The sight was almost comforting.
Alec exhaled slowly and stepped out of the magic circle. He leaned against the wall, gasping, the tension finally breaking.
Flashes raced through his mind—the optimal leveling paths for High Liches, the major world events of the coming century, every legendary commander, every turning point in history. He saw it all.
And in the storm of knowledge, the last sliver of fear in his heart was finally swept away.
In its place bloomed something else, something feral, relentless…
"I will take control of my own fate."
Alec's thoughts were cut short by the heavy toll of distant bells. The sound struck deep—low, slow, and grim.
Danger hadn't passed.
Suppressing the excitement pulsing in his veins, Alec slipped into the calm awareness of a seasoned player. He tilted his head, listening closely.
The bells were coming from the direction of Carbuth's capital. But only those who had completed the undead transformation could hear them.
More than just sound, it was a call—a magical summons, compelling all converted undead in the outlying regions to gather at the capital. They were being conscripted into the defense of the city.
But for the sentient undead—the ones with self-awareness, the message went deeper. Hidden within the tolling was knowledge of ancient magic circles, scattered and buried throughout the land. Some would be called to awaken these circles with their own life force. Others would become their guardians.
Had Marcus—the original Marcus, heard this bell, he would've obeyed without hesitation.
But Alec wasn't Marcus.
He knew how this story ended.
Carbuth's capital would eventually be dragged into the Undead Realm by the Princess's final spell. And once the capital was gone, the remaining undead would be left leaderless, disorganized, and hunted.
The magic circles—once powerful arcane weapons, would become beacons for enemies. The undead guarding them would be the first targets wiped out.
And there was something else. Alec had picked up on a faint layer of urgency in the bell. It wasn't just a call—it was a countdown.
The Princess clearly hadn't expected universal loyalty. Anyone—living or dead who disobeyed would be marked for annihilation. Within ten days, the capital would unleash its full wrath on those who refused the command.
In other words, if anyone wanted to leave Carbuth, they had ten days. After that, escape wouldn't be an option.
The weight of that knowledge gnawed at Alec's nerves as he cautiously descended the stairs. According to Marcus's memories, he'd lived with his father—Carbuth's village magistrate, on the second floor of the town hall.
Unlike Alec, who had performed his transformation alone in his room, Marcus's father had drawn his necromantic array right in the main hall, gathering every last villager to witness the ritual.
By the time Alec reached the ground floor, the transformation was complete.
He arrived just in time to see a horde of skeletons, zombies, and ghouls marching out through the heavy oak doors. At the hall's center stood Marcus's father—his body fully intact, undead eyes gleaming—and beside him, the captain of the local guard, now transformed as well. Judging by their appearance, their ritual had gone far better than Marcus's.
They both glanced at Alec as he stepped into view.
Then, seeing his face, they looked away.
Alec exhaled slowly. That was good. At least for now, Carbuth's undead didn't see him as a threat.
With his nerves settling, a flicker of curiosity stirred in his mind—memories of early quests in the Carbuth region. Two in particular had involved Marcus directly.
One quest required players to retrieve Marcus's heart. Completing it rewarded them with a Ghoul Training Manual—allowing the conversion of thirty corpses into battle-ready ghouls.
The other was stranger.
It asked players to find an official decree stored in the town hall. According to the quest description, the document had been personally signed by the Princess, and Marcus, ever her obsessive devotee, had desperately wanted to preserve it.
Alec had completed that quest before. He remembered exactly where the document was—on a desk in the main hall.
Now, standing at the threshold, he found himself wondering. What was so special about that decree that had driven Marcus to madness?
With that thought, Alec's direction shifted.
He quietly skirted around Marcus's father and the guard captain, heading toward the magistrate's old desk.
That's when it happened.
Without warning, the magistrate turned to Alec and roared.
The magistrate's sudden outburst startled Alec. He instinctively grabbed the documents from the desk and backed away. It took him several tense moments to calm his nerves again.
That's when he noticed something odd.
The magistrate and the guard captain weren't watching him. They were scanning the room, warily, as if on alert for something unseen.
Alec frowned. That was... concerning. But it wasn't his biggest problem right now.
No—his real problem was clutched in his hand.
The documents he had snatched were official decrees, all bearing the unmistakable seal and signature of the Princess of Carbuth. The topmost one, aside from a brief directive instructing the magistrate to convert all townsfolk into undead, also included a diagram—an exact schematic of a necromantic transmutation array.
The rest were similar—orders, procedures, and protocols, each branded with the Princess's seal in crimson wax.
To most people, they'd be just scraps of parchment.
But to Alec? They radiated power.
A wave of negative energy rolled off the parchment, subtle but pure—undiluted essence drawn straight from the Undead Realm. Not some second-hand imitation. The real thing.
Just sensing it, Alec's eyes narrowed.
'So the stories were true.'
The Princess hadn't just dabbled in necromancy. She had been in direct communion with the Undead Realm from the start.
While the thought drifted through his mind, Alec's fingers gently brushed the parchment—almost reverently.
The one bearing the schematic was no ordinary sheet. It was fine vellum—real demonhide parchment, reinforced at the corners with copper filaments. Years of negative energy saturation had darkened its surface to an ashen black.
The others were written on lesser-grade soulpaper—cheap, fibrous sheets stabilized with thread at the edges. Their long exposure to corruption had left them tinged with a sickly green hue.
He muttered under his breath, voice low and half in awe.
"Demonhide vellum, perfectly saturated… complete schematic of a transmutation array… signed by royalty… tethered directly to the Undead Realm. Instant, continuous energy draw. This is god-tier starter gear for any newbie necromancer."
His left hand drifted over the parchment again, almost unconsciously. As he rubbed it—
The words began to vanish.
One by one, the order's contents faded away, erased from existence—except for the array schematic and the Princess's signature, which remained untouched.
Alec blinked.
"Okay. Not creepy at all."
Tucking the documents carefully into his robes, Alec felt his earlier tension fade. He no longer felt the urge to flee immediately.
Before, maybe he would've tried to sneak out of Carbuth quietly, but not now, this parchment changed everything.
Demonhide vellum wasn't just powerful—it was irreplaceable. It was one of the only materials suitable for crafting a proper necromancer's grimoire. Even fully-fledged Liches couldn't skip that step.
He remembered his own final grimoire—the one from his peak in the old timeline. Crafted from enchanted black ramhide, soaked in concentrated negative energy for three years, and etched with dozens of personalized arcane matrices.
It had taken him five years to prepare the materials for it. Five years.
The effort had nearly driven him insane—and he was already undead.
But now? Hope.