prompting her during her deliberation.


    Still¡­ I suppose I could use this¡­ opportunity? Definitely not the right word. To see what''s at the bottom of this place. I''d gain that last sacrifice in the process, and who knows, I might find something useful. As long as I don''t factor in drowning, it''s not a bad idea. Fuck. Let''s do it quickly before I lose my nerve.


    Submerging herself into the water''s embrace, Sarah swam down beneath the surface. The light emanating from the tower''s mana crystals struggled to penetrate the murky depths of the Waters of Sin. The deeper she went, the more her visibility was stolen away, until she was enveloped in an oppressive, inky blackness. When her feet finally touched the bottom, a small gasp of air escaped her lungs.


    Forcing herself to remain calm, Sarah resisted the urge to bolt for the surface. She moved through the pitch-black water, her hands sweeping across the stones and rocks with each kick, relying on touch alone. Though she couldn''t see, her other senses were heightened, and she desperately searched for anything within reach. A cold dread began to gnaw at her. The thought of dying down here, another sacrifice to the Waters of Sin, was a chilling weight in her chest.


    Sarah knew she couldn''t hold her breath much longer. When the next involuntary exhale left her lungs, a primal fear screamed at her to flee, to return to the life-giving air above. She fought down the panic, her will battling against instinct. Just then, her fingers brushed against a small, smooth object.


    Not a stone.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    She fumbled, almost losing it in the darkness, until her fingers closed around it. It was round and small¡ªa ring. As the last of her air escaped and she inhaled a mouthful of the stagnant water, Sarah slipped the ring onto her finger.


    You have consumed the Water of Sin. HP, MP, and Stamina recovery are increased by 500% for the next 2 hours.


    Even as her body began its desperate struggle for survival, Sarah¡¯s mind remained focused on the sacrifice. The irony wasn''t lost on her. Her body fought to live even as her mind accepted death. The will to survive was overwhelming, a powerful current pulling her upwards even as her consciousness slipped away.


    You have consumed the Water of Sin. HP, MP, and Stamina recovery are increased by 500% for the next 2 hours.


    The theoretical concept of drowning was a world away from the gut-wrenching, terrifying reality. Sarah''s struggles grew weaker, her limbs heavy and unresponsive. The water filled her lungs, a burning sensation that consumed her. The panic was a cold fist squeezing her heart.


    You have consumed the Water of Sin. HP, MP, and Stamina recovery are increased by 500% for the next 2 hours.


    Fuck. That was her final, desperate thought as the Waters of Sin claimed her. Death triumphed, but the strange message lingered, a bizarre counterpoint to the finality of her demise.


    .?¡ã ? ¡ã?.


    "Master! You''re back, and you can teleport now?" Solus was shocked by Sarah''s sudden return, the question tumbling out in a rush.


    Sarah opened her eyes, the heat from the fire a welcome caress against her chilled skin. Her body had returned to its familiar form, but her clothes clung to her, heavy and soaked. A shiver ran down her spine, a stark reminder of her recent ordeal, and a frown tugged at her lips.


    That was the worst death yet. Thank fuck I didn''t change my spawn point.


    Looking at the murder door, who was clearly happy to see her again, Sarah could also see some notifications regarding her latest loss against Life waiting patiently to be read. She resolutely ignored them as she inched closer to the fire.


    "No, I can''t teleport. Not yet, anyway. If that''s even a thing," she amended. "Unfortunately, I died again. I''m not the best Master yet. I must admit."


    Ignoring the notifications to the best of her ability, and seeing no reason to lie to her guardian, Sarah explained what had happened to her down below, as well as what she''d done to advance the tower. As she spoke, she couldn''t help but appreciate the fine piece of jewelry that had respawned with her.


    I wasn''t sure it would come with me, but I''m glad to know it worked.


    Sarah was pleased with her find. A small, emerald-green gem was inlaid into a beautifully-crafted golden ring. It was a simple design, elegant in its understated beauty. But that wasn''t all. A quick glance at her skills revealed more:


    Ring of the Necromancer: 5/100


    Staring at the ring''s status, Sarah wrestled with the sheer impossibility of it all. One hundred item slots? It defied every law of physics she knew, a concept as outlandish as the Lance Corporal''s uncanny ability to respawn. The contents, however, were even more unsettling. This ring alone would send scientists reeling, its storage capacity light-years beyond human comprehension. But the items within... They were on another level entirely.


    Sarah hesitated, a shiver runner through her. The Necromancer''s Robe, a single, flowing piece complete with hood and cowl, lay within like a silent accusation. "Absolutely not," she declared. "I''m not dressing like the villain in someone else''s story. Even if I am the villain right now." A sudden urge seized her. "I should burn it. Destroy it. Eliminate the temptation."


    Book of Souls: 6/100 ¨C Indestructible


    Another impossible item. A book, made of paper, yet it held souls. Souls! Sarah''s mind struggled to grasp the implications. The description was brief but chilling: "The remnants of those who have died can be absorbed into the Book of Souls and used to advance the tower."


    "Incredible," she breathed, the word laced with unease. Then, her mind, ever practical, latched onto a different aspect. "But this ring¡­ If it can hold this book, could it hold more rings? A hundred rings, each filled to the brim? That''s¡­ Ten thousand items! One person could carry the entire army''s supplies!" The logistical implications were staggering.


    Shaking her head, Sarah dragged her attention back to the ring''s contents. Another book lay nestled within, its aged pages whispering of forgotten lore. After skimming a few passages, she recoiled. "The Book of Death. Perfectly named. Definitely not my style." Back it went.


    Two items remained. She eyed their descriptions with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.


    <em style="font-weight: bold">Shoes of the Necro<em style="font-weight: bold">mancer: <em style="font-weight: bold">Rare


    <em style="font-weight: bold">- Part of a two piece set


    <em style="font-weight: bold">- Comfort is increased 100% and color will adjust to match any outfit


    <em style="font-weight: bold">- Boosts Necromancy by 200%


    <em style="font-weight: bold">- Boosts Natural Regeneration by 100%


    Sarah couldn''t resist. Her standard-issue boots, now a distant memory within her ring (6/100), it was madness, were instantly replaced by a pair of pristine white slippers. "That is so cool. I love magic!" she breathed, slipping her feet into the seemingly oversized footwear. The magical fabric tightened, conforming perfectly to her size.


    "Oh my word!"


    As the slippers shifted to a subtle green, mirroring her drab attire, Sarah grinned. It was like walking on air. She knew swapping boots for slippers in this environment was foolhardy, but the sheer bliss of walking on clouds overwhelmed any practical concerns.


    "Never," she vowed, taking a few tentative steps. "I am never taking these off." The thought crossed her mind that their true nature as part of a Necromancer''s set was well-disguised. "Especially without that ridiculous robe," she added, then paused. "Actually... No. I''m not even going to think about the potential benefits of that robe. Comfort might sway me, and then I''m doomed.


    "Some wannabe hero will show up, and I''ll be reinforcing every negative stereotype about dark sorcerers. Just knowing it''s part of the set is almost making me not want to throw it away. I''ll just leave it in the ring for now and deal with it later."


    The last item in her ring was a staff. It looked like it was crafted from the wood of some twisted, dark tree, almost black, with veins of purple swirling near the top. It resembled a spine, a malformed, gnarled spine. An unholy power radiated from it, a palpable energy that Sarah felt the moment she withdrew it.


    "Now that is a weird piece of wood. Definitely in the ''evil-as-fuck'' category."


    Staff of Death: Unique


    - Created with branches taken from the Devil''s Tree, the Staff of Death is now a relic of the past. Increases the user''s stats by double when supplied with mana. Necromancy will not fail when cast with the Staff of Death. Necromancy is twice as effective when cast with the Staff of Death.


    Four intricately carved hands formed the staff''s head, each clutching a corner of a dazzling, purple gem, holding it securely in place.


    "It''s almost a shame I''m not going to use it," Sarah muttered, a grimace twisting her features as she admired the magnificently crafted, undeniably evil weapon. "Well, not in public, anyway." She carefully placed it beside her chair. It was, without a doubt, the most impressive piece of wood she had ever seen.


    "Last, but not least, I suppose?" she mused.


    Congratulations! You have been awarded a new title: Who Needs Oxygen


    [Who Needs Oxygen?]


    - Certainly not you! Although this may sound familiar, you have died, again. Your lack of caution and care are truly a terrific combination. Soon you might not even be able to die. +30 Vitality. You have acquired a Unique Skill: Breathless


    (Breathless)


    - Through faults entirely of your own making, you no longer need oxygen to sustain your mortal form. Be careful of drowning... Oh, that''s right! You don''t need to.


    "What can I say to that? I can''t... I don''t... I''ll just spend these souls for now and circle back to it," Sarah muttered, shaking her head at the absurdity of her new reality.


    "Why not sacrifice other people?" Solus''s question cut through her thoughts, making her cringe.


    "I''m not a murderer, you know? And my life isn''t going to be some cult movie," she retorted.


    "What''s a murder-ur? Or a movie? Have you ever killed before?" Solus''s innocent curiosity underscored the alien nature of this world. Sarah was reminded that, despite her past, she was now in a place where such concepts were foreign. The question, however, struck a nerve. She had killed, a soldier in a war on a distant planet. Those memories, though compartmentalized, were still a part of her.


    "I have..." she conceded, "...and a murderer is a person who kills another for reasons that aren''t justifiable by law. I was ordered to kill people by my country. It''s a different matter entirely," she added, the justification sounding hollow even to her own ears.


    "So you are a killer?" Solus asked, seemingly trying to categorize her.


    "Yes... I suppose?" Sarah replied, her confidence wavering. Her mind raced with thoughts of the tower, its potential, and how to rebuild it. Why couldn''t I have respawned in a cool castle? A fire mage with a flaming tower ¨C that would have been epic. She mentally slapped herself. Focus, Sarah.


    "Master?" Solus''s voice was tinged with alarm. Even the murder door seemed concerned by her sudden shift in demeanor.


    "I''m fine. Just snapping myself out of a daydream. That was a pretty good idea you mentioned, but you need to work on your phrasing. Plus, I have a few questions. You seem to be a bit hit-and-miss with information, so let''s see how we do this time, shall we?" Sarah fixed Solus with a determined look.


    "Er... Yes?" The golden features of the door seemed to quiver, a faint creak echoing from its ancient frame. Sarah resisted the urge to comment on the door''s apparent embarrassment.


    "Good, because I''ve got shit I need to know. Number one: How do I grant blessings? Two: What kind of blessings are we talking about? Healing, soul soothing, spirit walks? I need specifics if I''m going to convince people. Which brings us to point three: Where am I even supposed to find people willing to undertake such a risky endeavor? And finally, four: What''s the mortality rate likely to be? Percentage-wise. If it''s, like, 90%, we''ll have to find another way to do this." Sarah needed answers, especially if she was going to turn this crazy, potentially deadly, scheme into reality.

 Chapter 7

    "So, basically, you''re admitting you''re useless?" Sarah''s frustration was bubbling to the surface as she faced the unhelpful door.


    "My apologies, Master.


    "I was never privy to such information. Nor have I ever ventured beyond this room. I''m afraid I don''t even know what lies beyond the corridor. I can only answer your last question." Solus perked up, eager to be of service.


    That was the most important question, after all. She couldn''t have people coming to kill her based on rumors like "everyone who enters the tower dies." Sarah waited anxiously for the mortality rate.


    "It is whatever you deem it to be, Master," Solus said, smiling for the first time in their conversation.


    Of course. Being in charge meant setting the rules. That second jolt of lightning Solus had used on her was significantly more intense. If she specified a voltage, or perhaps a percentage, the "murder door" wouldn''t necessarily kill anyone attempting the final challenge. But that didn''t feel quite right since no one was supposed to enter that room in the first place.


    Frowning, Sarah remembered she still had souls to spend. Two of her own, and six from the Book of Souls ¨C a stark reminder of her reckless stupidity.


    I don''t even have any challenges set yet, so I shouldn''t worry too much about Solus for now. She needed to spend these babies¡­ Please let them not be babies.


    A tear rolled down her cheek as she accessed the tower''s information and confirmed the changes to the ground floor.


    Status screens are a godsend.


    The master room rumbled and shook, the tower undergoing its alterations. It felt like a minor earthquake. Once the shaking subsided, Sarah moved on to the final feature.


    With fingers crossed, she confirmed the last option: a door. Anticipation filled her. She desperately hoped this would finally allow travel between floors. When the rumbling stopped, a new notification appeared.


    Congratulations! Tower of Death has leveled up: New features are available


    Tower of Death - 3


    - Since the passing of the last Master, a new one has taken their place. Over time the tower has regressed back to its original state, but is now slowly being rebuilt. Unlock new features by performing sacrifices and offering souls to the Tower of Death.


    Current floors: 2


    Souls: 6


    Features need to advance: 4


    Features available: 4


    - Entrance (1)


    - First Floor (2)


    - Immortal Receptionist (1)


    - Ground floor furnishings (2)


    Where''s the exit!


    "Right! I''m going to find my way out. Don''t wait up babe." Sarah''s words were lost on the guardian. The only thing it wanted to know was whether or not she would return. "Yes. I''ll be back soon. I''m just going to take a look to see how the tower has changed before having a quick look outside if possible. Don''t worry."


    Leaving the gloomy-looking door behind, Sarah tapped the staff on the stone floor as she made her way down the corridor towards the fountain. The room that housed the Water of Sin had undergone an alteration and Sarah couldn''t hide her delight. In the space where she had previously pried the magic crystal from the wall, was a new door.


    This should lead me down to the ground floor. There was no option for stairs so I''m hoping they''re thrown in for free? Let''s find out.


    With bated breath, Sarah pushed the door open, a silent prayer escaping her lips. Relief washed over her ¨C her ordeal was almost over. She didn''t hesitate, starting her descent down the stairwell. Each step was soundless, the soft leather of the Necromancer''s Shoes muffling any impact. So comfy, she thought absently, then a flicker of confusion crossed her mind. Wait a minute... how am I already at the bottom?


    It felt like she''d taken barely any steps at all, yet she was already at the bottom, stood before another door. The strange compression of distance was just another quirk of the Tower of Death, though Sarah didn''t know it yet. My fall lasted way longer than that, a prickle of unease tickling her senses. This must be the ground floor though, she realized.


    She pushed the door open, revealing a room both familiar and unsettlingly different. It mirrored the empty chambers above, yet it felt pristine, untouched by the decay that permeated the rest of the tower. The only occupants were the twin mana crystals, their black stone veined with that familiar, sickly green glow. They cast an eerie light, reinforcing the tower''s monochromatic theme.


    Is the whole building going to be that color? Sarah wondered, a touch of irritation creeping in. And why are Necromancers so fond of green and black anyway? Black I can kind of understand, but green? Really?


    Pushing aside these trivial thoughts, Sarah crossed the room, her heart pounding with anticipation. Finally. Freedom was within reach. It had only been a little over two days since she''d been snatched from her familiar world, but the trials of the tower had stretched time into an agonizing eternity. Every second had been a struggle for survival, a test of her will. Now, the exit was just ahead. She could almost taste it.


    A single soul surrendered its essence, and Sarah¡¯s nightmare yielded. Where solid stone had been, an exquisite door, rivaling even Solus¡¯s craftsmanship, materialized. Joy surged through Sarah, and she instinctively embraced the tower, a silent ¡°thank you¡± passing between them.


    ¡°I¡¯m so glad you¡¯re here,¡± she whispered, her fingers tracing the deep red wood and the gleaming golden knob. Across the door¡¯s center, neon green words pulsed in a continuous cycle, revealing themselves before fading away: Tower of Death.


    ¡°Tower of Death, huh?¡± Sarah muttered, a wry smile touching her lips. ¡°Yeah, I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be advertising that anytime soon.¡± She focused her will, and the words blinked out, remaining stubbornly absent. ¡°That¡¯s much better.¡±


    An inexplicable connection thrummed between Sarah and the tower. Was it the first floor? The newly formed entrance? She couldn¡¯t pinpoint the source, but the feeling was undeniable, warm, and reassuring.


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    Her hands, still trembling slightly, reached for the golden knob. I¡¯ll figure it out later. Right now, I''ve got a date with the fresh air.  With a surge of anticipation, Sarah pushed the door open.


    The bustling street that greeted her was anything but the tranquil forest she¡¯d expected. ¡°What the hell?¡± she breathed, instinctively closing the door behind her and pressing her back against it. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she took in the chaotic scene.


    Wasn''t she supposed to be in a forest?


    A creature that could only be described as an alligator in a finely tailored suit strolled past, its elongated mouth filled with rows of teeth that defied counting. It didn¡¯t even glance at her.


    ¡°Why is an alligator walking down the street like it¡¯s a normal day?¡± Sarah whispered, her mind reeling. ¡°And why are its clothes better than mine?¡±


    The other inhabitants of this strange new world, a menagerie of reptiles, canines, and even poultry mingling with humans, continued their daily routines, seemingly oblivious to Sarah and her newly appeared tower. A strange sense of detachment hung in the air, as if a thin veil separated her from the bustling life around her. Everyone gave her doorway a wide berth, however, as if it radiated an unseen warning.


    Can¡¯t they see me? The thought echoed in Sarah¡¯s mind. She suspected some kind of magical cloaking, a byproduct of the tower¡¯s sudden appearance. It¡¯s probably got dead bodies suspended on spikes or some evil-looking shit like that, she thought, a shiver running down her spine. The unsettling normalcy of the scene, combined with the palpable sense of being ignored, sent a wave of unease through her. This wasn¡¯t the escape she¡¯d envisioned.


    Turning around, Sarah found her expectations completely subverted. The ominously named Tower of Death looked more like the Cottage of Early Retirement.


    "What the fuck is that!" Forgetting her place in the crowded street, Sarah clapped a hand over her mouth, her other still clutching the staff she¡¯d forgotten to leave in her room. Its sinister appearance alone was enough to brand her as something¡­ Unpleasant. She glanced around nervously.


    It¡¯s a good job no one can see me. I¡¯m so stupid. Looking over her shoulder, she relaxed slightly. The people, and non-people, milling about seemed oblivious to the small, loud woman clutching what looked like the evilest piece of wood in existence.


    Whatever keeps them from seeing me probably keeps them from hearing my bullshit too. She looked back at the white-bricked cottage with its cheerful red roof and door. Ivy clung to trellises on the walls, giving it the air of a charming, if somewhat overgrown, home.


    Seriously? My tower can look like this, but Solus can¡¯t morph into a ring? Was he lying to me? No, I don¡¯t think he¡¯d do that. Still, this illusion is definitely up there with the world¡¯s strangest shit. Not that everything else I¡¯ve seen so far isn¡¯t also a contender for the top spot.


    Sarah glanced at the ground in front of her¡­tower. If I move away, will I still be able to see it? She didn¡¯t move, but she could sense the connection, a faint tug between her and the magically disguised structure. With that knowledge, Sarah quickly re-entered the deceptively spacious building and went straight to her room.


    "Master? That was fast. Was it perhaps not what you were expecting?" Solus¡¯s words made her pause.


    "What do you mean?" she asked, curious to see if he knew more than he was letting on, and if he knew where they were all along.


    "You''ve been gone less than five minutes, Master. Since you said that we were isolated somewhere in the forest, I assumed you would be gone for longer." The talking door added.


    I see. He¡¯s just lonely as fuck and really missed me. I get that. Sarah placed a hand on Solus¡¯s wood, unsure if the sentient object would appreciate the gesture, but deciding to risk it.


    "Well, you don''t need to worry about me running off to go travelling. Turns out those maps are outdated. By, like, a millennia or two. Seriously," she chuckled.


    "I don''t understand, Master? Are they closer than you expected?" Placing the staff next to her chair, she sat down and smiled.


    "Extremely. You could even say they''re right on our doorstep." Solus¡¯s expression shifted from puzzlement to shock as the door finally grasped her meaning.


    "Right outside?" Its voice was almost a whisper, barely recognizable.


    "Why do you sound so nervous? This was your plan. Convince people to take the test and get my blessing. Not that I''ve made any headway on that front yet, but don''t you be backing out on me now."


    "I''m not, Master. I just did not realize we were so close to civilization. I was just¡­ Surprised, and perhaps a little flustered, but it will not happen again."


    Since when do doors fluster? Not that it matters. I nearly soiled myself when I saw everyone outside, and on more than one occasion too. I still can''t believe we''re in the middle of a city. One that has honest-to-God animal people, no less. Seriously¡­ Where the actual fuck have I found myself?


    Sarah stood and took half of the remaining preserved meat from the runed shelf. I need to learn how to read these runes at some point. Or see if I can just copy them? That might work. I could do with making a few more shelves. One just isn¡¯t enough for all this food.


    She settled back into her comfortable chair, swinging her legs over the armrest. The fire¡¯s heat warmed the room, and Sarah savored the flavorful meat as she basked in its glow.


    I really need to know what this meat is.


    Hiro Boar - An extinct species that once roamed the forest surrounding the Tower of Death. Known for its soft meat and unique taste.


    Congratulations! Identify has leveled up.


    "Huh. Guess thanking the universe finally paid off," Sarah muttered, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Or maybe it was just (Identify) being a boss. I vaguely remember reading its description, but honestly, I''d forgotten I even had it. Definitely going to be using that more now, especially when I head back outside. God knows I need it."


    She glanced at her status screen, a flicker of frustration crossing her features. "I need to get stronger. I''m better than when I arrived, sure, but that''s not exactly a high bar. And let''s be real, most of that ''improvement'' came from dying and racking up pity points with titles."


    Name: Sarah-Jane Kemp


    Unspent Points: 5


    Class: Necromancer - 2


    Title: What Death? (3)


    Class Skills:


    - Create Undead - 1


    - Eyes of Death - 1


    - Necrotic Body - 1


    - Necrotic Soul - 4


    - Form of the Necromancer - 2


    General Skills:


    - Identify - 2


    - Fear Resistance - 3


    - Lightning Resistance - 2


    - Pain Resistance - 3


    Unique Skills:


    - Universal Language


    - Immortality


    - Second Chance


    - Indomitable Will


    - Breathless


    Status:


    - Strength: 40


    - Vitality: 85


    - Dexterity: 32


    - Endurance: 40


    - Intelligence: 45


    - Wisdom: 65


    Health: 950/950


    Stamina: 500/500


    Mana: 750/750


    "This world is officially bonkers," she continued, shaking her head. "The crazy just keeps escalating. I need a way to get stronger that doesn''t involve dying. These stat boosts from Titles are nice, but honestly, without them, I''d still be a wet noodle. A sobering thought, to say the least." She remembered the struggle to break through the top floor, the sheer agony of broken bones and torn flesh. "Skills are seriously OP. Maybe one day I''ll be able to punch through walls like a superhero."


    "Master," Solus''s voice broke through her reverie. "Now that we are surrounded by... Individuals, what is your plan?"


    "First," Sarah replied, a hint of dark humor in her tone, "I''m going to spend these soul points and pimp my tower. Then, I''ll probably head out and either collect more or get myself killed for being the resident dark one."


    Solus gasped dramatically. "Master! You jest! Your demise is no laughing matter! Without you, I would be..."


    "You would be...?" Sarah prompted, genuinely curious.


    "Lonely," Solus admitted. "And an eternity of slumber is not my idea of a peaceful existence."


    Sarah smiled. "Don''t worry, buddy. I''m not planning on dying anytime soon. And even if I do, I won''t stay dead. This room is my respawn point, after all. Besides," she added, hefting her staff, the purple jewel glowing in the firelight, "this is my tower now. Gotta make it a proper home, especially since I don''t exactly have other options."


    With a burst of laughter, Sarah spent her remaining soul points, purchasing every available upgrade. The tower shuddered and groaned as the changes began, a symphony of construction and magic echoing through the chamber.

 Chapter 8

    Rats, sleek and silent as shadows, feasted on forgotten crumbs in the basement, their whiskers twitching in the air thick with the faint tang of spilled ale and damp earth. Boxes, haphazardly stacked like forgotten sentinels, lined the damp, stone walls of the cavernous space, their contents a mystery shrouded in dust and time.


    In the center, a circle of figures, cloaked in shadows as much as in their dark robes, huddled together. All wore the somber hues of midnight and charcoal, save one. The orchestrator of this clandestine gathering, stood out starkly in his crimson vestments, the rich fabric a vibrant splash of blood against the monochrome backdrop. The flickering torchlight danced across the intricate embroidery, depicting stylized ravens in flight, a subtle nod to his ambitions.


    Two years had passed since Aaron Nyl arrived in Grower, a scion of a noble family from the neighboring kingdom of Eldoria. He had known privilege, comfort, and the ennui that came with it, a hollow ache in his soul that no amount of courtly amusement could fill. Then, he discovered the scripture.


    Tucked away in the dusty archives of an ancient library, the forbidden text, bound in human skin and clasped with blackened silver, ignited a fire in him. It whispered of forgotten powers, of ascensions beyond mortal comprehension, of a class so potent it could reshape reality itself. That ancient text, the ¡°Grimorium Veridian,¡± ignited a burning ambition that consumed him, leading him to this city, to this moment.


    His preparations had been meticulous, bordering on obsessive. The staging of this scene was precise, every detail, from the placement of the candles to the alignment of the runic symbols, carefully considered. Every contingency, from potential interruptions to magical backlash, had been planned for, or so he believed. This was it. The culmination of his efforts, the apex of his two-year campaign in Grower. His evasive movements from the guard. Advancement was within his grasp.


    "Brothers and Sisters," Aaron¡¯s voice resonated in the low-ceilinged room, amplified by the dampness and echoing slightly. He channeled his mana, the life force that flowed through all living things, into the activation rune, the intricate design etched into the flagstones beneath his feet. The complex pattern, a swirling vortex of interwoven lines and glyphs, sparked to life with a pulsating, ethereal glow, casting flickering shadows that danced across the faces of the acolytes.


    The others, their faces pale and drawn in the dim light, followed suit, adding their own mana to the complex spell. A ritual of this magnitude, a gateway to such potent magic, required multiple mages to maintain its delicate balance, their combined will acting as a conduit for the immense power required.


    The catalysts, strategically placed throughout Grower ¨C a network of enchantment hidden within the city ¨C would do their work. They were designed to draw ambient magical energy, amplifying the ritual''s power tenfold and exhausting the source.


    The plan was flawless, a masterpiece of arcane engineering, or so he believed. Remarkably, nothing had gone awry. No meddling guards, no inquisitive townsfolk, no unforeseen magical disturbances. Given the sheer scale of the ritual, the probability of failure had been astronomically high, yet everything had proceeded smoothly, almost miraculously.


    This was his final push, the key to unlocking the class, the one he desperately craved. He had meticulously fulfilled nearly all the prerequisites: the mastery of arcane theory, the accumulation of rare ingredients, the performance of perilous rites. All that remained was this final, grand ritual.


    "Darren, control your mana flow!" Aaron hissed, his eyes narrowing. The acolyte beside him, a nervous young man with trembling hands, faltered, his mana fluctuating erratically, like a flickering candle in a storm. He wasn''t alone. A wave of unease rippled through the circle.


    The acolytes were draining their reserves at an alarming rate. The air crackled with uncontrolled energy, a dangerous sign. Why? The catalysts¡­ They weren¡¯t functioning. They should have been drawing in power, not draining it. Their concealment was impeccable; no one, not even the city¡¯s mages, could have discovered them. He had personally overseen their placement, weaving powerful illusions and wards to mask their presence.


    What, then, was the cause? A cold dread began to creep into Aaron¡¯s heart.


    One by one, the acolytes collapsed, their mana utterly depleted. Some gasped for breath, their bodies convulsing, others succumbed to unconsciousness, their faces ashen. Aaron, sensing the impending disaster, the magical backlash that threatened to tear them apart, severed his connection to the spell just before he too succumbed to exhaustion.


    He stumbled, his crimson robes now stained with sweat and grime, and joined the others on the cold stone floor, his mind racing, desperately trying to piece together the shattered remnants of his plan. What had gone wrong? Why hadn''t the portal opened? The circle had consumed far more mana than it should have, an exorbitant amount, and the catalysts remained inert, stubbornly refusing to fulfill their purpose.


    Methodically, Aaron reviewed the framework of the ritual in his mind, scrutinizing each individual rune, each carefully crafted incantation. Finally, his gaze fell upon a subtle anomaly, a faint distortion in the flow of magical energy. It was almost imperceptible, a thread of dissonance in the otherwise harmonious weave of the spell.


    "Who in the hell is absorbing my death energy?" The question hung in the stale air, heavy with frustration, fear, and a hint of dawning dread. Someone, or something, was interfering with his ritual, actively siphoning off the very essence he needed to fuel it, the necromantic energy that was crucial for opening the portal.


    His perfect plan, the culmination of years of meticulous preparation, was unraveling before his eyes, and he had no idea who, or what, was responsible. The rats, undisturbed by the magical turmoil, continued their silent feast, oblivious to the drama unfolding around them.


    ???????????


    Congratulations! Tower of Death has leveled up: New features are available.


    Tower of Death - 4


    - Since the passing of the last Master, a new one has taken their place. The tower has regressed back to its original state but is slowly being rebuilt. Unlock new features by performing sacrifices and granting souls to the Tower of Death.


    Current floors: 3


    Souls: 0


    Features needed to advance: 4


    Features available: 4


    - First Floor Challenge (1 - 4)


    - Second Floor (2)


    - Summon Soul (1)


    - Customisation (1)


    That answers some of my questions about challenges. Can I see the tower''s description?


    Tower of Death


    - As master of the tower it is your duty to grant blessings to those who pass your trials. Those deemed unworthy can be used to advance the tower to greater heights.


    Ok. That''s still not everything I need to know, but it''s a start. Maybe I''ll get to choose blessings from a list? We''ll see. It''s a shame the Grand Master Necromancer isn''t around to learn from. Although, you''d think his best friend, Solus the talking murder door, would possess more knowledge, but no. That senile old codger is about as useful as those outdated books.


    Sarah descended the stairs, still a disappointingly blank canvas. The ground floor, however, held a striking difference. A blonde woman floated behind the reception desk, her sharp blue eyes immediately locking onto Sarah.


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    "Greetings, Master. I am Ariel." A polite bow accompanied the greeting, followed by an incongruous thumbs-up. At least some customs are universal, Sarah thought wryly. But Ariel was translucent, a literal ghost. And her elegant red dress, more suited to a gala than an office, only deepened the mystery.


    "Are you¡­ My Immortal receptionist?" Sarah asked, stating the obvious.


    "Yes, Master."


    "Why the¡­ Attire? And how can you handle paperwork without a physical form?" Sarah struggled to phrase her questions delicately, avoiding the word "ghost."


    After a slightly awkward exchange, Ariel demonstrated the ability to solidify, becoming flesh and blood. She then launched into a surprisingly detailed lecture on the nature of souls in this world. Souls, Ariel explained, were essentially energy, devoid of memories. Memories resided in the brain, remaining with the body even after the soul''s departure. At least, that was Ariel''s understanding. She couldn''t explain how Sarah''s memories had survived.


    Is it because I''m from another world? The question gnawed at Sarah. She considered the irony: Ariel, so new, seemed to possess a deeper understanding than Solus, who had existed for eons. Still, Sarah appreciated the information. It seemed the soul used to create Ariel provided life, but her thoughts and emotions were her own.


    Sarah sank into one of the three identical chairs lining the wall. A massive, black bear rug¡ªmore like an elephant rug¡ªdominated the center of the room. Opposite, Ariel''s desk, crafted from what Sarah suspected was this world''s equivalent to oak, was the room''s most striking feature. Intricate engravings adorned its sides, and a floral pattern graced the front. An empty bookshelf stood nearby. Literature, it would seem, was not conjurable by magic.


    This room is surprisingly functional, and beautiful. Not bad for the price of two souls. Sarah¡¯s thoughts drifted back to the mystery of her own soul, but she pushed it aside, choosing instead to examine the room more closely.


    Behind Ariel''s desk sat a chair that looked almost as comfortable as the one in the Master suite. "Do you mind?" Sarah asked, pointing towards it.


    "N-not at all, Master. Please, do as you wish." Ariel¡¯s slightly hesitant response didn¡¯t escape Sarah¡¯s notice. She refrained from further questioning, but the chair was too tempting to resist. She stowed her staff and settled into the plush seat. After a few moments, she thanked Ariel and retrieved her staff, resolving not to ask for the chair again.


    "I don''t know why, but I really like this," she murmured, gazing at her reflection in the purple gem. The four wooden hands, so intricately carved, held it securely to the staff. "Beautiful."


    A practical frown creased her brow. "I''ll have to store it before I go outside though. Most people won''t appreciate the craftsmanship, and it''ll probably just make me look dangerous. Safer in storage anyway." Sarah carefully stowed the staff and turned to leave.


    Deep breaths. She needed to center herself.


    "Ariel, I''m heading out. Back later. I doubt anyone will come by, but if they do, tell them we''re closed. The first floor''s empty, and I don''t need some Hero one-shotting Solus and making me homeless, okay?" Realizing she might have overdone it, especially after her recent chats with the sentient door, Sarah started to backtrack. But Ariel responded smoothly, "Yes, Master."


    Why can''t Solus be like that? she thought, the question fleeting. She immediately reminded herself that he had his reasons for his drawn-out conversations. After being alone for so long, anyone could become like that. "Okay, then. See ya." Stepping outside, she closed the door behind her and took another deep breath.


    The evening air was crisp, tinged orange by the setting sun. The once-bustling street was now deserted, save for four figures. An oversized wolf and an even larger pig were approaching a man slumped against the wall opposite her.


    The scene was bizarre on multiple levels. First, both animals were standing upright and walking on two legs like the alligator she''d seen earlier. Not in a comical, cartoonish way, but with the posture and gait of weightlifters. And they weren''t just any animals. They were armored. Sarah could only identify their species because neither wore a helmet, but that small detail did little to lessen her shock.


    Even more shocking than a wolf and a pig teaming up on a passed-out drunk was the fact that they were talking. And not just grunts and squeaks. Actual, coherent words. Most shocking of all? Sarah understood every single word.


    This fucking world, she thought. It just gets weirder and weirder. Okay, time to figure out what I''m actually dealing with.


    "(Identify)," she whispered under her breath, a strange energy flickering in her eyes.


    - Guard - 18


    - Guard - ??


    - Corpse -


    They''re the guards?


    Sarah was more concerned by their choice of career than the dead guy on the floor. She''d originally assumed he was drunk, but now she knew better. Using (Identify) was the right call. It gave her information she wouldn''t have otherwise considered. Not much, but she assumed that would change as she leveled the skill.


    More levels, more information. The corpse, though¡­ I wonder¡­


    Pulling out the Book of Souls, she opened it to a random page. A ball of green light detached from the lifeless body and floated towards her, absorbing into the book. Oh shit. Was it really that easy? Sarah¡¯s astonishment quickly morphed into a gnawing unease. Shit! Did I just steal his soul?


    I know I did. But what did that even mean?


    Was it a bad thing?


    What if he was going to hell, and I just saved him from eternal damnation? Wouldn''t that make me his savior? Plus, he can rack up brownie points with God while his soul powers the tower. There''s also that clean slate thing that Ariel mentioned.


    The other side of that coin¡­ Was something she wasn''t going to think about. Nope.


    Definitely not thinking about how easily she¡¯d slipped into the necromancer role. Stealing souls like candy.


    I''m going with it being a positive thing. Yep. A few more of these, and I won''t have to sacrifice anyone. People dying on their own should be fair game after all. And it¡¯s all magical anyway, right?


    Closing the book, Sarah tucked it away and watched the two guards drag the body off.


    ¡°Thank you. Your sacrifice won''t be in vain,¡± she murmured, offering a quick, silent prayer to the deceased before retreating to her tower.


    "Welcome back, Master." Ariel rose from her chair.


    Sarah deliberately paused before replying, expecting her receptionist to add more.


    She didn¡¯t.


    I shouldn''t keep comparing her to Solus. She''s nothing like him. Him? Whatever, it''s easier than it.


    "Thanks, Ariel. I''m just back for a moment. I had an idea after the tower upgraded, but I was out of souls to experiment with. It was convenient that I wound up with one so fast. I''ll be real quick and then head back out." Sarah found herself over-explaining, just happy to talk to someone. Solus counted, but his out-of-sync conversations and sheer size made it different. Even if Ariel was a tower-created being, it was nice to have company.


    Heading upstairs, she found Solus shortly after. "Hey, bud."


    "Master. You''re back." The door pulsed with a happy light.


    Wait for it¡­


    "You weren''t gone that long either." Solus¡¯s statement made Sarah smile. She was growing fond of the needy guardian. He was like a puppy when its owner returned, excited and happy. With that in mind, Sarah opened the tower menu and selected (Summon Soul).


    "If this works how I hope it should, this one''s for you, buddy." A small light was drawn from the Book of Souls inside Sarah''s ring. Solus watched as the soul coalesced into the form of a man in his late thirties. He looked wise beyond his years, with slicked-back blue hair and eyes. Like Ariel, he wore the elegant clothes of high society. His tailored suit suggested a butler. As soon as he was summoned, he turned and knelt eloquently towards Sarah.


    "Greetings, Master. My name is Sebastian. Thank you for granting this soul life."


    The whole "Master" thing was a tad cringeworthy, but a flicker of pride ignited within Sarah. She had, in a way, granted Sebastian life. Not that this necromancy business was something she was particularly enjoying. Solus, her animated door, had been unusually quiet since Sebastian¡¯s arrival.


    "No problem, Seb. Seb okay with you? Anyway, I summoned you because my friend Solus here is feeling a bit blue."


    "You may address me as you wish, Master. However, I am unfamiliar with the expression. Solus appears to be primarily brown and gold in coloration." Sebastian tilted his head, genuinely confused by the metaphor.


    "Master!" Solus, despite his confusion, seemed to understand the underlying sentiment.


    "Right. So, he needs someone to chat with while I''m out. That''s your primary job, along with some light duties around the tower."


    "I will endeavor to fulfill your wishes, Master. Greetings, Solus. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Sebastian extended a hand towards the door, a gesture that underscored the strangeness of the situation. Sarah, sensing the impending awkwardness, discreetly slipped out.


    They¡¯ll be best friends in no time, she thought wryly.


    After a quick sip from the Water of Sin, she descended the two flights of stairs to the ground floor. I need four souls to level up the tower again. Eight at most. That seems excessive, though, and I doubt they¡¯ll all be as easy as that last guy. Poor bastard. At least his soul is keeping Solus company.


    "I''m off out again, Ariel. See ya."


    "Safe travels, Master."


    Sarah stepped out of the tower and into the deserted street. The last vestiges of daylight had faded, the moon now reigning supreme. Up the street, the familiar flicker of torches pierced the darkness. A sliver of hesitation crept in. Even though she¡¯d died countless times within the Tower of Death, it still felt like the safest place she knew.


    Get a grip, shithead, she mentally chastised herself. This is a new world, full of magic and animal people. Yes, it¡¯s scary. It¡¯s also cool as fuck. Stop being a child and get those feet moving, soldier.


    As Sarah moved beyond the tower¡¯s protective aura, she glanced back. The entrance had vanished. A jolt of panic seized her. She rushed back to the spot where she¡¯d stood moments before. The door was still there. Relief washed over her as she exhaled.


    So, it¡¯s like optical camouflage?


    Stepping away again, Sarah watched the entrance dissolve into nothingness. This time, she didn¡¯t panic. She correctly surmised that this was the tower¡¯s way of protecting itself. She committed the image of the small white cottage, sandwiched between two larger buildings, to memory.


    I better not wander too far. Don¡¯t want to get lost right out of the gate.


    Taking a deep breath, Sarah ventured into the night, drawn towards the near-by light.

 Chapter 9

    Next to the Tower of Death stood a large stone building at a T-junction. Its entrance faced the street adjacent to Sarah''s, and flickering torches flanked the door, suggesting the establishment was still open for business despite the late hour. Not that I know the time, she thought.


    Even without armor, Sarah would recognize the two men outside as guards. Their posture screamed vigilance ¨C the kind that came with the dual responsibility of watching for trouble and dealing with it. Poor bastards. A sentry¡¯s life isn''t exactly thrilling. A flicker of amusement crossed her mind. Should I say hi? I need information, but they might be under orders not to talk. Screw it, let¡¯s see.


    As Sarah prepared to approach, a heavy hand landed on her shoulder, making her jump. "Oh! You scary bastard¡­ You¡¯re not¡­" Her sentence died in her throat. She was staring into the jaws of a lion. Not just any lion. This one looked like a bodybuilder in the best lion costume she''d ever seen, with a gaze that could probably paralyze a basilisk. Sarah certainly felt paralyzed.


    What the actual hell? He can definitely see me. Think, Sarah, think! Outrunning the lion equivalent of Dwayne ¡°The Rock¡± Johnson isn¡¯t an option. Unbeknownst to her, she¡¯d adopted a bizarre standing version of playing dead.


    "Ma''am!" The lion¡¯s meaty breath and deep voice jolted her back to reality. Simultaneously, she received a helpful nudge from the universe, the System, or whatever was responsible for her current predicament.


    Congratulations! Fear Resistance has leveled up.


    "Ma''am. This is your last chance. If you don''t answer me, you''ll spend the night in a cell." The word "cell" was enough to banish her remaining fear and ignite a spark of defensiveness. "Wait? What for?" she almost demanded, momentarily forgetting she was talking to a six-foot-tall, armored lion.


    "Several reasons. Loitering in a dark corner watching the guild bank is suspicious, wouldn''t you say? You could be planning a robbery."


    "Eh? No! No! That''s not it at all. I was just¡­ Wondering if I could get some¡­ Information from them. I didn''t even know it was a bank." Sarah recognized how her actions looked, especially given the building¡¯s importance. I should have known better. Her stammering wasn¡¯t helping her case.


    "What kind of information?" Reluctant to explain to the imposing lion that she was from another world and had arrived only two days ago, Sarah¡¯s mind raced for a plausible excuse. What can I say?


    The guard¡¯s patience ran out. He sighed, his eyes reflecting the moonlight before refocusing on Sarah. "So, you''re not going to answer. Fine. Maybe you''ll be more cooperative in the morning."


    "Wait! I''m being arrested for looking at a building?" she protested as the lion, with a strength that belied her own training and stats, turned her around and frog-marched her down the street.


    Oh crap! I can¡¯t even resist him. I thought my stats were decent? But he¡¯s a lion. Probably born stronger than I am now. Plus, he¡¯s lived with this game-like system his whole life, leveling up and¡­ Damn it! That means I¡¯m not as strong as I thought. These people have had access to the System since birth, which just plummeted my ranking on the power scale. A new wave of anxiety washed over her. And how am I supposed to convince these powerhouses to take my weak-ass challenges?


    "Where are you from?" the lion asked as they moved away from the bank.


    Earth. A place where cats don¡¯t walk on two legs or harass young women looking for information.


    Sarah remained silent, trying to memorize their route. "That''s fine. Better than the nonsense most people come up with," the lion replied, unfazed by her silence. Their journey was short.


    Less than five minutes later, they arrived at the guardhouse. The building bore an uncanny resemblance to the bank, making Sarah wonder how anyone navigated the city without getting arrested for looking at buildings.


    "There isn''t much originality around here, is there?" Sarah muttered, more to herself than anyone.


    The stone structure, identical in every way to the bank, loomed before her. Two guards, faces as stony as the building itself, flanked the entrance, their presence illuminated by the eerie glow of magic crystals. The only distinguishing feature of this particular edifice was a large, somewhat crooked sign swinging above the door: "Guard House 3."


    The journey here had been equally uninspired ¨C a straight line through a city of uniform buildings. Sarah, mentally cataloging the streets, knew her tower was nine blocks away. Still, a flicker of unease danced in her stomach. What if she couldn''t find it again? She desperately hoped her lost connection to the tower would re-establish itself as she drew closer.


    "Anything to say yet, miss?" His voice rumbled, cutting through her thoughts.


    "I''m... Sorry?" Sarah offered a weak smile, which earned her a shove through the doorway.


    Guess not.


    The air inside was thick with the cloying aroma of sweat, testosterone, and something indefinably¡­ Unpleasant.


    It smells even worse than the gym back home. Is there no such thing as magical air freshener?


    The reception area was as basic as it could be. Sarah couldn''t help a small, smug smile. Her tower''s reception was far more stylish. To her left and right, a waiting area sported a collection of damaged and missing chairs, the bare floorboards revealing where the others had been. Beyond this sparsely furnished space sat a desk, manned by a single guard. Two doors led further into the building, but offered no clues as to what lay beyond.


    Not even a poster. HR would have a field day. You can''t run a government-funded building without mental health and wellbeing posters.


    Behind the desk sat a young man with a shock of bright orange hair and a constellation of freckles across his face. His hazel eyes, similar to Sarah''s own, widened when they met hers, then quickly darted away.


    Definitely a rookie. You can''t act like that in front of a detainee. Ariel would eat him for breakfast.


    "What are you gawking at, Sanders? Open the door." The lion guard¡¯s impatient growl broke through Sarah¡¯s assessment. Sanders? The name resonated deeply. As the rookie fumbled with a small, cube-like device, his frustration growing with each fumble, Sarah couldn''t help but notice a slight resemblance between this world''s Sanders and her own. Finally, the cube clicked, and runes blazed to life on the door to Sarah''s right as it opened.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    They''ve got runes, but no information on who I can contact if I''m feeling depressed?


    Sarah''s interest in the runes was piqued. "Hey," she asked as the door swung shut behind them, "what did they say?" The lion, whose most prominent features were his golden eyes, white fur, and the three dark stripes etched into his forehead, which gave him a perpetually frowning look, simply glared at her.


    "Now you want to talk?"


    Sarah knew she hadn''t made a stellar first impression, and she scrambled for words that might prevent a prolonged stay in Guard House 3.


    Beyond the door lay a row of four cages, one in each corner of the room. Each was large enough to hold an elephant, and contained nothing but a few mats. Holding cells.


    What sort of shoddy conditions are these? I hope he''s not expecting me to sleep in there.


    Sarah¡¯s disgust must have been evident, because the lion guard gave her another shove, propelling her down the makeshift corridor toward an empty cell. The bars stretched to the ceiling, leaving ample space for guards to patrol the center aisle. Two cells were already occupied, each holding solitary figures.


    "I''ll tell you what," the guard growled, rummaging through a comically oversized ring of keys. "Answer five of my questions, and I''ll let you walk out of here, right now. What do you say?"


    Sarah tried not to let her hopes soar. She knew the questions were likely to be tricky, maybe even impossible, but she nodded enthusiastically as she was unceremoniously shoved into the cell. "OK... Yeah. I''ll, er... Do my best."


    The lion guard gave a short, humorless laugh.


    "Name?"


    Sarah¡¯s heart skipped a beat with relief. An easy one! The guard pulled a small object from his pocket, watching her expectantly.


    Does that thing detect lies? Or is it this world''s version of a police officer''s notebook? A magical recorder?


    "Sarah Jane Kemp." It''s not a lie anyway. Why am I so nervous? One down, four to go. This isn''t so bad.


    "Where are you from, Sarah Kemp?"


    It was bad. Sarah''s knowledge of geography was based on outdated books, and panic seized her. Instead of the obvious and truthful, "I''ve just moved into the cottage next to the bank. That''s why I was there," she blurted out the first location that came to mind.


    "River Stone... Well, not River Stone exactly, but I used to live close by. My parents own a farm."


    The lion guard studied her with a strange, almost unsettling curiosity. "I didn''t think anyone still lived down there. Not after what happened." His words were heavy with unspoken meaning. After what happened? Sarah wondered,


    After what happened?


    "After what happened?" Sarah mouthed, the imposing figure before her hopefully not catching her slip. What did happen? What do I say to that? Is he testing me?  She scrambled for a plausible story, weaving a tale of small farmsteads and a yearning for something beyond rural life. She had to commit.


    "There are quite a few of us, actually," she began, "mainly small farmsteads, but everyone pitches in. I just... Needed a change. Farming isn''t for me, and honestly, I was just going to ask for information. I didn''t even realize that was a bank. I''d literally just decided when you almost have me a heart attack." It sounded weak even to her own ears.


    "They are not employed, or affiliated with the guard in any way," he grunted, a clear disdain for the bank''s security echoing in his voice. "They are employed by the bank directly. Capable individuals, paid handsomely to protect the money of richer individuals. Do you understand why I wanted to speak with you now?"


    "I do, and I''m really sorry," Sarah replied, trying to project an air of contrite innocence. "I actually thought that place was the barracks, until I realized every building looks the same." Smooth, Sarah, real smooth. She relaxed slightly as the conversation seemed to take a less hostile turn.


    "Okay. I''m happy with that, and you even answered two further questions. I know it looks like we have a lot of space in here, but we don''t. Last one, and we''ll get you out of here before some of the usual rabble turn up. Doubt you want to be in here with a drunken, seven-foot-tall lava man. Am I right? He''ll either come on to you or throw up on you, and you wouldn''t want either." His laughter was genuine this time, though the image he painted was anything but amusing. Sarah forced a smile, the lava vomit scenario playing vividly in her mind.


    This lion''s not too bad, she thought. Once you get used to his fangs, attitude, and the I''ll-rip-your-face-off smile he has. We could even be friends... I think. I''d definitely love to stroke his fur.


    "Anyway, as long as you''re not a Thief, Assassin, or some type of dark mage, you''re good to go. So, what''s your class?" The question hit Sarah like a physical blow. Her face twitched involuntarily.


    I can''t tell him that. I may as well wear the damn robe if I was going to broadcast it. He was suspicious enough about her watching the bank, which was fair, but how would he react to knowing she could raise the dead and all the other necromantic baggage she carried? A sigh escaped her lips. There was no way to spin this.


    What if I come clean? It wasn''t her fault she''d gotten tangled up with the Necromancer class. But how do I explain it without revealing I''ve died a bunch of times and am, indeed, a dark mage? Stupid fucking last question, deal or no deal bullshit!


    "I''m not an Assassin or a Thief," she retorted, trying to deflect. "And this is ridiculous, you know? What you said about me looking at the building is speculation at best, and unjust. Don''t I have some rights? I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."


    "Wrong place, wrong time?" he echoed, misunderstanding her metaphor completely. "There''s a time frame? Is the bank going to be robbed?" He grabbed her shoulder, pulling her close.


    "No, you stupid... Oversized feline! That''s not what I meant!" His grip tightened as she struggled to pull away.


    "You smell like death, Sarah-Jane Kemp. Not another''s, but your own. Which is oddly strange. You look as healthy as any other human. Why is that? Are you perhaps... Dying?"


    Yes! she wanted to shout. "Ahem. Yes. I am. It''s called the... Flumetoyou virus. It''s a rare strain. I told you, farming wasn''t for me, and I wanted to see a proper city before I kick the bucket. Although, it''s not like I make a habit of telling people this. I don''t need, or want, your sympathy. Thank you very much, Mr. Lion."


    "A lot of people would take what you said offensively. I''m going to let it go because of your... Circumstances. My name is Leo Ironheart. Captain of the Guard House 3. It''s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Kemp." He opened the cell door.


    A lion named Leo? His parents weren''t very original, were they? And what did they feed him to make him so buff?


    "Sorry," Sarah mumbled, "and the pleasure is all mine." Her mouth really did run away with her sometimes.


    "It''s fine. I''ve been called much worse on the streets. Are there not many beastfolk near River Stone?" Leo was still probing, testing her story.


    "No. They''re all people like me. I mean, humans, sorry. Not that I''m prejudiced, or discriminating against you or anything like that. I wouldn''t." She waved her hands in a flustered gesture. "You''re very... Very... I mean, I really didn''t mean to offend you. My mouth takes over sometimes and says the stupidest shit before my brain can stop it."


    "I think I understand. I had a friend like that. Many moons ago. His mouth got us in trouble wherever we went. I think about him from time to time." A shadow crossed Leo''s face.


    "Anyway," he said, abruptly changing the subject, "what do you want to see in this cesspool of a town we call home? Ol'' Leo is currently off-duty and doesn''t quite know how to relax, or so he''s told. I can show you around if you like."


    Where did that come from? Still, she wasn''t about to refuse. "I like the sound of that. But... It''s not because I''m dying, is it? If it is, I don''t need your pity. I told you." She shot him a disapproving look.


    "It is not. I find you quite... Unique." A shiver ran up her spine.


    He better not be thinking what I think he''s thinking.


    "Keep your armor on, pal," she said, a playful edge to her voice. "I''ll take that tour, but that''s it. I love visiting new places, but that''s all it is." She smiled as Leo, a picture of calm professionalism, guided her out, leaving a bewildered Sander staring after them.


    The contrast between the stern guard and the departing suspect was striking. Suspects brought in didn''t usually leave minutes later, and certainly not with such...Ceremony. The heavy door swung shut, the sound echoing Sander''s confusion.


    Congratulations! You have acquired the skill: Deception

 Chapter 10

    Leo wasn''t half as intimidating as Sarah had first pegged him to be. In fact, she found his company not only pleasant, but informative also.


    She also earned a level in (Deception), and was trying to remain as truthful as possible.


    The city was called Grower and they were currently on Central Street. Aptly named due to the fact that  it ran through the centre of the city and anything one might need could be found there. Leo explained who sold what as they passed. There were also a lot of guild-owned businesses as almost every trade had a headquarters. Or a guild hall, she needed to remember.


    The guilds held sway over every aspect of city life, each meticulously governing its specific craft. For common folk, joining a guild and undertaking contracts was the expected path. While outsiders could still trade within the city walls, they faced a distinct disadvantage. Unregistered merchants received significantly lower prices for their goods compared to established guild members, making membership a virtual necessity for profitable commerce.


    The size of a guild hall represented their status and power in the city of Grower. The largest holding the most influence and their words could dictate the way the city grew. "They don''t look like they''re doing that bad," Sarah commented as they passed a building with timber being sawn out front.


    "The Wood Cutters Guild." Leo explained how they had been around since the founding of the city, hundreds of years ago. It was apparent by his tone that he had a lot respect for that guild in particular.


    It was also crucial knowledge for Sarah. The city had been around for hundreds of years. Coupling that with whatever event happened in River Stone meant the information she had studied before leaving the tower was at least a thousand years outdated.


    The last building they had visited was the "Ale for All" Guild. Sarah was happy to see that some type of union formed for the betterment of alcohol. Carol''s brother had suffered with alcohol and tolerance abuse so it was good to see measures in place to regulate the brewers and suppliers. Leo scoffed as they walked by, however. "These guys," he growled. The first she''d heard since meeting him.


    "What''s up with these guys. Isn''t it a good thing what they do?" Sarah asked, not knowing the reason behind Leo''s animosity. "You would think. Come."


    "The last year there has been a significant increase in alcohol related crimes. Not to mention the staggering number of drunks that occupy the cells over night. I know what you''re thinking before you say it, so don''t bother. Drunks in a cell is standard procedure. Well, not when every cell is housing twenty people a night it isn''t.


    "Other than the four cells you saw, we have three other rooms identical to that one. We also have two smaller rooms that house violent criminals. Right now it''s quiet, but in a few hours there''ll be bodies sprawled out all over each other. There''s just not enough space. Even with five guard houses. The number of prisoners keeps rising and so does the amount of dead drunks." Leo shook his head and stopped walking before looking at the moon. Its light wasn''t m as strong as the sun, but it was enough to make his features look softer somewhat. Even the markings that made him appear frustrated didn''t seem as intimidating beneath the moonlight.


    "Fuck it," Sarah clicked her tongue. "Want a hand investigating? I could go under cover. Do some covert ops?" Sarah offered assistance without a second thought. Leo seemed like a good guy. He also didn''t leave her in a cell so there was that too.


    "I appreciate the gesture, I think, but some of your words are lost on me words, miss Kemp. How would going beneath a cover help? Also, how do you know that I''m investigating?"


    "Hmm, let''s see. All of it? Yep. All of it. You''re obviously keeping track of what''s happening because you know detailed specifics. That and you seem to care more than the average guard would about drunks in the tank."


    Heading away from the large building with the tankard plaque outside, Leo stopped to look at Sarah. "The tank? You choice of words are very strange, miss Kemp. I think that maybe I should be weary of you after all." It didn''t look like he meant what he said, but Sarah wasn''t taking any chances.


    "Don''t be silly. You''re like twice my size and probably a hundreds times stronger. How did you get so buff anyway? Even your armour has abs." She didn''t let the opportunity go to waste and stealthily evaded another leading question. Fortunately it paid off and Leo played along.


    "I can not use magic," he shrugged. "The points that others may put into wisdom and intelligence have gone into my strength and vitality." His laugh was a thunderous roar before his face turned serious. "Most people won''t tell you about their status though. Some even take great offence if questioned so be careful. Don''t go around making a point of asking questions like that, OK?"


    She nodded and thanked Leo for the information as they passed by a stall selling skewers. The smell of cooked meat reminded Sarah she hadn''t eaten in a while and her stomach voiced its agreement. After a quick (Identify), however, she was thoroughly repulsed and ready to vomit.


    Rat Meat: 50% chance to acquire the (Poorly) debuff.


    "That is disgusting. Do you eat rats here?" Feeling more than just a little grossed out, Sarah couldn''t help but voice her concern.


    "Why would you ask such a question? That would be disgusting. Do you eat rats where you''re from?" Leo looked repulsed that she would ask him such a question. Not that it was her intention to hurt him.


    "Fuck no. That would be disgusting. I was asking because that guy over there is selling them on skewers?" Sarah pointed toward the man they had passed two stalls back.


    "What!?" Leo rushed back to investigate Sarah''s allegation and began checking the meat. The merchant was sweating by that point and it wasn''t because of the warm, night wind. "What meat is this?" Leo demanded. The merchant was shaking that much that Sarah the tower was upgrading.


    "G-Gekki, sir." The man bowed, hiding his face. Leo, for all his height and build offered while in full armour, was a pretty-fucking-intimidating sight to behold. Especially when glaring directly at another person. Sarah knew that through first-hand experience.


    "He''s staying this meat is Gekki and to be honest I can''t smell any different. I can usually sniff out rat quite well so you were probably mistaken. Either way, there''s no crime here. Let''s go." Leo set off down the street, but Sarah wasn''t happy about being told she was wrong as she moppily followed after. Complaining straight away.


    "I wasn''t mistaken. (Identify) was. I don''t even know what rat meat looks like, you know?" Sarah bumped into Leo''s back, who had apparently decided to stop dead in the middle of the steeet. He turned around and the curious look he had shown a few times was back.


    After taking a moment to decided how to ask, he didnt come up with any good and settled on blunt. "You have (Identify) as a skill?"


    "Yeah, why? Doesn''t everyone? It was one of the first skills I got. What''s up, Leo? Why are you looking at me like a juicy slab of meat and talking under your breath?" Sarah was confused why having (Identify) was such a problem, but Leo investing heavily into his strength wasn''t. He was a master meme build, but she was weird for having a basic identification skill?


    Sure.


    "I can not imagine what you had to go through to receive that skill, but it must have been a truly harrowing experience. I''m very sorry that you had to endure something like that." The honest sentiment caught Sarah off guard. It was strong enough that before she knew it, tears were running down her cheek.


    How the fuck does he know that? Actually, it makes sense that he knows more than me. This is his world after all. He''s had years to learn the everyday crazy that happens around here, whereas I''m still a rookie in boot camp.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    "Thank you?" Unsure if that was the right response, Sarah couldn''t help but appreciate the care in Leo''s words as she dried her eyes.


    "I mean, thank you. It''s nice to actually hear that. Not that I''m going to tell you what happened, but it was horrible. You''re right. Thank you, Leo."


    Why can''t my descriptions be this kind to me. A few choice titles spring to mind.


    "It''s not a problem, miss Kemp. If you done mind, please excuse me for a moment. I have a merchant to deal with." Leo left to arrest the man selling rat meat under false premise before recruiting some passing guards to take him to the closest Guard House. It didn''t take long.


    "While it''s fresh on my mind, do your titles and skills tell you not to do shit?" Since Leo didn''t seem to mind talking about his status, Sarah hoped to learn something new.


    "If you mean, ''do my skills make me use the bathroom less?'', then no" As had been the case since she''d met Solus, however, her words were lost in translation.


    "No! That''s not what I meant. Mine tell me to stop... Getting hurt, or something like that. Does that sound right to you?"


    "Do you get injured often?" Leo looked skeptical, but still seemed concerned.


    "It''s... Been happening quite frequently these last two days. Is that why my Titles are so rude?" Leo was once again staring intensely at Sarah, causing her to fret that she may have mistakenly slipped up somewhere.


    "What did I say this time?" They keep walking as Leo looked at her in disbelief.


    "I know I will regret asking this, but how many titles do you have?" It hurt him to ask and was written across his face. Leo had told her it was taboo to ask about another''s status and here he was posing direct questions. Curiosity was a strong driving force after all.


    "Didn''t you say I shouldn''t tell people that sort of information?" Sarah knew that she may have already given away more information than she should, but her words hurt the lion in a way she hadn''t realized even though she only meant to tease the muscular cat.


    "I... I''m sorry. I should not have asked. I thought... I don''t know what I was thinking. Please, forgive me." It was then that Sarah understood the significance that Leo placed over another''s status. It had been hard for him to ask and he''d took it even harder being rebuked.


    "I''m sorry. I was only teasing you. I didn''t mean to upset you. I shouldn''t have done that. If I''m being honest, Leo, I like you. Not in that way though, so don''t go getting riled up. What I meant is that you seem like an upstanding guy. Sometimes, I don''t know when to bite my tongue.


    "Sorry. I''m rambling. See what I mean? Anyway, you seem like a good guy, Leo. I don''t mind telling you. I have four titles. Do you mind if I ask the same question?"


    Casually revealing what others would consider a closely guarded secret, Sarah felt it was nice to have someone to confide in. She didn''t know any other people. Apart from the summoned souls and a murder door, she didn''t have anyone else to call friend on her new world and Leo seems like a decent cat.


    "None." The answer she recieved was like a slap in the face.


    "What? How do you not have any titles? You''re fucking huge. Look at you! With your strength, I''m surprised you don''t have more titles than I do." Sarah was almost as shocked as Leo and they walked on in silence.


    It was then that Sarah realized that she was missing out. The Book of Souls was still inside her ring and she kicked herself for not removing before they started their tour. The second Leo''s attention was distracted - caught by one of the passing food stalls, she did just that. Quick as she could, Sarah removed the book, opened it, and slid it up her shirt. She wrapped her arms around her stomach to conceal and hold the hardback in place.


    I hope this works. People die all the time in places like this all the time. Leo even mentioned the city having a lot more dead drunks than usual. I can be a play the part and collect souls as we walk around sightseeing.


    "Titles are not so easily obtained," Leo explained as he purchased two skewers and handed one to Sarah. "It''s suggested that you have to go through near death experiences and perform unimaginable feats to acquire them. Personally, I don''t know anybody who has one, let alone four. Are you sure you''re not jesting me?"


    "I''m not pulling your tail, Leo. Also, if what you''re telling me is true, I definitely won''t be telling anyone else details about my status. No wonder people keep them a close-guarded secret." Her guide nodded before telling her tail touching was only for the intimate. Sarah brushed it off and they ate as they walked, making small talk until they reached a large gate.


    "This is west gate. Grower only has two exit. This one and east gate. Almost everything can be found on central street, but there are a few niche shops scattered around. The residential area is to the south ithbrhe crafters between us and them. You''ll want to stay away from the north side, there''s only nobility and the baron up there."


    After that brief, but factual, city update, Sarah and Leo walked back down central street. The large lion stealing glances at the petite woman beside him wasn''t lost on her her. Although the implications were. He was wondering what tribulations she had to have gonenthrough to have acquired four titles at such a young age.


    Sarah took the opportunity to try one of her still untested skills.


    - Eyes of Death: You are able to view the HP of your enemies. You are able to bare witness to incidents of death that have occured in nearby vicinities.


    Sarah activated the skill to see if removing the Book of Souls had been a pointless endeavour. As she did, a green bar appeared above those out the street. Leo was not an exception either and his health bar appeared to double up on itself. Probably something to do with all the stats he''d invested from not being able to use magic.


    As she looked around, Sarah spotted something else. There were two HP bars in an alleyway on her right that were both grey. She wasn''t sure how long they''d been there and was also unsure if either of them still held a soul.


    How long do souls stick around after the body dies? That would be a good question to pose to my master. If I had one.


    [You only have three hours to harvest a soul after an individual has passed.] A voice spoke directly inside Sarah''s mind and almost made her trip from shock. Fortunately, it was a time were Leo wasn''t giving her the pity eyes.


    Who''s in my head this time?


    [Master, I am the Book of Souls.]


    Alright, since when have been able to talk? Do all magical objects in this world do that? Is my staff going to start walking around on its own whilst debating philosophy? Just... I can''t deal with you right now, book. Thank you for letting me know the specifics. That was very helpful. While we''re in the presence of Leo the fucking lionheart here, please refrain fom spooking the shit out of me.


    [Yes, Master.] The unneeded whisper in her mind caused Sarah to roll her eyes. It was almost too much to take. She didn''t even consider the fact that the book might be able to talk, let alone whisper, but she couldn''t afford to waste any brain power on it. Leo seemed quite perceptual.


    "Hey, Leo. What do you know about magical objects?" Sarah was eager to gather as much information as she could before they returned.


    "Sadly not as much as you probably need to know. Let me guess. You have a plethora of them too?" He chuckled light heartedly, but Sarah could tell he was growing more and more suspicious every time she opened her mouth. "The library is your best bet." Noticing that she failed to respond, Leo offered the best advice he could just as they passed Guard House 3.


    The east side of town was similar to the west. The only difference being the guilds. East gate was no different either and that was that. Nobles didn''t take kindly to commoners walking freely through their districts and Sarah had no interest in smchecking out the residential areas. She already owned her own property anyway.


    The journey back seemed shorter and Leo was happy to make small talk until they reached their destination. "OK. Well, thanks you for that and thanks for not leaving me in that cell. That magma guy didn''t sound like an appealing bunk partner."


    "Truer words have never been spoken and as I said, it''s not as though we have space for everyone acting suspiciously." Leo chuckled before taking on a more serious tone. "It''s time for me to take my leave, but it was a pleasure meeting you, miss Kemp. Hopefully I will see you again," he winked.


    "You too, Leo. You can call me Sarah by the way. I don''t mind. Hopefully the next time we meet won''t be under threat of being jailed." Sarah couldn''t help but joke over how they had started. "Still, I''ll probably call in if I need help in the future. Is that OK?"


    "You''re welcome to request aid anytime," Leo smiled.


    "Awesome. I''ll see you around then." Sarah waved Leo off as he entered Guard House 3 before she turning around and running back towards west gate. More specifically, she was running to the location of the greyed out HP bars. They had fallen out her skill''s perception range as they traveled, but it was easy enough to find them again.


    As she approached the bodies, Sarah cast (Identify). Revealing what she already knew. Two colourless corpses caused a fresh bout of tears. The first she''d shed that weren''t for herself. Sarah felt like she had cried enough since arriving. The two children laid dead in the alleyway said otherwise.


    I wasn''t really going to use this skill. If any of them are going to get me outed as a Necromancer and killed on the spot, it''s this one. They won''t get their soul backs either will they? Sarah''s question was rhetorical, but the Book of Souls didn''t know that and answered appropriately.


    [No Master. You are able to implant new souls into a fresh body, but can not bring them back as who they were before.]


    That''s... Actually good to know. Thank you, Book. In fact, do you have a name? Everybody else seems to have one. Sarah asked through the telepathic connection they shared. She didn''t want people overhearing her and coming to see what she was doing.


    [I do not, Master. My last owner called me ''that bastard book''. If it would please you, you may refer to me as such.]


    Don''t be silly. When we get home, I''ll think of a good name for you. First though, I need to work out how to Frankenstein these kids and get them home without anyone seeing. Sarah laughed at how stupid the idea was.


    She was only hoping to pick up two souls for her trouble. Instead, she found none since the passage of time had forgone the allotted amount. After laying eyes on two lifeless children, however, Sarah couldn''t leave them there.


    Dark magic or not.


    OK. Let''s see how this works.

 Chapter 11

    <strong style="font-style: italic">Congratulations! <strong style="font-style: italic">Create Undead has leveled up.


    Congratulations! Eyes of Death has leveled up.


    Congratulations! Your class (Necromancer) has leveled up: +1 Vitality, Endurance; +2 Intelligence, Wisdom


    + 5 (free) stat points have been awarded


    Congratulations! A new spell has been acquired: Revigorise


    (Revigorize)


    - Heal the Dead. Decomposition can even be reversed thanks to the wonders of magic. There are limits, however. Skeletons and spirits are not affected by this spell and severe injuries cost more mana to heal.


    Sarah buckled faster than a politician following through on a promise, raising the two beastborn children from the dead with (Create Undead). She wasn''t happy though.


    That spell was the staple of the Necromancer class. If she caught using it, her class would be obvious to anyone with more than two brain cells.


    Once the magic had taken effect, both children stood up. There had a lot of injuries between them. Cuts and bruises held the majority, but broken bones were on display too. The boy couldnt put weight on his left leg, falling over when he tried. The girl even worse. Both her arms were broken, bones protuding through skin and her right eye has been caved in.


    Sarah couldn''t help but wince. What sort of scumbags would do something like this to children?


    Immediately activating her latest spell, she cast (Revigorize) on their corpses. Wounds closed and bones snapped into the right places. It wasn''t a pleasant scene. The smell of death lessened as Sarah struggled to keep the contents of her stomach in the rightful place.


    The children looked better once Sarah was able to cast the spell again and - apart from being paler than a pair of vampires, she felt confident about getting them back to the tower without drawing attention.


    Congratulations! Revigorize has leveled up.


    A raindrop landed her face, swiftly followed by another until the heavens opened up and the sleeping city was awash under the night sky. Sarah didn''t waste any time and immediately capitalised on the opportunity.


    This time, it''s ok to thank the universe, right? Fuck it. Thank you, Universe!


    "Come on kids. It''s time to move. Be fast and don''t make a sound. Do you understand?" Lifeless eyes looked at Sarah before both corpses nodded. They looked fairly similar in appearance and even had brown hair and eyes, which led Sarah to think they might be siblings.


    Poor guys. There''s some horrible bastards in this world too it seems.


    Sarah moved to where the alleyway met the street and the children followed closely behind. Central street had emptied faster than a movie theatre at the ends of the credits thanks to the rain. Determined in her goal of getting them home safely, Sarah pulled the kids close and hurriedly set off towards Guard House 3.


    The rain was heavier in the open street and made it that much harder to see. Which was both good and bad at the same time. It was good because anyone they encountered was too busy running for shelter. The weather was really coming down. Nobody wanted to be out longer than they had to be so attention was paid to the woman and her two dirty children hurrying home.


    The children managed to keep up with Sarah quite well as she held a steady pace.


    They''re not that slow for corpses. Everything I''ve every watched has depicted the undead as slow-moving creatures, especially zombies. Although, I should probably stop basing my knowledge on programmes I''ve seen on TV.


    As reluctant as she was to go past Leo''s place of work, Sarah was still unfamiliar with the rest of the city, and didn''t want to chance getting lost. Especially when her own visibility was being impaired by the storm. She could hardly see with the rain in her eyes and the fact that she didn''t know any other way back caused her to worry.


    Fortunately, people rushing to escape the rain wasn''t an uncommon sight in Grower and they made it past the two guards posted outside without issue.


    Sentry duty blows.


    They kept moving as Sarah counted down the streets, leading them back to where she''d first met Leo. Passing each one, her connection to the tower slowly reestablished itself and she felt pulled towards it.


    The feeling grew stronger the closer she got and as Sarah turned off next to the bank, she couldn''t help but smile. Her confidence swelled as they arrived at Tower of Death masquerading as a small, white cottage.


    The children had kept pace with Sarah the entire way and they followed behind as she stepped through the barrier that prevented people from seeing the tower''s entrance. It had been an eventful evening to say the least.


    "You won''t believe what happened, Ariel. First, I nearly got arrested as soon as I left the tower. Then, the very-same guard that arrested me took me on a tour of the city. I''m pretty sure he''s into me, but he''s a lion and a guard to boot, so that''s never going to happen.


    "Anyway, after the tour was over and he went back to the guard house, I found these children laying in an alleyway. I''m not sure how long they''d been there, but I couldn''t just leave them."


    "That is just who you are, Master," Ariel bowed. Now that there was no immediate danger, Sarah was able to examine the children properly. There clothes were basically rags. They were better than the scraps she''d been sent with after the whole grenade-debacle.


    "Come with me." The children followed Sarah upstairs as she led them to the master room.


    What am I going to do with these two? I couldn''t leave them, but did I really need to turn them into the living dead? Now that I''m think logically, I should have probably called the guards after confirming the children didn''t have souls. They would have probably arranged for a funeral or something, she sighed. I can only blame myself for using that stupid spell. I don''t even want to be a Necromancer so why did I do it?


    "Master. Welcome back." Sarah was greeted by Solus and Sebastian. The pair were in the middle of a game that seemed rather similar to chess.


    "You two look like you''re having fun." Sarah didn''t intend to ruin their moment, but that''s what happened. "Master. I am sorry for neglecting my duties. I will begin cleaning."


    "Slow down there, Seb. I didn''t mean anything by it. Your job is to keep Solus company so fun is good. He needs it after being alone for who knows how long. I even have two new additions for the tower here too." Sarah smiled knowing the old door was enjoying the company and had needed it after being starved of attention for more than a millenia.


    The undead didn''t eat or sleep, neither would they have any other biological urges or needs. Not that Sarah was happy about that. there would be much in the way of difference between the two. In a sense, they were the perfect addition to the tower.


    I wonder if I can involve them with the trials somehow? We''ll see.


    "Do you have a reason to bring undead inside the control room?"


    "Seb. How good are you at chess?" Sarah ignored Solus'' question like a boss and not because she still wasn''t sure yet. She also wondered if she would be able to make a trial out of the boardgame. "My record against Solus is twenty-eight to one and my skilla are rising well, Master." The butler looked pleased with himself.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    "Wait a minute. You have a skill in chess?"


    "No, Master. The skill is related to all manner of games. You should be able to view my status since I''m connected to the tower." Sarah did as she was told and brought up Sebastian''s status.


    Name: Sebastian


    Class: Game Master - 3


    Title: The Tower''s Head Butler


    Class Skills:


    - Conception and Understanding 5


    - Strategic Analysis - 3


    - Patience - 6


    That''s a pretty specific assortment of skills. I wonder if Seb finds Solus a bit annoying? What other reason could there be for (Patience) being his highest skill? It''s could be related to the game though.


    [Solus has always been a little infuriating. Even our last master thought so.]


    Shit. I forgot you were still under there. Can we still communicate if you''re in the ring? Sarah pulled the Book of Souls out from beneath her wet shirt and stored it away.


    [Yes, Master. Also, I collected five souls as we returned.]


    What? When? I didn''t see you do anything. Not that I''m complaining. And we can about Solus later. Right now, I want to spend those souls. I''m hoping the customisation option includes a toilet. Spending a single soul she was otherwise unaware of moments prior, Sarah unlocked the Tower of Death''s customisation menu.


    Customisation:


    - All features found inside the tower can be changed. Simple changes require mana. Additional features can be purchased for a fixed amount of souls.


    Scrolling through the relatively large list she was only now made aware of, Sarah stopped when she found what she was looking for.


    - Master Room: Bathroom (1)


    She paid two souls in the end, one for the bathroom and another for an upgrade because people preferred to do their business on a somewhat decent komode. After she was finished, there was a new door beside the bookcase.


    That looks awfully similar to the three rotting doors in the hall, only new.


    Not wasting any time, Sarah walked through and found herself inside a small corridor on which there was two doors. With the exit behind her, she opened the first and found what she was looking for. A porcelain toilet sat against a tiled wall. The floor was paved and a fluorescent light was attached to the ceiling. The oddest yet most comforting information she registered, however, was the holder loaded with a full roll of toilet paper.


    Yes!


    Sarah wiped away a tear and wasted no time in closing the door behind her. That was the first time she had used a lavatory since arriving two days ago. When she had finished, she briefly spared a thought for where the waste went before she brushed it off with a single word. "Magic."


    Sarah washed her hands in basin before caughting sight of herself in the mirror.


    "Fucking hell. I look like I''ve just finished phase one training all over again."


    She smiled at the memory and was about to plug the sink to clean up a little when she remembered there was still another room to check. All she had purchased was the bathroom and its upgrade, but Sarah still had another room to check.


    Please be a bath.


    Sarah''s hopes we''re riding high as she opened the door and they weren''t dashed for once either. The floor was laminated in dark oak up to the points where steps led down into a bath. It could easily be classed as a swimming pool back on Earth as it stretched out to reach the back wall. Sarah couldn''t help but notice the bath was longer than the tower width outside.


    How is that possible? Did I die again only to end up in heaven this time? That would be nice.


    [No, Master. You are still on Ciria.]


    Is that what this world is called? Ciria? I did wonder about it after noticing I had a language skill, but it wasn''t important at the time so I kept my mouth shut. It would make sense though. How would I be able to understand anyone otherwise? Also, I was only joking about dying. I''d definitely know if that happened. Trust me.


    Towels were folded neatly on rails and shelving was provided for storage. Oils, soaps and conditioners, all of which Sarah had never seen before, lined the wall ready for her use. She couldn''t help but notice there was no faucet or plug.


    Instead, her bath had two cubes attached to it. One was next to the top step and the other was on the floor. They looked similar to the one she had seen this world''s Sanders use to open the door in Guard House 3. Putting her hand on the one on the step, nothing happened.


    Do I have to do something complicated? Is that why it took Sanders so long to open the door?


    Sarah tried all five sides of the cube to no avail. She was obviously doing something wrong, but she wasn''t sure what.


    Why doesn''t you work? I know this is a bath and since there are no taps, it''s only logical to think it''s you. So, why won''t you work?


    [Talking to the runic device will not help, Master. You have to apply magic to make them work.]


    OK. How do I do that? All my magic is capable of is seeing dead people, creating dead people and punching through floors. I really don''t want to damage my new bath. No response was given from the Book of Souls so Sarah decided to activates (Eyes of the Dead), just to see if if it would produce a different result.


    It didnt.


    After a quick look at her status, she decided to try something another route.


    - Necrotic Body: In your body resides the power of death, obtained by becoming master of the tower. Your body radiates with power, slightly increasing your magic proficiency. Dexterity, Intelligence and Wisdom are increased by 20% while in this state.


    Sarah didn''t expect the skill to work. She was hoping the increase to her Intelligence and Wisdom would offer some insight on how to use the runes.


    When she activated the skill, Sarah''s body was coated in warm light. Not at all the deathly feeling she was expecting. It wasn''t blinding, but soft and not strange at all to match the Tower of Death''s colour scheme. Once the skill had taken effect, Sarah felt as though she understood the world a little better.


    Sarah placed her hand back on the runic cube. She hoped the process was going to be automatic, but was left wanting once again. "Damn!" She tried with both hands, but still couldn''t get it to work it. After trying many different ways, she was beginning to reach her limit.


    "Stupid fucking runes! Why can''t you be easier to use?" Sarah went to poke the cube in frustration until a green spark of electricity connected them momentarily. It was followed by a notification informing her that she had finally done something right.


    Congratulations! You have acquired the skill: Mana Manipulation


    (Mana Manipulation)


    - You now have a slight understand of what mana is and how it works. Use this insight to further your own knowledge, but beware. The magic you wield is volatile and deadly. It holds no regard for one''s life so be careful what you do with it.


    Why do all my descriptions have to revolve around death? And what does was that supposed to mean? I bet everyone else''s descriptions are sunshine and rainbows.


    Sarah tried to form another connection to the runic device by finger banging it, but it wasn''t as simple as point and shoot. Not her her other skills.


    [You are the Master of the tower. It makes sense that your status would be different to others.]


    But mine were weird as fuck before I became the master. In fact, I''m pretty sure it started before I even got here.


    Sarah placed her hand on the cube, willing the hell out of it to do something as she tried to establish a connection through her so-called volatile mana.


    [How did you get inside in the first place, Master? Not to pry, but you don''t seem to possess many skills aside from those you have in necromancy. Not to mention the fact that you know literally nothing about the ways of the world, even though you are a fully-grown adult.]


    Is it that easy to tell? Should I explain what happened to me? Fuck that. It''s hard enough to think about, let alone say it out loud.


    Feeling a tad lonely since parting from Leo''s impressionable company, Sarah thought it would be nice to talk to someone properly without holding back. At the same time, she finally managed to establish a connection with the runic cube and water began pouring out. She felt a trickle of mana leave her, but it was nothing compared to (Create Undead).


    [I am sorry, Master. As we are connected, I can still hear your thoughts.]


    Shit! I forgot about that even though we were just literally communicating with each other. I have the worst memory sometimes. I suppose it''s fine to tell you. It''s not as though you can tell anyone else, is it? Sarah smile was hollow as she watched water fill the bath faster than what should have been possible.


    I''m guessing the one in the bottom is the plug then?


    [Yes, Master. Now the water is running, you can stop funneling it with mana.]


    As the water level rose, Sarah described the tragic series of events that started with the death of two of her close friends. Only days ago, although so much had happened that Sarah felt she''d earned a lifetimes worth of experience, the memories of the war torn, third-world country were still fresh in her mind. It would be good for her to talk about it too.


    As Sarah went on, exaggerating her heoric sacrifice for what it was - she deserved the glorification since death by grenade was the reason she wound up on Ciria, she began undressing. The cold, wet Necromancer garb was a relief to be rid of and as she stepped into the steamy water.


    Sarah kept the ring on she could communicate with the Book of Souls and everything else was stored. As the water warmed her body, Sarah sat down and continued her story. Not that there was much left to tell.


    I earned a title that said I''d lost my body and it only got worse after that. After that there were a few more deaths, a few more titles, until I finally got passed Solus and received everyone''s favourite Necromancer class. Anyway, I realised the master room was just another dead end, so I tried to break out of the tower and ended up dying again. I did find this nice ring though for my efforts on that last one. I pulled you out of it right after I respawned and you know the rest.


    Relaxing in the tub was the absolute best. Sarah closed her eyes and enjoyed the comfort of the hear warming her bones.


    Anyway, tomorrow''s a new day and we need to give you a name.

 Chapter 12

    Leo slumped over his desk, head cradled in his arms. The posture was a poor fit for the Captain of Guard House 3, but the long night had worn him down, demanding a momentary lapse in his usual composure. "I''m sick of these drunken bastards," he muttered, the familiar complaint tasting like ash in his mouth. The office was empty, save for him, and he let out a weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of countless similar nights.


    The rain lashed against the windows of the guardhouse, a relentless drumming that mirrored the unease in Leo''s gut. It had been only hours since he''d said goodbye to Sarah, the warmth of her smile already fading against the chill of the night. Downstairs, the cells were overflowing. Even with the downpour likely keeping some sensible souls indoors, the usual collection of brawlers, drunks, and petty thieves had filled every available space.


    The thought of the other guard houses refusing to take his overflow sent a shiver down his spine. If they were full too¡­ well, it wouldn''t be the first time his cells were bursting at the seams come morning, the stench of stale beer and regret clinging to the damp air. He just hoped, for everyone''s sake, that this night wouldn''t be one of those nights.


    "A good thing?" The phrase echoed in Leo''s mind, a curious echo of Sarah''s odd phrasing as he''d shown her around town. She was definitely a strange one, an enigma wrapped in a puzzle, yet Leo couldn''t shake the image of her from his thoughts. He gazed out the window, the cityscape blurring into an abstract canvas of light and shadow, and wondered what she might be doing at that very moment. He couldn''t quite place his finger on what drew him to her, but the feeling was undeniable, a persistent hum beneath the surface of his everyday life.


    I wonder how long she has left? Sarah, new to the city, couldn''t have known how drastically things had changed. The once-insignificant "Ale for All" guild had exploded in size over the past eight months, a meteoric rise that had crushed every other Ale Association branch, even absorbing their members. They now held a complete monopoly. And with their dominance came a disturbing trend: alcohol-related crime and the already-heavy traffic through the prison cells at night were climbing steadily.


    Leo stared at the mounting paperwork, but he saw only the petite woman with hazel eyes. She had an air of foreignness about her, a vulnerability that went beyond her recent arrival in the city. It was as if she didn''t realize the importance of keeping her secrets hidden, a dangerous oversight in Grower.


    I thought it was a universal truth: everyone''s cagey when she it comes to their status. But she practically announced she had four titles, like they were a marketable set of skills. It was bizarre. Who has four titles? I mean, besides royalty, or... Maybe someone on their deathbed? It''s just...odd. Four? Still, I can''t help but wonder if she''d be interested in grabbing dinner sometime.


    The acrid scent of ash and fire sliced through Leo''s wandering thoughts. "That''s Barry," he sighed, a note of weary resignation in his voice. He knew what that meant. Barry, the Magma Golem, had arrived. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face. If only he could keep the volatile creature separate from the rest of the inmates. The problem was, the isolation cells simply weren''t large enough to hold him. Containing a being of molten rock and fury was a logistical nightmare.


    The magic-dampening cells in general population are the only thing preventing him from turning the prison into an inferno. It''s a small mercy, one that doesn''t extend to the other inmates. Another consequence of whatever choices landed them behind bars.


    Retire? So tempting. Pajamas all day? Yes, please! Hmm, but what would I do? Become a squirrel whisperer? Too ambitious. Perfect the art of napping? Potentially. There would be more time to court miss Kemp? Now that''s a goal.


    Leo stared at the mountain of paperwork threatening to topple off his desk. He knew he should tackle it, but the thought filled him with a weariness that went beyond simple boredom. With a sigh, he shoved back his chair. "Screw it," he muttered. "I''ll see if they need an extra pair of hands downstairs." His personal life was practically non-existent, a casualty of the endless reports he loathed. While the idea of diving back into the fray wasn''t exactly appealing, it was a preferable distraction to facing the ever-growing stack of bureaucratic nightmares. At least downstairs, he could be doing something, even if it was just a small contribution. Anything was better than staring at those forms.


    New faces migrated to Grower every day, swelling the population and piling more onto the already overflowing plate of the Guard Captain. Leo paused on the stairs, a scent catching his attention. Death had visited Guard House 3. Her presence lingered, a phantom touch clinging to the halls, though she herself had departed hours ago. A slow smile spread across Leo''s face as he inhaled deeply, the morbid perfume filling his senses.


    I wonder if she''ll come to see me? he thought, the question laced with a strange anticipation.


    His grin lingered, a stubborn fixture even after the cell door clanged shut behind him. Off-duty be damned. In a city as riddled with trouble as Grower, Leo felt more at home in the thick of it than anywhere else. Especially if "the thick of it" meant anywhere but chained to a desk, drowning in paperwork.


    ???????????


    [I am sorry you had to endure so much, Master. It doesn''t sound like you have had it easy.]


    Don''t worry about it. It''s not like any of them were your fault. What about Azrael?


    [Azrael?]


    Yeah. It''s, short and easy for me to remember.


    [Thank you, Master. From now on, I shall be known as Azrael.]


    Awesome. It''s much than saying Book of Souls all the time. That''s for sure. Speaking of souls. You''ve still got two left, right?


    [Yes, Master.]


    Ok. Let''s see what''s left to purchase then.


    Tower of Death - 4


    Current floors: 3


    Souls: 2


    Features need to advance: 2


    Features available: 2


    - First Floor Trial (1-4)


    - Second Floor (2)


    There''s no point in creating the second floor when I haven''t finished the first one yet. I''m hoping this won''t be that hard.


    With a sense of purpose, Sarah selected the First Floor Trial from the list. Which presented new options for her to choose from.


    Choose a category for the Trial:


    - Vitality


    - Strength


    - Endurance


    - Dexterity


    - Intelligence


    - Wisdom


    So the challenges are based on stats. Does that mean blessings will be the same?


    Sarah sunk beneath the water as she thought about what the trials might entail. Without knowing what previous challengers might have had faced, she was at a bit of a loss. She could create challenges based on her own knowledge, but how would they work here?


    She had an easier time draining the water since learning (Mana Manipulation), but it still took a few attempts to make the runic cube respond to her will. Stepping from the bath, Sarah shed not just the grime of days past, but also the weight of stress and fatigue that had clung to her like a second skin. The cleansing was more mental than physical, a balm to her weary mind.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Sarah plucked two fluffy towels from the shelf. One she used to quickly dry her hair, the other she wrapped snugly around herself. Sinking onto the pool''s edge, toes trailing in the receding water, she made her choice. "Intelligence" was clearly listed among the options, but no matter how many times she selected it, the universe stubbornly refused to respond.


    Why isn''t there a manual for this shit? She started to complain, then remembered, with a touch of exasperation, that she could (Identify) literally everything.


    Intelligence (1-4)


    - A trial created throughout the use of souls in the Intelligence category. Blessings will be awarded upon successful completion of the trial. Only one challenge can be assigned to the first floor with the number of Overseerers set at three.


    Oh my word. Was that helpful information? I think my next death might be a heart attack, caused by shock. Sarah''s joy was interrupted, she didn''t want to put wet clothing back on after freshening up. The outfit had been soaked in the rain and was she was reluctant to put it back on. Not that she could walk around naked.


    [Master?]


    I''m OK. Sarcasm isn''t your strongest suit either. What are Overseerers? Sarah took the wet clothing from her ring and hung them on the rails.


    [You currently have three choices for an Overseerer, Master. Sebastian and the two unnamed, undead, children.]


    The children do it? But... They''re just... Kids. Sarah pictured the young boy and girl she had turned undead. Technically, the weren''t just children anymore.


    Still, How can they be Overseerers when they''re smaller than I am?'' Picturing two small children fighting fully-grown adults, she winced. It was also to do with the fact that she only had one other item of clothing and was reluctant to even remove it.


    [It is not a matter of size master, but status.]


    Unable to refute the statement, Sarah still worried about their future growth now that they had become undead.


    Yeah. Ok, but how will they get stronger now?


    While Sarah berated Azrael with questions, she withdrew the robe from her ring and examined it. Contrary to what she had assumed, the garment was not green. It was, however, whiter than white and almost radiated in her hands.


    Robe of the Necromancer: Rare


    - Part of a two piece set: (1/2)


    - Boosts Necromancy by 200%


    - Boosts Natural Regeneration by 200%


    - When concealed beneath the hood, you will become undetectable


    - Self cleaning.


    - Self Repair


    [They will grow the undead class you have granted them, Master. I believe it would be wise to read through and accustom yourself to the status menus again. Not only your own, but the tower''s and guardians too. Information is vital to success and staying alive, or so I have been told.]


    Sarah felt a sting of embarrassment at Azrael''s critique. As she shrugged on the Necromancer''s Robe, the rich fabric was surprisingly light against her skin and she silently cursed her own ignorance. She hadn''t also hadn''t realized that using (Create Undead) would change their class¡ªa fact that seemed painfully obvious in retrospect. A wave of self-reproach washed over her as she finally registered the robe''s potent enchantments, the bonuses far surpassing anything she''d anticipated.


    Wow, I look really good in this. I wouldn''t have been caught by Leo either if I''d not been so stubborn over the whole Necromancer thing. Not that meeting him was a bad experience. I learned a few things about the city thanks to that. And who''s going to believe I''m a dark mage in these holier-than-thou robes?


    Outfit of the Necromancer: 2/2


    - Boost all stats by 100%


    - Boosts Necromancy by 200%


    - Boosts Natural Regeneration by 200%


    Congratulations! You have been awarded a new title: Necromancing Till I Die


    Are you fucking joking me!?


    [Necromancing Till I Die]


    - There is no turning back now! Dark magic flows through your veins from an ancient order of evil sorcerers. Use their magic to avoid death and live a long life creating eternal sorrow for those who wish ill upon you. +5 to all stats. A Unique skill has been unlocked: Death''s Epiphany


    (Death''s Epiphany)


    - Grant a just end to those who deserve it. Sinners witness their own transgressions through the eyes of a clean slate and are judged by themselves. Death''s Epiphany has a 10% chance to absorb some of the deceased stats.


    - Boosts Necromancy by 300%


    [Are you ok, Master?]


    Hyperventilating, Sarah couldn''t help but voice her frustration as she left the bathroom. "NO! These stupid titles are a joke! Are you kidding me?! This stupid world is just laughing at me, shoving necromancy down my throat until I choke. Death, death, death, death, DEATH! That''s all I get! Every fucking single time! I''m sick of it! Can''t I catch a break?! Is that too much to ask?! Just one fuckin'' fireball spell! Or is that too much to ask for? I''m done! I''m absolutely done!"


    She wasn''t.


    Grabbing the last of the rations from the shelf, Sarah told the children to stay in her room before heading out. She didn''t want to deal with the undead after verbally lashing out over the injustice of her class.


    "Master. You look most impressive." Sebastian''s compliment barely registered. Sarah, mouth full, offered only a grunt and a curt nod before snatching a quick drink from the basin of Water of Sin. She then descended to the first floor


    The taste of the last bite was a fleeting pleasure. Sarah realized she was going to have to find a way to replenish the empty shelves upstairs.


    I need some proper sleep when this is done.


    Sarah accessed the tower''s challenge menu, her thoughts immediately drawn to the board game. As she visualized it, the room shimmered. A wave of ethereal energy pulsed outwards, conjuring the game into being. Ghostly objects, at first faint and translucent, gained substance and color, becoming the very pieces Sebastian and Solus had used. The air crackled with magic as the game materialized before her eyes


    That was pretty cool.


    After gaining understanding over how to set the trial, Sarah decided tried to try and alter layout. It was much easier than she had thought it would be. The grid, almost spanning the entire floor, had changed to take on a checkered pattern. Pawns, rooks, knights and bishops, stood in place around the King and Queen opposing their counterparts on the opposite side of the board. The pieces themselves were almost as tall as Sarah was, which would make for one very interesting game.


    With a final thought, Sarah stepped back, her breath catching in her throat. A life-sized chessboard stretched out before her, an impossible creation born from the tower''s magic. Every piece, from the humblest pawn to the majestic king, had become reality, just as the promised.


    Congratulations! You have successfully created your first trial. Because the trial is restricted to two players, only one Overseerer be administer this trial.


    - Set Overseerer Y/N


    - Set Blessing Y/N


    Sarah''s breath hitched. This was it. The moment she''d been searching for. No one had been able to tell her how to bestow blessings, only that they were tied to challenges. Every other avenue had led to a dead end. Now, finally, faced with the prompt, she selected "yes" to the blessing option. A new list materialized before her, shimmering with potential.


    <strong style="font-style: italic">[Chess]


    <strong style="font-style: italic">- Participants may choose a blessing from the list below. The cost will be decided by the Overseerer and payment is required up front.


    Blessings available:


    - Intelligence +1


    - Intelligence +2


    - Intelligence boost 5% (24 Hours)


    - Intelligence boost 10% (12 Hours)


    - Intelligence boost 15% (1 Hour)


    After finally learning what blessings are available, I''m disappointed. They look about as thrilling as watching paint dry. And the buffs themselves... Don''t even get me started. I''ve seen stronger buffs from a stiff breeze. The times variations would be great if they lasted longer, but the single-digit permanent increases are just weak.


    It has to be because it''s the first challenge, right? They''ve gotta get better. Because if this is the standard, I''m going to be seriously fucked off. Then again, maybe some gullible folks will still fork over coin for a chance at a slightly sharper mind, but honestly, Azrael, I''m not holding my breath. I reckon we could make more money selling rocks.


    [Don''t be disheartened, Master. I''m certain that ordinary people find it harder to come by stat points than you do.]


    That''s true. Leo even mentioned something similar. Ok, let''s get this shit set up then. Sarah set Sebastian as the first challenge''s Overseerer. His class as a Game Master was perfect whereas the undead children had yet to do anything other than what they were told. Plus, they were undead.


    Participants in the trial could purchase blessings beforehand. The cost of each blessing was tiered, increasing with the beneficiary''s stats, reflecting the greater advantage conferred. Sebastian, acting as an intermediary, negotiated the price with each individual before the trial commenced.


    The first floor stood complete. The trial was set. A palpable tension, a tremor of anticipation, vibrated through the very bones of the tower. Nothing remained but to unleash the challenge upon the unsuspecting world. She descended the stairs, eager to speak with Ariel.


    "Congratulations, Master." Ariel had felt the trial finalize and awaited Sarah with a warm smile.


    "Thanks, Ariel. Do you have anything I could make a sign with?" The receptionist eyed Sarah with a flicker of skepticism. After hearing the details, Ariel dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. "Don''t worry about it," she said, a touch too confidently. "I''ll handle it."


    Sarah hesitated. Leaving such an important task to someone else made her uneasy, especially someone who seemed so dismissive about the idea. But the exhaustion gnawed at her, pulling her eyelids down like lead weights. She could barely keep her eyes open. With a weary sigh, she thanked Ariel and trudged back upstairs, each step a monumental effort.


    Ahem. Mrs. Universe? I could really do with knowing how to teleport. I know that''s a staple skill in fantasy tropes and if you would so graciously send someone my way to show me how it works that would be swell. Thanks.


    Sarah chuckled all the way to her room. She hadn''t slept since her first death, since apparently eternal slumber sessions didn''t count towards her sleep quota. Crashing onto the bed, sleep took her the moment her head hit the pillow.

 Chapter 13

    Sarah woke to the crackling of the eternal fireplace, a warmth seeping into her bones. She felt more rested than she had in ages, a solid, undisturbed, comfortable sleep. Stretching luxuriously, she sat up, placing her feet on the warm floor of the master suite. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she noticed the two undead children sitting quietly beside her bed.


    They look remarkably well, considering, she thought, a flicker of unease mixing with curiosity about the potential for good within the Necromancer class. (Create Undead), combined with (Revigorise is quite something.


    Her stomach rumbled, a stark reminder of her empty pantry. Looking at the bare shelves, a wave of annoyance washed over her. She''d been too liberal with the last of the meat.


    I knew I shouldn''t have eaten it all yesterday. I wonder if Leo would like to treat me to dinner?The idea brought a wry smile to her lips. It was a cruel thought, given the circumstances, but it reminded her of Leo''s own penchant for jokes. He was a humorous cat.


    "Are you two hungry?" she asked the children. They exchanged a glance before shaking their heads in unison.


    Will they even need to eat now that they¡¯re¡­ Like this?


    [Not until you bless them with a soul, Master.] Azrael''s voice echoed in her mind.


    [At the moment, they are nothing but walking corpses in a state of suspended animation.]


    It''s not like I have souls to spare, not if I want to get this place running. And if they won''t starve or rot, there''s no immediate rush. A pang of guilt nipped at her. Turning the children into undead hadn''t been ideal, but it was done.


    Regret''s a useless emotion now.


    To the casual observer, the undead twins could pass for normal children. However, a closer look would reveal the unnatural stillness, the subtle pallor. Sarah was beginning to understand that being partially dead was a strange, unsettling state, perhaps preferable to¡­ Well, actually being dead. Not that she had any real frame of reference. She¡¯d returned from the other side enough times, but she still didn''t truly know what staying dead felt like. She clung to the hope that granting the children souls would somehow rectify the situation, ease her conscience.


    Time would tell.


    Leaving the children in the master suite, Sarah descended the stairs. She was eager to see how Ariel had fared with the trial¡¯s advertisement. But as she reached the first floor, she stopped, speechless.


    Sebastian was in the midst of finishing off a challenger. The life-sized chess pieces moved with an almost balletic grace, guided by the players'' thoughts, a spectacle that held Sarah captivated.


    This is¡­ Incredible!


    The game reached its swift conclusion. Sebastian dispatched his opponent with ruthless efficiency, barely breaking a sweat. Sarah wondered how the promised blessings were bestowed upon the victors, but that remained to be seen.


    With the game over, Sebastian escorted the challenger downstairs, handing him over to Ariel. The Immortal Receptionist explained that he was welcome to challenge Sebastian again whenever he wished, though he would have to join the queue like everyone else.


    Queue?


    Sarah glanced to her left, finally noticing the three people occupying the waiting area. Two men and a woman sat quietly, awaiting their turn to face the Game Master.


    "Excuse me, Sir Devon. It''s your turn for the trial. Are you ready?" Ariel called out to the man closest to the door, impeccably dressed and sporting a magnificent mustache.


    "Y-yes. I am ready." He sounded anything but.


    "Excellent. Please come forward, and I''ll explain the process." He approached her desk as instructed. "The cost of challenging the tower varies depending on what you seek. Here are our current offerings:"


    - Intelligence +1 - 2 Silver coins


    - Intelligence +2 - 3 Silver, 5 Bronze coins


    - Intelligence boost 5% (24 Hours) - 5 Bronze coins


    - Intelligence boost 10% (12 Hours) - 1 Silver coin


    - Intelligence boost 15% (1 Hour) - 1 Silver, 5 Bronze coins


    The system was straightforward. Ariel and Sebastian had conceived, implemented, and even completed their first game before Sarah had fully woken. She¡¯d been utterly exhausted, after all¡­


    She was proud of their efficient setup. The currency system was easy to grasp, too¡ªfar simpler than on present-day Earth. Ten bronze coins equaled a silver, and ten silvers could be exchanged for a gold.


    "Now, that might seem like a considerable sum," Ariel continued, her voice smooth, "but how often do you encounter the opportunity to permanently increase your Intelligence? Or boost the same stat for a duration of your choosing? Prices are subject to change and are non-negotiable, nor are they refundable upon a loss." A touch harsh, Sarah thought. It almost sounded like Ariel was predicting his failure before he even began. "Having heard that, do you still wish to attempt the trial?"


    "Yes," he replied, a hint of nervousness in his voice. He withdrew three silver coins from his pouch, his hand trembling slightly as he placed them on the desk.


    "Very well, and good luck, Sir Devon. Your trial awaits you on the first floor. You are not permitted to ascend further, and you will be escorted back down upon completion of your trial." Ariel gestured toward the door beside which Sarah stood, a polite smile gracing her lips as she caught her master''s eye.


    Damn! Ariel was so persuasive, she almost had Sarah wanting to take the trial herself.


    "Thank you," Sir Devon murmured, a slight bow to Ariel preceding his exit. He brushed past Sarah, the air around him thick with unspoken tension, and disappeared through the door. The waiting area, a small antechamber just inside the tower''s main entrance, suddenly felt too small.


    Sarah and Ariel watched the two remaining challengers swap seats, instinctively gravitating closer to the door, though proximity was irrelevant to Ariel''s meticulously organized system. The ghostly receptionist, her form shimmering slightly in the dim light filtering through the stained-glass windows, held a list¡ªa testament to her dedication¡ªupon which she diligently recorded the names and arrival times of each aspirant.


    Sarah, her brow furrowed with a mixture of awe and apprehension, leaned towards the desk. "Ariel," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "Could we speak for a moment in the stairwell?"


    Ariel, her spectral features softening into a warm smile, nodded. "Of course, Master Sarah." She gestured towards a narrow door tucked discreetly in the corner, and the two women slipped away from the watchful eyes of any potential latecomers.


    The moment the stairwell door clicked shut behind them, Sarah turned to Ariel, her expression a mixture of disbelief and admiration. "How¡­ How did you manage to get so many people here? They were avoiding the tower like the plague last time I checked. And such a crowd! Whatever you did, Ariel, you''re a miracle worker."


    Ariel beamed, her translucent form radiating pride. "It wasn''t as difficult as it initially seemed, Master. You see, I discovered I''m unable to physically leave the tower. There appears to be some¡­ Barrier preventing me from crossing the threshold. However," she continued, her smile widening, "that didn''t stop me from disabling the tower''s perception filter. I even managed to conjure a sign and place it outside, advertising the¡­ Unique opportunities available within."


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Sarah''s eyes widened. "You turned off the perception filter? And put up a sign?"


    Ariel nodded enthusiastically. "Indeed! The ability to enhance one''s intelligence is, as you know, highly sought after. Word spread quickly. So far, Master Sebastian has faced twelve challengers, and none have yet prevailed."


    "Twelve?" Sarah exclaimed, her voice echoing slightly in the confined space of the stairwell. "I thought that¡­ that man was the first."


    Ariel, still basking in the glow of Sarah''s praise, explained, "Oh, no, Master. He was simply the thirteenth."


    Sarah shook her head in amazement. "Twelve challengers already¡­ and none of them have succeeded?"


    Ariel¡¯s expression shifted slightly, a hint of concern flickering across her spectral face. ¡°Master Sarah,¡± she began hesitantly, ¡°While I have you here¡­ there¡¯s something I wished to discuss. I was hoping you might grant me permission to¡­ inhabit the body of the young girl upstairs.¡±


    Sarah stared at Ariel, her mind racing. She thought of the child upstairs, the one she had¡­ changed. The realization dawned on her. ¡°You¡¯re talking about¡­ the soulless girl?¡±


    Ariel nodded, her eyes, usually filled with playful mischief, now held a pleading glint. ¡°Yes, Master. Please, may I?¡± She clasped her hands together, a gesture that seemed almost comical coming from a ghost.


    Sarah considered the request. ¡°Hmm,¡± she murmured, tapping her chin thoughtfully. ¡°I¡¯m already dealing with the¡­ complications of what I did to her. Is this going to make things even more complicated?¡± She sighed. "What the hell. Things can''t possibly get any worse, right?"


    As if her words were a curse, the door to the tower burst open with a resounding crash. Sarah, startled, peeked out of the stairwell. A man, dressed in pristine white, swaggered into the reception area, his every movement radiating an air of entitlement. He adjusted a pair of small, gold-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, his gaze sweeping across the room until it landed on Sarah.


    "Are you the receptionist?" he demanded, his voice laced with condescension.


    Sarah bristled. The man reeked of privilege, the kind that came from wealth and status, not merit. She pegged him instantly as a pompous officer, fresh out of the academy and utterly untested. A wave of irritation washed over her.


    ¡°Well? Are you deaf or what?¡± he sneered, his tone dripping with disdain.


    Sarah¡¯s patience snapped. ¡°No,¡± she retorted, stepping fully into the doorway. ¡°I am not the receptionist. Are you the entertainment we weren''t expecting?"


    The man¡¯s face reddened. He spluttered, clearly taken aback by her unexpected response. ¡°How dare you! I am¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t care who you are,¡± Sarah interrupted, her voice hardening. ¡°You kicked down my door¡ªor rather, the tower¡¯s door, which is considerably more robust than your average portal¡ªand you¡¯re rude and obnoxious. So, unless you have something constructive to say, I suggest you¡ª¡±


    Before she could finish her sentence, a small figure materialized between them. It was the girl from upstairs, but now, she looked exactly like Ariel, only smaller, her features delicate and refined.


    Sarah¡¯s jaw dropped. ¡°No¡­ way¡­¡±


    The girl, her eyes fixed on the man in white, spoke in a voice that was surprisingly firm and authoritative. ¡°I will not allow you to speak to my master in such a tone. I am the receptionist. And if you continue to behave in such a rude and disrespectful manner, you will be denied entrance to the tower. However,¡± she added, her gaze softening slightly as she turned to Sarah, ¡°if you apologize to my master, I may overlook your unruly behavior and allow you to attempt the trial.¡±


    Ariel, in the body of a twelve-year-old girl, stood her ground, radiating an aura of quiet power. The pompous noble, momentarily stunned into silence, looked from the small receptionist to Sarah, his face a mask of confusion and indignation. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He looked down at the diminutive figure, then back at Sarah, a flicker of uncertainty replacing his earlier arrogance.


    Name: Ariel


    Class: Receptionist - 9


    Title: Immortal Receptionist


    Skills:


    - Communication - 4


    - Organization - 2


    - Customer Service - 3


    - Record Keeping 3


    - Barring 1


    - Materialise 6


    Ariel has a teleport skill? Sarah¡¯s jaw tightened. It felt profoundly unfair. She was supposed to be the master here, the one with the burgeoning magical talent. How was it that the ethereal spirit had already mastered something so complex? In the body of a twelve-year-old, no less. Sarah couldn''t quite muster the anger she felt she deserved. It was hard to be truly furious with¡­ Well, with Ariel.


    "Ugh, who left this little snot rag here?" The noble reeked of fancy wine and misogeny as he swaggered forward, sneering at Ariel. "Little brat thinks she''s funny, does she? Mocking your betters? Well, you¡¯d better vanish before I decide to¡­"


    He didn''t get to finish his threat. Before he could even raise a hand, his feet left the floor. One moment he was there, sneering, the next he was sailing backwards, propelled by some unseen force. He landed with a meaty thump outside the tower, his face a mask of bewildered fury.


    Sarah, momentarily forgetting her own pique at Ariel¡¯s teleporting prowess, burst into laughter. The sheer comedic timing of the man¡¯s abrupt ejection was too much. She pictured him sitting unceremoniously on his backside, his face reddening like an overripe tomato, and the giggles bubbled up uncontrollably.


    Outside, the man¡¯s bluster erupted. "What the hell? Are you kidding me? How dare you? Let me in! Let me in right now!" The crimson door stood open, yet he was banging against something invisible, an unseen barrier that shimmered faintly in the afternoon light. It was a skill that Ariel, and Ariel alone, controlled, and which seemed impervious to his rage. "You can''t do this to me! Do you know who I am?" he roared, his voice echoing across the street.


    Inside the tower, Ariel, her translucent form shimmering slightly, addressed him calmly, her voice carrying through the closed door as if she stood right beside him. "Nobody speaks to my master like that, so it matters not who you are," she said, her tone cool and measured.


    You fucking tell him, Ariel. What, what!


    "This tower is open to those who can afford entry and who show it respect. Your status means nothing within these walls. You would do well to remember that. As this is your first offense, I will be lenient. Your ban will last seven days. After that time, if you return and apologize sincerely, I will permit you entry once more. Otherwise, it will be fourteen days.¡± Ariel then closed the door, cutting off his sputtering rage. She turned her attention back to Sarah, her expression unreadable.


    "Don''t worry, Master. I will make him grovel at your feet before he re-enters the tower," she smiled, a chillingly mature expression on her youthful face. The three remaining spectators exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes flickering between the woman and the unnervingly composed child.


    We should have just sent him to Solus. He didn''t seem like the type of person that has a good impact on society. Sarah''s own thoughts startled her. That was the darkest thing she''d ever considered. She pushed the thought away, grateful for the approaching distraction.


    "Excuse me, are you her master? That''s what the receptionist said, right?" The woman at the front of the small queue abandoned her place to approach Sarah.


    Damn it, Ariel. That''s why I wanted to talk in the stairwell.  Sarah internally cursed the cutest receptionist to ever grace Ciria, who, oblivious to the simmering irritation, beamed sweetly and bounced onto her chair.


    Fucking magic.


    Sarah turned to the approaching woman, who clearly hoped to earn some stat points. "Yes, I''m her Master. Although I despise the title. My name''s Sarah. It''s a pleasure to meet you."


    "My name''s Melissa, and the pleasure''s mine. I can''t believe you own this building. That''s amazing!" Melissa was bubbly and every inch the stereotypical mage. Her robe, staff, rings, and grimoire practically screamed, "I''m a mage! Are you paying attention?"


    "Erm, thanks?" Sarah shifted uncomfortably. "So... What can I do for you, Melissa?" She had pressing matters to attend to, but it would be rude to dismiss the woman outright.


    "I was wondering if you were hiring? I... Kind of need a job, and this place caught my eye as I was passing. It''s really cool."


    Hiring? The question caught Sarah off guard. She hadn''t expected to deal with employment issues so soon after waking up. Then again, she hadn''t expected most of what had happened so far, so she added it to the ever-growing list of the bizarre.


    Melissa nodded enthusiastically, her eagerness palpable. Sarah knew arguing would be a waste of energy. Giving in with a sigh, much as she had with Ariel moments before, she agreed to hire Mellisa on the spot. It had absolutely nothing to do with her rumbling stomach and desperate desire to escape. Nothing at all.


    "Fine. First, Ariel is your boss. Do what she says, when she says it, and everything will be fine. Hopefully. Second, your pay will be whatever Ariel decides is fair. You can negotiate if you''re not happy. We only opened earlier, but business seems to be picking up, so fingers crossed. Lastly..." Sarah leaned closer to Melissa and whispered, "Do not go near the final trial. It''s not ready yet, and you might die." Melissa paled visibly, nodding quickly.


    "Good. Now that''s settled, I need to eat. Ariel, I need some funds for breakfast. I''m absolutely starving." The young girl, who was actually the receptionist, who was actually a soul the tower screwed reality over with, bounced over to her desk and retrieved a small pouch.


    "Can I have some too, Master?" she asked, her tiny tummy rumbling in agreement, as she handed the coin purse to Sarah.


    Oh, yeah. She''s possessing an actual body now. Granted, it was undead before, but (Revigorize) combined with her possession makes her look like any other child. Although, technically, I suppose she is kind of alive now. Does that make me like¡­ God? Bow before my power! Sarah chuckled inwardly.


    [I think you may be getting a little carried away, Master.]


    Sarah coughed, trying to hide her embarrassment. It was easy to forget Azrael could hear her thoughts. The Book of Souls was always stored within the ring. "Yes, of course, Ariel. I''ll even get you something special for doing such a good job with the tower." She took the pouch, stowed it in her ring, and turned to leave.


    "I''ll be back as soon as I can," she called, wondering how many times she would have to die to acquire her own teleport skill.

 Chapter 14

    Finding a food stall around the corner on Central Street was surprisingly easy. After a brief but enlightening conversation about prices, Sarah, realizing the extent of her newfound wealth, bought the vendor''s entire stock. Not exactly wealthy in the grand scheme of things, but the few dozen silver coins in her pouch were far more than she''d initially thought.


    Learning that the average person scraped by on five bronze a day, subsisting on meager meals and barely habitable lodgings, put the cost of her trials into perspective. They weren''t exorbitant at all; they were, dare she say, quite fair. Ariel must have designed it that way, catering to both the wealthy and the less fortunate.


    It was a good system. It could help people rise from poverty, given enough trials. Not everyone needed Intelligence, after all. But based on that scale, Sarah, with her few dozen silver, was already comfortably well-off. Who knew people would pay so readily for a chance to boost their intelligence?


    Each skewer cost one bronze, a joint of meat five. The cost of living, compared to the trials, was far less than Sarah had imagined, yet people were willing to pay. And that was what mattered in business. Because that''s what the tower was. Her business.


    Two dozen skewers and ten joints of meat, totaling less than eight silver, disappeared as Sarah placed an extra coin on the counter. "For service with a smile," she said, beaming. The thrill of being able to buy food so freely bubbled up inside her. She skipped back to the tower, the white Necromancer robes billowing slightly around her.


    He didn''t even bat an eyelid. Not to my clothes anyway.


    Sarah had decided to keep wearing the Necromancer outfit. Its distinctive look, combined with its practical features, made her reluctant to change. She was curious to see how people would react. The answer, so far, was underwhelming. A few passing glances on her way to and from the tower were the extent of the attention she received.


    After Leo¡¯s revelation about the rarity of (Identify), Sarah¡¯s worries about being recognized as some evil sorceress had significantly lessened. That single fact solidified her decision to remain in her striking attire, rejecting the drab green she¡¯d originally worn.


    The occasional glance she received, which she assumed was due to the vibrant nature of the dark mage¡¯s clothing, was accompanied by a passing smile. A couple of people even bowed. It seemed her fears of public condemnation were unfounded.


    I look more like a holy lady than a Necromancer, she laughed, the sound finally ringing true after days of forced smiles. "Make way. Saint Sarah coming through!"


    [Really? Saint Sarah?] Azrael voice echoed back, laced with amusement.


    "What? I''m only joking," Sarah chuckled, her voice trailing off as she stopped before the oddly charming, cottage-dressed tower. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted from the nearby bakery, mingling with the crisp autumn air. Sarah''s gaze drifted to Ariel''s sign, prominently displayed on the tower wall, its lettering bold and eye-catching:


    Trial of Intelligence!


    - Defeat the Game Master in Wartide to earn permanent stat points, or time-based buffs, in Intelligence.


    - Prices are subject to change and set for each trial.


    - Aggression towards staff will not be tolerated, and participants will be removed by force if they fail to adhere to this very simple rule.


    A throng of eager customers, a mix of seasoned adventurers and curious newcomers, queued down the cobblestone street, their excited chatter creating a low hum. "So that''s what it''s called here," Sarah mused, tapping a fingernail against the rough-hewn stone of the tower''s base. "Doesn''t make it any different, though. All the pieces look and move the same."


    She was pleased with Ariel''s brief but alluring description. It must have been hard to come up with something both enticing and descriptive, especially with the Master still sulking in her chambers about not being able to take the trial herself. Sarah could almost picture the Master''s pouty face.


    Stepping into the tower''s cool, Sarah pulled out a beautifully decorated cake she''d picked up at the bakery on her way back, the aroma of sweet spices and rich cream filling the air. She presented it to Ariel, praising her hard work on the sign and the general organization of the bustling trial.


    The petite receptionist''s face, usually reserved and professional, lit up with genuine joy, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. Sarah smiled warmly, then began making her way up the winding staircase to the Master''s room, only to be stopped at the top of the first flight by an anxious Sebastian, his brow furrowed and his hands clasped tightly in front of him.


    "W-Welcome back, Master. Please, I have a request." Sarah was curious to see what had Sebastian so tense, so she allowed him to continue. "Since you granted Miss Ariel permission to inhabit the young girl''s body, I was perhaps wondering if I could do the same to the boy?"


    Hearing that her worries were misplaced¡ªnot entirely, however¡ªSarah smiled at her butler. She then noticed that he was acting exactly the same way Ariel did when she had posed the very same question.


    "Of course you can, Sebastian," she said. "I was going to offer you the same anyway."


    Sebastian disappeared into thin air, causing Sarah to sigh, a fresh wave of disappointment washing over her. Is it just me? Am I the ugly duckling? she wondered. Can you teleport, Azrael?


    [Unfortunately not, Master. What is a duckling?]


    It''s a baby duck, not that it''s important, she thought, continuing her journey upstairs. At the top, Sarah drank from the Water of Sin before heading to her room. She was greeted by a pouting Solus and, after promising to summon him a new friend now that Sebastian had been put to work, was eventually let in. She had been growing concerned that another death might have been on the cards, but thankfully, it wasn''t to be.


    Sarah dreaded the task of babysitting the old door that was supposed to guard her room. The notion that the last master had committed suicide after hearing Solus prattle on for too long was a distinct possibility.


    The damned door had stories pouring out of its frame, and it was a trial in itself listening to him go on and on without falling asleep. If it wasn''t for the power Sarah knew he possessed firsthand, Solus would have already been shipped off downstairs and turned into trial number two.


    The familiar crackle of the hearth welcomed Sarah home as she shrugged off her travel-worn cloak and unloaded the day''s hunt from her enchanted ring. The runic-preservation shelf, once sparsely stocked, now overflowed with cured meats and foraged goods.


    A sigh of relief escaped her lips. Starvation was a distant worry now. Not only had she secured a reliable food supply, but the industrious souls inhabiting her tower had also generated a steady income during her slumber. Best of all? She hadn''t died in almost forty-eight hours.


    A genuine smile touched her lips. She felt¡­ Good.


    Settling into her favorite chair by the fire, Sarah savored the roasted pheasant, tearing off succulent pieces until she was almost sated. Then came the cake, a decadent concoction of honey and spice that melted in her mouth. It was heavenly.


    "That was wonderful," she murmured, leaning back with a contented sigh. "I can''t believe all that food cost so little." The gnawing anxiety of hunger, a constant companion for so long, had finally receded. It was a weight lifted, a burden eased. Sarah retrieved her staff from her ring and laid it across her lap.


    With a practiced eye, she began to assess its intricate carvings, comparing them against the subtle enchantments woven into her clothing and the inherent bonuses of her class. She was calculating the cumulative effect of her accumulated power, eager to see the tangible results of her recent escapades.


    There was her clothes:


    Robe of the Necromancer: Rare


    - Part of a two piece set


    - Boosts Necromancy by 200%


    - Boosts Natural Regeneration by 200%


    - When concealed beneath the hood, become undetectable.


    - Self Cleaning.


    - Self Repair


    Shoes of the Necromancer: Rare


    - Part of a two piece set


    - Boosts Necromancy by 200%


    - Boosts Natural Regeneration 100%


    - Comfort is improved 100% and the color will adjust to match any outfit


    - Self Cleaning


    - Self Repair


    And the bonus that came with it being a two-piece set.


    Outfit of the Necromancer: 2/2


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    - Boost all stats by 100% when the garments is supplied with mana: 20MP/second


    - Boosts Necromancy by 200%


    - Boosts Natural Regeneration by 200%


    Her class.


    Necromancer:


    - Through prolonged contact with the undead, death itself gathers around you. This odd branch of necromancy concentrates of assimilating death energy inside the user''s body. Beware, necromancers are treated with disdain at the best of times throughout the entire world. It would be wise to keep your power hidden until you can raise your strength, or an army.


    - Boost Necromancy 100%


    - Boost Natural Regeneration 100%


    Her weapon.


    Staff of Death: Unique


    - Created with branches taken from the Devil''s Tree, the Staff of Death is now a relic of the past. Increases the user''s stats by double when supplied with mana. Necromancy will not fail when cast with the Staff of Death. Necromancy is twice as effective when cast with the Staff of Death.


    - Doubles stats when supplied with Mana: 20MP/second


    And even her most recent skill got in on the act.


    (Death''s Epiphany)


    - Grant a just end to those who deserve it. Sinners witness their own transgressions through the eyes of a clean slate and are judged by themselves. Death''s Epiphany has a 10% chance to absorb some of the deceased stats.


    - Boosts Necromancy by 300%


    It was overwhelming. So potent was her Necromancy that if she stood naked in a field, it would have a base boost of 400%. The ornate, white outfit she wore amplified it to 700%, and channeling mana through them pushed it even further, to a staggering 900%. Then there was the staff. A twisted-looking thing pulsing with a lilac hue, it doubled her already ludicrous stats when properly fueled. The numbers turning absurd.


    And the truly terrifying part? She was still growing stronger.


    "Not that I''m complaining," Sarah murmured, tapping a fingernail against the gem at the top of her staff. Its reflective surface let her gaze upon herself. "But with all this¡­ Stuff¡­ shouldn''t I be practically invincible? It does make you wonder, though..." Her brow furrowed, the glow of her status screen reflecting in her eyes. "How did the last Master die? I know where he fell ¨C he''s at the bottom of the tower, like a dropped doll. But the how and why are the mystery.


    He should have held the same titles I do now, presumably had similar augmentations¡­ Shouldn''t he have been just as ridiculously overpowered?" She scrolled through the glowing runes of her status screen, the numbers blurring. "It just doesn''t make sense. How could someone with this kind of power¡­ Just fall?" A chill ran down her spine, a prickle of unease amidst the burgeoning power. The thought wasn''t reassuring; it was terrifying. (Immortality) wasn''t infallible.


    Name: Sarah-Jane Kemp


    Class: Necromancer - 3


    Title: What Death? (4)


    Class Skills:


    - Create Undead - 2


    - Eyes of Death - 2


    - Necrotic Body - 1


    - Necrotic Soul - 4


    - Form of the Necromancer - 3


    - Revigorize


    Skills:


    - Identify - 2


    - Mana Manipulation - 1


    - Deception - 2


    - Fear Resistance - 4


    - Lightning Resistance - 2


    - Pain Resistance - 3


    Unique Skills:


    - Universal Language


    - Immortality


    - Second Chance


    - Indomitable Will


    - Breathless


    - Death''s Epiphany


    Status:


    - Strength: 40


    - Vitality: 86


    - Dexterity: 32


    - Endurance: 41


    - Intelligence: 47


    - Wisdom: 67


    Health: 960/960


    Stamina: 510/510


    Mana: 770/770


    Unspent Points: 10


    Sarah carefully allocated her unspent points to Wisdom. A flicker of doubt crossed her mind ¨C perhaps Dexterity would be a wiser investment, evening out her somewhat lopsided stats. But the unsettling thoughts of the previous master, his mysterious demise, lingered. Boosting her mana felt paramount, a crucial safeguard. The potential to double her stats, provided she could fuel it, was too tempting to ignore.


    It''s a shame I can''t just grind stats through my trials, she mused, recalling the meager gains in Strength and Endurance after her recent workout. Or maybe not trials, but hard work... surely that counts for something? The hopeful thought was quickly dashed.


    [The higher your base stat, the longer it takes to improve it through repetitive action.]


    "So, how do I gain stat points quickly?" Sarah asked, frustration creeping into her tone.


    [By defeating opponents,] Azrael replied. [You absorb a portion of their accumulated life experience, which fuels your class leveling. Each level grants you a set amount of fixed and unspent points.]


    A chill ran down Sarah''s spine. "So, I have to kill people?" The thought was deeply unsettling, despite her need for souls.


    [There are other options, Master. Monsters, for example. Or wanted criminals.]


    "Monsters?" Sarah''s interest piqued. "Actual, honest-to-god monsters? Not just metaphorical ones walking around on two legs?"


    [Indeed, Master. The world holds many truly dangerous creatures. They offer substantial experience, but you are not yet equipped to face them.]


    "Damn right I''m not," Sarah muttered. No rushing into suicide missions. "I''m not about to tangle with anything monstrous right off the bat. I need to start small, get a feel for what I''m up against. Where would I find something¡­ manageable?"


    She wondered about the pace of class advancement through combat. Two levels in four days felt sluggish, but then again, she hadn''t exactly been on a monster-slaying spree. Maybe a little necromancing around town wouldn''t hurt... she thought wryly.


    [Most likely outside the city, Master.]


    "Obviously," Sarah sighed. "Where else would I find monsters?"


    Sarah left her room with a renewed sense of purpose, bidding a silent farewell to the brooding Solus. Sebastian, now inhabiting the reanimated corpse, was already engrossed in a trial, his master observing with a satisfied smile. It was a bizarre situation. Yesterday, she''d had an Immortal Receptionist and a Butler. Today, thanks to the necromantic arts, they were¡­ almost real. Souls trapped within borrowed flesh. A macabre, twisted version of motherhood.


    Descending to the ground floor, Sarah found the seating area bustling, a queue snaking out the door.


    This trial is far more popular than I anticipated. she thought. Though I¡¯m fairly certain a glorified game of chess isn¡¯t what the Tower of Death is supposed to be used for. Still, it¡¯s bringing in the coin. Not so much the souls, but I can purchase food with them anyway so...


    "I''ll be back shortly, Ariel," she said to the receptionist. "If anyone manages to defeat Sebastian, I''ll bestow their blessings upon my return." With a brief wave, Sarah stepped out into the vibrant street. The warm evening air brushed against her skin, and she paused, a fleeting moment of gratitude washing over her. Gratitude for the simple pleasures, for the fact that she was still alive to experience them.


    Time to test out my stealth skills on the way to the guard house, she mused, melting into the midday crowd like a phantom in pale linen. The cowl of her white robes shadowed her face, obscuring her features as she drifted towards Leo''s place of employment.


    Despite the brightness of her attire, she was utterly invisible, a ghost in the bustling marketplace. I could probably stroll naked through this crowd and no one would bat an eye, she thought, a smirk playing on her lips. To test the theory ¨C well, the spirit of the theory ¨C she chose a mark, a portly fellow engrossed in haggling over spices. Slipping through the throng like smoke, she materialized behind him as he paid.


    Her stealth training, however, was immediately compromised by a far more pressing concern: the aroma wafting from the vendor¡¯s stall. White meat kebabs. Silk Rabbit, Identify¡¯s irritatingly helpful voice echoed in her mind. Sarah was close enough to pluck a succulent morsel right off the skewer, the sizzling meat practically begging to be devoured. Discipline, however, prevailed. Business before pleasure, she reminded herself, though her stomach rumbled in protest.


    They really act like I''m not here, she thought, the earlier amusement curdling into something darker. The last master must have been a colossal idiot to get himself killed in the Waters of Sin with gear like this. A mental note was made: Return for kebabs. Priority: high.  The street pulsed with life, a vibrant tapestry of sights and smells, and the unseen necromancer threaded her way through it like a needle through cloth, until she reached her destination.


    "Guard House 3" loomed before her, the stark lettering a stark contrast to the colorful chaos of the market. Outside, the two guards on duty seemed carved from granite, utterly impervious to her presence. Sarah slipped in without issue, approached the desk, a small, unassuming figure in her white robes, and introduced herself to the most bored-looking of the two. Still, she remained unseen, unheard.


    This hood is truly a marvel, she chuckled. It¡¯s almost insulting. Seriously, how incompetent was my predecessor?


    Finally, she pulled back her cowl, revealing her face. "Hello," she said, her voice carrying a hint of steel. "My name is Sarah Kemp. I''m here to see Guard Captain Leo." The guard, roused from his stupor, blinked at her as if she¡¯d materialized from thin air. Dark circles underscored his eyes, hinting at a chronic lack of sleep. "What''re you supposed to be?" he mumbled, his tone bordering on rude.


    "Are you deaf, or just deliberately obtuse?" Sarah¡¯s inner Lance Corporal snapped to attention. "My name is Sarah Kemp, and I am here to see Guard Captain Leo!"


    The guard, startled by her sudden shift in demeanor, fumbled in a drawer and produced a runic device. Not the one Sarah had seen previously. Rookie, she thought, observing the nervous twitch in his hand. The runes flared, casting an eerie glow, and then faded, leaving the air thick with unspoken words. The guard jerked a thumb towards the waiting area. "If you would."


    Sarah, her patience wearing thin, remained planted. "Is that it? Is he coming?" The guard rolled his eyes, a gesture that grated on her nerves.


    "Have you never seen runic communication before? Are you some kind of backwater simpleton?" he sneered. Sarah¡¯s hand twitched, itching to unleash Form of the Necromancer and rearrange his facial features but knowing better. Just as she was about to give him a lesson in manners, however, a familiar voice cut through the tension.


    "Back so soon?" Leo greeted her, stepping through a side door.


    "Information gathering," she replied, her voice smooth again. "And I decided to come to the source instead of lurking about like a suspicious character."


    "Depends on what kind of information," Leo chuckled. "If it''s about the bank, you''re fresh out of luck."


    "Are you two talking about the guild bank?!" the desk guard blurted, his eyes widening.


    "Shut up, Holden. It''s a joke," Leo said, his tone hardening. He glanced at the guard, his feline features creased with concern. "When was the last time you slept? You look like death warmed over."


    "Sorry, Captain. It''s¡­ Been a long shift," Holden mumbled, his earlier arrogance replaced by nervous deference.


    They respect Leo here, Sarah observed. Makes sense, him being the captain and all. Still, it¡¯s a little unnerving, considering he¡¯s a walking mountain of muscle with a temper that could probably melt steel.


    "Get a replacement, for Kor''s sake," Leo said to Holden. "We don''t need you alienating every visitor." He turned to Sarah. "Shall we?"


    Sarah followed Leo through the echoing cell blocks, up two flights of stairs, and along a surprisingly elegant corridor. "Come in," he said, ushering her into his office. "It''s a bit of a mess. Paperwork isn''t my forte."


    A bit? Sarah thought, stepping inside. The room was a monument to bureaucratic chaos. Piles of documents, some precariously balanced, others collapsed like fallen soldiers, covered every conceivable surface. Messy, messy lion.


    "So, Miss Kemp," Leo said, settling behind his desk. "To what do I owe this¡­ Pleasure?"


    Sarah arched an eyebrow. "First," she said, "that sounded incredibly suggestive. You''re paying for my services, remember? Rephrase that, or just never say it again. Second, you could use some speechcraft lessons from Ariel. She has a much smoother delivery. And finally, which has nothing to do with what I want, You can''t help me until I''ve helped you."


    "What do you mean?" Leo asked, a flicker of apprehension in his golden eyes.


    Sarah grinned, a flash of white teeth in the shadow of her hood. "It''s time for a little¡­ Spring cleaning, soldier!"


    Leo groaned, a deep rumble in his chest. "Nooooo¡­"

 Chapter 15

    Much later, Leo leaned back in his chair, a slow smile spreading across his face as he surveyed the transformed office. The chaotic stacks of paperwork had been tamed, now neatly arranged in corresponding piles on his shelves, desk, and drawers. A sense of order, almost alien in its novelty, filled the room.


    "She''s a strange one, that woman," he murmured, shaking his head in bemused appreciation. Sarah had certainly left her mark, not just on the office, but on his thoughts. He''d hoped their meeting would have been more social, a chance to connect with her beyond the dry exchange of information. But she¡¯d been all business, focused on her singular, peculiar quest.


    It was the why that gnawed at him. All she¡¯d wanted was information about monsters. Information readily available from practically anyone in Grower. And the irony wasn''t lost on Leo: she''d likely encountered a few on her way into town. So why come to him? And more importantly, why would a dying woman be so preoccupied with finding monsters? The question hung in the air, heavy and unanswered.


    A sudden impulse seized him, a feeling like a persistent tug on the sleeve of his curiosity. He couldn''t shake the nagging suspicion that there was more to this story, a hidden thread he desperately needed to unravel. "Maybe," he murmured to himself, a spark of intrigue igniting in his eyes, "maybe I''ll go see what she''s doing."


    He did, after all, know where she was headed. The thought struck Leo with a sudden, unsettling clarity: he didn''t actually know where Sarah had been staying. He knew frustratingly little about the strange, yet undeniably captivating woman. She''d mentioned having somewhere to go, a place to stay, but had remained frustratingly vague about the specifics. Possibly, he suspected, deliberately so.


    Damn. A wave of anxiety washed over him. If I don''t go, I might not see her again. The thought settled in his gut like a cold stone.


    Adding to the urgency was the grim knowledge Sarah had shared ¨C the chilling revelation that her time was limited. The faint, almost imperceptible scent of mortality that clung to her had not escaped Leo''s notice. A seasoned captain, he¡¯d seen death too often not to recognize its subtle perfume. His heart ached for this enigmatic woman who had so unexpectedly captured his attention. As he rose from his chair, a wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He braced himself for the inevitable barrage of colorful, archaic phrases Sarah was prone to unleashing. He could already imagine the sharp reprimand for his unannounced arrival.


    I could just watch from afar, he mused, a flicker of practicality tempering his impulsive nature. Swoop in if she''s in danger. I don''t want her to get hurt. The thought offered a sliver of comfort. But if I wait for the right opportunity, then she can''t get mad at me for saving her. It was a flimsy excuse, he knew, but it was enough to justify the growing need to see her.


    He moved towards the office door, his mind still wrestling with the dilemma. Before he could fully commit to a course of action, before he could definitively decide whether showing up was a brilliant or disastrous idea, his feet had already betrayed him. He found himself crouching behind a thick, leafy bush, peering through the branches. His eyes, trained to observe the smallest details on the vast ocean, were now focused intently on the woman he¡¯d come to observe. He watched Sarah.


    ???????????


    Sarah left the guard house with a skip in her step and her hood pulled up against the crisp morning air. She was headed for the east gate, her destination a cluster of promising-looking woods just beyond the city walls. Her route took her past the tower, or rather, the charmingly ramshackle cottage that served as her inherited property. The queue snaking from its door was, as usual, impressive. Apparently, Necromancy, even of the slightly dodgy variety practiced by her predecessor, was good business.


    She popped in quickly to inform Ariel, her ever-efficient receptionist, of her plans. While there, another bag of silver was pressed into her hand. Sarah still marveled at the ease with which money seemed to come her way in this world. It was a far cry from the struggles of her previous life. Not that she was complaining.


    "Thanks, Ariel," she said, her smile genuinely warm, before heading back out into the bustling street. The sight of the queue still brought a thrill ¨C a thrill of financial security. She pulled her hood down, the better to enjoy the vibrant market atmosphere, and treated herself to a couple of spiced pastries from a nearby vendor. Life was definitely good. Food in her mouth, food in her ring (she¡¯d stashed a couple for later), and food waiting for her back at the tower. What more could a girl ask for?


    As she approached the east gate, however, a flutter of nervousness tickled her stomach. Even with her training, this was uncharted territory. Everything beyond those imposing stone arches was an unknown, a potential adventure, or a potential disaster. She joined the line of people waiting to exit, her earlier bravado replaced by a more cautious anticipation.


    When her turn came, she stepped beneath the archway and faced the gatekeeper. He was a formidable figure, clad in the standard city guard plate armor, a jagged scar bisecting his right eye. "Reason for leaving?" he asked, his tone polite but firm.


    Do I really need a reason? Sarah thought, a flicker of paranoia crossing her mind. Is this some tyrannical city where the overlord demands to know everyone''s comings and goings?  She pushed the thought aside. "Hi," she began, trying for a casual tone, "I''m going out to¡­ Fight monsters. Is that okay?" The words sounded lame even to her own ears. Her carefully constructed confidence had crumbled at the first hurdle.


    "Guild card," the gatekeeper replied, his gaze unwavering. He¡¯d clearly processed hundreds of people like her, his words honed to their essential meaning.


    "Guild card?" Sarah echoed, feeling a blush creep up her neck. She wasn''t a bumpkin, but her knowledge of the intricacies of Cirian daily life was woefully lacking. Leo had shown her the various guild halls in town, but had neglected to mention the crucial detail of needing a membership card to simply leave the city.


    "If you''re not registered with a guild," the gatekeeper explained patiently, "it costs a bronze coin to leave and the same to return. Guild members pass freely. Can you afford the price?" His words sent a shiver down Sarah¡¯s spine. They echoed a similar question from Solus, a chilling memory. The price he¡¯d demanded, however, had been far steeper than bronze coins.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    "I¡­I can pay," she stammered, "but I only have silver."


    "I can make change from my pouch. Can you receive it?" The question seemed odd, but Sarah nodded. Of course she could receive change. What was he getting at? "Yeah, sure," she replied, trying to sound more confident than she felt.


    She handed over a small silver coin, and the gatekeeper efficiently counted out the change, placing the bronze coins in her outstretched hand. Sarah pocketed them, vowing to investigate joining a guild on her next trip into the city. For now, adventure beckoned. It was a new world, after all, full of wonders and dangers she couldn¡¯t even imagine. Even with her training, everything beyond the city walls would be a learning experience. A potentially terrifying, but hopefully exhilarating, learning experience. She took a deep breath, stepped through the gate, and into the unknown.


    The forested area she had read about in one of books no longer remained. The entire area had been chopped down and uprooted for Grower''s development. Instead, farmland and open plains covered all her eyes could see. Only a few choice trees remained and that was mainly for the fruit they provided.


    The woodland Sarah had envisioned, a tapestry of emerald and ochre woven beneath a canopy of ancient trees, was conspicuously absent. The map etched in her mind, a product of outdated books and whispered folklore, was proving to be a cruel illusion. The once familiar landmarks, the whispering willows by the creek, the gnarled oak said to be older than the village itself, had vanished, swallowed by the relentless march of progress. The information gleaned from those dusty tomes had become tragically obsolete, a stark reminder of the ever-shifting landscape.


    "Good job I went to see Leo," she muttered to herself, the dry rasp of her voice a counterpoint to the chirping insects and the rustling of unseen creatures in the tall grasses that now dominated the area. Leo, with his pragmatic approach and intimate knowledge of the local terrain, had been her saving grace. He''d painted a vivid picture of what to expect, a picture that was far removed from the romanticized image in her head.


    Following the rutted track that served as a road, Sarah maintained a vigilant watch, her senses heightened, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of the worn sword at her side. Years of training had ingrained in her the importance of situational awareness. Enemy combatants, whether human or beast, could materialize at any moment, from any place, and complacency could be a death sentence. Leo''s words echoed in her mind: "Low-level adventurers deal with the farmland threats. That''s their bread and butter."


    The farmland missions, Leo had explained, were a mixed bag. Sometimes it was a simple matter of pest control ¨C rabbits decimating a farmer''s lettuce crop, moles tunneling through prized potato fields, or foxes preying on unwary chickens. Other times, the stakes were higher: wolves driven by hunger venturing too close to the village, their mournful howls a chilling prelude to a night raid. And then there were the goblin sightings, always unsettling, their unpredictable nature and penchant for mischief making them a constant source of anxiety for the villagers.


    Anything beyond these mundane menaces, Leo had emphasized, was above her pay grade. Anything that required specialized skills or a higher level of combat prowess was best left to the seasoned adventurers, the veterans who patrolled the more dangerous territories. Sarah, with her meager level 3 status, knew her limitations.


    She was a novice, a fledgling in a world teeming with perils. She was placing herself firmly alongside the low-level adventurers, perhaps even a step behind. The thought nagged at her, a tiny seed of doubt sprouting in the fertile ground of her ambition. She had much to prove, much to learn, and much to overcome before she could truly consider herself a force to be reckoned with. The vast, unfamiliar landscape stretching before her was a daunting reminder of the long and arduous road ahead.


    As Sarah walked down the well-trodden path, the familiar crunch of gravel beneath her feet a steady rhythm, the bushes beside her suddenly erupted in a flurry of rustling leaves. A jolt of adrenaline shot through her, every nerve ending snapping to attention. Instantly, the fine hairs on her arms and neck stood on end, a primal instinct kicking in.


    The Lance Corporal within her took over, her posture shifting from attentive stroll to focused readiness. The Staff of Death, usually a reassuring weight in her hand, felt conspicuously absent, leaving her feeling strangely vulnerable. She instinctively adopted a striking posture, weight balanced, muscles coiled, ready to maul anything that might spring out at her.


    What emerged from the quivering foliage, however, was what she would have, in other circumstances, called a small, white rabbit. Its nose twitched, its large eyes darted nervously, and it hopped a few inches before freezing, blending surprisingly well with the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. Leo had mentioned them ¨C a plague of fluffy pests. This whole area, he¡¯d explained, was a patchwork of farms and fields, their bounty feeding the sprawling metropolis of Grower. The Adventurers Guild even had an open-ended contract on the rabbits, a constant struggle against their prolific breeding. Ears fetched a pittance, but the meat went to the butchers, a small incentive in a world where food was often scarce. ¡°Guess this is as good a place as any,¡± she muttered to herself, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly.


    Despite her readiness, a wave of uncertainty washed over Sarah. ¡°I didn''t anticipate this,¡± she thought, a flicker of annoyance at her own lack of foresight. Here she was, a Necromancer, wielder of potent, if somewhat morbid, magic, facing a¡­ Rabbit. And feeling foolish. She had no weapons, no offensive magic beyond the ability to enhance her own physical form. ¡°I should have bought a bow or something,¡± she lamented. The thought of clubbing the creature to death with her staff felt unnecessarily brutal.


    Azrael''s voice, calm and reassuring, echoed in the back of her mind. [Master. You should not need to enhance your body with skills. You should be more than capable of dealing with that creature.]


    Sarah hesitated. Are you sure? Rabbits are pretty fast where I''m from, you know?


    [I do not know about the rabbits of your origin, but I think you are underestimating yourself a little. Magic is a powerful tool when you utilise what you have correctly.]


    The voice had a point. She had used her enhanced strength and reflexes to break through the tower¡¯s magically reinforced floor. She had even used skills that were honed for combat, hadn''t she? Why not apply them here? It felt¡­ Silly, somehow, focusing such power on a small, timid creature. But, as the saying went, practice made perfect.


    A slow breath in, a slow breath out. ¡°Hmm. Ok, let¡¯s give this a try,¡± she decided, shifting her stance slightly, focusing her will. She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing the flow of mana within her, the subtle hum of power that vibrated just beneath her skin. She imagined it surging outwards, reinforcing her muscles, sharpening her senses, turning her into something¡­ More.


    Sarah''s breath hitched as the twin enchantments, (Form of the Necromancer) and (Necrotic Body), surged to life. Her mana, tinged with an unnatural chill, coursed through her clothing, the fabric seeming to writhe as it absorbed the potent energy she supplied. A visible aura, like a heat shimmer in reverse, radiated from her, the air around her crackling with energy.


    Her stats doubled in an instant, a terrifying surge of power that made her feel both exhilarated and profoundly wrong. Her MP, the wellspring of her magic, began to drain at an alarming rate, the sensation like a physical wound.


    Wisdom, Intelligence, and Dexterity, already formidable, spiked another twenty percent, pushing her beyond her normal limits. The increase was so rapid, so intense, it felt like her very being was being stretched thin. Sarah knew the moment her foot lifted from the ground, she''d made a terrible mistake.


    Baby steps were aptly named for a reason.

 Chapter 16

    The rats, sleek and well-fed on the city''s refuse, watched with an almost scholarly interest. They twitched their whiskers, their tiny eyes gleaming in the dim light, as they munched on discarded crusts. Some of the bolder ones had even ascended to perches atop discarded boxes, their silhouettes outlined against a flickering glow. From their elevated vantage point, they observed the strange ritual unfolding, the rhythmic chanting of the humans a low, guttural hum in the night.


    The circle was indeed perfect, meticulously drawn in chalk on the basement''s floor. This time, the gathering was significantly larger than before, a full two dozen acolytes cloaked in the somber hues of midnight and charcoal. Their faces, obscured by shadows and the low light, were masks of focused intensity.


    One figure, however, stood out like a beacon in the monochrome scene. Aaron Nyl, the architect of this clandestine rite, was in his vibrant crimson, ornate vestments. The rich fabric, a stark contrast to the drab surroundings, seemed to pulse with an inner light, mirroring the fervor in his heart.


    He had rehearsed the ritual countless times, each step etched into his memory. Every rune, every incantation, every gesture had been scrutinized and perfected. He couldn''t afford another failure. The weight of his ambition pressed down on him, a tangible force driving him forward. This time, he was certain, it would work. This time, he would be successful.


    "Brothers and Sisters," his voice resonated with an almost feverish intensity, cutting through the hushed anticipation. "What we do here tonight will shake the very foundations of the world. Do not falter. Do not be afraid. Give it everything you have!" With a dramatic flourish, Aaron channeled his mana into the circle. Following his lead, the other acolytes added their own energies, and the runes blazed to life, casting flickering shadows that danced like imps on the alley walls.


    For a moment, it seemed as though the ritual was proceeding flawlessly. The runes pulsed with power, the syphons hummed with a hungry energy, and the air crackled with anticipation. But then, the portal, a gateway to power, failed to materialize. Instead, an ominous silence descended, broken only by the ragged breaths of the straining mages.


    One by one, the acolytes succumbed, their bodies twitching and spasming as their mana reserves were brutally plundered. Their skin, once flushed with the fervor of the ritual, paled to a disturbing, ashen grey. The air, thick with the scent of incense and ozone, now carried the metallic tang of draining life force.


    Aaron, his senses acutely attuned to the ebb and flow of magical energy, felt the catastrophic unraveling of his carefully constructed ritual like a shard of ice piercing his heart. He severed his connection to the circle, the abrupt disconnection slamming into him like a physical force, leaving him gasping for breath.


    He stood amidst the carnage, a grim tableau of his failed ambition. His acolytes, once vibrant and full of devotion, now lay scattered on the cold stone floor, their robes crumpled around them like discarded rags. Their mana, the vital spark he needed to ignite his grand design, had vanished, absorbed by the ritual.


    Rage, hot and blinding, warred with a chilling dread. It was the same agonizing theft as before, the same inexplicable drain on the death energy he had painstakingly channeled. Someone, a phantom in the shadows, was systematically undermining him. But who? And how could they bypass his wards, his protections?


    Aaron¡¯s vestments, once symbols of his power and authority, now felt like a cruel mockery of his impotence. He clenched his fists, the fabric bunching in his white-knuckled grip. The power he craved, the dark apotheosis that pulsed just beyond his reach, remained tantalizingly close, a phantom limb that twitched with the memory of sensation, yet always eluded his grasp. "A tracing rune," he rasped, the words laced with the bitter venom of regret. "I should have¡­ I should have known."


    A wave of bleak resignation washed over him. "Next time," he muttered, the words heavy with the knowledge of the grim task ahead. He hadn''t anticipated having to repeat the ritual, let alone endure this repeated sabotage. It made avoiding the guard harder. Even more the captain of Guard House 3.


    The thought of doubling the number of Cultists chilled him, yet the burning hunger for power eclipsed any flicker of conscience. From a dozen acolytes to two dozen. For the next ritual, he would leave no room for error. He would consign them all to the abyss if that was what it took.


    He would also have to consult Cecil. The old man, with his network of whispers and arcane knowledge, might offer some insight into this insidious sabotage. Aaron sighed, the weight of his unfulfilled ambition pressing down on him, a crushing burden that threatened to suffocate him.


    He glanced at the fallen acolytes, their vacant eyes staring up at the vaulted ceiling, and a flicker of something akin to pity ¨C or perhaps it was just disgust at their weakness ¨C crossed his face. He turned and walked away, the heavy silence broken only by the soft rustle of his crimson robes.


    ???????????


    The battle hadn''t exactly been a clash of titans. More like a titan versus a particularly fluffy, twitchy-nosed¡­ Snack. The rabbit, bless its cotton socks, had apparently decided that facing Sarah, a woman juiced up on so many overpowered buffs she could probably bench-press a small car, was simply too much excitement for one small, furry heart. It had given up the ghost in the most dramatic way possible: instant heart failure.


    Sarah, a soldier whose usual enemies sported rifles, armor, and a distinct lack of adorable fluffiness, felt utterly ridiculous. She was panting like she''d just run a marathon carrying a piano, her muscles screaming in a chorus of "Seriously?! For that?!" The echoes of her own voice, magnified by a symphony of magical enhancements she¡¯d now abruptly cut the cord on, still bounced around her skull. She sounded like a deranged opera singer trying to summon a demon. All for a rabbit. A dead rabbit.


    It was a good test, she supposed. A slightly excessive test. Almost-death-number-five excessive, but she had still garnered knowledge.


    Pulling herself out of the conveniently Sarah-sized hole she¡¯d created (don¡¯t ask), her body, bless its regenerative little socks, kicked into high gear. Her passive Natural Regeneration, an ability that kept growing to the point of absurdity, began hoovering up ambient mana like a Roomba on a dust bunny convention.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    The subtle surge of power was like a tiny spa treatment for her abused muscles, a promise of future bunny-battling glory. But the deceased lagomorph, the first casualty of her new, ridiculously overpowered existence, continued to haunt her conscience.


    "Poor little guy was so scared he died on the spot," Sarah muttered, eyeing the supposed monster with morbid fascination. "And so did I... Almost."


    Before she could even contemplate the existential implications of almost dying from stupidity, the bushes rustled. Another rabbit? Surely not. After that sonic boom of magical energy, every critter within a five-mile radius had probably packed its tiny bags and moved to a quieter postcode.


    Then, as if conjured from the dappled sunlight and the rustling leaves, a lion emerged through the foliage. Not just any lion, mind you. This wasn''t your average, run-of-the-mill, Earth-variety lion, the kind that might chase a gazelle or feature prominently in a nature documentary narrated by David Attenborough.


    No, this was Leo, captain of Guard House 3, and he looked less like a king of the jungle and more like he''d just stepped out of a particularly flamboyant production of "Cats." His fur, an almost blinding white, practically shimmered in the sunlight, and his golden irises, currently fixed on Sarah, held a mixture of curiosity and what Sarah could only interpret as slightly stalker-ish adoration.


    Sarah wasn''t worried, though. Well, not Earth-lion worried. She¡¯d spoken with him enough now to consider a large feline with a penchant for drama a minor inconvenience. Her primary concern was more along the lines of, Isn''t this crush bordering on obsessive? Following me outside the city walls? Seriously, Leo, get a grip. She gave him a polite, if slightly strained, smile.


    They stood in silence. Each staring at the other. Sarah, mentally composing a strongly worded but ultimately gentle rejection speech (because, honestly, who wanted to break the heart of a giant, white lion?), and Leo, whose inner monologue was currently a chaotic mix of confusion and awe.


    Sarah was thinking, Why did he follow me? Is this some sort of lion-courtship ritual? Does he expect me to groom his mane now? Because I''m really not the best with hair. Whereas Leo, bless his bewildered heart, was thinking, What. The. Hell. Did. I. Just. See?


    Leo¡¯s Dexterity was, objectively speaking, pretty darn good. A solid 47. Which, considering he¡¯d prioritized Strength over everything else ¨C seriously, the man probably bench-pressed baby elephants for fun ¨C was actually kind of impressive.


    All that Dex came from boring stuff like class level bonuses. Boring, but effective. Especially when combined with a certain skill that, for all intents and purposes, doubled the stat when it came to tracking movement. It allowed his eyes to keep up with even the most nimble of opponents.


    And yet¡­


    He hadn''t even seen Sarah move. One moment she was there, and the next¡­ Poof. Gone. Vanished. Like she¡¯d been disappeared in a portal or spontaneously combusted into a cloud of glitter and fairy dust.


    All he¡¯d registered was the distinct sound of splintering wood behind him, like a particularly grumpy beaver had just lost a fight with a greenwood. Did she teleport? Is that even a thing? He vaguely recalled a seminar on spatial manipulation magic, but he¡¯d mostly been preoccupied with trying not to fall asleep and not drooling on the instructor¡¯s notes. He blinked, trying to clear his vision.


    Maybe the sun was playing tricks on him. Or maybe, just maybe, Sarah was a lot more interesting than he¡¯d initially given her credit for. He certainly wasn¡¯t going to mention the whole ¡°disappearing act¡± thing. That would just be embarrassing. And possibly dangerous.


    He decided to play it cool, though his heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. "So," he began, his voice a low rumble that he hoped sounded suave and not like he was trying to dislodge a furball, "nice weather we''re having, isn''t it?"


    Is he serious? The thought echoed in Sarah''s mind, a flicker of amusement warring with the lingering unease of his sudden appearance. At least generic conversation starters worked the same on Ciria as they did on Earth. Not that it¡¯s going to get the lion out of answering why he followed me.


    "Sure," she replied, her voice carefully neutral. "What are you doing here, Leo?" Her hazel irises, usually so warm, now held a sharp glint as they bored into him. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, his mind scrambling for a plausible explanation. He had obviously not thought this through, and Sarah could tell just by looking at him. "And don''t BS me, please, Leo."


    "BS?" The phrase was lost on the captain.


    "It means don''t lie to me," Sarah clarified, her expression softening slightly as she saw his genuine confusion. "Why are you here?"


    Leo sighed, the bravado he''d been trying to project crumbling under the weight of her directness. He stopped trying to concoct a story and told her the truth. He was worried about her.


    The monsters here might be the weakest around, but she was still¡­ Dying. He had come only to watch, a silent guardian ready to step in if she truly needed him. He¡¯d expected to find her struggling, vulnerable. After what he had witnessed, however, his concerns had been assuaged, replaced by something else entirely.


    She was clearly competent, resourceful even. She had made the journey to Grower from River Stone all on her own. A daunting task for those unprepared, and even harder for those in precarious circumstances. He¡¯d underestimated her resilience, her strength.


    Watching her navigate this strange and dangerous world, he felt a new respect blossoming within him, a quiet awe. The foreign woman was much stronger than he originally assumed. There was a quiet dignity in the way she carried herself, a fierce determination in her eyes that spoke of battles fought and won, even before she¡¯d arrived in his city.


    He had come expecting to protect her, a knight errant in shining armour, or at least, serviceable leather. But perhaps, Leo thought with a dawning reverence, tinged with a flicker of respect, she could protect herself. He was a good man, earnest and dedicated, but utterly oblivious to the true nature of her¡­ Pursuits. The lion, so fierce in battle, was a lamb in this particular arena.


    That wasn''t what she had been expecting at all. She''d anticipated suspicion, perhaps even hostility. Instead, the guard captain had been disarmingly frank in his admissions. He liked her. Sarah knew it. It was in the way he looked at her, the slight flush in his cheek when she spoke to him, the almost puppy-dog eagerness to assist her. In a way, it made sense. He was a protector by nature, and she, ostensibly, was a newcomer in need of protection. The irony wasn''t lost on her.


    She would have to squash it eventually, of course. She wouldn''t lead him on. He was too nice for that, a decent guy caught in the web of her carefully constructed (Deception). The thought brought a pang of guilt, quickly followed by a pragmatic shrug. Needs must, as they say.


    But she also couldn''t send him away. It would look suspicious, raise questions she wasn''t prepared to answer. How could she explain her presence here without revealing the truth? It would be like hanging a sign around her neck that read, "I''m here to practice my Necromancy buffs." Not exactly subtle.


    In the end, she settled for a compromise. Leo could stay. Her "buffs," as she was calling them, were just that ¨C buffs. No need to label them as Necrotic ones when explaining. The less he knew, the better. Ignorance was bliss, especially when dealing with the dark arts.


    Besides, having the guard captain around could be useful. Leo was a seasoned warrior, experienced in the practical application of combat skills. He could point out where she was going wrong, offer insights into the mechanics of battle, even if he didn''t understand the underlying magical principles. It would help her understand her stats, get a handle on her new body, this vessel she had already rebuked three times. She still wasn''t entirely comfortable in this world, it was like living in borrowed flesh that felt both familiar and alien.


    A slow smile spread across her face. This could work. She could play the damsel in distress, the innocent scholar, while secretly honing her skills, pushing the boundaries of her power. The guard captain, her unwitting protector, would be a valuable asset in her grand experiment. And who knew? Perhaps, in time, she might even come to consider him a friend.


    A dangerous thought, but one she allowed herself to entertain. For now, at least, the game was afoot, and she was playing to win. The future stretched before her, a tapestry woven with shadows and secrets, and Sarah was ready to embrace it.

 Chapter 17

    Sarah had given Leo a thorough dressing-down, a verbal lashing that could curdle milk at twenty paces. The subject of her ire? Guild cards.


    Apparently, these little pieces of enchanted cardboard were the golden ticket to free gate passage, a fact Leo had conveniently neglected to mention, resulting in Sarah''s earlier, rather undignified, scramble for loose change. She''d spent the subsequent hours honing her newfound skills, channeling her inner warrior woman (with a dash of "why didn''t you TELL me?!" thrown in for good measure).


    As the sun began its dramatic descent, painting Grower in hues of fiery orange and soft lavender, they made their way back to the city. From a distance, Grower looked like something out of a fairytale, if that fairytale involved a hefty stone wall encircling everything. Only the tips of a few particularly audacious buildings dared to peek over the ramparts, the rest of the city playing a coy game of hide-and-seek.


    They approached the eastern gate, one of two gaping maws in the wall, and Sarah sailed through, her passage smooth as silk, thanks to her proximity to the esteemed Captain of Guard House 3 (and not, she reminded herself pointedly, because of any help from a certain forgetful someone).


    The gatekeeper with the scar that looked like he''d lost a fight with a knife-wielding Thief was nowhere to be seen, probably off somewhere swapping stories about close shaves and rogue turnips.


    Leo, bless him, had apologized so profusely, Sarah half expected him to start weeping and gnashing his teeth. His penance? Dinner. He''d offered to treat her, a transparent attempt to prolong her company, and honestly, after all that skill-sharpening, the prospect of food was too tempting to resist. Hours of wielding whatever magical energy this world offered had worked up an appetite that could rival a rampaging ogre.


    And that''s how Sarah found herself perched delicately on a plush velvet chair, facing Leo across a table laden with crisp white linen. The restaurant, all chandeliers and hushed whispers, was one of those places where the cutlery probably cost more than her entire wardrobe back on Earth.


    It was so fancy, she felt a sudden urge to check if she¡¯d accidentally wandered onto the set of a period drama. The whole experience was making her slightly uncomfortable, like she was an extra in a play she hadn''t rehearsed for. She half-expected a waiter in a powdered wig to pop out and ask her if she''d prefer her soup served with a silver spoon or a miniature golden shovel.


    She glanced at Leo, who was beaming at her, oblivious to her internal monologue about medieval gardening implements. "So," he said, "I hope you like it here. It''s supposed to be the best in Grower." Sarah managed a tight smile. "It''s... Certainly shiny," she replied, hoping that didn''t sound too much like she''d never seen a chandelier before. She just needed to remember to keep her elbows off the table and try not to accidentally knock anything over with her newly acquired magical abilities. This dinner was going to be an adventure in itself.


    "Just so we''re on the same page," Sarah began, her voice calm and measured, "This isn''t a date. I''m having dinner with you as a thank you for your help earlier." She watched his reaction closely, her expression neutral, making sure he understood the clear boundaries she was setting. There was no room for misinterpretation.


    "Of course," Leo replied, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he schooled it into polite neutrality. "I understand completely and have no ulterior motives. If you did change your mind, however..." He let the sentence trail off, a hint of playful suggestion in his tone. Sarah''s gaze remained unwavering, her eyes holding his. He coughed, a slight flush rising on his cheeks. "Just a joke, haha. It was a joke."


    The first course arrived, a culinary masterpiece that looked more like a work of art than food. Sarah stared at it, a mixture of awe and bewilderment swirling within her. Was she supposed to eat it? It seemed almost sacrilegious to disturb such a beautiful creation. Top? Bottom? Maybe a quick photo for posterity, a testament to the world''s most creative dish? Eating dinner was not supposed to be such a struggle.


    Finally, abandoning all pretense of etiquette, Sarah picked up her spoon and took a tentative bite. Her eyes widened. Whatever it was, it was absolutely divine. A symphony of flavors exploded on her tongue, a culinary revelation. She devoured the rest with undisguised pleasure, already anticipating the next course.


    The second dish was equally stunning, a vibrant tapestry of colors and textures. This time, Sarah didn''t hesitate. She dove straight in, savoring every mouthful. It was so good, so utterly transcendent, that a single tear escaped and traced a path down her cheek. Leo, sensing her emotional response, madw gentle small talk throughout the meal, asking if training had been beneficial, carefully avoiding anything too personal, yet managing to glean a general understanding of the woman before him. He was intrigued.


    Dessert, a decadent chocolate fondant, arrived just as Sarah was recounting a particularly difficult memory from her last tour. She spoke of Sam and Dean, two young recruits from upstate, who had been lost in a devastating suicide bombing. The words tumbled out, raw and painful, yet strangely cathartic. Sharing the burden, the emotional baggage that had been weighing her down since her first death, felt¡­ lighter. A weight had shifted, a knot loosened.


    After the meal, Leo insisted on walking her home. Sarah suspected he was simply curious about her address, but she didn''t object. She felt a strange sense of connection to the lion after their shared meal and conversation. As they arrived at her small cottage, nestled just off Central Street, Leo stopped, his eyes widening in surprise.


    A queue of customers stretched down the street, waiting patiently outside her door. He was also surprised that she had managed to get a cottage in such a prime location. It was a testament to her resourcefulness, her resilience. He looked at her with newfound respect.


    So she thought. It wasn''t as though Sarah had a neon sign flashing "Ethically Sourced Tower" above her humble abode. Explaining Solus, the grumpy gatekeeper of her magically-acquired tower, and how she¡¯d tried to die to make her way past him, was a saga worthy of its own bard.


    Maybe, just maybe, when they were closer ¨C when he wasn''t at risk of turning on her faster than a goblin on a gold coin because of her "unethical" class ¨C she could regale Leo with the full, unexpurgated, tear-jerking, laugh-until-you-cry, possibly-involve-a-talking-door version of her life story.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    But that epic tale was for another time. For now, Leo was more interested in the burgeoning queue outside her cottage, a line that snaked around bend and threatened to spill into Mrs. Higgins'' prize-winning petunias. Were they here for Sarah?


    He seemed a little¡­ Jealous. Like a puppy guarding its favorite chew toy, but the chew toy was Sarah''s attention.


    Sarah, ever the entrepreneur, explained her little side hustle: a business that offered stat points and related status buffs. Leo''s jaw dropped so low she was worried he''d swallow a ladybug. Never. In all his days of adventuring and guarding the city, he had never heard of anything like that.


    A person could, of course, raise their own stats through dedicated, often tedious, actions ¨C like chopping wood until your arms felt like they were made of lead or practicing swordplay until you could practically parry a bee. But no one, absolutely no one, could offer stat boosts to other people. It was impossible.


    Leo was briefly introduced to Ariel, a woman whose eyes lit up at the mention of "good job" as Sarah was handed yet another hefty bag of coins. It was becoming a bit much. Good thing her ring had the storage feature, otherwise she''d be needing a pack mule, and those things smelled terrible. The Guard Captain, bless his punctual soul, left, mentioning his shift was about to start. Sarah, ever gracious, bid him farewell, already mentally calculating how much food she could buy with her earnings.


    She had a hefty pouch of jingling coin, enough to make a dragon envious, and a lonely, slightly senile door named Solus to comfort (he had a tendency to rant). And then there was the pressing matter of guild affiliation. The "Knights of the Round Tablecloth" (legendary for their exquisite needlework, capable of stitching a dragon''s ripped wing back together) or "Order of the Mystical Muffin," whispered to possess the most delectable pastries in the realm. Imagine, membership meetings fueled by blueberry scones that could make you levitate (or at least feel like you could).


    Decisions, decisions, she thought. It was a tough life, being a magically-gifted Necromancer with a penchant for baked goods.


    She really should have consulted Leo before he''d vanished. His opinion held some weight, especially after witnessing her "training" ¨C a chaotic display of flailing limbs and accidental mishaps that somehow resulted in a flock of sheep spontaneously combusting (he¡¯d politely called it ¡°spirited¡±).


    Sarah sighed and climbed the creaking stairs, her footsteps silent as ever. Time to console Solus. The lonely door, crafted from some ancient wood, was positively radiating melancholy.


    "Master," Solus groaned, the sound a low, drawn-out complaint. But Sarah, attuned to the subtle shifts in his tone, detected a flicker of something else ¨C a nascent affection. She smiled; she was finally starting to understand the door''s complex, and often contradictory, personality. His... Eccentricities. Like an accustomed general, once you got to know him, he wasn''t too bad. Even if he could kill you on thought. Thoughts of being electrocuted by red lightning were still fresh in Sarah''s mind. It had been less than a week ago.


    Sarah settled into her favorite armchair and regaled the murder door with the day¡¯s adventures. She recounted helping Leo organize his chaotic office (a task akin to herding cats), their brief discussion about her future training, the helpful guard with the suspiciously symmetrical scar on his eye and the toll she had to pay to simply leave the city, the eerie quiet of the forest, the rabbit monster that had seemingly died of a heart attack as she¡¯d zoomed past on her magically-enhanced (and out-of-control) high. She conveniently omitted the part where she¡¯d accidentally crashed headfirst through a rather sturdy tree, a detail she felt would only fuel Solus¡¯s already high anxiety levels.


    Solus listened intently, occasionally interjecting with dramatic sighs and pronouncements about the decline of modern carpentry. Once the void in the door¡¯s wooden heart was filled (or at least partially soothed), Sarah was about to head downstairs when Sebastian, in his new twelve-year-old form, popped into the room. His hair was an unusual shade of electric blue, and his features were cherubic, almost unsettlingly so. "The tower is closed for the night, Master," he announced in a voice that was surprisingly deep for a pre-teen.


    "Weird," Sarah muttered, more to herself than anyone. "Not as weird as, you know, inhabiting the dead in the first place, but still weird." She glanced at Seb, the young, formerly spectral butler, now solid and rosy-cheeked, happily munching on a chicken skewer. "Awesome. It looks like you have been dominating your opponents all day, Seb." Sarah smiled, genuinely pleased. He¡¯d been an absolute trooper, running the trials for hours, his ghostly form flickering in and out of existence as he managed the flow of challengers. Now, finally corporeal, he seemed to have an equally healthy appetite.


    "Hungry?" she asked, already knowing the answer. He nodded enthusiastically, a small smear of sauce appearing on his cheek. They shared the skewers, the savory aroma filling the air. It seemed like only moments ago Sarah had devoured a three-course meal, but she had a reputation to uphold. The Flutton, they called her, and for good reason.


    The three of them chatted easily, the earlier tension of the trials fading into comfortable camaraderie. It wasn''t until the conversation lulled that Sarah realized a logistical problem. Where were Ariel and Sebastian going to sleep? A quick mental image of the perpetually grumpy Immortal Receptionist curled up in her chair downstairs flashed through her mind. Absolutely not. That wouldn''t do at all.


    "How many souls did we get today, Azrael?" she murmured, glancing at the ring on her finger. The book bound within should have been keeping count.


    [Three, Master,] the disembodied voice responded.


    What? Sarah¡¯s eyebrows shot up. Is that it? What about those sheep that¡­ you know¡­ exploded?


    [They were just sheep, Master. Not monsters,] Azrael replied, his tone flat.


    Oh. Sarah felt a flicker of confusion. Sheep were just sheep, but rabbits were apparently dangerous enough to be classified as monsters? The logic of this world was a strange and often baffling thing. She decided not to dwell on it; her head was starting to ache. Three souls would have to be enough. Hopefully.


    Sarah accessed the tower¡¯s interface. With a flick of her wrist and a surge of magical energy, she revamped the entire level. Three drab, featureless rooms transformed into luxurious tower suites. Two became beautifully appointed bedrooms, complete with plush carpets, rich drapes, and even, inexplicably, actual windows that looked out onto the bustling street below. The third room was converted into a spacious and modern bathroom, perfect for her newly corporeal workers. She didn''t understand the how of it all, but the results were undeniable.


    A wave of satisfaction washed over her. Ariel and Sebastian had proper living quarters. ¡°Go inform Ariel please, Seb,¡± she instructed, stifling a yawn. It had been a long, if ultimately successful, day. The trials had opened without a hitch, and everyone, even the losers, seemed to have enjoyed the experience. There was always the chance to try again, after all.


    Finally, she settled into her own bed, the soft mattress a welcome relief. A nagging feeling tugged at the edge of her consciousness, a sense that she was forgetting something. She considered it for a moment, but whatever it was seemed minor, easily dismissed. She reviewed the day¡¯s gains in her mind, a slight twinge of disappointment lingering at the low soul count, and drifted off to sleep.


    < Identify has leveled up


    < Deception has leveled up

 Chapter 18

    Skill increases were a welcome pat on the back, a little "you go, girl" from the universe. But this whole (Deception) thing? It was growing like a particularly virulent strain of mold in a forgotten lunchbox.


    Worrying. She didn''t want to be a master deceiver, a puppet master of the heartstrings, a whisperer of sweet little lies. But¡­ Could she really just blurt out, "Oh, by the way, I''m a Necromancer?" Not yet. Their rapport was more "awkward meeting at a dimly lit coffee shop" than "soulmates sharing secrets under a starlit sky."


    Yes, he had a crush on her. The poor lion practically tripped over his own feet whenever she was within a five-foot radius. But that was it. This wasn''t some cheesy TV drama where the heroine could commit grand larceny while juggling flaming torches and everyone still adored her because of her quirky personality and adorable dimples.


    She was a fucking Necromancer. Capital N fool. A stain on society¡¯s pristine white tablecloth. The darkness everyone knew lurked in the basement but politely pretended wasn''t there. It had been thrust upon her by a series of unfortunate events that would make even Lemony Snicket weep. But people rarely cared about the whys. It was always the whats. "Oh, she''s a Necromancer? Grab the pitchforks and the conveniently placed torches!"


    (Identify) was a gem. It was like having a magical Wikipedia page open in her brain. Or it would be when the skill gained some traction. It seemed to level up at the pace of a snail on a leisurely Sunday stroll. Even though she used it every time she remembered, which, admittedly, wasn''t always. She was, after all, a busy Necromancer. So many corpses, so little time.


    She was slightly miffed that her (Pain Resistance) hadn''t leveled up after her little mishap with the tree. You know, the one where she face-planted into it at terminal velocity. But with her stats boosted to ludicrous levels, she hadn''t even felt it. Probably because she was too busy seeing stars to feel pain. It was like hitting a brick wall and then wondering why the wall didn''t apologize.


    She was also slightly miffed ¨C miffed, I tell you! ¨C that she hadn''t gotten any experience points for the dead rabbit. She strolled past, it was dead. Simple. Clean. Yet, no triumphant "Ding! Necromancer has leveled up!" Azrael, her ever-so-helpful (and slightly sarcastic) inner voice, had kindly informed her that it was because the creature had shuffled off this mortal coil due to natural causes.


    Apparently, passive observation didn''t count. She had to be an active participant in their destruction, wielding the metaphorical axe herself. Which, she supposed, made a certain twisted kind of sense. Otherwise, she¡¯d level up her "Witness people act like arses!" skill every day, becoming a grandmaster in the art of observing human stupidity. And frankly, she already had enough experience in that particular field.


    Sarah emerged from a brisk shower, the invigorating spray chasing away the last vestiges of sleep. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed she was presentable ¨C not that it mattered much within the tower walls. Her to-do list, a mental scroll that seemed to lengthen with each passing day, loomed large. But first, sustenance. A rumbling stomach was a poor companion for a productive day. "Fuel the troops," she chuckled to herself, adorning her robe. "Or, in this case, the children."


    The bakery, thankfully, was an early riser. The aroma of warm yeast and caramelized sugar spilled out onto the street, a siren call to anyone within a block. Golden-brown croissants nestled beside plump pain au chocolat, their flaky layers practically whispering promises of buttery delight.


    Sarah, never one to deny the power of a good pastry, selected a generous assortment ¨C enough to satisfy even the most discerning magical palate. She added a crusty loaf of sourdough, its dark, flour-dusted crust hinting at the tangy goodness within. Healthy minds in healthy bodies, she thought, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Or at least, happy minds in well-fed bodies."


    Back at the tower, the reception area presented an unexpected scene. A seasoned woman, curled uncomfortably in one of the plush armchairs, was fast asleep. Sarah paused, a flicker of recognition stirring in her memory. Melanie? No, that wasn''t quite right. Mellisa? Melissa! That was it. A wave of guilt washed over Sarah who, in her haste for food, had walked straight by without noticing her.


    She remembered the brief, awkward exchange, the elder woman''s hopeful plea for a job, and her own hasty attempt to pawn her off on Ariel. She''d been so preoccupied, so eager to escape the tower and see the world, that she''d completely forgotten about Melissa. "Terrible," she muttered under her breath. "Absolutely terrible."


    Sarah gently nudged Melissa awake. "I''m so sorry," she began, offering the young woman a warm croissant and a cup of freshly brewed coffee. "I was in a rush before. Please, have some breakfast."


    Melissa blinked sleepily, her eyes widening slightly as she took in Sarah''s apologetic expression. "Oh, thank you," she murmured, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. "I¡­ I didn''t have anywhere else to go. Ariel said it was alright if I stayed downstairs."


    Sarah¡¯s guilt deepened. It wasn''t just about forgetting Melissa; it was about the larger picture. She was the master of this tower, responsible for the well-being of everyone within its walls, even those who technically fell under Ariel''s purview. She thought of some of the less-than-stellar leaders she¡¯d encountered during her military service. They were efficient, perhaps, but often lacked empathy, treating their subordinates as mere cogs in a machine. Sarah didn''t want to be like that. She wanted to be better.


    "Of course you can stay," Sarah reassured Melissa. "But," she added, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow, "this isn''t ideal. We need to find you somewhere more comfortable than the reception area."


    The thought sparked a new item on her ever-growing to-do list. Another section of the tower needed to be converted into living quarters. It seemed like a daunting task, but Sarah wasn''t worried. Magic, she¡¯d discovered, was remarkably good at solving logistical problems. And for the more¡­ Mundane aspects, well, there were always the souls. They were surprisingly adept at interior design, it turned out.


    As Melissa gratefully nibbled on her croissant, Sarah¡¯s mind raced. She envisioned a cozy room, perhaps with a view of the street, a place where Melissa could feel safe and comfortable. It wouldn''t be just a room; it would be a symbol of her commitment to her people, a testament to her resolve to be a better leader than those she¡¯d known before.


    A leader who remembered names, who offered not just employment, but genuine care and support. And as she climbed the stairs, the scent of fresh pastries following behind her, Sarah knew that this was just the beginning. There was much to do, much to learn, but she was ready. The tower, and its inhabitants, were in good hands.


    Sebastian and Ariel were already awake, somehow managing to be both energetic and lethargic at the same time, and were keeping Solus company before the tower opened for business. Sarah was grateful for their¡­ Unique brand of assistance. She delivered breakfast, a precarious stack of croissants and muffins, trying not to trip over Ariel¡¯s oversized squirrel tail (don''t ask), and then left the tower.


    Setting up a living area for Melissa, could wait until later. Her first order of business today would be joining a guild. Mainly for the guild card so she wouldn''t have to pay the gate fee, but she supposed it would still be some kind of experience. Like, maybe she¡¯d learn how to juggle flaming torches while reciting Shakespeare. One could only hope.


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    As she moved towards the west gate, Sarah took in the names of each guild she passed. The Woodcutters Guild. The Blacksmith Guild. The Carpenters Guild. These were the old guard, the guilds with names so straightforward they practically screamed ¡°We¡¯ve been doing this since before indoor plumbing!¡±


    The newer guilds, however, those were a different breed altogether. They were the guilds with pizazz, with flair, with names that made you wonder if their founders had perhaps indulged in a little too much of their own product. Like the ¡°Knights of the Round Tablecloth,¡± for example. Sarah imagined them jousting with needles.


    Even so, as she perused her options, Sarah decided it didn''t matter which guild she chose. She wouldn''t be coming back after receiving her guild card anyway, so it was all just a bureaucratic hurdle to jump. Coincidentally, or perhaps by some strange twist of fate, she found herself standing outside the "Ale for All" guild. The one that had apparently closed its competition due to being too good at what they do.


    Good at¡­ What, exactly? Sarah wondered. Competitive drinking? Ale-themed interpretive dance? The world may never know. Her idea to go undercover for Leo, who had some vague and probably ill-advised plan involving the ¡°Ale for All¡± guild, didn''t slip her memory either. Before she knew it, fueled by a potent mix of curiosity and the desire to avoid paying three silvers at the gate, Sarah was inside and had already signed the registration form.


    "Here''s your guild card," a bubbly receptionist with mousy brown hair chirped, handing Sarah a laminated piece of cardboard that smelled faintly of hops and yeast, a surprisingly pleasant aroma. "You can use the facilities here to test your theories or participate in tasting sessions with the others when they''re on. We hold classes on brewing throughout the week too. Everything from what temperature is the best to keep your ale sitting at, to where to source the best kegs for storage." She paused, her eyes sparkling with an almost manic enthusiasm. ¡°We even have a class on how to properly froth your ale that''s on now! It¡¯s¡­ Life-changing.¡±


    Sarah blinked, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. Life-changing froth? The concept seemed absurd, yet the receptionist''s fervor was strangely compelling. Maybe she would have to check out this class. Even though she had no idea how to brew ale, the concept intrigued her. The earthy scent of the guild hall, the bubbling sounds emanating from what she assumed were brewing stations, and the general air of jovial camaraderie sparked a nascent curiosity within her.


    This might be interesting, she thought. A welcome distraction from the mundane tasks that usually filled her day. She had a few errands to run, but Sarah could certainly spare an hour for a lecture, especially one promising such a dramatic transformation of something as simple as beer froth. It wouldn''t be the worst waste of her time imaginable. Besides, she¡¯d always been a sucker for the quirky and unexpected.


    The lecture was held in a small, wood-paneled room, the air thick with the aroma of roasted barley and something vaguely sweet. It was surprisingly crowded, a mix of seasoned brewers with weathered hands and eager novices like herself.


    The lecturer, a young man Sarah had missed the name of as she''d arrived late, stood at the front, illuminated by the warm glow of a nearby lamp. His hair was blonde like sun-ripened corn, but his eyes held a tired, almost world-weary look that belied his youthful appearance. He droned on about the intricacies of gathering froth on ale for the majority of the time, his voice monotonous yet oddly captivating. He spoke of the "sacred dance of the bubbles," the "perfect confluence of surface tension and fermentation byproducts," and other phrases that sounded impressive but ultimately meant very little to Sarah.


    Finally, he moved on to what, according to the receptionist, made this seemingly mundane topic ¡°life-changing.¡± With a flourish that seemed practiced, he reached inside his robe and produced a small, dark vial filled with a viscous, shimmering liquid.


    "This," he announced, his voice suddenly gaining a theatrical edge, "is the key. A special substance, only able to be bought directly from me, guarantees that any ale brewed with this additive will be¡­ pristine. Free from the unsightly, cloudy substance that plagues even the most experienced brewers."


    He held the vial aloft, as if it contained liquid gold. "No more will you have to suffer the embarrassment of serving a clouded ale! No more will your patrons question your skill! This, my friends, is the dawn of a new era of brewing!"


    The room erupted. A chorus of disbelief and outright naysaying filled the air, punctuated by the occasional cough or nervous chuckle. However, strategically placed within the crowd were several individuals who began to applaud enthusiastically, their voices ringing out over the dissent. Sarah recognized the tactic instantly ¨C an age-old trick used by charlatans and genuine innovators alike to sway public opinion. She couldn''t help but chuckle at the sheer simplicity of it. The young lecturer, emboldened by the planted applause, continued his spiel, weaving tales of brewing perfection and the envy of his competitors.


    Sarah, her curiosity piqued despite the obvious theatricality, decided she¡¯d heard enough. She slipped out of the lecture before it ended, a new skill added to her repertoire. She also now possessed the information to take it further if she wanted to. Did she want to start brewing her own ale? The thought lingered in her mind as she walked out into the crisp afternoon air. It might make for a good hobby in the long run, she mused. Or, at the very least, a good story to tell.


    < A new skill has been acquired: Ale Brewing


    (Ale Brewing)


    - Through guidance, you now understand the basic concepts of brewing ale. How to properly mill the barley, adjust the mash temperature, and select the right hops all essential components in what makes great drink. Experiment with different ingredients and create your own unique brews.


    Emerging from the Guild Hall, the smell still clinging to her clothes, Sarah¡¯s thoughts were abruptly pulled back to the grim realities of this strange world. "It''s not common for people to just die in the middle of the day, right? Even here?" she asked Azrael, her voice a low murmur.


    Azrael, as always, remained imperturbable. [No, Master. It would seem someone was¡­ Removed¡­ Within the confines of the guild hall.] His choice of words, while technically accurate, did little to soothe Sarah¡¯s unease. She knew that death was a constant presence in this world, but the casualness of it, the sudden snuffing out of a life without apparent cause, always left her feeling unsettled. The Book of Souls, that ancient, leather-bound tome that seemed to possess an almost sentient understanding of this place, knew far more than she did, a frustrating fact that gnawed at her. She had spent countless hours poring over tomes, but they ended up outdated


    Azrael, sensing her unease, offered a piece of information he usually withheld unless specifically asked. [If you are curious, and were present at the deceased¡¯s location, you can now bear witness to their death using your skills.]  He paused, a hint of something that might have been¡­ sympathy? [It is not always a pleasant experience, Master. But sometimes, understanding how a life ends can offer its own form of¡­ Closure.]


    He remained tight-lipped about the specific skill required, though Sarah already knew. The thought of witnessing someone''s death, even a magically replayed memory, churned her stomach. It was an intrusion, a violation of sorts. Yet, the enigma surrounding the person''s sudden demise, the unsettling feeling that something was profoundly amiss, just as Leo had hinted, gnawed at her. Perhaps, she reasoned, understanding the circumstances, however grim, would offer a sliver of peace, a semblance of control in a situation that felt increasingly out of hand.


    She slipped back into the Guild Hall, attempting an air of nonchalance that felt increasingly strained. Then, with the subtly of an elephant attempting to blend into a crowd of mice, she poked and prodded into every accessible nook and cranny. The deceased was nowhere to be found. She scrutinized the bubbling concoctions at the brewing stations, peered into the swirling ingredients at the mixing stations, even lingered in the echoing lecture halls and musty storage rooms. Nothing. It was as if the person had simply vanished.


    One door on the ground floor, however, was conspicuously off-limits. Two hulking guards, their arms crossed and faces like granite, stood sentinel. Surely, the dead person ¨C or their recorded memory ¨C had to be behind that door. It was far more logical than them being stashed in the rafters. The thought sent a shiver down Sarah''s spine.


    She¡¯d seen enough. Leo was right. This was more than just brewing potent potables. Something far darker, far more sinister, was brewing beneath the surface of the Guild Hall''s respectable facade. Sarah decided it was time to leave, but not before making a mental note of the guarded door. She had a feeling she''d be back.


    Sarah barely made it out the door before two figures blocked her path. "The Guild Master requests your presence, miss. If you''ll come with us." Their tone left no room for argument. A knot tightened in Sarah''s stomach. She still wasn''t sure of her own strength, even against an ordinary person, let alone these two, who were clearly anything but ordinary. What did they want now?


    "Sure," she managed, her voice a little too high. The bravado she''d felt moments before had evaporated, replaced by a wave of anxiety. With a deep breath, trying to project an air of calm she didn''t feel, Sarah turned and stepped back into the Guild Hall for the third time that day.

 Chapter 19

    The ornate, gilded office hummed with an air of quiet power. Sunlight, filtered through the tall window overlooking the bustling street below, cast long shadows across the rich, mahogany desk that dominated the room. To Sarah¡¯s left, towering bookshelves, packed with leather-bound volumes and scrolls that whispered of ancient brewing secrets, stretched towards the high ceiling. On her right, gleaming brass and copper ¨C the intricate workings of various ale-brewing contraptions ¨C filled glass-fronted cabinets, hinting at the alchemical magic performed within these walls.


    Behind the desk sat a young man, his features strikingly similar to the blond lecturer who had so passionately extolled the virtues of life-changing froth. His neatly trimmed beard and intelligent eyes, however, held a different glint, a hint of shrewdness that spoke of the Guild Master, the man in charge of the ¡°Ale for All¡± enterprise. He exuded an air of calm authority, a stark contrast to the intimidating figures who had escorted her here.


    Sarah swallowed, her palms suddenly damp. She knew she''d been pushing her luck. Had it been her blatant curiosity, her eyes lingering a little too long on restricted areas? Was it the fact that a complete novice, like herself, had dared to attend such an advanced lecture? Or, most likely, had she lingered too long, a silent supplicant, before the heavily guarded door, radiating an air of suspicion? She knew better. This wasn''t some back-alley tavern; this was the heart of the "Ale for All" guild, and she had been caught red-handed, or rather, red-footed, loitering where she didn''t belong.


    Her mind raced, desperately searching for a plausible explanation, a way to extricate herself from this precarious situation. She hoped, fervently, that her (Deception) skill wouldn''t level up again in the process.


    "Welcome, Miss Kemp," the guild master said, his voice surprisingly warm and friendly. He gestured towards a plush, velvet-covered chair. "My name is Eric. Please, have a seat. And do forgive Quinton and Malik. They may seem a tad¡­ Overzealous, but they mean well. Security is paramount, you understand.


    "Good help is hard to find these days," the Guild Master rumbled, his voice a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards of the ancient brewery. "And they''re exceptionally good at what they do ¨C ensuring our brewing secrets remain just that: secrets." He gave a small, almost apologetic smile, but it didn''t quite reach his eyes. They remained sharp, assessing, like a hawk scrutinizing a field for the slightest movement. A glint of something Sarah couldn''t quite place ¨C perhaps amusement, perhaps something colder ¨C flickered within their depths, making her stomach churn. The air in the room, thick with the yeasty tang of fermenting ales, suddenly felt heavy.


    "It''s ok," Sarah managed, trying to keep her voice even. "I was honestly curious why the Guild Master would want to speak with me, a new recruit." She shifted slightly, the rough-hewn wooden chair creaking beneath her. She needed to tread carefully, gather as much information as possible before she inevitably put her foot in her mouth. This man exuded an aura of quiet power, a sense of knowing far more than he let on.


    "It''s my job," he continued, his gaze never leaving hers, "to watch over those that show interest in the guild, and especially those with potential. You looked¡­ Curious as you strolled around earlier. You may be a member, but some of the brewers have secrets they don''t like to share, even with fellow guild members." His argument was perfectly reasonable, yet the emphasis on "secrets" hung in the air like the pungent aroma of hops. It was a word that resonated with a dangerous undertone.


    "I was just making a list of what I''d need to start up my own brewing process as a hobby," Sarah explained, hoping her tone conveyed nonchalant enthusiasm. "I wanted to make sure I didn''t miss anything crucial." She met his gaze, trying to project an air of innocent curiosity, though her heart pounded a nervous rhythm against her ribs. They stared at each other for a moment, the silence punctuated only by the bubbling gurgle of fermentation tanks in the distance, until the Guild Master broke it with a test.


    "Tell me what you have so far, and I''ll list what you''re missing." His eyes, a piercing, almost unnaturally bright blue against the backdrop of the room, bored into her. He was waiting for her to slip up, she knew. Waiting for her to reveal something she shouldn''t.


    Sarah mentally scrambled, recalling everything she''d observed in the brewhouse. "A brew pot, a couple of fermenting buckets, airlock and bung, siphoning tube, bottles, cleaner and sanitizer, thermometer, hydrometer, and¡­ Ingredients." She paused, racking her brain. "Yeah, that''s about it, I think. Ready to make some proper ale!"


    She finished with a touch of bravado, the word "ale" echoing in the surprisingly quiet room, hoping it would mask the tremor of uncertainty that vibrated in her throat. She was genuinely proud of what she''d remembered. But under the Guild Master''s intense scrutiny, she felt like a novice being judged by a master craftsman, her carefully constructed confidence crumbling like dry hops. His gaze, sharp and penetrating, seemed to see right through her. Had she missed something vital? Something that would betray her true intentions, the real reason she was here?


    "You have forgotten one of the most important tools. Something a brewer can''t work without." The silence that followed was thick, heavy with unspoken questions, the only sound the frantic drum of her heart. Sarah''s mind raced. There were a few specialized items, a hydrometer, a wort chiller, but none were absolutely essential to the basic process.


    Was he testing her again? Seeing if she would slip up, reveal the flicker of (Deception) she desperately tried to hide? The air in the room, thick with the malty aroma of fermenting ale, suddenly felt suffocating. She pictured the brewery, the gleaming copper kettles. Her palms began to sweat, a cold slickness that made her fingers tremble.


    Eric chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. He leaned back against the rough-hewn table, a sly glint in his eye. With a flourish, he reached behind him and produced a meter-long ladle, its wooden handle worn smooth with use, the wide, flat head gleaming dully in the firelight. "How are you going to stir your mixture?" he asked, his voice laced with amusement.


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    Sarah''s breath escaped in a silent rush. Relief washed over her, so potent it almost made her weak. She hadn''t been found out. Not yet, anyway. But the relief was quickly followed by a fresh wave of unease. She was still dubious about the Guild Master and the "Ale for All" guild in general.


    The air in the brewery, despite the comforting smells, felt tainted, heavy. Someone had just died here, after all, a fact that settled in the pit of her stomach like a stone as she thanked Eric for the present and left.


    The brewery''s comforting aroma of malt and hops couldn''t mask the underlying taint. Death hung in the air, a thick, invisible presence that settled in Sarah''s stomach like a cold stone. She offered a quiet word of thanks to Eric, the brewery''s owner, for the gift of the ladle, her voice barely a whisper, and then slipped out into the afternoon sun.


    Outside, Sarah stored the ladel in her ring, the cool metal a small comfort against her skin. She grabbed a honeycake from a nearby stall, the sweet, sticky treat a momentary distraction from the grimness of the brewery. She munched thoughtfully as she headed towards the east gate.


    She had souls burning a hole in her pocket, ready to be spent on expanding the living quarters within the tower. But that could wait. A more immediate opportunity beckoned beyond the walls, a chance to potentially¡­ Acquire more souls. If her luck held, she''d return with a heavier purse, more options and, hopefully, a level up.


    At the gate, she flashed her newly issued guild identification, her "get out of grower free" card, the official I.D smoothing her exit from the city. The guards barely glanced at it, accustomed to seeing adventurers come and go. The world outside the walls was a dangerous place, but it was also a place of opportunity.


    Not far from the gate, just beyond the city''s protective embrace, Sarah encountered her first challenge. A flash of white fur against the green grass caught her eye.


    - Wiley White Rabbit - 2 - Extremely fast


    The Wiley White Rabbit was a fleeting ghost against the colorful landscape, a blur of snowy fur that defied the eye''s attempts to focus. It wasn''t just fast; it was a study in nervous energy, a twitching, erratic dance of perpetual flight. Its large, pink eyes, like polished rose quartz, bulged with a frantic, wide-eyed terror, as if the very air itself might spring a trap. Every muscle beneath its pristine fur seemed coiled, ready to launch it into another unpredictable burst of speed. The creature was a heart attack waiting to happen, its fragile existence balanced precariously on the edge of cardiac arrest.


    Sarah remembered Leo''s warnings. Control, Sarah, control. Her training had drilled into her the necessity of restraint. Unleashing her full suite of enhanced abilities before she''d acclimated to her new reality would be reckless, potentially disastrous. This time, she wouldn''t rely on skills; she would take the rabbit down with raw, untamed speed and strength, a clean capture without the unfortunate side effect of a furry explosion. She needed the XP, and a heart attack kill wouldn''t cut it.


    Her legs, now imbued with twice the power they possessed on Earth, coiled like springs. She exploded forward, the ground blurring beneath her feet. The sensation was exhilarating, a rush of pure velocity. Yet, remarkably, control remained within her grasp. She wasn''t overwhelmed by the amplified strength and speed; she commanded it.


    The rabbit, a blur of white fur and panicked twitching, became a projectile. One brutal kick, a sickening thud, and it arced through the air, lifeless before it even touched the earth. No triumphant fanfare echoed in the quiet countryside.


    No surge of victory coursed through Sarah''s veins. Instead, a cold knot tightened in her stomach, a hollow echo of regret. Did I really just¡­ Yeet that bunny? The word, so incongruous with the brutal reality, echoed in her mind. Even if it was a monster in disguise, the casual violence felt wrong, a stain on something she couldn''t quite name. The ease


    with which she¡¯d ended its life disturbed her. Sarah knew she needed a different kind of fight. Something less¡­ Domestic. Something that screamed "monster" from its very core.


    She scanned the horizon, her gaze settling on a ramshackle farmstead in the distance. A flicker of movement near the edge of a cornfield drew her attention. Peeking out from behind a meager clump of weeds was her next target.


    - Goblin - 3 - Slow


    Its skin was a sickly green, stretched taut over sharp bones. Its eyes, beady and malevolent, glittered with a primal hunger. Surely, she thought, surely she wouldn¡¯t feel a pang of remorse for dispatching this creature. This time, there was no hesitant approach.


    As soon as the goblin spotted her, it erupted in a screeching war cry, a high-pitched, grating sound that ripped through the stillness. It charged, a crude, rusty knife held before it like an offering to some dark god. Instinct took over.


    Years of knife training, a relic from her old-world life, surfaced from the depths of her memory. She met the goblin¡¯s charge head-on. As the creature lunged, its knife aimed at her heart, Sarah¡¯s hand shot out, a blur of motion.


    She seized the goblin¡¯s wrist, the grimy skin surprisingly slick. With a swift, practiced twist, she bent the arm at the elbow, forcing the goblin¡¯s own momentum to drive the rusty blade deep into its own putrid flesh.


    The goblin¡¯s shriek intensified, morphing into a gurgling rasp. But Sarah wasn¡¯t finished. Channeling mana, a surge of raw power that tingled beneath her skin, she amplified the force of her next move.


    Her fist connected with the goblin¡¯s face, a sickening crunch echoing through the air. The impact was devastating. The goblin¡¯s head exploded in a shower of gore and bone fragments, splattering the surrounding area in a gruesome mosaic.


    Sarah had wanted to ensure the creature was dead, to obliterate the threat it posed. She hadn''t fully considered the¡­ Consequences. Now, the stark reality of her actions was painted in vivid crimson across her pristine white robe. The rain of blood, thick and viscous, coated her from head to toe, a grotesque baptism in violence. The metallic tang of blood filled her nostrils, a stark reminder of the brutality she had unleashed.


    The goblin¡¯s corpse, what remained of it, slumped to the ground, a grotesque parody of life. Sarah stared at the scene, the initial surge of adrenaline replaced by a chilling emptiness. Even this monstrous creature, this embodiment of malice, had ceased to exist because of her hand. The weight of her actions pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating. The fight was over, but the unease within her lingered, a dark shadow cast by the brutal efficiency of her actions.


    Sarah wasn''t as weak as her level suggested. Her titles certainly helped, but even without them, she was a force to be reckoned with against level 3 monsters. Still, the gap between her and someone like Leo was vast. She knew that titles could only take her so far. Real progress demanded training, practice, and unwavering dedication.


    If she returned now, Sarah would have nothing to show for her work. The rabbit she''d punted into the next county was gone and the goblin she''d obliterated no longer had the tradable goods she needed. Her tower was likely generating income, but it wasn''t the same as earning her own keep. It was a matter of principle, something Carol had drilled into her years ago.


    With daylight to spare, Sarah resolved to continue her hunt. Each encounter was a lesson, a chance to refine her skills and grow stronger. It was a long road, but she was determined to walk it step by step, through hard work and perseverance.

 Chapter 20

    Hungry eyes, burning with a feverish intensity, watched the ritual circle blaze to life. It was the third time this week the interlopers had invaded their territory, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the cloying sweetness of incense.


    A sacrifice, bound and gagged, lay trembling on the cold stone altar at the circle''s center, a stark testament to the desperation that fueled this unholy rite. This time, they would push the boundaries, delve into the darkest corners of arcane knowledge. This time, the portal would open. The spell would succeed. And most importantly, Aaron Nyl would receive his class.


    Gods be damned, he thought, the phrase echoing hollowly in the cavernous chamber. Clad in crimson robes, the rich fabric laced with intricate gold embroidery that shimmered in the flickering torchlight, Aaron observed the three dozen mages meticulously channeling mana within the circle''s glowing confines.


    Each rune, painstakingly etched into the stone floor, had been doubled, tripled even, their intricate patterns overlapping like a maddening puzzle. This redundancy was a desperate measure, a brute-force attempt to ensure the catalysts activated.


    Twice before, the ritual had failed. Twice before, the carefully constructed energies had dissipated like smoke, leaving behind only the bitter taste of disappointment and the gnawing suspicion of some unseen interference. Whatever had thwarted them before, whatever malevolent force had resisted their will, would surely be overwhelmed by the sheer power they were about to unleash.


    Human sacrifices, in these precarious situations, almost always guaranteed success. Aaron had initially hesitated, a flicker of respect for his brother staying his hand. But two failures later, that respect had withered, desiccated by the relentless winds of frustration.


    The initial annoyance had curdled into a simmering rage, a burning need to prove his superiority, to seize the power that was rightfully his. He had endured years of condescending pity. Now, the time for patience was over. The ritual would work. Sacrifices be damned. Weak sensibilities be damned. Aaron would ascend, and no one, not even the gods themselves, would stand in his way.


    The air crackled with raw magical energy. The mages, their faces contorted in concentration, chanted in unison, their voices rising in a crescendo that vibrated through the very bones of the chamber. The runes pulsed with an eerie light, their glow intensifying until the circle seemed to hum with barely contained power.


    The sacrifice on the altar trembled, its eyes wide with terror, but its muffled cries were lost in the growing din. Aaron watched, his own heart pounding in anticipation, his gaze fixed on the point in the center of the circle where the portal would manifest. This time, he knew, this time it would be different. This time, he would claim his destiny.


    The runes flared with an eerie luminescence, pulsating like veins beneath the skin of a slumbering giant. The air crackled with raw power, a palpable tension that made the hairs on the back of Aaron¡¯s neck stand on end.


    Inside the inner circle, the cultist, eyes glazed with fervent madness, plunged the obsidian dagger through the heart of the bound man. A guttural gasp escaped the victim¡¯s lips, cut short as the cultist collapsed beside him, the life draining from both bodies in a crimson tide. The unleashed power surged, a torrent of raw magical energy too volatile for any mortal vessel to contain.


    Aaron, his face a mask of manic glee, watched as the outer circle of runes ignited. A triumphant shout ripped from his throat. It was working! The catalysts had finally made contact, completing the intricate circuit. But the surge of light, instead of building into the sustained resonance he craved, flickered and died, like a candle snuffed by a sudden gust.


    ¡°No!¡± he shrieked, the word raw with frustration and desperation. He lashed out, his voice a whip cracking across the backs of the cowering acolytes huddled around the perimeter. ¡°More mana! I demand more!¡± He could feel it, the power tantalizingly close, just within his grasp.


    But, as with the two previous attempts, the spell sputtered and failed, leaving Aaron drowning in a sea of bitter disappointment and mounting dread. Around him, the price of his ambition lay scattered on the cold stone: over thirty cultists, their lives sacrificed in vain.


    The first failure he had dismissed as a simple oversight, a miscalculation in the complex ritual. The second, a frustrating but ultimately forgivable mistake. This third failure, however, was a harbinger of something far more ominous. There would be consequences, he knew. His masters, those shadowy figures who commanded the unseen places, would not be pleased. Their wrath would be terrible.


    But before he faced their judgment, Aaron vowed he would have his own vengeance. The intricate tracing spell he had woven into the very fabric of the ritual formation had revealed the source of his frustration. It pointed, like an accusing finger, to the location of whatever entity was leeching the death energy he had so meticulously spread throughout the city. Someone, or something, was interfering with his grand design, siphoning off the power he needed to fuel his ritual.


    He would find them. He would hunt them down and make them pay for their interference. He would inflict upon them a suffering so profound that they would beg for the oblivion he had so carelessly dealt to his own followers. And, if he was truly blessed by the dark powers he served, he might even stumble upon something, some artifact or piece of arcane knowledge, that would appease his masters, perhaps even earn him a sliver of their dark favor.


    The thought of that possibility, of redemption in the eyes of his infernal lords, fueled his anger and hardened his resolve. He would not fail again. He could not afford to.


    ???????????


    A newfound sense of self settled within Sarah as she returned to Grower. The city, once a bewildering construct of monotonous architecture, now felt strangely familiar. The tower, a monolithic structure that resembled grandma''s cottage, now seemed like home.


    It was a bizarre notion, considering the brevity of her stay. Had it truly only been five days? Or was it four? She grappled with the timeline, finally settling on five. Five days since she¡¯d hurled herself onto that grenade in the grimy alleyway.


    A wave of worry, sharp and immediate, washed over her. Had her squad made it out? The image of their faces, etched in her memory, spurred a surge of hope. Surely backup had arrived. They had to have. Hope. It was a fragile thing, a flickering candle in the face of uncertainty, but Sarah clung to it with the tenacity of a survivor.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    She pictured them back on Earth, recounting the tale of her sacrifice, their voices a mix of awe and grief. The thought brought a wry smile to her lips. Praising her dead arse. The irony wasn¡¯t lost on her.


    It was remarkable, she mused, how easily she¡¯d adapted to this alien world. Was it her military training? Adaptability was practically ingrained in their DNA. Or perhaps it was something deeper, a resilience forged in the crucible of her childhood.


    She¡¯d been a nomad, bouncing from one foster home to another, a rootless existence that had finally found some semblance of stability with Carol. Carol had offered a sanctuary, a place where Sarah could finally breathe. Even that had been disrupted by her military career, the constant relocations from base to base.


    Yet, ironically, this instability had become her strength. It had taught her to find comfort in the unfamiliar, to build a home wherever she landed. It was a strange paradox, this sense of belonging in a world so utterly different from her own.


    The somewhat-medieval city, with its uniformed structures and horse-drawn carts, no longer felt threatening. It felt¡­ Manageable. She navigated the bustling streets with a newfound confidence, her hood down, her senses heightened, absorbing the sights, sounds, and smells of this vibrant culture.


    Her initial disorientation had dissolved into a quiet fascination, a sense of wonder at the intricate tapestry of life unfolding before her eyes. This vibrant world, teeming with the strange and the marvelous, was no longer a foreign land; it was becoming her world.


    Sarah was weaving herself into its fabric, thread by thread, interaction by interaction. Each connection strengthened her sense of belonging, each coin earned by her tower cemented her roots.


    The allure of adventure, a siren song for any passionate heart, now resonated deeply within Sarah. She knew, with a certainty that thrilled her, that wonders lay hidden beyond the familiar, waiting to be discovered.


    But this world of vibrant beauty and untold potential also whispered tales of danger. The skies, once a canvas of serene blue, could be darkened by the shadows of flying reptilian firebreathers, creatures whose appetites were notoriously indiscriminate. And beyond these visible threats lurked a host of unseen perils, dangers that danced on the edges of her imagination, their forms shifting and unknown.


    Sarah arrived at her tower, the aroma of dinner ¨C a fragrant, steaming stew, boxed up for her employees ¨C in her hands. She bypassed the patiently waiting queue, earning a mixture of envious and resentful glances. Some of those present had witnessed similar individuals, those who had presumed upon their status, unceremoniously ejected. But Sarah was different. She didn''t return to the street.


    "Who''s my favourite... Receptionist?" Sarah''s greeting faltered, the words catching in her throat. Before her stood the Immortal Receptionist, an incongruous figure in a fluffy squirrel costume. The hood framed a face that complimented the young body she inhabited, the blonde hair peeking out from beneath the furry fabric. An interesting choice of attire, to say the least.


    "Dinner is served," Sarah announced, deciding to forgo any comment on the receptionist''s unusual outfit. She distributed the meals, one to Ariel, the other to her assistant, Melissa. A twelve-year-old child dressing up was hardly unusual. An Immortal Receptionist inhabiting the body of a twelve-year-old corpse while playing dress up, however¡­ That was a thought best left unsaid.


    With a muttered grumble about the sheer absurdity of not being able to teleport within her own tower, Sarah left Sebastian''s dinner with him and ascended the winding staircase. Seriously, it was ridiculous. She was the owner, wasn''t she?


    After a pleasant meal and conversation with Solus, Sarah busied herself with improvements. The upper floor expanded, her bathroom underwent yet another stylish renovation (a girl had to bathe in style, after all), and the second-floor challenge was decided and set. Finally, with her remaining souls, she managed to coax Solus down the corridor, repositioning him near the soothing murmur of the fountain, her soul reserves depleted.


    Relocating Solus proved a more stubborn task than she''d foreseen. The tower, she mused, was clearly attached to its eccentric decor. Still, she was mistress here. If she decreed Solus belonged by the fountain, then by the fountain he would reside. End of discussion. The door''s relocation had, rather tidily, eliminated the corridor altogether.


    The second challenge was less demanding than the first. It was simpler to manage, and she could tweak its parameters at will, all without incurring any additional cost. Furthermore, it didn''t require the Overseer''s active participation. Coincidentally, since Melissa was employed by the tower, she was the only name on the list of available Overseers.


    Sarah would need to have a word with her after showing her to her newly assigned room. There were details to discuss, arrangements to be made and possibly a contract to amend. The tower was growing, evolving, and Sarah was determined to guide its growth with a firm and capable hand.


    After surveyed her newly renovated living space, a small smile playing on her lips. A wave of satisfaction washed over her. It wasn''t much, yet, but it was hers.


    Her gaze drifted to the shelving beside her bed, a small alcove magically chilled and expanded beyond its apparent size. Inside, rows of neatly butchered meat hung, glistening invitingly. Good, she thought, at least one thing is going well.


    She could probably squeeze a few more cuts in, but a nagging question tickled the back of her mind. These runes, etched into the very fabric of the larder, were they limitless? She was still woefully ignorant of their true potential, and more importantly, their limitations. Research, she reminded herself. Proper research is paramount. She needed to delve into rune magic as soon as possible, a task that kept slipping down her ever-growing to-do list.


    With a sigh, Sarah turned away from the larder. Her supplies, while adequate for now, were a stark reminder of her limited resources. Everything she owned, beyond the meager collection of dusty tomes on her bookshelf, resided within the confines of her enchanted ring. It was a pocket dimension of sorts, a carefully curated space holding the essentials of her¡­ Unconventional life.


    She mentally inventoried its contents. First and foremost was The Book of Souls, Azrael, its leather cover dark and worn smooth from frequent use. It was her constant companion, an aid in this strange new world, and key to upgrading her tower beyond its current humble state.


    Next came the Necromancer''s Grimoire. Sarah shuddered slightly as she thought of it. Bound in what felt like human skin and whispering with an unsettling energy, it was a constant source of both power and unease.m. The grimoire was never to be removed from her ring; its dark influence was too unsettling, probably too dangerous to unleash upon the world.


    Then there was the Staff of Death. The Devil''s Wood pulsed with a faint, chilling aura. It was a weapon of immense power, a tool of finality, and Sarah had to it hidden, away from prying eyes. The Necromancer''s Robe, on the other hand, looked deceptively angelic, woven from shimmering moonlight and spun with an ethereal grace. But Sarah knew better. Beneath its celestial beauty lurked a darkness that mirrored the staff''s.


    Beyond these items of significant arcane power, her ring held the mundane necessities of life. A change of clothes, the drab, green shirt and pants she had opted to swap for her robe. Her old service boots, battered and scarred from countless missions and a volatile death, were a testament to her past life, a life she was slowly but surely leaving behind.A surprisingly large number of skewers occupied a single slot of her ring. Sarah had a knack for buying more than needed, and these simple edibles were essential. A few cakes, magically preserved within and always at the ready, provided a much-needed sweet treat.


    Finally, there was growing collection of monster parts. Rabbit and Goblin ears mainly, but there was mile tail in there too, if only the one, waiting to be turned in to the appropriate guild. Sarah frowned. She¡¯d spoken to Leo about it during his tour, he¡¯d rattled off a list of guilds specializing in various monster types and another that handles them all for lower rates, but the details had slipped her mind.


    Another thing for the list, she thought, mentally adding it to the growing scroll of tasks that got bigger every time she had a moment to think. She really needed to find a better system for organizing her life, a system that didn''t rely on her increasingly faulty memory.

 Chapter 21

    Sarah stirred, blinking against the pre-dawn light that seeped through her curtains. The soft, new carpet felt luxurious beneath her bare feet as she stretched. It wasn''t just the employees'' rooms that had been upgraded; her own had received a makeover too.


    The familiar, if slightly shabby, rug had been replaced, windows, actual fucking windows, now sported elegant drapes, and a sleek new table sat beside her armchair. The time would suggested it was around 6:00 am, or this-world''s equivalent, the time she invariably woke. An unexpected notification awaited her.


    < Your class has leveled up


    - 5 stat points have been awarded


    A small, almost anticlimactic feeling accompanied the message. Compared to the dazzling and booming announcements that had accompanied her previous level-ups, this one felt strangely brief. A quiet "ding" rather than a triumphant fanfare. Still, the fact remained: she had leveled up. While asleep.


    Sarah groaned, pushing herself up against the pillows. The last thing she remembered was sinking into her mattress, intending to just "rest her eyes" for a moment before the tower closed. Two glaring oversights immediately sprang to mind, making her wince. A: She¡¯d completely forgotten to ask Melissa, the recently employed mage, how she would feel about a promotion. And B: She¡¯d utterly failed to show Melissa to her new quarters.


    Sarah mentally berated herself. Employer of the year? She was practically a contender for "Worst Boss Ever." Images of employee rights tribunals flashed through her mind, complete with stern-faced judges and mountains of paperwork. At least she was keeping everyone fed. That had to count for something, right? A niggling voice whispered that, no, it probably didn''t entirely absolve her of her other failings.


    Relief washed over her as she remembered Ariel. Bless her insightful, proactive soul, she¡¯d clearly taken initiative. Melissa hadn''t spent a second night slumped in a chair, thank goodness. Ariel had likely used her skills and understanding of the tower¡¯s layout to find Melissa¡¯s new room and ensure she was settled. Sarah made a mental note to find Ariel later and reward her with something special. She deserved it.


    The mystery of the level-up still nagged at her. How had it happened? The only explanation she could conjure was the tower itself. But how? The building had leveled yesterday after her improvements, but she didnt receive hers alongside it. Did she earn experience points from the challengers who dared test their skills against Sebastian? Or was it something else entirely? Sarah desperately needed more information. A comprehensive guide, perhaps, something titled "So You''ve Become a Necromancer: A Handbook for the Modern Day Dark Mages in a new world."


    A brisk run was exactly what she needed to shake off the lingering morning fog. Sarah slipped out of her tower, the cool air a welcome bite against her skin that quickly faded with her increasing pace. She nodded to a few fellow early risers, their shared pursuit of fitness creating a silent camaraderie, as she made her way to the city gate.


    She broke away from the predictable path of Central Street, turning onto a quieter road that led into the residential heart of Grower''s south side. The robe, despite its length, moved with her as she ran, a whisper of fabric against her legs.


    The change of scenery was refreshing. The imposing, grey structures of the main street gave way to the charming, if somewhat cramped, terraced houses of the suburbs. Sarah ran past small, well-tended parks, their green spaces a vibrant contrast to the surrounding brick and stone. A small, tranquil pond reflected the pale morning sky, a pocket of serenity amidst the growing hum of the city. She exchanged greetings with a few residents, some already starting their day, or out for a leisurely stroll, their friendly smiles a stark contrast to the hurried faces she usually encountered.


    < Because of your hard work and ability to push past your physical limits, Endurance has increased by +1


    An hour later, her legs pleasantly weary and at least seven miles under her belt, Sarah returned home, feeling invigorated. A quick workout followed her run, but while her muscles burned, no satisfying notification popped up. Her strength remained stubbornly static, a clear indication that while her endurance was improving, she still had work to do in other areas. She showered, the warm water washing away the remnants of her exertion, and dressed, her mind already turning to the day ahead.


    First on the agenda: Melissa.


    Sarah felt a pang of guilt. She barely knew the woman she¡¯d hired. In her haste, she¡¯d neglected the basic courtesies of getting to know her new employee. Standard questions, the kind any employer on Earth, or Ciria, would ask ¨C where are you from, what are your qualifications, what kind of magic are you proficient in ¨C had all gone unasked. It was a glaring oversight, and one she intended to rectify immediately.


    Determined to make amends, Sarah grabbed a quick breakfast and headed upstairs. The top floor of her tower, thanks to last night''s renovations, now housed a variety of new rooms. Melissa''s apartment was among them, along with several other living spaces and communal areas. A spacious kitchen, a small cafeteria, a comfortable lounge, and even a library (currently bare, a project for another day) had been added. The upgrade had been expensive, but the added space was worth it.


    The thought of moving Solus flickered through her mind, a reminder of the darker aspects of her life. But she pushed it aside. Now was for Melissa, and the collection of souls could wait.


    She found the mage in the cafeteria, already enjoying a cup of steaming coffee. Sarah joined her, plate in hand, and launched into a casual conversation that quickly morphed into a proper interview.


    Melissa, initially surprised by the sudden interest, warmed to the topic, her passion for magic evident in every word. She recounted her upbringing in a small village nestled in the foothills of the Dragon''s Tooth mountains, where she¡¯d discovered her affinity for elemental magic at a young age.


    She spoke of her rigorous training at the Academy, her specialization in manipulating fire and earth, and her desire to use her abilities to help others. As Melissa spoke, Sarah listened intently, finally getting to know the woman who worked for her, realizing how much she had misjudged her. The "in your face" mage, as she had initially perceived her, was actually a thoughtful and dedicated individual, driven by a genuine love for her craft.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Melissa¡¯s potential as an Overseer was undeniable, provided she could maintain impartiality and resist the urge to favor certain challengers. With this in mind, Sarah broached the topic of promotion. The tower¡¯s trials required a new administrator, and the mage seemed a fitting candidate. If not the only. After confirming Melissa''s appointment, the tower presented Sarah with a crucial decision regarding the trial structure.


    - Successive Trials: Challengers must complete the first trial before proceeding to the second.


    - Openly Challengeable Trials: Challengers can choose which trial they wish to attempt, regardless of whether they have completed previous ones.


    The former option ensured a linear progression, while the latter allowed challengers to bypass Sebastian¡¯s ¡°War Tide¡± and head straight for Melissa¡¯s ¡°Riddle Room.¡± The newly configured staircases now awaited Sarah¡¯s decree, their ascent contingent on her chosen rule and the tower¡¯s acquiescence.


    Sarah, not one to shy away from a bit of magical manipulation, also discovered she could rearrange the trials at no extra cost. A mischievous glint in her eye, she promptly swapped the order. The Riddle Room, originally intended for the second floor, was now situated on the first, while War Tide ascended to the second.


    The Riddle Room, designed to test the challenger¡¯s Wisdom stat, had cost Sarah a hefty four souls to establish. This investment spoke volumes about its intended difficulty. However, much like this world¡¯s version of chess, challengers were granted a degree of autonomy, able to choose from a list of available options:


    < The Riddle Room


    - Challengers may choose a blessing from the list below. Costs are set by the Overseer and payment is required upfront.


    Blessings Available:


    - Wisdom +1


    - Wisdom +2


    - Wisdom +3


    - Wisdom +4


    - Wisdom boost 5% (24 Hours)


    - Wisdom boost 10% (12 Hours)


    - Wisdom boost 15% (1 Hour)


    While the blessings for this trial were higher than Sarah initially anticipated, she strategically placed it first. Her reasoning was sound: over time, the Riddle Room would become progressively easier to conquer. She planned to regularly swap the riddles, adjusting their complexity as needed. While the difficulty would scale with the chosen blessing ¨C a +4 Wisdom blessing would unlock significantly harder riddles than a +1 ¨C the overall challenge would still be less daunting than facing Sebastian in War Tide.


    Sebastian, the enigmatic Overseerer of War Tide, remained undefeated. His record was impeccable, a testament to his strategic prowess and mastery of the game. Well, almost impeccable. There was that one instance against Solus, a match that Sarah was convinced Sebastian had deliberately thrown. The memory lingered, a nagging suspicion that perhaps even the most steadfast guardians had their moments of leniency. But for now, the Riddle Room stood as the first hurdle, a test of intellect before the strategic battlefield that lay beyond.


    After a lively chat with everyone gathered around the fountain in the common room, Melissa was stunned to learn that the cottage wasn''t a quant little building but a hidden tower that housed a talking door. Unbeknownst to her, it wasn''t just a talking door, but a murderous one, a fact she''d only discover if she dared to try and pass.


    Meanwhile, Sarah was reeling from a different revelation: Melissa was 43, but didn''t look a day over 21. It was also the reason she struggled to find an adventuring party and looking for steady employment. No one wanted a mom figure along to nag at them, even if she did look like Rihanna.


    The clatter of coins and the murmur of excited chatter still echoed in Sarah''s ears as she left the common room, the image of Solus, laughing as Melissa choked on her breakfast, burned into her mind. She pushed it aside. Business called.


    The Immortal Receptionist and her Overseers would manage the trials while she was out, leaving Sarah free to handle administrative needs. Ariel had already delivered yesterday¡¯s profits ¨C a satisfyingly heavy pouch of coins that went straight in her ring. Now, for the less glamorous, but equally vital, task of stocking the pantry.


    Sarah sighed. Grocery shopping was a chore, but a necessary one in any world. She hoped to find a reliable, delivery service, freeing her from constant trips to the market. As if summoned by her thoughts, a familiar voice broke through her reverie.


    ¡°Your eyes are the same color as¡­ As the summer sky during a cloudless storm,¡± the voice declared, the hackneyed compliment delivered with an earnestness that was almost charming. Was that a compliment? Sarah didn¡¯t even need to turn around. She knew that voice, just as she knew the large, white lion that inevitably accompanied it.


    ¡°Leo,¡± she greeted, a smile playing on her lips. The lion flushed a delicate pink beneath his thick fur, his golden eyes shining with an almost puppy-like adoration. Sarah knew Leo harbored a fondness for her that went beyond casual acquaintance. It was¡­ Endearing, in its own way. ¡°I¡¯m so glad you¡¯re here. I need to find someone who can deliver fresh goods to my t¡­ Cottage on a daily basis.¡± The slip was almost automatic, a constant reminder of the strange duality of her life.


    Leo¡¯s ears perked up, his tail thumping against the cobblestones. ¡°I can do it!¡± he offered eagerly, the image of himself as a personal delivery boy clearly thrilling him.


    Sarah chuckled. ¡°That¡¯s sweet, Leo, but I don¡¯t think so. I appreciate the offer, but I need someone a little more¡­ Available. And perhaps a little less¡­ Captain of the Guard.¡± She couldn¡¯t have a giant white lion turning up at all hours of the day under the pretense of delivering groceries.


    And so, they found themselves at Marcus¡¯s stall, a riot of colors and smells. Marcus, a stout man with a beard that seemed to have a life of its own, presided over a mountain of fruits and vegetables, some familiar, others exotic and unknown. Sarah haggled good-naturedly, discussing prices, delivery schedules, and the inevitable extra fees. She emerged from the encounter feeling satisfied, her coin purse a little lighter, but her mind at ease. She¡¯d have to make a trip to the bank soon to exchange her silver for gold, but that could wait.


    The bank was conveniently located next door, but Sarah was on a mission. ¡°Next stop, the bookstore,¡± she announced to Leo, who had trailed along faithfully. ¡°I¡¯m tired of looking at empty shelves.¡±


    Leo nodded, leading her to a quaint shop tucked between a tailor¡¯s and a perfumery. ¡°My shift starts soon,¡± he explained, ¡°I was actually on my way to the guard house when I caught whiff of your¡­¡± He trailed off, suddenly finding the cobblestones fascinating. He cleared his throat. ¡°¡­When I noticed you. Yes, when I noticed you.¡± He winced inwardly after trying to backpedal.


    Sarah thanked him for his help and bid him farewell, promising to catch up later. As she stepped into the bookstore, the scent of old paper and leather filling her nostrils, a nagging feeling tugged at her memory.


    There was something she¡¯d meant to tell Leo¡­ Something important. But with the constant demands of her life ¨C the necromancy, the trials, the constant need to hide her true class, the urge to level up and grow stronger ¨C her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. She shrugged it off, deciding it would come to her eventually, and turned her attention to the shelves, eager to fill her own with the promise of knowledge.


    Now, where will I find Necromancy for Dummies?

 Chapter 22

    Leo hadn''t known what to say after his last meeting with Sarah. It had escalated from stalker-level dangerous, witnessing her give a Wiley White Rabbit a coronary, to a candlelit dinner at M¨¤usse, which she agreed to after beating the crap out of thin air for a few hours. Thin air.


    He still chuckled at that. She was strange. He was strange for being so captivated by her strangeness. It was like watching a particularly violent, yet oddly graceful, interpretive dance performed by someone who''d never seen a stage.


    The guard captain sighed, a puff of air that ruffled his pristine white mane. Leo was a lion, after all. A white lion. His fur attracted attention like a honey pot in a bee sanctuary. Yet, the quirky woman barely registered his presence. She treated him like a talking encyclopedia, only concerned with what he knew, not who he was.


    Like a newborn cub, she was utterly clueless about the world''s hows and wheres, only interested in the whats and whys, but seemingly having no little luck with either. It was simultaneously hilarious and endearing and only made worse by the fact she was dying.


    It had been over 24 hours since he¡¯d last seen Sarah, and he was experiencing a level of anxiety usually reserved for rogue learherheads stampeding through the marketplace. A level 57 lion from the Mazoni tribe, feeling anxious over a woman? His ancestors were probably spinning in their graves, or wherever lion ancestors went when they weren''t haunting ancestral lands.


    Leo didn''t care. Whether it was in the lush green of the grower fields, or the far-away, snow-capped peaks of Mazoor, he would profess his feelings anywhere if he thought they had a chance of being accepted. His very strong feelings. With how thoroughly Sarah had rebuffed him during their first encounter, though, he was fairly certain she didn''t reciprocate his¡­ affections.


    The image of several sheep spontaneously combusting as she unwittingly came too close to them played on his mind. She was certainly¡­Peculiar. Almost alien in the way she spoke and acted. Her vast knowledge clashed hilariously with her utter lack of common sense.


    As he made his way towards Guard House 3, he chanced upon Sarah. Naturally. Her gaze was intense as she stared at a pile of vegetables. It wasn''t even the strangest thing he''d seen that morning (a gnome riding a squirrel came close). The sight elicited a small, hopeful beat from his waning heart.


    He tried to be charming. Again. Failed spectacularly. Again. Who compares a lady''s eyes to the sky after a storm? He mentally face-palmed. Yet, it was ok. Sarah didn''t seem phased. She was on a mission, as always. After helping her out and leading her to a bookstore, Leo continued on to work.


    The encounter played on his mind all day. He did paperwork and thought of Sarah. He drilled the recruits while wondering what she was doing. On his break, he wondered if she''d eaten yet and briefly, and very subtly, tried to look for her. When his shift finished, Leo took a slow, leisurely walk home, hoping, yet again, to ¡°chance¡± upon her. He didn''t.


    Should I pop round and say hello? The thought was so stupid, so childish, he almost tripped over his own paws. Was he a cub? No. He was a fully grown, majestic lion! Anyone would be lucky to have him! (He added mentally, "Especially with my impressive mane and muscles.")


    Leo spent the rest of the evening thinking about Sarah. He had other concerns, of course. The ¡°Ale for All¡± guild being number one, and the various unsavory characters inhabiting the cells inside Guard House 3 being a close second. But he wasn''t on duty. And it was rare that he allowed himself the luxury of fantasizing.


    It was¡­ Nice. Therapeutic, even.


    Leo decided he would have to do this more often. This¡­ Sarah-induced daydreaming. It was far less dangerous than facing down a rampaging lava man after exiting the lavatory mid-push, the closest weapon at hand a mere plunger. And considerably more pleasant. He could almost feel the warmth of her smile, the way her laughter crinkled the corners of her eyes¡­ Much more pleasant than the searing heat radiating off molten rock. He¡¯d have to find a way to thank her. Maybe¡­


    Another reason to stop by?


    ???????????


    Sarah emerged from the bookstore, a peculiar mix of exhilaration and financial regret churning in her stomach. It was a feeling akin to buying a truly magnificent, albeit slightly overpriced, cake ¨C pure joy tinged with the dawning realization that you''d probably eat the whole thing in one sitting and then feel vaguely ill.


    Her ring, once plump and promising, now resembled a deflated whoopee cushion. She''d practically funded the bookstore owner''s early retirement, and for what? A stack of flammable rectangles. Still, she consoled herself, I could probably build a small fort out of what I have remaining. If I convert it to bronze.


    Dozens of paperbacks, the literary equivalent of fast food, were destined for the common room. Trashy romances with Fabio-esque heroes on the covers, crime thrillers with titles like "The Maltese Carbuncle," and several self-help books promising enlightenment in just twelve easy steps (or, in Sarah''s case, twelve easy payments). She did snag a few titles that piqued her interest, though. One was called "50 Ways to Kill a Burglar," which, while potentially useful, raised some serious ethical questions.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    But the real treasures, the paperback equivalent of finding a twenty in your old jeans, were the three tomes tucked securely under her arm. These were the books that had made her wallet weep silently in the corner.


    First, "Runes and Their Uses." A slim volume, it had cost her a whole silver coin, which, considering it only told her what runes were used for and not how to use them, felt a bit like buying a cookbook that only listed ingredients. Still, it was the cheapest of her acquisitions, and she reasoned that knowing what a rune might do was better than knowing absolutely nothing. It was like being told there was a magical cake, but not being given the recipe. Infuriating, but intriguing.


    Next, the behemoth, "Magical Artifacts and How They Affect the World." Three silver and two bronze coins vanished for this doorstop of a book, a hefty tome detailing everything from wands that could turn teacups into badgers (a surprisingly common problem, apparently) to entire Sorcerer''s Towers. The latter was the real reason Sarah had lugged this thing home. She hoped to glean some insights into the baffling inner workings of her own tower, which currently seemed to operate on the principle of "souls do inexplicable shit."


    Finally, the crown jewel, the book that had whispered sweet promises of arcane knowledge: "Runic Language I." A beginner''s guide, yes, but it was the guide. A roadmap to understanding the cryptic symbols that had fascinated her ever since she''d discovered the magically preserved food shelves (which, upon closer inspection, seemed to be the same rune on every shelf).


    This book held the potential to unlock secrets, to decipher ancient mysteries, to finally understand why the a door cost a single soul, but also why the entire top floor cost the same.


    It was worth every last copper, every tear shed by her poor, depleted purse. As she walked back, laden with her literary loot, Sarah felt a surge of excitement. She might be slightly poorer, but she was definitely richer in knowledge.


    Refrigeration runes. Intricate symbols etched onto a surface, somehow manipulating the very fabric of reality to produce cold and preserve meat. It felt like a cruel joke, a fantastical illusion, yet she¡¯d seen it with her own eyes. The tangible chill radiating from the crudely drawn circles, the way the air shimmered and distorted around them ¨C it was undeniable. The idea that a simple drawing, a collection of squiggles and lines, could act as a conduit for magic, a source of power, was utterly, mind-bendingly insane.


    But then again, wasn''t her entire existence at this point a testament to the absurd? Wasn''t becoming an unholy Necromancer, a being that blurred the lines between life and death, professed to the dark arts but dressed like a saint, equally, if not more, insane?


    There were layers to the crazy that surrounded Sarah now, concentric circles of the unbelievable, each one more outlandish than the last. And somehow, she was adapting. She was acclimatizing to the impossible, learning to navigate the labyrinth of bizarre that had become her life.


    Clutching the three weighty tomes, Sarah felt a pang of longing. The smooth, leather-bound covers seemed to pulse with untold knowledge, whispering promises of understanding. She yearned to lock herself away in the quiet solitude of her room, to lose herself in the intricate diagrams and arcane explanations, to unravel the language behind the runes and, by extension, the very nature of magic itself. The temptation was almost unbearable.


    But duty called. Resisting the siren song of forbidden knowledge, Sarah sighed and stored the books in her ring, where they joined a growing collection of texts. Priorities, she reminded herself. There would be time for study later, after she had completed the task at hand.


    Leaving Grower through the heavy, iron-bound east gate, she stepped out into the sprawling meadow. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the swaying grasses, painting the landscape in hues of gold and amber. A gentle breeze whispered through the fields, carrying the scent of wildflowers and damp earth.


    It was a peaceful scene, a stark contrast to the tumultuous thoughts swirling in Sarah''s mind. The normalcy of the meadow felt almost surreal, a thin veneer masking the chaotic reality of her existence hidden beneath. She took a deep breath, the fresh air filling her lungs, and set off, her footsteps muffled by her outfit and the thick grass alike. The weight of her ring felt heavier than usual, a constant reminder of the knowledge that awaited her, the mysteries she was so eager to explore.


    Sarah banished idle thoughts, determined to make the most of her time. A scattering of rabbits provided some experience, though frustratingly few survived her attempts at hunting. It wasn''t that she could gauge her skill against them; they seemed to succumb to heart attacks regardless of her approach.


    Goblins, she reasoned, would be a better gauge of her progress than nothing. The trouble was, even before the world¡¯s stats and levels manifested, she could handle a creature the size of a large child. So, while hunting goblins offered a useful way to understand how her body responded to her will, it wasn''t a true test of her strength.


    Sure, she''d exploded the first goblin''s head with a single punch ¨C a messy, visceral affair. Perhaps they were as fragile as children, for all she knew. But she needed a sterner challenge, something that would force her to hold back. That control, she suspected, was where true mastery lay.


    There weren''t many options this close to Grower, however. Just the usual farm-attracted monsters and the weak that preyed on the even weaker. Sarah wouldn''t let that stop her, though. The first goblin she found went down much like the first. Except without the rain of blood. Its head was still caved in, a sickening dent in its already grotesque features, even after she''d consciously tried to pull her punch. Clearly, she had a ways to go.


    The second was similar, only less impactful. A dull thud, the goblin collapsing in a heap. Progress, perhaps? The third, however, was a marked improvement. She felt the shift in her focus, the subtle modulation of force. Instead of a gruesome crater, she only fractured its skull. The goblin twitched, gurgled, and then went still. It showed promise. She was learning.


    By the end of the evening, as the sun began to paint the sky in hues of orange and violet, Sarah had made significant strides in controlling her strength against weaker opponents. It was a delicate dance.


    The manipulation of raw power, a constant push and pull between instinct and intention. She was feeling rather proud. Although, she still couldn''t approach a Wiley White Rabbit ¨C the fluffy menaces ¨C without the beast keeling over from sheer terror. Perhaps one day, she''d manage to tame one, or at least offer a gentle pat.


    There''s no way they''re monsters. System be damned.


    She had gained a level in (Necrotic Body) as well as (Identify). No level for her class, but she hadn''t leveled yesterday from fighting either. She''d leveled up from something ¨C either tower, or Overseer-related, but she still wasn''t sure. She''d just accepted the boon and moved on.


    Speaking of, Sarah still hadn''t spent the points from her last few levels. A quick mental check showed she had 15 burning a hole in her¡­ Well, wherever stat points resided. She debated which stat to invest in as she returned to her tower, the setting sun casting long shadows over the city. Marking the end of her sixth day of Ciria.

 Chapter 23

    A surge of pride swelled in Sarah¡¯s chest as she finalized her status update. The concept, once a foreign language spoken only by her phone and laptop, was now a familiar, daily ritual she processed with her mind.


    She meticulously reviewed the numbers, the cold, hard data reflecting her progress. It was still surreal, this tangible representation of her growth. The ability to quantify her physical strength, to see it laid out so descriptively, was mind-bending. It was like peering into the matrix of her own body, a level of self-awareness she¡¯d never imagined having in the military.


    Another example of this delightful madness was Sarah''s decision to invest her fifteen unspent points into Wisdom. Again. The boost to her mana reserves wasn''t just a simple addition; it was a multiplier. It would significantly extend the duration she could maintain her forms and equipment, effectively doubling and then tripling her original base MP. This, in turn, amplified the impact of her Strength stat far beyond the initial value of those fifteen points. It was a synergistic effect, a cascade of power she was only beginning to understand.


    When she applied all her buffs simultaneously, the results were staggering, almost overwhelming. Her strength surged, her senses heightened, and her magic crackled with potent energy. The transformation was exhilarating, but also¡­ Unpredictable.


    She¡¯d practiced several times, and while her control had improved, her movements were still somewhat erratic, a dance on the edge of chaos. She knew, with a thrill of anticipation, that mastery would come with time and dedicated training. She imagined herself one day moving with the fluid grace of a dancer, wielding this augmented power with precision and finesse.


    As Sarah ascended the stairs, the Tower of Death, usually permeated with the musty scent of age and forgotten magic, was alive with a symphony of aromas. Spices from distant lands mingled with the rich, savory scent of roasting meat, creating a tantalizing olfactory tapestry that hinted at culinary wonders.


    The air hummed with an energy that was entirely different from the somber atmosphere she was accustomed to. Inside the surprisingly spacious kitchen, Melissa, the female equivalent to Gordon Ramsey, was orchestrating a culinary masterpiece.


    Seasoned with age and experience, Melissa moved with a practiced efficiency that belied her years. Her hands, gnarled and strong, wielded her knives with the precision of a surgeon, perfectly chopping, dicing, and mincing the vibrant ingredients. She expertly fried, saut¨¦ed, and simmered, coaxing flavors from the raw materials that Sarah had rarely, if ever, experienced.


    The sight alone was enough to make her mouth water. It was the kind of cooking that spoke of generations of knowledge, of a deep understanding of ingredients and techniques. Sarah¡¯s stomach rumbled in anticipation.


    The ingredients she had ordered had clearly arrived, fresh and abundant. And since she wasn''t currently occupied with administering a trial, Melissa had taken it upon herself to prepare dinner. The aroma alone was a testament to her skill, a promise of a feast to come.


    Sarah had never been happier with her decision to hire the mage. It wasn''t just her magical prowess that made her invaluable; it was her ability to transform the mundane into the extraordinary, whether it was manipulating mana or crafting a meal fit for the gods. Sarah knew, with a certainty that settled deep in her bones, that tonight¡¯s dinner would be an experience to remember.


    She leaned back in her chair, a contented sigh escaping her lips. The remnants of Melissa¡¯s culinary magic lingered on her palate ¨C the savory tang of the roasted beef, the delicate sweetness of the purple root vegetable, and the rich, earthy notes of the onion potatoes. It wasn''t just food; it was an experience, a symphony of flavors orchestrated by a mage who could coax magic from the mundane.


    Sarah felt a warmth spread through her, a deep satisfaction with her decision to bring Melissa into her life. It wasn''t just about the magical prowess; it was the way Melissa infused every aspect of life with a touch of the extraordinary.


    After a pleasant chat with Solus, whose usual melancholy seemed to have lifted for the day, Sarah finally succumbed to the pull of the book that had been calling to her. Runic Formations I lay open on the table, its pages filled with intricate symbols that whispered of hidden powers.


    Her fingers traced the delicate lines of a particularly complex rune, her brow furrowed in concentration. The Refrigeration Rune, or Preservation Rune as some might call it, was still absent, a frustrating reminder that her quest was only just beginning.


    But she wouldn¡¯t be deterred. This was just the first volume, a foundation upon which she would build her understanding. She would delve into every nuance, every subtle variation, until the secrets of the runes were laid bare before her.


    The book was a treasure trove of knowledge. Each rune was meticulously detailed, its purpose and potential laid out with painstaking precision. Sarah devoured the information, her mind buzzing with new concepts and possibilities that only people from a progressive society would think of.


    She felt a thrill course through her as she began to decipher the intricate patterns, the language of magic slowly revealing itself to her. Hours melted away as she immersed herself in the study of the runes, her focus unwavering.


    In the quiet intensity of her concentration, something shifted within her. Two distinct messages echoed in her mind:


    <You have acquired the skill: Runic Comprehension


    <You have acquired the skill: Copy Rune


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    A small smile played on her lips. The first skill, (Runic Comprehension), was exactly what she expected. It was the key, the Rosetta Stone that would unlock the secrets of the runes. Even now, she could feel a hint of understanding blossoming within her, a flicker of insight into the drawing of magic.


    The second skill, (Copy Rune), was more intriguing. She read the description carefully:


    (Copy Rune)


    - Take a rune you already know and apply it elsewhere. One copy can be held per level.


    The implications of this skill were mega. The ability to replicate a rune, to imprint its power onto another object, woikd be a powerful tool. But the limitation was clear: she could only copy runes she already knew. Frustration nipped at her heels. The Preservation Rune remained tantalizingly out of reach. She couldn''t copy what she didn''t understand.


    But Sarah wouldn''t let disappointment take root. This was a challenge, a hurdle to overcome, not a roadblock. She closed the book, a new determination hardening her gaze.


    Time was on her side. With each passing day, her understanding of the runes would deepen, her knowledge would expand the more she studied. And one day, she knew with unwavering certainty, she would master the Preservation Rune.


    The image of a perfectly chilled container, filled with fresh ingredients, danced in her mind. It wasn''t just about convenience; it was about mastering the magic that surrounded her, about bending it to her will. She would unlock the secrets of the runes, one by one, until the magic of Ciria answered to her.


    Sarah drifted off to sleep, a picture of blissful bunny contentment. Not the likely-to-expire-on-sight variety, mind you, but the kind that dreams of endless carrot fields and fluffy tail-twitching. Morning dawned, and just like the night before, Sarah was presented with a culinary masterpiece. This time courtesy of Ariel.


    Watching the twelve-year-old smash out the equivalent of what could only be described as "a full English breakfast on steroids" was a sight to behold. Impressive, certainly. Slightly terrifying, also yes. Was she secretly a dragon in disguise? Sarah pondered these weighty questions as the feast arrived.


    When the dust settled (and by dust, I mean the crumbs from approximately a dozen rashers of bacon), the kitchen was sparkling. Breakfast itself was a glorious symphony of breakfasty goodness. Sausages ¨C the precise meat origin of which Sarah didn''t care ¨C bacon (glorious, magnificent, life-affirming bacon), and all the usual suspects were present and accounted for. Plus, two mysterious, meaty-looking additions that Sarah tackled with gusto. When in doubt, eat. That was her motto.


    "Is everyone just a Michelin-starred chef around here?" she mused, observing Sebastian, who was currently inhaling a portion of food roughly three times the size of his stomach. Mellisa was tucking in heartily, while Ariel maintained an air of elegant refinement as she consumed her (admittedly enormous) breakfast.


    The door stood open, and Solus¡¯s voice drifted in, a mournful lament about his inability to see anything and the urgent need to relocate the entire dining experience to the fountain. "We should eat al fresco!" he wailed, apparently unaware that "al fresco" usually implied sunshine and pleasant temperatures, neither of which were currently on offer in the slightly chilly tower.


    Sarah contemplated redesigning the tower¡¯s layout yet again. She had a vision, a grand architectural plan involving slightly fewer spiral staircases and considerably more comfortable armchairs. However, she was loath to keep throwing souls at the problem. Souls weren''t exactly growing on trees (or, more accurately, weren''t spontaneously combusting into existence).


    She decided a bit of strategic planning was in order. She''d sketch out her dream tower, create a blueprint for domestic bliss, and then unleash the soul-powered construction crew one more time. No more impulsive redecorating. This was going to be a project.


    The goblins provided a trickle of soul-power, but it was hardly enough to fuel her architectural ambitions. There weren''t enough of them. It wasn''t glamorous work, but she used to the grind of being beaten down only to rise back up.


    Ariel, ever efficient, deposited the earnings from the tower''s last two days'' takings. Another satisfyingly heavy bag of silver disappeared into Sarah''s ring, nicely plump with coins.


    Sarah¡¯s mind instantly conjured images of towering stacks of books, their crisp pages whispering promises of untold adventures.


    The tower''s revenue was first used to pay the merchants who now kept the tower''s pantries full. Sarah much preferred this arrangement. The logistical nightmare of coordinating daily food deliveries for a small army of residents? Absolutely not her forte. That was a job best left to the professionals, the logistics wizards.


    After a cheerful farewell, Sarah stepped out of the tower, embarking on her first quest of the day: Operation New Wardrobe. While she wasn''t exactly unhappy with the Necromancer Robe ¨C it had a certain dramatic flair, after all ¨C she craved the simple comforts of pajamas for sleeping and something a tad more breathable for her morning runs.


    The Shoes of Necromancer, however, remained a non-negotiable part of her ensemble. Those were staying put. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could ever replace the sheer power of footwear imbued with necromantic energies. Comfort, speed and stealth? Yes, please. Style? Absolutely. And a subtle hint of otherworldly power? Indisputably.


    Sarah chose a shop on Central Street, its storefront promising an eclectic mix of garments. Stepping inside, she was greeted by a delightful chaos of fabrics and textures. Clothes lined the walls, hung from rafters, and overflowed from racks that snaked through the shop like metallic rivers. Sarah wandered for a few minutes, admiring the vibrant colors and curious designs, before realizing that a little expert guidance was in order.


    "Hi there," she called out to the elderly gentleman behind the counter. He had a neatly trimmed dark brown beard that spoke of meticulous care, and his eyes, though a warm brown, held a twinkle of knowing amusement. His attire suggested a tailor, but his overall demeanor hinted at something more¡­ Perhaps a touch of the retired adventurer?


    "Well now, hello there, young lady," he replied, a hint of a wry smile playing on his lips. "I''m Winston, the proprietor of this humble establishment. What can I do for you today?"


    Sarah launched into her request, a list that included running clothes, something cozy for sleeping, and perhaps a few other bits and bobs that caught her eye. Winston, with the practiced ease of a seasoned professional, whisked her away to various sections of the shop. He seemed to know exactly where everything was, pulling out items that perfectly matched Sarah''s descriptions. Before she knew it, she was back at the counter, a mountain of clothing in her arms.


    "You know," Sarah remarked, grinning, "I spent ages browsing on my own and found nothing, while you led me straight to what I needed like a seasoned pro. What do I owe you, Winston?" She loved good service, especially when accompanied by a friendly smile, and slipped him an extra silver coin as a token of her appreciation.


    There was a good reason Sarah had chosen a tailor over a seamstress. Soldiers, she reasoned, didn''t wear frilly dresses. They wore practical, functional clothing. And Sarah, whether she admitted it or not, was starting to feel more like a soldier again now she was wearing pants. Albeit a soldier with a burgeoning library and a penchant for comfortable pajamas.

 Chapter 24

    Second on Sarah''s list, and burning a hole in her thoughts, was the bookstore. Runic Formations II woild help unlock the next level of her rune studies. She hoped. Practically vibrating with anticipation, she pushed open the door of "The Book Nook," the scent of old paper and leather filling her senses.


    Her enthusiasm deflated, however, when the owner, a kindly old gnome with spectacles perched precariously on his nose, informed her they were out of stock.


    He peered at his inventory list, muttering about supply chain issues and the recent surge in popularity magic literature. "But," he offered, his eyes twinkling, "I believe ''Pages & Parchment'' over on Spinner''s Lane might have a copy. And there''s always ''Inkwell & Quill'' om the opposite side of Central Street."


    Against the gnome''s advice ¨C he''d seen the determined glint in her eye and suspected a wild goose chase ¨C Sarah set off. Spinner''s Lane was a winding, cobblestoned alleyway, and "Pages & Parchment" turned out to be a cramped, chaotic shop overflowing with scrolls and tomes.


    After a frantic search, she emerged empty-handed, the scent of dust and disappointment clinging to her. "Inkwell & Quill" proved equally fruitless. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and violet, as Sarah trudged back to "The Book Nook," a gnawing frustration building inside her.


    Defeated, she returned to the gnome, who greeted her with a sympathetic smile. "No luck, eh? I rather suspected as much." Sarah sighed. "I''ll just order it," she said, resigned. It felt strangely old-fashioned, placing an order in this age of instant magical communication, but even on Ciria, some things still required patience. The gnome, Barnaby, chuckled. "Good choice. It''ll should be here by the end of next week."


    With the Runic Formations issue situation resolved, at least for now, Sarah turned her attention back to her training. The evening found her in the glade, a small clearing just outside the city walls, where she was practicing her combat skills against a goblin. Days of relentless practice had honed her reflexes and instincts.


    Her "boostsled stats," as she jokingly called them ¨C a combination of magically enhanced speed, strength, and stamina ¨C felt less like an augmentation and more like a natural extension of herself. She moved with a fluid grace, her movements a blur of motion as she dispatched goblin after goblin. Each blow a testament to her dedication.


    The mana manipulation books she¡¯d picked up earlier, Mana and How to Move It and Shaping Mana, lay waiting in her ring. She''d delve into their secrets soon, eager to understand the essence of mana and, more importantly, how to channel it, specifically without her death element, into something¡­ More explosive.


    The thought of finally casting a fireball, a staple of every aspiring mage¡¯s repertoire, flickered in her mind, a spark of anticipation the guttural cries of dying goblins.


    Death''s Epiphany, the latest Unique Skill earned through her latest title, "Necromancing Till I Die," remained stubbornly dormant. Its description promised a stat absorption effect, a tantalizing boost to her already formidable abilities. Yet, despite the grim moniker, it hadn''t absorbed a single stat point.


    The skill boasted a measly 10% success rate, a figure Sarah had since mentally dismissed as overly optimistic. Perhaps it was a matter of prey? Goblins, the staple of her recent extermination efforts, were hardly known for their robust stat pools. Maybe Death''s Epiphany required a more¡­ Substantial offering.


    The thought was still swirling in her mind when the ambush occurred. In a rare patch of the landscape where a few yellow trees dared to reach for the sky, three figures materialized from the shadows. At first glance, Sarah¡¯s battle-honed instincts registered them as more goblins.


    They were swathed in rough, homespun cloth from head to toe, effectively obscuring any distinguishing features. This lack of exposed skin, a detail she¡¯d subconsciously cataloged, triggered her pre-emptive strike. Years of military training, sharpened by days of relentless vigilance, screamed danger.


    The first ambusher went down before he even knew what hit him. He was right behind Sarah when she spun, a whirlwind of controlled violence. Her right hook connected with a sickening crunch, a spray of crimson and white marking the violent end of his assault. Teeth, dislodged and grotesque, tumbled onto the dusty ground.


    A surge of adrenaline coursed through Sarah. Finally, she thought, a real test. She''d sparred with colleagues, simulated scenarios, honed her skills against training dummies. Now she''d had to go through that all over again and was at the last hurdle. These were real opponents, driven by real malice. A thrill, dark and exhilarating, sparked within her. Until she used (Identify).


    <Cultist - 13 - Slightly dangerous


    <Cultist - 15 - Not dangerous


    A flicker of confusion creased her brow. The lower-level Cultist, thirteen, was flagged as slightly dangerous, while the level fifteen was deemed not dangerous. What twisted logic was that? Was it to do with skills? Class? Some unseen buff? She didn''t have time to decipher the system¡¯s quirks.


    The fact that both cultists outleveled her gave Sarah pause, but her own stats, inflated by her hard-to-read titles, whispered promises of parity. Combine that with her rigorous military training, the lingering high from her previous encounter, and a potent cocktail of confidence, and the system''s assessments seemed correct. She didn''t understand the underlying algorithm, but the danger ratings felt instinctively right.


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The first Cultist lunged. He brandished a crude, serrated knife, its edge jagged and dull, more suited for butchering livestock than ritual sacrifice. He charged with a feral snarl, spittle flying from his lips, his eyes wide and bloodshot.


    Sarah found the attack¡­ Odd. He moved more like a goblin than a follower of some dark, mystical cult. His posture was hunched, his movements jerky and unpredictable, lacking any semblance of training or discipline.


    Weren''t cultists supposed to be spellcasters, weavers of dark magic, whispering arcane incantations and summoning eldritch horrors? This brutish, almost primal aggression seemed incongruous, a jarring note in the symphony of villainy she¡¯d expected. It was a puzzle she¡¯d have to solve later, assuming she survived this encounter.


    A swift side step, a practiced disarming technique involving a sharp twist of the wrist, and a wounded cultist later, his pride more than his body, Sarah assessed the remaining opponents. The first one was... potentially dead. The second lay groaning on the ground, clutching his now-useless knife, his snarl replaced by whimpers.


    The third Cultist, level thirteen, was definitely a mage. The wand in his hand, crafted from what looked like polished bone and etched with glowing runes, pulsed with barely contained power. He was the one the system classified as "slightly dangerous," a designation that had Sarah¡¯s hackles raised despite her initial amusement at the first cultist¡¯s clumsy attack. He stood back, away from the melee, his eyes fixed on Sarah, a flicker of something that might have been fear, or perhaps just concentration, in their depths.


    Sarah watched as mana, an almost visible energy, gathered around his wand. She saw it coalescing in shimmering motes, like tiny stars trapped in an invisible net, as a notification rang in her mind. She was too absorbed to read it. The air around the wand shimmered, distorting the light, as if a heat haze was rising from it. The motes of mana swirled faster, brighter, converging on the tip of the wand.


    Too distracted by the sheer, breathtaking beauty of magic being cast before her very eyes ¨C the intricate dance of energy, the subtle shifts in the air, the sheer wonder of it ¨C Sarah all but missed her opportunity to dodge. She was so captivated by the spectacle that the warning bells in her mind were almost drowned out by her fascination.


    The fireball erupted from the wand with a roar, a blazing sphere of energy. Sarah barely leapt out of the way, the heat of the passing fireball singeing the edge of her clothes and leaving a faint smell of burnt hair in the air. The ground where she had been standing moments before was now scorched black.


    The near miss, the searing heat that had brushed against her, jolted Sarah back to brutal reality. This wasn¡¯t some staged performance; it was a desperate, chaotic fight for survival. And this bizarre collection of cultists, however ragtag and disorganized, was clearly dangerous. They had to be taken seriously.


    Even as she regained her footing, a part of her was still captivated. Magic in Ciria had been a rare and fleeting thing in her experience. Ariel¡¯s dismissals of unruly trial challengers came to mind, bursts of controlled power, but this¡­ this was raw, untamed. The fireball, a blazing orange sphere that had split the air, instantly claimed the top spot on her personal ¡°Cool as Fuck¡± list.


    It was so captivating that she almost missed the second one. A man casually hurling fireballs was not an everyday occurrence, even in a world where magic was supposed to exist. It was mesmerizing.


    The novelty, however, began to wear thin. Either the cultist¡¯s aim was atrocious, even for someone in a supposed state of magical fervor, or he¡¯d simply exhausted his mana reserves. The fireballs stopped coming, and with their cessation, logic crashed back into Sarah¡¯s mind. Why? Why were they attacking her? Did they somehow know she was a Necromancer? No. She¡¯d been meticulous in concealing her class.


    Frustration simmered. She needed answers, and she was going to get them. The cultist whose pride she¡¯d wounded more than his flesh was still sprawled on the ground, the crude knife protruding from his shoulder. He hadn''t dared to remove it. Probably for the best, she thought grimly.


    The other cultist, the one who¡¯d been so free with the fire, was caught in a whirlwind of indecision. He fidgeted, the knife clutched in his trembling hand. Should he charge, a pathetic goblin imitation, or flee?


    Sarah decided for him. My turn.


    Exploding forward with a speed she wouldn¡¯t have believed possible just days ago, Sarah channeled (Form of the Necromancer). The surge of dark energy coursing through her veins amplified her strength. She felt a thrill, a dangerous exhilaration, as her attack power surged by 75%.


    Her roundhouse kick was a blur, a symphony of deadly grace and raw power. It connected with the cultist¡¯s jaw with a sickening crack. He didn¡¯t just fly backwards; he was launched, a human projectile disappearing into the twilight like poorly rendered villains from everyone''s favourite Sunday morning cartoon.


    Sarah stood there, momentarily stunned by the sheer force of her own attack. The wounded cultist stared, silent, his whimpering ceased, his eyes wide with terror and disbelief. The dead cultist, of course, remained eloquently silent. They had attacked her, ambushed her without provocation. And now, she wanted answers.


    She stalked towards the remaining cultist, her shadow falling over him like a storm cloud. He shrank under her gaze, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. He fell to his knees, bowing his head in abject terror.


    "Please," he whimpered, his voice cracking. "Please, have mercy."


    Sarah stopped, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The surge of power was fading, leaving her feeling strangely empty. She looked down at the cowering figure, the fear radiating from him in waves.


    "Mercy?" she echoed, her voice low and dangerous. "You attacked me. You tried to kill me."


    He nodded frantically, tears streaming down his face. "We¡­ We thought you were¡­ someone else?"


    "Someone else?" Sarah¡¯s eyes narrowed. "Who?"


    "The¡­ The Seeker," he stammered. "He told us she would be coming. A¡­ A powerful sorceress. We were supposed to¡­ To stop her."


    That''s me, right?


    The Seeker. The name was unfamiliar. But the implication was clear. They¡¯d attacked her. Even if they thought she was someone else, someone they feared. Someone they were actively hunting. The pieces clicked into place. This wasn¡¯t a random attack; it wasn''t a case of mistaken identity. The Cultist just wasn''t clever enough to make up a lie on the spot. But that didn¡¯t excuse his actions.


    Sarah took a deep breath, trying to control the rage that still simmered within her. "Tell me everything," she said, her voice hard. "Everything you know about... The Seeker. And everything you know about why you were ordered to kill her and who have the order." The cultist, his face pale and streaked with tears, began to talk. And as he spoke, Sarah knew that this was just the beginning. This was far bigger than a simple ambush. She had stumbled into something dangerous, something that reached far beyond these three pathetic little men. And the answers she''d sought were far more terrifying than she could ever imagine.

 Chapter 25

    Aldin wasn''t cut out to be a Cultist. The hushed chants, the unsettling symbols painted in what he knew to be more than just dye, the way the air crackled with a strange, almost palpable energy ¨C it all made his stomach churn.


    Truth be told, he''d only joined up because Samantha had talked it up. Her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, had burned with a fervent conviction as she explained how she believed magic should be free to practice, no matter the element. Even if it was the death element, a taboo whispered only in hushed tones. She¡¯d painted a picture of a world where magic flowed freely, unbound by the rigid rules of the Council, a world where their talents wouldn''t be stifled.


    Now, Samantha was gone. The memory of her laughter, the way her hair caught the sunlight, the shared dreams of a future where they could openly practice their craft ¨C all of it now a painful ache in his chest. Her body, vibrant and full of life just days ago, had been used as fuel in one of the Sect''s secret rituals. The image was seared into his mind, a grotesque violation that made him shudder.


    He hadn''t witnessed the scene firsthand, but he knew what ahd taken place. The only person to leave the chamber was the High Cultist.


    It pained Aldin that he would never see her again. Worse than that, just as he''d decided to leave ¨C sneaking away in the night might have been a better term ¨C he''d stumbled into the High Cultist and Sect leader. Aaron Nyl. His red robes, rich and ostentatious, stood out wherever he went, a stark contrast to the drab browns and greys of the city.


    Everyone knew he was a disgraced noble. Him and his brother. What they didn''t know was why. The whispers ranged from gambling debts to something far darker, something involving the old bloodline and a supposed pact with something¡­ Unnatural. It made sense.


    Fortunately, Aldin wasn''t punished for his transgressions. Not in the conventional sense. Instead, Nyl, his face a mask of cold indifference, had handed him a runic communication device, a small, obsidian-like stone that pulsed faintly with a strange energy. He was then sent off on a task.


    A test, perhaps, or a way to ensure his loyalty. He would not be going back to the Cult, of that he was certain, but he may as well do as he was asked before running away. Better to leave in semi-good graces than on poor terms completely, he reasoned, his fear outweighing his grief and anger.


    The task had two parts, but both were simple, at least on the surface. First: Keep watch on a cottage just off Central Street and report back only when the woman reported to live there left. The cottage was almost smack dab in the middle of Grower, prime real estate in the heart of the city. It wouldn¡¯t be hard to find, its faded red roof and overgrown rosebushes a stark contrast to the bustling marketplace nearby.


    Second: He had to follow the woman around without being seen and report again once she''d left the city. That was it. Simple instructions, but Aldin felt a prickle of unease. Why this woman? What was so important about her movements?


    He did as he was told. The first part was easy. He found the cottage, perched on a low wall across the street, and watched. He noted the woman ¨C tall, with dark brown hair that cascaded down her back, her eyes a striking hazel ¨C as she left the cottage, her movements purposeful and quick.


    The second part was more challenging. He tailed her through the crowded streets of Grower, keeping to the shadows and blending with the crowd, his heart pounding in his chest with every near miss. He felt like a criminal, a spy, a far cry from the idealistic dreams Samantha had painted.


    Aldin followed her to the city gates, his breath catching in his throat as she passed through them, disappearing into the sprawling farmlands beyond. He reported back via the runic device, the message short and clipped, then, without a second thought, he turned and fled.


    He may have come across three other Cultists on his leave, their eyes narrowed and suspicious, but Aldin didn¡¯t stop. He didn''t even slow down. He wanted to be as far away from Grower, from Aaron Nyl, from the memory of Samantha¡¯s screams, as possible.


    The image of the woman with hazel eyes, her face etched with a strange mix of determination and confusion, was fresh in his mind, adding another layer of unease to his already troubled thoughts. He ran, the cobblestones blurring beneath his feet, the weight of his guilt and fear a heavy burden on his soul. He didn''t know where he was going, but anywhere was better than where he had been.


    ???????????


    It was all going according to plan. After receiving word of his target''s movements, he ordered his group to move in. Their destination: the unassuming cottage just off Central Street. The message had been clear ¨C whatever was preventing the ritual from going ahead resided within, and it had to be dealt with.


    The Guild Bank sentinels, two stoic figures stationed just round the corner, remained rooted. Their fear of losing their posts, a tangible, realistic anxiety, kept them bound to their positions. They were irrelevant. The regular guard patrol, a predictable rhythm in the city''s heartbeat, had just receded into the distance, leaving a window of opportunity, a brief, delicious vacuum.


    Two dozen cultists, all clad in dark, rustling robes, save for the Head Cultist, Aaron Nyl, who sported a flamboyant crimson ensemble, surged past the queue of hopefuls waiting to chance the trial. They barged unceremoniously into the small cottage, disrupting the tranquil facade it presented to the world.


    Inside, a bizarre scene unfolded. A heated argument began, the subject of which was a twelve-year-old girl dressed in a ludicrous frog costume. She stood her ground against a hulking cultist, her small frame radiating an unexpected aura of power.


    She claimed to be the receptionist, the gatekeeper of sorts, and boasted of her ability to bar entry. To demonstrate, she casually flicked her wrist, and the verbally abusive cultist vanished with a poof, leaving only a faint scent of brimstone and a lingering echo of his indignant squawk.


    Aaron didn''t waste time on pleasantries. He recognized the girl''s magic for what it was ¨C an annoying obstacle. His own skill set was more tailored for commanding the dead, a feat he had yet to succeed in. The theory was sound, however. He had studied the ancient Grimoire diligently, absorbing its forbidden knowledge, confident that the transition from theory to practice would be seamless.


    ¡°(Dispel),¡± he intoned, channeling his will. He expected the girl¡¯s magic to simply dissipate, allowing his cultists free passage. What he hadn''t anticipated was the raw, visceral terror that erupted from the girl''s throat, a sound that clawed at the edges of reality.


    Her frog costume seemed to melt into her skin as she convulsed, her eyes rolling back into her head. Then, with a sickening thud, she collapsed, her small form now undeniably a corpse, a grotesque parody of the cheerful receptionist she had been moments before. The air crackled with residual magical energy, a testament to the chaotic forces at play.


    Those in the seating area and the queue outside the cottage, witnessing this macabre spectacle, didn''t wait for an explanation. They fled in orderly pandemonium, their aspirations of conquering the trial replaced by the primal instinct for self-preservation. The street, moments before bustling with hopeful faces, was now deserted, save for the Aaron and his increasingly apprehensive followers.


    Aaron, unfazed by the carnage, marched towards the interior of the cottage. It was surprisingly spacious inside, the staircase that spiraled upwards seeming impossibly large for such a small building, as if magically enchanted to deter unwanted visitors. He ignored the unsettling feeling that the house was more than it seemed. He was on a mission.


    ¡°(Dispel),¡± he repeated, his voice echoing in the sudden silence. He ascended the seemingly endless stairs, his boots thudding against the aged wood and reached a landing where the stairs continued upward, or a doorway beckoned into what he assumed was one of the trial rooms.


    Aaron wasn''t interested in the trials themselves. He only cared about the source of the magical interference that had disrupted his meticulously planned rituals. The source was here, hidden somewhere within this deceptive cottage, his tracing spell confirmed it. He would find it, and he would silence it, permanently.


    ???????????


    Sebastian, despite his diminutive stature, possessed a mind sharper than any blade. He was the Overseer of War Tide, a game Sarah often likened to chess, and his strategic acumen was undeniable. Yet, strategy deserted him when faced with two dozen threats.


    His class offered no solace. He''d yet to choose one, the constant demands of the tower leaving little time to discuss it with his master. He couldn''t even leverage the game itself. The trial only activated with a challenger, and the pieces, bound to their squares, were useless in a brawl. Knowing there was only one other option to protect the tower, Sebastian burst through the door, a whirlwind of misplaced courage, charging into the stairwell where the invading cultists massed.


    The ensuing clash was brutal and swift. Sebastian, small and lightly built, was no match for the dozen men. They swarmed him, their hands like iron clamps seizing his limbs, their eyes burning with fanaticism. He struggled, a small, defiant figure against the tide of their aggression, but it was a losing battle. He was dragged back into the room, his small body protesting with sharp, pained cries, and tossed unceremoniously onto the center of the game board..


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Aaron, watching the scene unfold, felt a flicker of annoyance. He¡¯d lost too many cultists already this week, casualties of their own ineptitude and the strange anomalies plaguing the tower. He certainly wasn''t going to risk any more of his followers to a child.


    "(Render Wound)," he intoned, the words laced with dark magic. The spell lashed out, an invisible blade of energy, slicing across Sebastian¡¯s neck. Crimson blossomed against the pristine white shirt of his miniature butler outfit, the crisp fabric instantly saturated, transforming the starched shirt into a gruesome canvas.


    The sight was unsettling. Aaron, poised to unleash a torrent of blacklfire the moment the boy fell, found himself momentarily frozen. Sebastian hadn''t flinched. Not a twitch, not a gasp. He simply stared at Aaron, his eyes wide and filled with an unnerving determination, as if to defy him rather than recoil from a fatal wound. It was a gaze that pierced through Aaron''s composure, a silent question hanging in the air.


    Aaron had only just noticed the magic that sustained the illusion of life downstairs. He tried again, just to see what would happen. "(Dispel)," his voice now full of curiosity, the word a counterpoint to the earlier curse. The effect was immediate and horrifying. Sebastian¡¯s small body convulsed, a guttural howl ripping from his throat, a sound of pure, agonizing pain.


    The illusion shattered, the boy''s form collapsing like a corpse, the life force within him extinguished like a snuffed candle. (Dispel), meant to neutralize magic, seemed to have a far more potent and destructive effect on Sebastian than his initial attack. The boy was gone, his life ripped away not by the a fatal wound, but by the undoing of the magic that had sustained his form.


    The unsettling stillness that followed was broken only by the ragged breaths of the cultists. Aaron, his unease growing, gestured them forward. Whatever was disrupting his rituals, whatever was causing these strange magical fluctuations, was somewhere in the tower and he was determined to find it. He and his followers resumed their ascent, leaving behind the small, broken form of Sebastian.


    ???????????


    Solus, felt a profound emptiness. The echoes of laughter, which usually filled the common room, had faded hours ago, leaving him in the quiet solitude he abhorred. He wasn''t hungry, not for the usual tithe of attention or even magical energy. He was simply lonely. Each challenger who dared the trials within the cottage gifted him a sliver of power, a spark that momentarily ignited his ancient heart. But today, the sparks were few and far between.


    Then he saw her. Melissa, her face a mask of desperation, bounded up the stairs. A flicker of something akin to a smile touched Solus¡¯s wooden features. No need to appear anxious in front of the help, he thought, composing himself. He''d ask about the Riddle Room, perhaps comment on her progress. But before he could utter a word, Melissa whirled around, unleashing a torrent of raw, untamed flames down the stairwell.


    "Let me in, Solus!" she shrieked, her voice raw with panic.


    Solus couldn''t. Even if he wanted to, which he decidedly did not. The master''s room, Sarah''s room, was currently empty. Sarah was likely honing her skills outside the city, as she often did at this time of day. If Melissa entered now, she could claim the tower, claim Sarah''s place. Solus wasn''t particularly attached to any one master. He had, however, developed a fondness for Sarah. She had even moved him from his dusty post in the hallway to the more comfortable common room.


    More importantly, he was a guardian. His duty was clear. None would pass without enduring his trial. And Melissa¡­ Melissa wouldn''t stand a chance.


    "I cannot," he rumbled, his voice resonating through the stairwell. "You are not strong enough. Even at my weakest, you would be incinerated." His tone was blunt, devoid of his usual dry sarcasm. He didn¡¯t dislike Melissa. He just couldn''t allow this.


    "Fuck!" Melissa hissed, retreating towards the cafeteria. Solus heard the sound of more people ascending, their footsteps heavy and hurried. Moments later, a group of Cultists filled the common room, their eyes scanning for Melissa. A man in red robes, trimmed with gold, was more focused on Solus.


    Meanwhile, in the cafeteria, Melissa fought with the ferocity of a cornered lioness. The wall she¡¯d raised lay shattered, a glittering testament to her power, but it had bought her only a moment. Now, the Cultists swarmed, their eyes burning with fanaticism. Spells crackled from her fingertips ¨C a dazzling, deadly ballet of fire that licked at the encroaching figures, a whirlwind that sent trays clattering, a torrent of water that momentarily blinded, a tremor of earth that bucked the floor beneath their feet. She had indeed mastered the basics, Solus observed, she displayed remarkable control.


    But even a lioness tires. Melissa¡¯s breath hitched in ragged gasps. Another wall, hastily conjured, splintered under the Cultists¡¯ relentless assault. Her shoulders slumped, and the vibrant glow of her magic began to dim, flickering like a candle in a storm. She was good, Solus admitted, but against such overwhelming numbers, even raw talent would eventually succumb.


    The cultist assault, a ragged wave of fanaticism crashing against the stalwart defenders, faltered. The crimson figure, the red-robed mage, orchestrated the shift in the tide. His voice, amplified by some unseen force, cut through the din of battle, a sharp command that resonated with the their fervent devotion. He pointed a finger towards Solus, the ancient, towering door that served as the final barrier against the encroaching darkness. "Focus your energies! The power lies behind the door! Destroy it with your magic!"


    A ripple of understanding passed through the Cultists ranks. Their frenzied attacks against the defender lessened, replaced by a unified focus on the silent sentinel before them. Hands outstretched, chanting in guttural unison, they unleashed a torrent of arcane energies. Bolts of crackling lightning arced through the air, searing the ground before the massive door. Globes of fire, burning with an unnatural intensity, exploded against its surface, sending waves of heat shimmering outwards. From the gnarled staves of the cultist mages, streams of pure force, shimmering like liquid light, lashed against the ancient wood.


    It was a veritable feast for Solus. The ancient door, crafted from wood older than the oldest empires, had stood silent for centuries, a stoic guardian against the forces that lurked beyond. Now, it drank deeply of the magical deluge. The raw power, instead of splintering and cracking the aged wood, was drawn into its very core.


    Invisible veins of energy pulsed beneath the surface, spreading through the massive timbers like wildfire. The wood began to glow with a faint, internal luminescence. The intricate carvings that adorned the door, depicting scenes of ancient battles and forgotten gods, seemed to writhe and shift as the absorbed magic invigorated the dormant power within. A low hum, barely audible at first, emanated from the door, growing in intensity with each spell hurled against it.


    The air around Solus crackled with building energy, a palpable sense of ancient power awakening. The cultists, caught up in their fervor, failed to notice the subtle shift, their focus entirely consumed by the act of channeling their magic, oblivious to the fact that they were not weakening him, but strengthening him.


    His first act was to create a copy of himself, less ornate but still powerful, and place it at the entrance to the cafeteria. It would protect Melissa.


    "Hahahaha," Solus boomed, his voice echoing through the tower. "It has been a while since I felt so¡­ satisfied. Thank you, mortals." The spellfire slowed, the cultists momentarily taken aback.


    "As gratitude for this hearty meal, I offer you one chance to leave." The offer hung in the air, sharp and decisive.


    ???????????


    Their leader, the man whose ambition easily outstripped his sense of self-preservation, remained unmoved by the sudden cessation of their spellcasting. He barked an order, his voice echoing through the common room, urging his underlings forward. "Don''t falter now! Victory is within our grasp!" He ignored the nervous shuffling and the wide eyes fixed on the shimmering message that had materialized in the air, a spectral projection from the entity that blocked their path.


    < The price for entry is high. Will you pay it?


    The chanting died completely, leaving an unnerving silence in its wake. The cultists, a motley collection of zealots and desperate souls, reacted with a mixture of confusion, apprehension, and outright fear. Several exchanged uneasy glances. Aaron, ever the pragmatist, though one blinded by his own desires, saw only an obstacle to be overcome. He pointed at the nearest cultist, a young man with a face barely past adolescence.


    "You! You''ll accept this¡­ Offer to open the door," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. The young man, visibly trembling, stammered, "What¡­ What is the price?"


    < Death.


    A wave of murmurs, a mixture of protest and fear, rippled through the group. Even the most fervent among them seemed taken aback by the starkness of the demand. Aaron, however, stepped forward, placing a hand ¨C heavy with rings ¨C on the young man''s shoulder. "Don''t worry, my boy," he said, his voice dripping with false reassurance. "It will test our faith, our resolve. I will protect you. The artifact that awaits us on the other side¡­ It will be worth any sacrifice."


    It was a blatant lie, a promise whispered to manipulate the vulnerable. Aaron knew it, the cultists suspected it, and the young man, his face now ashen, felt the icy grip of dread tighten around his heart. But fear of Aaron outweighed his fear of the unknown. He nodded slowly, a single tear tracing a path through the grime on his cheek.


    "I¡­ I accept," he whispered, his voice barely audible.


    A blinding flash of crimson lightning erupted from the door, illuminating the common room with an eerie, flickering glow. The air crackled with raw power. The young cultist, the sacrificial lamb chosen by his leader, didn''t even have time to scream. He was instantly reduced to a pile of ash, his form consumed by the intense energy.


    The remaining cultists recoiled, their initial apprehension now replaced by stark terror. The smell of burnt flesh and ozone filled the air, a grim reminder of the price demanded. Aaron, however, merely narrowed his eyes, his gaze fixed on magical construct. Did it move? Does it require more? The fear of his followers was a tool to be wielded, not a concern to be addressed. He had paid the first installment. The rest would follow, willingly or otherwise.


    "Who else will test themselves against me?" It roared, a thrill coursing through his ancient frame.


    With both the master''s room and the cafeteria sealed, Aaron ordered the remaining cultists to search the bedrooms and living areas. They found nothing.


    Aaron was furious. Not only had he sacrificed countless lives ¨C Cultists, both here and during the rituals, and the children he''d encounter ascending ¨C but he had also failed to find the source of the disruption. He couldn''t enter the cafeteria, though he doubted whatever was thwarting him was hiding there with the mage.


    The talking, lightning-wielding door was the only remaining mystery. It was the only room in the¡­ Cottage? It seemed much larger on the inside than its exterior suggested.


    Unable to progress further, and with no participants willing to be obliterated by lightning, Aaron stormed out, his mood blacker than a ash on the floor. He had suffered multiple ritual failures, and the source of the interference in the tower remained elusive. His brother would undoubtedly have words about his ill-timed assault and loses, but Aaron was beyond caring.


    He had had enough. After so many failures, after being unable to locate the source of the disruption in the tower, he was going to bypass the petty rituals and level the entire city. Gods be damned. The ingrates be damned. And the class he was so desperately trying to reach? That could be damned too.

 Chapter 26

    By the time she¡¯d wrung the necessary information from the trembling Cultist, Sarah¡¯s heart was a frantic drum against her ribs. She¡¯d practically sprinted back, the damp earth squelching beneath her boots, the image of her tower burning in her mind. But even as she burst through the door, a cold dread had already begun to seep into her bones.


    The tower room was indeed empty, save for Melissa and the two small corpses. The sight hit Sarah like a physical blow. For a sickening moment, they seemed to blur, morphing into the pale, still faces of Ariel and Sebastian. It was a phantom echo of their deaths, a fresh wave of grief crashing over her. Her knees buckled, and she gripped the edge of a nearby desk, fighting back a wave of nausea.


    Ariel¡¯s cheerful smile, so bright and infectious, flashed before her eyes. She could almost hear her bubbly laughter echoing through the empty room. Then came Sebastian, his brow perpetually furrowed in concentration, the sharp, calculated logic that always danced behind his intelligent eyes. They were gone. Gone. The realization was a heavy weight in her chest. They wouldn''t be able to inhabit the copses again unless she cast (Create Undead).


    A bitter taste rose in Sarah¡¯s throat. She¡¯d been trying so hard to steer clear of necromancy. Every fiber of her being recoiled at the thought of manipulating life and death, of binding souls to decaying flesh. Yet, the universe, it seemed, was determined to hold her hand as it walked her down that path. It was a cruel joke, a cosmic nudge towards the very thing she feared most. Was this her destiny? To become the very thing everyone else despised?


    But¡­ Ariel and Sebastian. They weren¡¯t just random souls she¡¯d plucked from the ether. They were¡­ Family. A strange, unconventional family, perhaps, forged in the crucible of magic and death, but family nonetheless. She¡¯d grown fond of their quirks, their personalities, their very essence. They weren''t just undead; they were Ariel and Sebastian. The thought of leaving them trapped in the void, their consciousness extinguished, was unbearable. A tear escaped, tracing a lonely path down her cheek.


    The internal struggle raged within her. The ethical implications, the fear of the dark path that lay before her, warred with the love she felt for these two souls. She closed her eyes, the silence of the tower amplifying the turmoil in her heart. What choice did she have?


    The cold stone of the tower pressed against Sarah¡¯s back, a stark contrast to the burning turmoil within her. Each ragged breath was a battleground, the whisper of the wind through the arrow slits a mournful chorus to the ethical war raging in her soul. The love she held for Melissa and Elias, a fragile, precious thing, was locked in a desperate struggle with the chilling dread of the path she knew lay before her. It was a path shrouded in shadows, a place where the whispers of the dead mingled with the screams of the living, a place she had vowed never to tread again. Yet, here she was, poised on its precipice.


    She squeezed her eyes shut, the rough-hewn timbers of the tower¡¯s interior blurring into a swirling darkness. The silence, broken only by the frantic pounding of her own heart, amplified the chaos in her mind. What choice did she have? The question echoed in the hollow chambers of her heart, a relentless drumbeat against the fragile hope that still flickered within her. She knew the answer, or at least, she thought she did. The lives of those she loved hung in the balance, weighed against the cost of her own damnation.


    Finally, she opened her eyes, the grey light of the approaching dawn casting long, skeletal shadows across the floor. She looked at Melissa, her face etched with worry, tears already brimming. The words she had to say felt like shards of glass in her throat.


    "I''m sorry, Melissa. This was my fault." The confession tumbled out, raw and ragged. Melissa¡¯s brow furrowed in confusion, her tears momentarily forgotten.


    "What? They attacked us, Sarah! They¡­ they tried to¡­ You haven¡¯t done anything wrong,¡± she stammered, her voice thick with unshed tears. The injustice of it all, the sheer, brutal randomness of the assault, threatened to overwhelm her.


    Sarah shook her head, unable to meet Melissa¡¯s gaze. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s not what I meant. I¡¯m a Necromancer.¡± The word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. It was a brand, a scarlet letter in the arcane world, a death sentence in some circles.


    Melissa recoiled, a flicker of fear crossing her face, but it was quickly replaced by something else, something stronger. She reached out, her hand trembling slightly, and gripped Sarah¡¯s shoulders. Her touch was firm, grounding. She looked directly into Sarah¡¯s eyes, her own filled with a fierce determination.


    "I don''t care," she said, her voice ringing with conviction. "You''re one of the nicest people I''ve ever met. Hell, I don''t even care what the Syndicate says. I''ve met plenty of priests and officials who are further down the dark path than than you are.¡± A small, almost imperceptible shudder ran through her as she spoke the last words, but her gaze never wavered.


    Sarah was stunned. She had braced herself for revulsion, for fear, for the horrified flight she had anticipated. She had expected Melissa to scream, to run, to look at her with the wide-eyed terror of someone confronted with a monster.


    Instead, she was met with acceptance, with unwavering support. A wave of warmth spread through her, chasing away some of the icy dread that had gripped her heart. It was a small ember in the darkness. For the first time, she had spoken the truth, and instead of rejection, she had found¡­ Understanding. The burden on her soul, though still heavy, felt infinitesimally lighter. The secret, the gnawing fear, had finally been shared.


    "Thank you, Melissa," was all she said, gratitude laced with a chilling resolve, as Sarah cast (Create Undead). The air in the chamber crackled with necromantic energy. From the cold stone floor, the corpses of the children, so recently full of life and laughter, began to stir. Their movements were jerky, unnatural, their eyes vacant and dull. They were no longer the vibrant, innocent souls they had been; they were empty vessels, puppets animated by dark magic. A pang of guilt, sharp and swift, pierced Sarah''s heart, but she pushed it down. This was necessary.


    Opening the ethereal interface of the tower, a shimmering blue screen only she could see, Sarah meticulously spent the souls she had earned in training. The energy surged, feeding the spell. With a whispered command, she summoned Ariel and Sebastian.


    The transformation of the risen corpses was swift and unsettling. The girl''s dull flesh shed, reforming into smooth, healthy skin. Her hair, once dark, now flowed in a cascade of shimmering gold, quickly concealed by a whimsical, yet practical, frog outfit that materialized around her, covering her from neck to toe.


    Ariel¡¯s eyes flickered open, filled with a complex mix of emotions ¨C confusion, fear, and a deep, gnawing remorse. Her small face crumpled, cycling through a rapid succession of expressions before settling on a look of sheepish apology. "I''m sorry, Master," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "This was my fault. I was¡­ Flaunting my power, trying to scare them, when I should have locked the tower down immediately." The weight of her mistake pressed down on her, her shoulders slumping. She was taking the tragedy hard, the souls lost because of her lapse in judgment a heavy burden on her.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Sebastian, his eyes as sharp and calculating as ever, his usually vibrant blue hair slicked back, offered a counterpoint. "It wasn''t your fault, Ariel. He would have used (Dispel) regardless. He was determined to breach the tower. The only saving grace was Solus."


    His voice was calm and reasoned, yet a coldness lingered in its tone, a reflection of the ruthless pragmatism that defined him. He understood the necessity of their actions, but that didn''t lessen the sting of the loss.


    Sarah, watching Ariel''s distress, felt a surge of protectiveness. She knew Sebastian was right. The invaders would have used any means at their disposal to break through their defenses. It just galled her that they had resorted to such drastic measures while she had been out dealing with goblins. A bitter taste filled her mouth.


    Overwhelmed by a sudden wave of emotion, Sarah pulled both Ariel and Sebastian into a tight embrace. The contact was new, but it spoke volumes. Both of them were initially surprised by the unexpected gesture, their bodies stiffening for a moment. But as Sarah held them closer, the warmth of her embrace seeping through their shock, they slowly reciprocated, their own arms tentatively reaching back to return the hug.


    The shared moment of grief and understanding was a silent acknowledgment of the trauma they had all endured. Nearby, Melissa, her eyes still red and swollen from crying, leaned into the huddle, seeking comfort in the shared physical contact. The small group, bound by magic, loss, and the shared responsibility of their grim task, found solace in each other''s presence.


    "I''ve seen enough," a voice resonated from the doorway, chilling Sarah to the bone. That voice, so familiar, so carefully modulated ¨C calm and collected when discussing the intricacies of Grower, yet endearingly flustered when venturing into personal territory, always punctuated by a touch of cheesy charm. Now, however, it carried a different weight, a resonance of wounded pride.


    Sarah turned, her heart sinking, to find Leo standing framed in the doorway. His expression was a complex tapestry of emotions, dominated by a profound sense of betrayal. His eyes, usually warm and inviting, now held a chilling distance. They spoke volumes: "I¡¯ve been lied to, and I was too blind to see it."


    "Leo, I can explain," she began, her voice barely a whisper. He raised a hand, stopping her with a gesture that spoke of both hurt and resolve. His gaze shifted, taking in the scene before him. First, it landed on Ariel, the receptionist he''d briefly met on his previous visit. Today, she sported a vibrant frog onesie and he made a mental note to compliment her later, the ingrained politeness a stark contrast to the turmoil within him.


    Then, his eyes settled on Sebastian. The boy, met Leo''s gaze with a chillingly callous suspicion, his small frame radiating an aura of hardened resilience. It was the look of someone who had seen too much, too young. A hard life, Leo thought grimly, likely even harder after what he just overheard.


    "We''ll discuss your explanations later," Leo said, his voice clipped and formal, a stark departure from his usual jovial tone. "First, tell me everything that happened." His tone brokered no argument.


    Since Sarah had been absent during the initial assault, Melissa stepped forward, recounting the harrowing events. She spoke of the sudden, brutal attack by the Cultists, their faces twisted in fanatic fervor.


    Then came the awkward explanation of the "tower," which, in reality, was the unassuming cottage. However, this wasn''t Earth; this was a world where magic was as commonplace as the rustling of leaves, and the idea of a cottage masquerading as a fortified tower was met with a shrug and a murmured, "Well, that explains it."


    Melissa¡¯s narrative reached its climax as she described their desperate attempts to breach Solus. The door, with no apparent loyalty to anyone but the master of the tower, had not only held the Cultists at bay but had also, with chilling efficiency, dispatched one of them. The image of the Cultist¡¯s lifeless form, crumpled against the cottage¡¯s threshold, lingered in the air. He had also denied Melissa entry which she made sure to mention.


    As she spoke, Sarah felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Horror at the attack, of course, but also a fierce pride in Solus. He had done exactly what he was designed to do. He had protected the tower, her tower. If it hadn''t been for him¡­ The thought made her shiver.


    When Melissa finished, Leo''s gaze returned to Sarah. He was gracious enough to allow her a brief, word with Solus before they departed. Even in the face of the recent revelations, even knowing that she was a Necromancer, he still became slightly flustered in her presence. The ingrained awkwardness, the remnants of his cheesy charm, were a strange comfort in the midst of the chaos. As Sarah headed upstairs, she couldn''t help but wonder what the future held, now that the carefully constructed facade of her life had crumbled.


    When Sarah reached Solus, the sentient door was radiating an aura of pique. His usually smooth, polished surface seemed to ripple with a subtle agitation.


    "Why was I not involved in the group hug?" The question, spoken in a low, resonant voice that seemed to emanate from the very wood itself, hung in the air. His awkward nature, usually a source of amusement for Sarah, now left her genuinely puzzled.


    Firstly, how could a door, even a magically animated one, participate in a hug? Secondly, and perhaps more disturbingly, how had he even seen it happen? The heartwarming embrace shared with Ariel, Sebastian, and Melissa had taken place downstairs in the bustling reception area. Solus, on the other hand, resided on the top floor, a silent sentinel guarding the master suite. The logistics of his observation were baffling.


    "Before that," Sarah began, trying to steer the conversation away from the hug, "well done, Solus. Honestly. Melissa told me how you defended my room. So, thank you. Thank you for being my guardian."


    Solus''s wood, a rich mahogany, seemed to deepen in color, almost blushing. A low rumble echoed from within his frame before he began a series of surprisingly realistic coughs, muffled into a fist that materialized seemingly out of thin air.


    "Woah," Sarah exclaimed, genuinely shocked. "Since when could you do that?" This was the first display of non-lightning magic she''d witnessed coming from the door. The fist, crafted from the same dark wood as his frame, was almost as tall as she was. Intricate carvings of leaves and vines adorned its surface, giving it an almost lifelike quality.


    "I have always possessed this¡­ Feature," Solus replied, a hint of pride lacing his voice. "It was merely¡­ Dormant, awaiting the proper¡­ Reactivation." He beamed, or at least Sarah interpreted the subtle shift in the wood grain as a beam. He was clearly delighted that more of his original, perhaps forgotten, functions were returning.


    "Is that how you saw what happened downstairs?" Sarah asked, her curiosity making leaps. The thought of Solus somehow projecting his consciousness or having some hidden surveillance system was both intriguing and slightly unnerving.


    Solus immediately clamped up again, the brief blush receding. He remained stubbornly silent, his previous enthusiasm replaced by a brooding stillness. It was obvious that the perceived slight of being excluded from the group hug still stung.


    "You''re family too, you know," Sarah said softly, placing a hand on his cool, smooth frame. The mahogany beneath her fingers seemed to warm slightly, turning even redder than before as she placed her forehead against him. The floating fist, still hovering in the air, almost knocked her off balance as Solus broke into another coughing fit, this one seemingly more genuine and perhaps a little choked.


    "Don''t worry," Sarah continued, sensing his discomfort. "I don''t expect you to say anything back. I know you''re not that way inclined. I just wanted you to know that I appreciate you saving Melissa and protecting the tower. I don''t know what I''d do without you." The atmosphere was thick with unspoken emotions.


    After a moment of comfortable silence, Sarah added, a determined glint in her eyes, "Now, I''m going to go and kill some people. Hopefully, Leo won''t mind, but we''ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Keep them safe for me?"


    "Yes, Master," Solus replied, his voice strong and resonant, no longer disjointed or out of sync like an old, poorly dubbed movie. The earlier awkwardness had vanished, replaced by a renewed sense of duty. Sarah nodded, a small smile playing on her lips, and set off for the "Ale for All" Guild Hall. She hadn''t been anywhere else recently where she''d caused a stir, so that seemed like the most logical place to start her¡­ Inquiries.

 Chapter 27

    Sarah quickly parsed through her notifications, a familiar weariness settling over her, before rejoining Leo. Another string of mundane victories flashed across the screen.


    Congratulations! You have successfully defeated Goblin (Level 2)


    Congratulations! You have successfully defeated Goblin (Level 3)


    The same monotonous message, repeated ad nauseam. Each goblin¡¯s death was like a tiny pinprick of experience, barely registering in the grand scheme of things. Days she had spent in this dreary cycle, hacking and slashing at the diminutive green creatures, her progress stagnant.


    The only real benefit had been a growing intimacy with her own body ¨C a sharpened sense of her skills, a deeper understanding of her stats. But that had changed, abruptly and violently, just this afternoon.


    Congratulations! You have successfully defeated Cultist (Level 15) - Ivan Alorman


    Congratulations! You have successfully defeated Cultist (Level 11) - Rayan Mor


    A jolt of adrenaline, a flicker of disbelief. Those notifications were different. They carried weight, a sense of consequence.


    You have acquired the skill: Mana Sight


    (Mana Sight)


    - Mana, the life force of the world, threads through all things, living and otherwise. It dwells within every creature, and only those with awakened senses can barely witness to its power.


    She''d witnessed the tendrils of mana coalesce, weaving themselves into the Cultist''s spell. Then, the woven magic, formed from the very fabric of reality had blazed forth. The fiery projectile aimed directly at her. Sarah''s speed had been enough to carry her out of harms way at the last second, but she was still unsure of herself. How would she far against stronger opponent?


    Congratulations! Your class has leveled up


    You have acquired the skill: Summon Undead


    (Summon Undead)


    <strong style="font-style: italic">- Echoes of death answer the caster''s call, drawing forth spectral warriors and skeletal guardians. These undead thralls are bound by a fragile thread of mana, requiring a continuous expenditure equal to their level to maintain their corporeal forms.


    Congratulations! Your class has leveled up


    Congratulations! Your class has leveled up


    Three levels in rapid succession and another skill. It was absurd, unbelievable. Days of goblin grinding yielded nothing, and then, in the span of a single, chaotic minute, she had catapulted forward.


    Yes, she had killed people. Cultists, who had sprung from the treeline with malevolent intent, their eyes burning with fanaticism. They had attacked her; she had defended herself. The weight of taking a life pressed down on her, a cold knot in her stomach. She knew the burden, even if they were the ones who had initiated the violence.


    The third cultist, a young man with wide, terrified eyes, was still alive, probably. She had bound him tightly with his own tattered robe, leaving him trussed and helpless in the meadow. A grim sort of mercy. Maybe some scavenging animal had found him by now. Maybe he had managed to escape. The thought of what might have become of him sent a fresh wave of unease through her.


    A pang of regret, sharp and unexpected, twisted in her gut. If he was dead¡­ Sarah lamented the lost experience points. It was a cold calculation, she knew, but the system was the system. Some goblin, bloated and sluggish from feasting on her would-be prey, would be reaping the rewards of her near-miss.


    The injustice of it stung. With a sigh, she opened her status screen and allocated the unspent attribute points. Fifteen points, all poured into Wisdom. Perhaps it would help her make better decisions in the future. Perhaps it would dull the sharp edges of the guilt that gnawed at her. Perhaps it would just make her better at spotting goblins.


    They left the tower, Sarah feeling a subtle but undeniable surge of power within her. Her level ups having left their mark. It wasn''t a dramatic, world-altering transformation, but a quiet strengthening, like a single, previously dormant muscle flexing with newfound awareness. Her mind sharper than it ever had been.


    Silence hung heavy between them. Leo¡¯s brow was furrowed, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the cobblestones. The revelation of Sarah''s class had clearly shaken him. The easy camaraderie that had blossomed between them now felt brittle, threatened by the shadows that clung to her. He was a guard, sworn to protect the realm from such dark practices, and she¡­ She was the very thing he was meant to stand against. The unspoken question hung in the air: could their budding connection survive this truth?


    Sarah, for her part, was lost in a whirlwind of her own. The weight of her secret, now shared with Leo, felt heavier than ever. She didn''t know what to say, how could she explain everything that had happened to her without sounding crazy?


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Words seemed inadequate, clumsy tools to convey the complex emotions churning within her. So, she remained silent, acutely aware of the distance that had sprung up between them, a chasm carved by unspoken fears and uncertainties.


    Their walk took them through the centre of the city, past bustling vendors and overbearing merchants, until they reached their destination: the "Ale for All" guild. The sounds of brewing usually spilling from its open doors were muted tonight, replaced by an unsettling stillness.


    As they approached, Sarah noticed something was amiss. The usual scattering of patrons loitering outside was absent. Instead, a double line of guards, far more numerous than she¡¯d ever seen outside any guild, even the bank didn''t employ that many, stood rigidly at the base of the building''s wide, stone staircase. Their faces were grim, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. They looked less like welcoming hosts and more like a prepared garrison.


    Leo stopped abruptly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. He scanned the line of guards, his eyes narrowing. "This is¡­ unusual," he muttered, his voice low. He clearly hadn''t expected such a reception. The air crackled with tension, a palpable sense of anticipation.


    It was as if the guild was holding its breath, waiting for something ¨C or someone ¨C to arrive. Sarah felt a prickle of unease. This wasn''t just a coincidence. This was a welcome party.


    A knot tightened in Sarah''s stomach. The sheer number of guards flanking the "Ale for All" guild hall confirmed her worst fears. They had been the ones that assaulted her tower. Why else would they fortify the place like this? The last time she''d been here, two guards, more for show than actual security, had lounged about outside. The two that were inside guarding that door though...


    Now, a bristling line of at least a dozen mercenaries, hardened faces grim beneath the flickering torchlight, stood between them and the entrance. Each one radiated an air of practiced menace, their hands resting near the hilts of their swords. They were clearly expecting trouble. Or, more accurately, they were expecting her.


    "Mercenaries," Leo rumbled, his voice a low growl that vibrated in Sarah''s chest. It was as though he¡¯d plucked the thought straight from her mind. He''d noticed the change too. They both knew this wasn''t normal, even for the notoriously dominant "Ale for All." This was a deliberate escalation.


    Sarah risked a glance at Leo. His usually jovial face was set in a hard line, his golden eyes narrowed and glinting in the dim light. She knew what he was capable of. The Guard Captain, despite his jovial nature, had invested every unspent point he had into Strength. He was a force of nature, a walking, talking, roaring powerhouse. And right now, he looked ready to unleash that power.


    The air crackled with anticipation. The mercenaries shifted nervously, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. One of them, a burly man with a square jaw, stepped forward, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "Hold there!" he barked, his voice rough. "State your business!"


    Leo didn''t bother with a response. Instead, he threw back his head and unleashed a roar that echoed through Central Street, a primal sound that spoke of pure, unadulterated power. It was the roar of a lion, deep and resonant, a challenge issued to the world. The mercenaries recoiled, their bravado momentarily forgotten.


    And then, Leo moved.


    He surged forward with an explosive burst of speed that belied his size, a whirlwind of muscle and fury. It was less a charge and more a controlled demolition. He crashed into the line of mercenaries like a battering ram, his massive fists swinging in wide, devastating arcs. The first man he hit was sent flying, his body slamming into the wall of the guild hall with a sickening thud. The others barely had time to react.


    Leo¡¯s movements were a blur. He moved with a surprising agility, weaving through the startled mercenaries, his roars punctuating the sounds of clashing steel and grunts of pain. His fists were like hammers, crushing bone and sending men sprawling. His teeth, sharp and predatory, flashed in the dim light as he snapped at an exposed arm, drawing a scream of agony. Blood sprayed, painting the cobblestones a dark crimson.


    Sarah watched, mesmerized and slightly horrified, as Leo tore through the mercenaries. It was brutal, efficient, and undeniably captivating. She knew she should be horrified, that she should look away, but she couldn''t. There was a primal thrill in witnessing such raw power unleashed, a dark, secret part of her that was¡­ Aroused?


    She would never admit it, of course, but the image of Leo, a whirlwind of righteous fury, was burned into her mind. This was no mere guard captain; this was a force of nature, and she was witnessing him in his element.


    ???????????


    The air crackled with the residue of their argument, the echoes of Eric¡¯s accusations still ringing in Aaron¡¯s ears. "Heretic," the word hung in the air, a brand seared onto their already tarnished family name. Fallen nobles, indeed. Their fascination with the occult, once a whispered secret, was now a scarlet letter, isolating them from the remnants of their former standing.


    It was in this desperate isolation that Aaron had encountered Zeth. Zeth, enigmatic and powerful, belonged to an order steeped in the very occult practices that had damned their family. Only the most gifted were welcomed into their ranks, and Aaron, desperate for acceptance and a chance to reclaim some semblance of power, craved membership. The price? A demonstration of his worth, a feat significant enough to earn him a place within their stratified order.


    Aaron believed he had found the perfect opportunity. He knew how to acquire a powerful class, one that would not only prove his capabilities but also elevate him within the occult world. But everything had spiraled into chaos.


    The Cultists assigned to assist him in the summoning ritual were now corpses, strewn across the desecrated chamber. The ritual itself, meticulously planned and painstakingly prepared, had failed spectacularly three times. The arcane energies he had sought to harness remained stubbornly dormant.


    The survivors of the tower assault, his supposed allies, had scattered like rats, their fear outweighing their loyalty. They would undoubtedly carry tales of his failure to the very figures he had attempted to impress, those whose positions he had so brazenly sought to usurp.


    A bitter laugh escaped Aaron¡¯s lips. He no longer gave a damn. He didn''t care about the elusive component that had thwarted the catalyst''s activation. His brother¡¯s opinion, once a source of constant rivalry, now seemed utterly insignificant. The roar of the monstrous lion outside, tearing through the mercenary band he had hired for protection, was just background noise to his despair. Even the looming presence of the woman and her absurdly oversized cottage, which had become an unwelcome memory, failed to register as anything more than an obstacle.


    A cold resolve settled over him. He would obliterate them all.


    His eyes, burning with a feverish intensity, fell upon one of the fleeing cultists he''d captured. Aaron plunged the deep into the cultist''s heart. As the lifeblood ebbed away, Aaron channeled the dying man''s energy, weaving it into a protective barrier around himself and the remnants of his failed ritual circle.


    He would use his own life force now, twisting and cross-wiring the arcane energies of the circle. He would unleash a cataclysmic blast, a wave of pure destructive power that would engulf Grower and everything within it.


    If he was going to be consumed by the flames of his ambition, he would drag everyone else down with him. The world had rejected him, branded him a heretic. Very well. He would give them a heretic to remember.

 Chapter 28

    Sarah fiddled with the ring on her finger, the cold steel a small comfort against the gnawing unease in her stomach. She knew coming with Leo was the right decision, even if the stoic guard captain hadn''t left any room for negotiations.


    He''d been investigating this guild from the start, his gruff professionalism a shield against the growing panic in the city. Still, Sarah would have felt a lot better if she had her staff. It was an unfamiliar weight, but an extension of herself at the same time. With it, she would stronger, her stats higher if she supplied it with magic.


    She left it tucked safely within her ring. Leo¡¯s reaction to her revealed class had been¡­ Complicated. A mixture of annoyance at her deception and something warmer, something that still made him flutter despite the grim circumstances.


    The last thing she needed was to exacerbate the situation by brandishing a weapon that looked like it belonged in a nightmare. She¡¯d trained with her hands and feet, a discipline she¡¯d mastered twice. Now, it seemed, those skills would be put to the test.


    Leo''s usually pristine white fur was now a disturbing crimson, matted and slick after he''d finished off all of the mercenaries. He¡¯d dispatched them with brutal efficiency, a whirlwind of claw and fang. Sarah had watched, a knot of admiration and fear tightening in her chest. He was a force of nature, a predator unleashed. And right now, that predator was focused on the ¡°Ale for All¡± guild


    With a powerful kick, Leo splintered the door, sending it crashing inwards. The silence that greeted them was unnerving. The usual boisterous atmosphere of the guild was absent. No laughter, no clinking mugs, no smell of brewing ale. Even the receptionist¡¯s desk was empty, abandoned. It was as if the guild had been evacuated in a hurry. That all they ran away. The guard captain was very imposing.


    Sarah led Leo to the basement, the area previously guarded by two burly men. They''d actually been part of the guard outside and were now likely nursing some serious injuries thanks to Leo.


    Or potentially dead.


    Sarah didn''t care. They had invaded her home and killed children.


    Without a word, the lion slammed his foot against the door, the hinges groaning in protest before giving way. He flexed his knuckles, a silent display of his raw power.


    Torches flickered on the damp stone walls, casting long, dancing shadows as they descended the narrow stairs. The air grew heavy, thick with the smell of mildew and something else¡­ Something metallic and faintly acrid.


    Boxes were stacked haphazardly around the basement, some overflowing with what looked like dried herbs and alchemical ingredients. Rats scurried into the darkness as they passed, their beady eyes glinting in the torchlight.


    The basement was far larger than it should have been, stretching deeper and deeper beneath the guild. It was clear that this wasn''t just a storage area; it was a hidden passage, leading to something far more sinister. They followed the passage, the silence broken only by the drip of water and the echo of their footsteps.


    Finally, they emerged into a cavernous chamber, a vast space carved out of the rock beneath the city. And there, in the center of the chamber, stood the cultist who had attacked Sarah¡¯s tower. He turned to face them, a twisted smile contorting his features.


    ¡°So, you¡¯ve come,¡± he sneered, his voice echoing through the chamber. ¡°It¡¯s already too late.¡± He let out a chilling cackle, the sound laced with madness.


    He was dressed in the red robe Melissa had described and was clearly the leader, despite the fact that the chamber seemed as deserted as the Guild House above. There were no other cultists present, no chanting, no ritualistic paraphernalia. It was just him, standing alone in the vast cavern, radiating an aura of delusional fanaticism.


    He was shielded by a shimmering dome of magical energy, a barrier of swirling purple and pink mana. Inside the barrier, another cultist lay sprawled on the ground, her body impaled. Her eyes were wide and vacant, filled with a terror that transcended death.


    ¡°Aaron,¡± the cultist said, as if in answer to Sarah¡¯s unspoken question. He seemed completely unhinged, lost in his own world of twisted grandeur. The air crackled with power, the magical energy swirling around him like a tempest. He looked prepared to die, and Sarah had a sinking feeling he intended to take everyone with him.


    It was just the two of them against a madman wielding a dangerous and unpredictable magic.


    ¡°This is bad, Leo,¡± Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible.


    Leo frowned, his eyes scanning the scene, taking in the dead cultist, the shimmering barrier, and the manic gleam in Aaron¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± he asked, his voice sharp and focused. He didn¡¯t have time for vague pronouncements.


    ¡°That circle,¡± Sarah said, pointing to a complex pattern of runes etched into the floor beneath Aaron¡¯s feet. ¡°It¡¯s meant to¡­ Summon something, I think. I¡¯ve only studied beginner Runic Language, but I can tell he¡¯s not using it as intended.¡±


    Leo¡¯s brow furrowed. He understood the concept of runes, the basic principles of magical symbols, but he wasn¡¯t an expert. He looked at Sarah, waiting for her to elaborate.


    ¡°He¡¯s passing mana through it the wrong way,¡± she explained, her voice trembling slightly. She could feel the raw power emanating from the circle, a chaotic energy that threatened to spiral out of control.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Leo still didn¡¯t understand. He was a warrior, not a mage. He understood strategy, tactics, combat. Magic was¡­ Well, magic. Something best left to those who understood it.


    Sarah sighed, a mixture of frustration and fear. ¡°Seriously?¡± she exclaimed, her voice laced with exasperation. ¡°Not even a few stat points to spare for Intelligence?¡± It didn¡¯t matter if Leo didn¡¯t understand the intricacies of runic magic. Sarah needed him to understand the danger they were in.


    ¡°He¡¯s going to blow up the town, Leo!¡± she shouted, the words echoing through the cavern. The fear in her voice was palpable. She didn¡¯t know the exact mechanism, the precise chain of events, but she could feel it in her bones.


    The chaotic energy, the distorted runes, the manic gleam in Aaron¡¯s eyes¡­ It all added up to disaster. He wasn¡¯t just summoning or casting a spell; he was creating a volatile magical reaction, a catastrophic explosion.


    Leo''s breath hitched. The pieces of the puzzle slammed together, the truth a chilling revelation. The shimmering barrier, the charred remains of the dead cultist, the converging mana ¨C it all spoke of a desperate, reckless gamble. A gamble that would consume them all if left unchecked.


    He had come here to uphold the law, to rectify the wrong done to Sarah, and to ensure the sanctity of the city. He wouldn''t allow this madman to unleash whatever dark abomination he was brewing.


    "Stop this now!" Leo''s voice boomed, the authority of a seasoned guard captain ringing through the charged atmosphere. "If you surrender, your sentence might escape the chopping block." He held no illusions. The man was far gone, consumed by his own twisted ambition. Still, Leo had to offer the chance. It was his duty.


    His robes billowed within the dome, the fabric rippling as the mana coalesced, building to an unbearable crescendo. Sarah and Leo stood outside, the tension a tangible force, a suffocating weight. The cultist, his voice a grating rasp, launched into a tirade, a litany of grievances and delusions.


    "You dare interrupt me?" he spat, his voice laced with venom. "You think you can stop me? You who have allowed that¡­ That abomination to fester in her tower?" He gestured wildly, his eyes fixed on Sarah''s tower. "She has ruined everything! My plans, my destiny! She mocks our legacy!"


    He ranted about the injustice of his carefully laid plans, a constant reminder of his failure. He had moved in the shadows, his presence undetected by even Leo''s keen senses, a testament to his cunning. Leo, with a nose for the conspicuous, had been blind to the darkness lurking beneath the surface. Or at least it''s true nature.


    "My brother," Aaron continued, his voice cracking with a mix of rage and despair, "he turned his back on me! He refused to help me restore our family''s honor! But I will do it alone! I will erase the stain, I will destroy those who dared to mock us!" His words spiraled into a vortex of delusion, a descent into madness.


    "You think you understand power?" he sneered, his gaze locking onto Leo. "You think your brute strength can stop me? You know nothing! You are blind to the true depths of magic, the power that lies in the shadows!"


    Leo, his patience exhausted, his instincts screaming danger, lunged forward. He slammed his fist against the shimmering barrier, the impact sending a shockwave through his body. The barrier pulsed, repelling him with a force that sent him flying back, crashing to the ground.


    The cultist¡¯s laughter, a high-pitched, manic cackle, echoed through the air. "Fool! You think you can break this shield with your pathetically, overated strength? You are nothing!" He condescended Leo, his voice dripping with contempt. "You and your kind are blind to the true potential of magic. You cling to your petty laws and your feeble understanding, while I grasp the very essence of power!"


    Sarah, her face a mask of fury, stepped forward. She wouldn''t let this madman mock her, belittle her ears work. She wouldn''t let him destroy everything she had worked for. It had only been a week, but Grower had grown on her.


    She channeled her energy, invoking (Form of the Necromancer) raising her attack 75%. Her outfit, a blend of white, shimmering arcane threads, pulsed with mana, doubling her stats, transforming her into a force of raw, untamed power.


    She launched herself at the barrier, a dark blur of motion, her intent clear: to shatter the shield like fragile glass. With her enhanced strength and speed, the barrier should have crumbled before her. But the magical shield, bolstered by the chaotic energy within, held firm. It repelled her with the same force it had repelled Leo, sending her staggering back.


    The cultist¡¯s laughter intensified, a mocking, triumphant sound. "You? A Necromancer? You are a joke! How were you able to disrupt my rituals? You are inept! You are nothing but a stain on the true art of magic!" He turned his attention to the ritual circle, his voice laced with scorn. "And your guardians, those pathetic excuses for protectors, they were even weaker! They couldn''t even stop me! If it wasn''t for that fucking door!"


    His words, laced with venom and contempt, pushed Sarah over the edge. She wouldn''t tolerate his insults, wouldn''t allow him to belittle her or her guardians. With a flick of her wrist, she withdrew the Staff of Death from her ring, the obsidian staff pulsing with dark energy.


    The staff, a relic of immense power, a conduit for the very essence of death, a potent weapon, a symbol of mastery over the necromantic arts.


    "You dare speak of my guardians?" she hissed, her voice a low, dangerous growl. "You dare insult my tower?" The staff hummed in her grip, the air around her crackling with dark energy as she supplied the mana required. "You crossed a line, Dickhead. You like an everyday dictator who thinks they do tas they please. But, you''re going to pay for your arrogance."


    The cultist, oblivious to the storm brewing within Sarah, continued his rant, his voice rising in a crescendo of madness. "You think you can stop me? You think you can contain this power? I am beyond your comprehension! I am the harbinger! The source of power, of dominance, of absolute control!"


    He raised his hands, the runes on the floor glowing brighter, the chaotic energy within swirling faster, building towards a cataclysmic release. "You will all witness my ascension! You will all bow before my power!"


    Leo, recovering from the impact, watched Sarah, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew she was powerful, knew she was capable of incredible feats of magic. But the energy radiating inside the cavern, the sheer chaotic force swirling within, was unlike anything he had ever witnessed. He knew that even Sarah, with her enhanced abilities, might not be enough to stop what was coming.


    He had to act, had to find a way to break through the barrier, to stop the cultist before he unleashed his destructive magic. He scanned the barrier, searching for a weakness, a flaw in the shimmering surface. He noticed the runes, their patterns shifting and changing, their glow pulsing with erratic intensity.


    Sarah''s eyes, twin points of focused fury, locked onto the cultist. The Staff of Death, cold and heavy in her grasp, pulsed with a dark energy that mirrored her own surging resolve. No subtle approach, no calculated strike; raw, untamed power was her only answer. She launched herself forward, a blur against the dim backdrop of the ritual chamber.


    Days of rigorous training, of pushing herself to the edge, culminated in this moment. She was a human projectile, a force of nature unleashed, crashing into the shimmering barrier with the brutal, unstoppable impact of a runaway freight train. The air crackled, the barrier warped, and the force of the collision reverberated through the very stones beneath their feet

 Chapter 29

    The air was palpable with residual energy, a tangible tension that clung to the damp cavern walls. Sarah''s attack had failed, leaving left her breathless, her body screaming in protest. The shimmering barrier, a grotesque tapestry of pink and purple energy, pulsed with an almost malevolent life, mocking her futile attempts.


    Even after the double stat boosts and the focused 20% enhancements, it remained impenetrable, an insurmountable wall between her and the raving cultist within.


    "Maybe we we''ll have more success if we attack together?" Leo''s voice, usually a playful tone, was now edged with desperation. His fur was matted with blood and grime, the devilish glint in his eyes reflected the grim reality of their situation.


    "I doubt it will work, Leo. It''s¡­ It''s beyond anything I''ve encountered," Sarah admitted, her voice strained. The sheer density of the barrier was unnerving, a wall of pure magical force that defied logic.


    Leo''s gaze, usually filled with unwavering confidence, faltered. He was a creature of immense power, a guardian, yet he felt utterly powerless against the impending catastrophe. The city, his city, hung in the balance, threatened by the cultist''s insane ambition.


    "You won''t be able to destroy that barrier." A familiar voice echoed through the cavern, cutting through the tense silence. Sarah whirled around, her heart leaping.


    "Melissa?" Confusion washed over her, quickly followed by a surge of anxiety. "What are you doing here? It''s dangerous." Sarah desperately hoped that her tower, her home, would withstand the cataclysmic event that was about to unfold. She thought it would.


    The tower had been around longer than Solus presumably. Melissa''s presence in the cavern, meant that she was not safe.


    "With a swell of mana that size, it''s dangerous anywhere in the city," Melissa replied, her voice calm but firm. The mage''s weathered face, etched with years of magical practice, betrayed the gravity of the situation. Sarah knew Melissa didn''t know much about the tower, but there was no time for explanations.


    "Can you stop it?" Leo''s voice, laced with a flicker of hope, broke the silence. He looked at Melissa, a 43-year-old mage, as if she were their last bastion of hope.


    "No," Melissa said, her voice devoid of false optimism. "I can, however, contain the overflow of mana if you''re able to stop him."


    "What does that mean?" Sarah asked, her brow furrowed. The mage''s words were cryptic, a puzzle they had to solve quickly.


    "It means I can hold the mana in check, prevent it from exploding outward, until you find a way to neutralize it."


    Sarah''s mind raced. Neutralize it? How? The barrier was unbreakable, and the cultist was clearly beyond reason. But they had to try.


    "Okay," Sarah said, her voice firm. "I have a plan to get Aaron to drop his barrier. It involves necromancy, though. Is that alright, Leo?"


    Leo''s golden eyes narrowed, a flicker of disapproval flashing across his face. Necromancy, the manipulation of death, was a dark art, one that went against the natural order. But the stakes were too high for moral qualms.


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    "Do it," Leo said, his voice heavy with reluctant consent.


    Sarah turned back to the barrier, her resolve hardening. The pink and purple dome pulsed with malevolent energy, a living entity that defied her every attempt to breach it. From within, Aaron''s voice echoed, a twisted symphony of madness.


    "Fools! You cannot stop me! I am the pinnacle! The greatest! No one can stop me now!" His words were a delusional rant, the ramblings of a man consumed by power.


    Sarah began the complicated process of cutting the mana supply to her enchanted gear and weapon. The drain was significant. The magical items were designed to hold and amplify mana, not to release it. With the supply severed, she was left with half her reserves, still a considerable amount, but a gamble nonetheless.


    She raised her staff, the purple gem nestled within the intricately carved wooden hands glowing with a faint, ominous light. This was a risk, a gamble with the very fabric of life and death, but it was their only chance.


    "Rise," she whispered, her voice resonating with arcane power. She poured her remaining mana into the staff, focusing her intent on the space within the barrier. The cavern floor trembled, and a chilling gust of wind swept through the chamber.


    From the depths of the earth, a skeletal figure emerged, its bones rattling with an otherworldly resonance. It was colossal, a titan of bone and shadow, rising from the very bedrock of the cavern. A tattered black cape billowed behind it, and in its skeletal hands, it wielded a massive tower shield and a hulking, obsidian-edged sword.


    A quick (Identify) spell confirmed its nature: Death Knight - 1 - loyal.


    The cultist, caught completely off guard, stumbled back, his eyes wide with terror. He had not anticipated this, a creature of pure death summoned from the depths of the earth. In his panic, he instinctively dropped the barrier, the shimmering dome dissipating like smoke in the wind.


    The barrier was gone.


    Leo, seizing the opportunity, lunged forward, his powerful claws extended. He moved with a speed that belied his size, a blur of white fur and deadly intent.


    "Melissa!" Sarah shouted, her voice echoing through the cavern.


    "On it!" Melissa responded, her voice strained but resolute. She moved to the altar, the source of the overwhelming mana surge. The air around her shimmered as she began the arduous task of containing the volatile energy. It was like trying to hold back a raging torrent with bare hands.


    Aaron, freed from his protective bubble, fought with a desperate ferocity. He was a skilled combatant, his movements honed by years of training, but he was outnumbered and outmatched. Leo, driven by a primal rage, attacked with relentless fury, his claws tearing through the cultist''s defenses.


    Sarah, her staff crackling with necromantic energy, supported Leo, summoning spectral blades to harass Aaron, forcing him to divide his attention. The Death Knight, an unyielding wall of bone and steel, moved with a terrifying grace, its obsidian sword cleaving through the air.


    Aaron evaded and parried, but the combined assault was overwhelming. He was a cornered animal, fighting with the desperation of a man facing his doom.


    Meanwhile, Melissa struggled to contain the mana surge. The air around the altar thrummed with raw power, the very fabric of reality threatening to tear apart. Sweat beaded on her brow, and her hands trembled as she channeled her magic, weaving intricate patterns of energy to hold back the tide. The power was immense, far greater than she had anticipated.


    The fight raged on, a whirlwind of steel and magic. Leo''s claws tore through Aaron''s armor, leaving deep, bloody gashes. Sarah''s spectral blades danced around the cultist, cutting him with ethereal precision. The Death Knight, an unstoppable force, hammered Aaron with its tower shield and cleaved at him with its obsidian sword.


    Finally, Aaron fell, his body riddled with wounds, his eyes wide with disbelief. The cultist''s delusional dream of godhood shattered, his life extinguished by the very power he sought to control.


    But the danger was far from over. Melissa was still struggling, the mana surge threatening to overwhelm her. The cavern walls trembled, and the air crackled with raw energy.


    "Sarah! Leo! I can''t hold it much longer!" Melissa''s voice, strained and desperate, echoed through the cavern.


    Sarah and Leo exchanged a look, their eyes filled with grim determination. They had stopped the cultist, but now they had to contain the very power he had unleashed. The fate of the city rested on their shoulders.

 Chapter 30

    The suffocating weight of mana pressed against Sarah''s lungs, each breath a struggle. Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at her throat. "How do we stop the ritual?" she choked out, her voice barely a whisper against the oppressive hum of the cavern''s energy.


    Leo''s usually calm demeanor was etched with grim urgency. "Think, he said you prevented him before. How did you do that?" His words were a lifeline, a desperate plea for her to dredge up some forgotten knowledge, some spark of understanding.


    Sarah''s mind churned, a tempest of fear and bewilderment. "I... I don''t know," she confessed, her voice tight with a frustration that bordered on panic. "It''s not like I''ve been practicing my... Skills since arriving." The unspoken word, necromancy, hung heavy in the air, a class she wished she could disown. The secret she''d carried, a source of forbidden power, felt more like a leaden anchor, dragging her down in the face of a crisis she couldn''t comprehend.


    "It doesn''t matter right now. We need to figure out what you did before," Leo insisted, his eyes unwavering. The air crackled with tension, the unspoken threat of imminent disaster hanging heavy between them.


    Reluctantly, Sarah began to unravel the threads of her recent actions, each revelation a painful admission. "I... Resurrected two people. Sort of," she confessed, her voice barely audible. "But they were both at the same time and almost a week ago."


    Leo''s expression hardened, a flicker of something akin to disgust crossing his features. Sarah braced herself for the inevitable condemnation, the accusation that would surely follow. "That... Wouldn''t be enough," he said, his voice flat. "The Cultist mentioned multiple failures. What else have you done?"


    The accusatory tone stung, igniting a defensive fire within Sarah. "Nothing, that''s it..." she began, then paused, a flicker of memory surfacing. "Well, I brought them back again about fifteen minutes ago," she added, her voice laced with reluctant honesty.


    Leo''s eyes sharpened. The disgust lessening at the revelation of the resurrected. "Ariel and Sebastian?" he asked, his voice clipped. He''d seen them, of course. He''d seen everyone. "What about Melissa?"


    "She''s a human, like me," Sarah explained, "She turned up asking about employment and... Well, she''s in charge of the Wisdom trial now." The mention of the trials hung in the air, a reminder of the strange path she had found herself on.


    The mana in the cavern was becoming unbearable, a thick, suffocating blanket. The air shimmered with raw energy, making it difficult to breathe, let alone think. They were running out of time, the ritual''s impending explosion a ticking time bomb threatening to obliterate the city if not for Melissa.


    The mage''s silhouette, a fragile figure against the pulsing, unnatural light emanating from within her, trembled like a leaf in a storm. Rivulets of sweat, gleaming like liquid silver, traced paths down her flushed face, her red hair clinging to her like damp ribbons. Her lips moved, a silent prayer or a desperate incantation, but the words were lost in the escalating roar of the magic. The contrast between her and the raw, untamed power threatening to burst forth was terrifying.


    "Honestly," Sarah said, her voice laced with desperation, "the only other thing I''ve done since I got here is die. Although, it''s almost been a week since my last death so that doesn''t fit the timeframe either... Is it the tower?" The sudden thought, born of a desperate need to find an answer, hung in the air.


    "What is the tower?" Leo asked, his voice laced with suspicion.


    "My home," Sarah explained, "I mean, the cottage next to the bank. It''s actually a tower that upgrades through... Souls of the deceased... Or something like that." She added, attempting to downplay the bizarre nature of her situation.


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    Leo''s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"


    Sarah took a deep breath, steeling herself for the inevitable fallout. "I''ve been upgrading it all week, but I''m not entirely sure myself. I''ve only been on this planet for that long, so I''m still struggling to get my head around certain concepts." She decided to be fully honest. "I''m from a different planet. Earth."


    The truth hung in the air, an unbelievable confession. She expected disbelief, ridicule, even anger. But Leo''s expression remained unchanged, his focus unwavering.


    "That must be it!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with sudden understanding. "You''ve been upgrading the tower, which must have been preventing his ritual somehow." He seemed to have completely glossed over the "planet Earth" revelation. "Sarah, go upgrade the tower. Now!"


    Sarah was stunned. The guard captain, a symbol of law and order, was instructing her to use the souls she had collected to upgrade her tower. The very act she had been trying to conceal was now demanded of her. It felt surreal, an odd twist of fate.


    Alright. Let''s go!" she commanded, her voice sharp and decisive. "Hold on, Melissa. Final push!" Sarah wasn''t sure her words registered with the mage, her eyes determined, but there wasn''t time for reassurance.


    They exploded from the guild house, a flash of frantic movement against the backdrop of the leisurely street. The city was a kaleidoscope of color and motion: vendors hawking wares, children chasing pigeons, laughter echoing from open doorways. And not a single one knew of the coming catastrophe.


    Each step was a desperate scramble, weaving through the throng like a thread through a chaotic tapestry, until Leo''s roar cleared the air and a direct path forward. The sun, glinting off the city''s spires, seemed to mock their urgency, a silent observer of their frantic flight.


    They reached the tower, its unassuming facade hiding its true nature. "Master!" Ariel greeted her, her eyes filled with relief.


    "No time for hellos," Sarah said, her voice urgent. She opened the menu, the familiar interface appearing before her. The list of upgrades shimmered, each one a potential lifeline.


    Without hesitation, she purchased every upgrade she could afford, the accumulated souls vanishing in a flash of light. The tower shuddered, a deep, resonant groan echoing through its structure.


    With so many upgrades purchased at once, the tower''s power surged. Using her newly acquired skill, (Mana Sight), Sarah witnessed the tower''s energy field expanding, reaching out, and absorbing the raw mana that saturated the surrounding area.


    The effect was immediate and dramatic. The mana, the very lifeblood of the city, was sucked into her tower, leaving a vacuum in its wake. The air thinned, becoming almost unbreathable. Outside, people collapsed, their bodies starved of the mana they relied on. Beneath the Ale for All guild, a weary mage collapsed at the same time as the ritual. It''s power absorbed into Sarah''s tower.


    The silence was deafening, the absence of the mana''s hum creating an eerie stillness over Grower. Then, like a tide rushing in, the mana from the outer edges of the city surged back, filling the void. The city was bathed in a wave of raw energy, revitalizing the fallen and restoring the balance.


    The crisis had passed, the ritual''s destructive power averted. No one knew what had happened, why the mana had vanished and returned, but they felt the shift, the subtle change in the city''s energy.


    Sarah stood, her body trembling, her mind reeling from the events. She had saved the city, but at a cost. The tower, now significantly more powerful, pulsed with energy, a testament to the souls it had consumed.


    Leo, his expression a mixture of relief and disbelief, turned to her. "You did it," he said, his voice filled with wonder. "It worked. You saved the city."


    The weight of her actions settled upon Sarah, a heavy burden of responsibility. She had used her powers, her connection to the dead, to save the living. But the knowledge that she had done so by consuming souls, by feeding the tower, left a bitter taste in her mouth. It wasn''t the epitome if heroic, that was sure.


    The awkward conversation loomed, the explanation of her powers, her origins, her very nature. How could she explain the inexplicable? How could she make Leo, a lion of order and reason, understand the chaotic reality she inhabited?


    Yes, it wasn''t her fault, but she was slowly accepting what she was. What she''d become.


    Sarah took a deep breath, steeling herself for the inevitable interrogation. "Leo," she began, her voice hesitant, "there''s some things we need to talk about..."


    The words hung in the air, a promise of revelations, of secrets unveiled. The city, unaware of the drama that had unfolded beneath its streets, began to stir, its citizens slowly regaining their strength. Sarah, the Necromancer, stood at the center of it all, her fate intertwined with the fate of this strange and magical world.

 Chapter 31

    After explaining to Leo how she came to arrive on this world, died multiple times, and finally became a necromancer with her own tower, the Lion looked whiter than usual. It didn''t help with the Murder Door chiming in every couple of minutes, although he probably relieved the tension a little. Or as best as a sentient door that can talk can.


    Either way, Leo left with a lot on his mind. The guard captain, didn''t say much during his departure. Only that he''d be back. Sarah wasn''t in chains though. Not yet at least. There was always the possibility that might change on Leo''s return.


    But for now she was free. A free Necromancer. A free Necromancer with a level ten tower waiting for her to make a decision.


    The notification hovered before her. Choices for upgrades. Upgrades not purchased through souls, but due to her home reaching a milestone. The tower was waiting for a direct upgrade.


    Tower of Death: Level 10


    - The Threshold of Ascension. You have accepted the Tower''s gift, forging a bond that transcends mere ownership. The structure, now a living extension of your will, prepares for its next metamorphosis. It will not simply grow, but become you. The Tower awaits your command. Choose a path from the options below, only one can be selected.


    Forced on, Sarah thought immediately, scathing at the choiced word granted. She was also confused how the tower leveled with her since it was higher level than she was and the whole becoming one thing. The upgrades though? They were something else.


    Scrying


    Enchanting


    Teleportation


    Each upgrade came with its own description. They were all overlooked as Sarah immediately chose teleportation. Deciding it would be the best and not because she was still upset that Ariel could do it and she couldn''t.


    The tower groaned. Changing to fit Sarah''s needs. Nothing physical had changed when it was finished, however. There was only a notification.


    Congratulations! You have acquired a new skill: Teleportation


    - Once a day, you are able to teleport to your tower regardless of location. A spawn point must be set for this skill. This mana used in transport is subsidised by the tower.


    It wasn''t what she wanted, but it was good enough. Magic. Actual magic that didn''t involve death. Granted she had earned the skill through her tower, but that was neither here nor there. Sarah could finally teleport.


    She set the anchor next to the (Immortality) before jogging down the stairs. It was only when she arrived at the door did she stop. Worry preventing her from going further.


    She had saved the city. She knew that. Leo had even said so himself. But it was the way she''d saved the city that was gnawing on her. More so because Leo had been there when she used the souls.


    It was all very fucked up.


    Instead of going out, Sarah took stock of the upgrades she had hammered out to stop the ritual.


    There were quite a few since she invested all the souls Azrael held. A few monsters and cultists, but mainly mercenaries, all recently added to his pages, had saved the city. It was kind of ridiculous. Sarah remembered a quote, victory was won on the backs of others. Although, it was souls in her case.


    Trial of the Severed Soul:


    - A mental trial where participants confront their deepest fears and regrets manifested as spectral entities. Illusions become increasingly personalized and challenging based on the participant''s past.


    - Reward: 100% boost to Wisdom or Charisma, or immunity to psychic attacks


    - Duration: One week


    The first upgrade was a trial. It was vastly different to the first two that had been created. To start with, it only granted a buff. No permanent increases seemed harsh compared to the others, but the fact it last a whole week made up for it.


    Trial of the Risen Flesh:


    - A physical gauntlet against waves of reanimated corpses with varying strengths and abilities. The Overseere can alter the composition and difficulty of the undead horde.


    - Reward: Permanently increased Strength, Strength buff, or temporary regeneration.


    That was more like it. Similar to the chess and riddle trial, this one offered small increases to the stat mentioned. Maybe due to the tower leveling, or something to do with her Overseerers, she didn''t know, the maximum value had increased from +2 to +5. The buff still only lasted a day though.


    Trial of the Whispering Void:


    - A trial of stealth and agility, navigating a maze filled with invisible, sound-sensitive wraiths. The maze''s layout and wraith behavior change unpredictably, forcing adaptation.


    - Reward: Increased Agility, Agility buff, improved senses, or temporary invisibility.


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    That one was a kicker. Sarah wasn''t sure whether it would do more harm than good. The invisibility was almost guaranteed to be used for something unscrupulous. Even if it only lasted for fifteen minutes, it was long enough for an idiot to get themselves in trouble. She hoped no one would pass that trial.


    Trial of the Bone Forge:


    - Concept: A trial of magical aptitude, requiring participants to manipulate and shape bone fragments into constructs under pressure. The quality of the bone fragments and the complexity of the required constructs escalate with each stage.


    - Reward: Increased magical potential, or temporary magical shielding.


    Sarah knew immediately that this Trial would be a money maker. Another without permanent increases, but increased magical potential in a world rife with magic was bound to draw in mages in the masses.


    - Trial of the Stolen Lifeforce:


    - Concept: A trial where participants must drain the lifeforce of captured creatures, while avoiding having their own lifeforce drained. The creatures captured increase in strength and have abilities that counter the participants.


    - Reward: A boost to all stats, but with a risk of permanent stat reduction if failed.


    What an absolute shitter! An increase to all stats, but you''ve you''ve got to drain life force to get it. Who''s going to be able to do that trial? And we''ll look evil for even advertising it. Other than herself, there weren''t any Necromancer''s around to take that trial and Sarah lamented the wasted reward. As master of the tower, she couldn''t take the trails herself. Or she could, but wouldn''t earn any rewards. She sighed and continued.


    The Ossuary Library:


    - A library filled with books bound in bone and written in blood, containing forbidden knowledge and necromantic rituals. Books can whisper secrets or project illusions, and some contain sentient magical traps.


    That was... Something else. Sarah wasn''t sure what, but there was no chance of her stepping foot in there anytime soon.


    The Soul Forge:


    - A dedicated chamber for refining and manipulating souls, allowing for more potent soul-powered constructs and enchantments. Allows for the creation of soul-bound items with unique properties.


    Nor there.


    The Crypt Gardens:


    - A garden cultivated with necromantic energy, where corrupted plants and fungi thrive, providing ingredients for potions and poisons. Plants can have symbiotic relationships with undead creatures, and some release spores that have magical effects.


    If it had just been a garden, Sarah would have been thrilled. Her upgrades so far, however, were grating on her nerves.


    The Shadow Observatory:


    An observatory equipped with lenses that can peer into the Shadowfell and other planes, allowing the Necromancer to gather information and predict events. Can be used to enhance divination spells and scrying.


    She had no divination spells, and had chosen to forego scrying in favour of teleportation. A moved she didn''t regret. Wherever Shadowfell was, it could damn well stay there for all she cared.


    The Resonance Chamber:


    A chamber that amplifies the Necromancer''s connection to the undead, allowing for greater control and range of necromantic spells. Can be used to create a network of undead spies and scouts.


    Fair enough, that one has it''s uses, she conceded. The features name was also the most normal so far by a mile, not sounding even the slightest bit evil. Spies and scouts she could do with, even if they were undead. Sarah imagined an army of undead mice and pigeons relaying information through some magical BS mental link.


    It was a nice distraction.


    The Blood Fountain:


    - A fountain that dispenses magically enhanced blood, that grants temporary buffs, or can be used in rituals. The blood changes properties based on the phases of the moon, or the amount of souls that the tower has absorbed.


    That was immediately moved into the master room away from prying eyes. They''d just stopped one Cultist from blowing up Grower, Sarah wasn''t about to be labeled the second. She already had one dark tag lining her mantle and didn''t need another.


    Soul Infusion:


    - The Necromancer can infuse objects or creatures with souls, granting them enhanced abilities or sentience. Soul-infused weapons can drain lifeforce, and soul-infused armor can regenerate.


    Was that what her robes were? Soul infused? It seemed likely as they had the repair feature. The same could be said for her staff.


    Bone Weaving:


    - The Necromancer can manipulate bone fragments with incredible precision, creating intricate structures and traps. Bone constructs can be animated and controlled remotely.


    Shadow Puppetry:


    - The Necromancer can manipulate shadows to create illusions, control creatures, or even teleport. Shadows can be used as conduits for necromantic energy.


    Spectral Armor:


    - The Necromancer can create armor from solidified shadows and spectral energy, providing enhanced protection and mobility. The armor can phase through solid objects and absorb magical attacks.


    No wonder Necromancers are looked at in contempt. Not only do they raise they dead and shit, but they''ve got a lot going for them if they embrace the class, she thought. Which most would. Sarah, coming from another world with different views and opinions on life, was more of an anomaly than the everyday Necromancers of this world.


    Necrotic Aura:


    - The Necromancer can emit an aura of necrotic energy, causing decay and disease in living creatures. The aura can be channeled to enhance necromantic spells or weaken enemies.


    Definitely dangerous.


    Death''s Embrace:


    - Further embracing power is embrace death herself. If you hold her enough, she might just hold back.


    It was a buff, because she didn''t already have enough of those already and could hardly control her current ones when all were active, but this one was extremely vague. The more Sarah leaned into the dark side,the stronger she would grow, or something like that, she added to ease herself.


    Thankfully, that was the end of the necrotic upgrades courteousy of the tower. It wasn''t the last upgrade, however.


    The Soul Golem:


    - A massive golem constructed from bones and bound souls, serves as a powerful guardian.


    There was also this.


    The Bone Pile:


    - The remains of those who die near the tower are collected and stored for the master''s use.


    And this.


    Other improvements to the general living quarters of the tower''s current residents were also improved but not worth noting. Nicer bedrooms, more bathrooms, and larger rooms that felt like they shouldn''t fit where they sat was about the lot.


    With everything checked off, Sarah gave up on the idea of going out. She went back to her room and waited. It wouldn''t be long before Leo returned, she assumed. The full weight of the law behind him.


    She had never asked for her class, but she was still accountable for it and her day would soon come. Sarah could only hope they would be lenient.

 Chapter 32

    The air crackled with a frenetic energy, a stark contrast to the serene, almost whimsical, facade of Sarah''s tower. What appeared from the outside as a quaint, slightly overgrown cottage, nestled amidst a riot of buildings, was, in reality, a hive of activity. The day of her reckoning had arrived, and the tower, usually a haven of quiet challenge and whispered hushes, throbbed with the restless anticipation of a storm.


    News of the new trials had spread like wildfire, carried on the whispers of the wind and the urgent footfalls of messengers. Sarah''s challenges were a series of tests designed to push the boundaries of magic and resilience. And the people, desperate for answers, for power, for anything to alleviate the creeping dread that had settled over the city, had flocked to her door.


    Every day since the announcement, the tower had been a whirlwind of motion. Aspiring mages, seasoned warriors, and even the occasional curious scholar crammed into the different spaces, their voices a constant hum punctuated by the occasional flash of magic or the clang of steel. The air, thick with the scent of herbs, parchment, and the lingering tang of ozone, vibrated with barely contained potential.


    Sarah found herself at the center of this chaotic ballet. She moved through the throngs with a practiced grace, her eyes sharp and observant, her voice calm and authoritative. The trials had been designed with meticulous care, each one a puzzle designed to test not only magical prowess but also mental fortitude and moral character.


    They were brutal, unforgiving. Many faltered, their dreams shattered against the unyielding rules of the challenges. Others, however, rose to the occasion, their hidden talents blossoming under pressure, their determination burning brighter than any magical flame. Sarah watched them all, her expression inscrutable, her mind churning with calculations and observations. She was not merely testing their abilities; she was observing them, searching for the spark of potential, the flicker of true strength, and idly passing the time until the inevitable.


    Then, Leo arrived.


    He walked alone, his footsteps heavy on the cobblestone path leading to the tower. There was no contingent of guards flanking him, no clanking of armor, no stern commands echoing through the air. He was a solitary figure, a stark contrast to the bustling activity within the tower walls.


    His presence, however, was undeniable. He was a mountain of a man, a six-foot lion with shoulders as broad as a doorway and biceps that has more inches than Sarah''s waist. His silky mane, usually meticulously groomed, was slightly disheveled, as if he had run his fingers through it in frustration multiple times. His eyes, usually sharp and vigilant, held a weariness that spoke of sleepless nights and a difficult decision.


    He was the guard captain, the embodiment of law and order, and he had come to apprehend Sarah for her crime. The charge of necromancy hung heavy in the air, a dark cloud threatening to engulf her tower and extinguish the flickering flames of hope within.


    Sarah watched him approach, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. She had expected him, of course. She had known that her actions would not go unpunnished, that the guard would demand a reckoning. But the sight of him, alone and resolute, sent a shiver down her spine.


    He was a formidable opponent, a force of nature in his own right. If he intended to take her into custody, there was little she could do to stop him. His strength was ridiculous, his reputation unblemished. He could snap her fragile frame like a twig, his powerful hands closing around her wrists with the unyielding grip of iron.


    She had considered her options, weighed the potential outcomes. She could flee, disappear into the labyrinthine alleys of the city, or seek refuge outside of Grower. But she knew that running would only delay the inevitable, that the city would not rest until she was brought to justice.


    She could fight, unleash the full extent of her necromantic powers, summon an army of the undead to defend her tower. But she knew that such an act would only confirm the city''s fears, paint her as a villain in the eyes of the very people she had tried to help.


    Instead, she had decided to face him, to confront the consequences of her actions with dignity and resolve. She would plead her case, argue that her necromancy was not an act of malice but a tool for survival, a means to an end. She would remind them of the lives she had saved, the threats she had averted. She would appeal to their sense of reason, their sense of gratitude.


    The weight of her hopes, fragile as spun glass, threatened to shatter under the oppressive atmosphere. She had poured her very soul into the city, a silent, shimmering shield woven from magic, a desperate plea for understanding. But the fear, a cold, creeping tendril, coiled around her efforts, twisting them into grotesque shadows of suspicion. Could she truly bridge the chasm of prejudice, convince them that the power that set her apart was not a monstrous aberration, but a beacon of protection? Every act, every sacrifice, was a gamble, a roll of the dice in a game where the stakes were her very freedom, perhaps her life.


    "Sarah," Leo''s voice, usually a warm cadence, was now a leaden weight in the air. He entered with a nod, the gesture stiff and formal, his eyes betraying a turmoil she could almost taste.


    "Leo," she replied, the name a fragile bridge across the unspoken accusations, the unvoiced fears. She swallowed the apologies that clawed at her throat, the defensive justifications that would only sound like weak excuses.


    "Let''s talk somewhere private," he said, the request a mere formality, a thin veil over an unspoken command. Sarah, her heart a frantic drumbeat against her ribs, led him through the winding corridors of her tower. The familiar stone passages, usually a comfort, now felt like a labyrinth of judgment.


    As they ascended to her personal quarters, Leo''s brow furrowed, his gaze sweeping across the transformed space. The tower, once a simple, utilitarian structure, had undergone a dramatic metamorphosis, a reflection of the power she now wielded. The first floor, once nothing but a solitary door, now buzzed with the subtle hum of magical trials, each door leading to challenges that bestowed permanent, if minor, enhancements.


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    The second floor, accessible through a separate, intricately carved doorway, housed the more complex trials, all entrances and exits meticulously designed to prevent any hint of chicanery. And the third floor, a realm of hushed whispers and arcane tools, remained strictly off-limits, a sanctuary for the tower''s dedicated staff.


    Leo''s puzzlement deepened as he stepped into her room. The opulent furnishings, the silken tapestries that shimmered with enchanted light, the intricate, self-sustaining garden pots that bloomed with otherworldly flora ¨C it was a stark contrast to the austere image he held of her life. He had never seen her private chambers, and their luxuriousness likely contributed to the confusion. However, it was the dark, viscous pool in the far corner of the room that truly arrested his attention. It pulsed with an unsettling energy, a stark, crimson stain against the pristine white marble floor.


    Sarah''s breath hitched. She had forgotten, in her anxiety, to conceal the remnants of one of her latest upgrades. The pool was a grim testament to the battle they fought, a residue of the dark forces they confronted to protect the city. She would have traded it, in an instant, for the Water of Sin, a substance of pure, unadulterated power.


    The air thrummed with unspoken questions, with the weight of her secrets, and the ominous presence of the blood added a chilling layer to the already tense atmosphere. She braced herself, knowing that the conversation to come would be a crucible, a test of her resolve, a desperate attempt to bridge the gulf between her power and their fear


    "Why do you have an alter of blood on your room?" His first question hit hard.


    "It came with the upgrades when we saved the city," she emphasized. "Honesty. I moved it to my room because no one can enter without my permission. Not unless they can withstand a million volts from Solus, that is."


    "Quite right," the murder door added for good measure. It didn''t help in lessening Leo''s tension, but Sarah wanted him to know it was securely stored from prying eyes and wandering hands.


    Leo''s grunt was a guttural sound, a low rumble that vibrated through the small room. Sarah''s stomach twisted. It wasn''t a sound of agreement, nor was it one of outright rejection. It was a sound of... resignation? Dread? The ambiguity was a suffocating blanket, heavy with unspoken judgment.


    Then, his eyes met hers. Those usually warm, golden orbs, now held a chilling seriousness. "I know you didn''t ask to become a Necromancer. After hearing your story the other day, I feel nothing but sympathy towards you," he said, his voice a low, gravelly timbre that resonated with genuine sorrow. For a fleeting moment, Sarah felt a fragile hope blossom. He understands. The sympathy card, it seemed, had worked. She''d painted a picture of a victim, a puppet forced into a dark dance she never wanted to lead.


    But then, the word fell, a lead weight shattering the delicate hope. "But..." It hung in the air, a pregnant pause that stretched into an eternity. The room seemed to shrink, the air thickening with unspoken condemnation. "I wouldn''t be able to call myself a guard captain if I didn''t take you in. Necromancy is against the law after all."


    The floor seemed to drop away beneath her. Her heart plummeted, a leaden stone sinking into the icy depths of despair. The sympathetic warmth vanished, replaced by a chilling professional detachment. Where was the stammering, infatuated man who''d tripped over his own feet in her presence? Now, his face was a mask of grim resolve, etched with a morose gravity that sent shivers down her spine.


    Silence descended, a suffocating shroud that muffled her desperate thoughts. She wanted to scream, to plead, to argue. Surely, there was a way out. A trial, a judge, a chance to explain. To detail the involuntary transformation, the cruel twist of fate that had branded her an outlaw.


    "Ok," she managed, her voice a thin, brittle whisper. A slow, reluctant nod that felt like a death sentence. Leo''s reaction was immediate and explosive. His face contorted with a sudden, furious rage, a stark contrast to his earlier somberness.


    "Are you mad?" he roared, his voice a thunderclap in the confined space. Sarah recoiled, the phantom weight of fear pressing down on her. She instinctively reached for the tower''s mana, a faint, ethereal hum vibrating through her fingertips, though she had no clear plan for it. "Ok. OK? O ''fucking'' K? Why are you so relaxed about this? You should be freaking out. I am. You can''t tell anyone you''re a Necromancer. Anyone! There''s no trial for people with a class like yours. It''s instant execution, Sarah!"


    His words, sharp and brutal, were meant to terrify. Yet, as he raged, a strange detachment settled over Sarah. The fear that had gripped her began to dissipate, replaced by a bizarre sense of calm. It had been two weeks since her last death, a lifetime in her strange, resurrected existence. The visceral terror of mortality had faded, dulled by the repetitive cycle of death and rebirth.


    A nervous chuckle escaped her lips, morphing into a full-blown laugh. It was a hollow, almost hysterical sound, born of a surreal acceptance. She sank back onto the bed, the rough fabric a strange comfort against her skin.


    "Why are you so calm!?" Leo demanded, his voice laced with disbelief and a hint of panic. He was acting as if he were the one facing execution.


    "Don''t you remember what I said, Leo?" she replied, her voice laced with a morbid amusement. "It''s easy to forget because you don''t expect people to come back to life after dying, but I''m immortal. If someone beheads me for whatever reason, doesn''t matter if that reason''s necromancy or not, I''ll still revive. Hell, I''ll probably even get a new title. It''s stupid," she laughed, the sound echoing strangely in the tense atmosphere.


    Leo fell silent, his anger evaporating into a stunned disbelief. The room was heavy with the unspoken weight of her impossible claim.


    Minutes stretched, each tick of the unseen clock a deafening echo in the silence. Finally, he spoke, his voice a low, hesitant murmur. "Can you truly not die?" The skepticism was palpable, thick in the air.


    "Nope. Or not that I''m aware of," she added quickly, a flicker of mischievousness in her eyes as she omitted the inconvenient detail of the twenty-four hour cooldown. "So far I''ve been blown to pieces, drowned, hit with that much lightning that I was vaporized and, was there another? I tried to forget to be honest."


    Leo stared at her, his expression a blend of disbelief, confusion, and a dawning, reluctant acceptance. The sheer absurdity of her claims, coupled with the unsettling calm she exuded, created a dissonance that rattled him to his core. He had come prepared for a confrontation, a struggle, perhaps even a tragic execution. Instead, he was faced with a woman who spoke of death and rebirth with the casual air of discussing the weather.


    He ran a hand through his already disheveled mane, the gesture a silent plea for clarity. "So," he said, his voice strained, "you''re telling me that... that no matter what happens, you''ll just... come back?" Sarah nodded, a small, almost apologetic smile playing on her lips. The implications of her words hung heavy in the air, a chilling realization that shifted the very foundations of his understanding.


    Leo was a guard captain, sworn to uphold the law, to protect the city. But how could he enforce a law against a woman who defied the very concept of death? The same woman he was infatuated with. The rules, the very fabric of his world, seemed to unravel before his eyes, placing him adrift in a sea of impossible truths.

 Chapter 33

    The silence in the room thickened, heavy and charged. Leo''s confession hung in the air, a low rumble that vibrated with unspoken guilt. Sarah, still grappling with the unexpected revelation, watched as the six-foot-tall lion slumped deeper into the plush, velvet chair. His white fur, normally a symbol of his regal bearing, now seemed dulled, almost gray, under the soft lamplight. He looked less like the imposing guard captain and more like a large, dejected kitten, a sight that tugged at Sarah''s heartstrings despite her confusion.


    "I haven''t told anyone yet," he repeated, the words barely audible, a low growl that seemed to emanate from his very core. He avoided her gaze, his golden eyes fixed on the intricate patterns of the rug beneath his feet.


    Sarah, having just sat up from her bed, felt a jolt of alarm. "It''s ok, it''s not your... Wait, what?" she asked, her voice laced with confusion. The initial assumption that he was apologizing for some trivial oversight dissolved, replaced by a growing unease. "What exactly haven''t you told anyone?"


    "Details about your class," he finally admitted, his voice gaining a fraction of its usual volume, though the guilt remained palpable. He shifted uncomfortably, the plush chair groaning under his weight. Even in his distress, the sheer size of him, the powerful muscles beneath the soft fur, made the gesture intimidating.


    Sarah, now fully alert, rose from the bed, her bare feet meeting the cool stone floor. "That''s... not what I was expecting," she said, her voice laced with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. "Can I ask why, Leo?"


    The question hung in the air, demanding an answer that Leo seemed reluctant to give. He shuffled again, the movement a clear sign of his inner turmoil. The air crackled with unspoken tension, the weight of his decision pressing down on them both.


    "It doesn''t matter," he finally huffed, his voice edged with frustration. He continued to avoid her gaze, his golden eyes darting around the room, settling on anything but her.


    "Well, it kind of does, really, Leo," Sarah countered, her voice firm. She couldn''t ignore the implications of his confession. As a guard captain, he was bound by duty, by law. His silence was a breach, a deliberate act of defiance. "What did you tell them about the Cultists?" she asked, her tone sharp. "By ''them,'' I''m referring to your superiors."


    Leo sighed, a long, drawn-out sound that seemed to carry the weight of his internal conflict. "Exactly that," he said, his voice flat. "There was a group of Cultists operating within the Ale for All guild. I received a tip-off from a Rogue Cultist who¡¯d urged another citizen to inform me. I then went to investigate and was attacked by a group of mercenaries. One thing led to another, and then the issue was dealt with."


    Sarah frowned, her mind racing. His explanation was frustratingly vague, a carefully constructed narrative that omitted crucial details. The "why''s" and "who''s" were glaringly absent, leaving a gaping hole in his story. "What about everyone collapsing when the tower underwent multiple upgrades?" she pressed, her voice laced with suspicion. "That wasn''t just ''one thing leading to another.''"


    Leo sighed again, this time with a hint of exasperation. "A byproduct of the failed ritual," he said offhandedly, as if dismissing a minor inconvenience. His tone suggested that the subject was painful for him to discuss. Sarah could see the internal struggle etched on his face, the conflict between his duty and his conscience.


    She wouldn''t have it. Leo had been good to her, a reluctant ally who had, after the initial misunderstanding, proven to be surprisingly supportive. She couldn''t bear to see him burdened by guilt, his normally vibrant spirit dimmed by the weight of his decision.


    "Leo," she said, her voice softer now, "you''re lying. You''re leaving out the important details. Why?"


    He finally met her gaze, his golden eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions: guilt, regret, and something else, something she couldn''t quite decipher. "Because," he began, his voice low and strained, "because I don''t want to see you hurt."


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    Sarah''s breath caught in her throat. The sincerity in his voice was undeniable, but it only deepened her confusion. "Hurt?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "What do you mean?"


    "The information about your class, about the tower," he said, his voice heavy with unspoken implications. "If that information had reached the right ears, the consequences... they could have been severe."


    He paused, his gaze fixed on hers, as if searching for understanding. "And while it would be heartbreaking to see you executed," he continued, "the act itself is irrelevant if you''re just going to come back to life. What would be the point in reporting it anyway? I know my reasoning is flimsy, but... I didn''t want to see anything bad happen to you. There are a lot worse fates than death, after all."


    His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. Sarah felt a wave of emotions wash over her: confusion, gratitude, and a strange, unsettling warmth. She had never expected such loyalty, such protection, from the stoic guard captain.


    "Leo," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "I appreciate what you''re trying to do, but this is wrong. You''re compromising your duty, your integrity."


    "My duty is to protect the city," he countered, his voice firm. "And sometimes, that means making difficult choices."


    "But this isn''t just a difficult choice," Sarah argued, her voice rising slightly. "This is a cover-up. You''re withholding information that was crucial to the case."


    "The case is over," he said, his voice flat. "The Cultists are gone. There''s nothing more to investigate."


    "That''s not true," Sarah retorted. "There are still questions, unanswered questions. And you''re preventing me from answering them."


    She paused, her gaze fixed on his. "I understand you''re trying to protect me, Leo," she said, her voice softer now, "but I can''t let you do this. I need to face the consequences of my actions, whatever they may be."


    She took a deep breath, her resolve hardening. "I''m going to tell them everything," she said, her voice firm. "And I expect you to do the same."


    The silence that followed was deafening. Leo''s golden eyes met hers, his expression unreadable. Sarah held his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew she was asking a lot, perhaps too much. But she couldn''t live with the guilt of his silence, the weight of his sacrifice.


    The air crackled with tension, the unspoken conflict hanging heavy between them. Finally, Leo sighed, a long, drawn-out sound that seemed to carry the weight of his decision.


    "Alright," he said, his voice low and resigned. "I''ll tell them everything if you prove to be a danger to the city."


    "That''s not what I meant, Leo."


    "I know it isn''t, but right now all I see is a woman who''s improving the citizens lives in ways we never knew possible." He was obviously referring to her tower and the trials it offered.


    "If I was to report you as a Necromancer, at best you would be chased out of the city. Losing your tower in the process. At worst..." The ellipsis hung in air.


    Sarah, a product of a world where progress and pragmatism intertwined, wasn''t naive. The grime of reality, the ugly underbelly of civilization, was a familiar landscape, etched into her memory from her time with the forces. She knew the cruelty that lurked beneath the veneer of civility, the swift and brutal justice meted out to those who dared to disrupt the delicate balance of power.


    The prospect of magical imprisonment, a fate far more terrifying than any mundane cell, tempered her righteous fury. Leo''s words, though laced with a chilling pragmatism, resonated with a sliver of truth. She was a force for good, a beacon of peace and power, not a harbinger of destruction, a catalyst for change. For now, she would let sleeping lions slumber, their roars muted, claws sheathed.


    "Fine," she conceded, the word a reluctant surrender. "What now then?"


    Leo''s response was curt, dismissive. "Now you revert to your previous activities. Resume your routine."


    Sarah''s lips curled into a disdainful sneer. The thought of mindlessly pummeling goblins, a repetitive exercise in brute force, offered little solace. She had mastered the nuances of her augmented physique, even with the frustrating limitations imposed by the potential for catastrophic energy feedback. The day would come when she could unleash her full potential, a symphony of buffs without the risk of self-destruction. Unless she continued to accumulate more, and more, power.


    "And what of you?" she challenged, her gaze sharp, probing. "You look like someone drained the life from you, left you a husk." The insult, crude yet pointed, elicited a flicker of raw anger in Leo''s eyes, a brief respite from his melancholic pallor.


    "I will recover," he retorted, his voice tight, his composure strained. "My reasoning remains sound."


    Sarah remained unconvinced, but she chose to let the matter rest. If the threat of magical incarceration was temporarily suspended, she might as well return to her own pursuits.


    "Want to join me?" she offered, a hint of sardonic amusement in her tone. "We can smash your frustration out on some goblins. A therapeutic beatdown, if you will."