Once the armor and weapons were forged, the magical wind immediately transformed into a massive water sphere suspended mid-air. Valred waved his hand, plunging the armor and weapons into the water sphere. A sizzling sound echoed as a thick cloud of steam rose, shrinking the water sphere. Only then was the process complete.
After all was done, the armor, helmets, and weapons slowly descended, automatically fitting onto fourteen robust skeletal frames. Valred then proceeded, much like he had done over the past few years of tomb raiding and awakening cannon-fodder skeletons, to rouse these skeletal warriors with his self-taught, half-baked, and somewhat flawed necromantic spells.
Having expended a significant amount of his magical energy after such an ordeal, Valred couldn't help but reflect on his inefficiency. His crude usage of magic was appallingly inefficient. A seasoned necromancer would have achieved far better results with a fraction of the energy he had used.
This realization only fueled Valred's anticipation for future learning. From the age of four to six, he had completed all the foundational subjects under his tutor. Now, it was time to delve into the real skills, wasn't it?
Nevertheless, the end result was satisfactory. With a few short incantations, the once hollow eyes of the skeletons ignited with a terrifying phosphorescent glow. They rose from the ground, their joints cracking audibly. After a brief stretch, they performed a disturbingly human gesture—placing their skeletal hands over their chests in salute to Valred, then standing in perfect formation. Their impeccable equipment and demeanor gave them the air of an elite force—though in reality, they were little more than a facade, devoid of true prowess.
Valred lacked the knowledge to craft higher-tier undead; his grasp on even basic necromancy was rudimentary. He simply forced these skeletons to move with raw magical energy. While their strength, speed, and agility might rival that of typical tomb guardians due to the sheer power Valred infused, they were nothing more than empty shells. They lacked the refined combat skills, teamwork, formations, and battle experience that true tomb guardians possessed, let alone the ability to cast spells like those dressed as Lichs. They were akin to high-spec computers without an operating system—impressive in appearance but utterly useless.
Despite his limitations, Valred was pleased with what he had accomplished. As he circled his newly minted "elite" tomb guardians, something felt amiss. After a moment of thought, he realized it was their equipment—pristine and gleaming, unlike the weathered gear of the tomb guardians in Drakenhof Castle.
"Well, that's an easy fix," Valred mused. With a snap of his fingers, he commanded, "Beat each other up a bit, but don't go overboard. Just make some dents and scratches."
Following his orders, the fourteen freshly created tomb guardians began to spar, using their halberds, swords, and shields to inflict calculated damage on each other's armor. Under Valred's guidance, they then smeared themselves with dust and grime, and within minutes, they looked as worn and battle-hardened as their predecessors.
"Good, but not quite perfect," Valred remarked, halting the skirmish. He stationed the tomb guardians to guard him as he ventured into the next chamber.
The floor was littered with bones.
As Valred had expected, this was yet another burial chamber—but unlike the previous one, which housed the remains of willing warrior sacrifices, this one contained the bones of slaves, forced into death alongside their masters.
Thousands upon thousands of human remains lay scattered. Valred crouched to examine them, noting some had their limbs severed, others were bisected, and many more had their heads cleanly removed. Remnants of hemp ropes suggested they had been bound in life. Among the skeletons were men, women, the young, and the elderly—each with their own story to tell.
At the age of four, Valred had begun his education—a vampire's "basic education," which diverged significantly from the norm. Alongside language and general knowledge, he was taught the fundamentals of necromancy and dark magic. His training had endowed him with a keen eye for details in skeletons, surpassing even the most skilled forensic experts.
He could discern the age, gender, manner of death, and even the habits and occupations of the deceased. At first, Valred found it fascinating, but as he delved deeper, he felt himself teetering on the edge of madness.
He suddenly understood what he was doing—he was assembling an army of the dead, a force composed of bones, spirits, and the undead. It was a terrifying, despair-inducing endeavor. Prolonged exposure to such macabre work would inevitably warp one's mind.
Valred now grasped why necromancers often descended into madness. He also understood why vampires held such a strong bond with their kin—dealing with the undead was an unsettling, almost insane undertaking. Those who had never witnessed an undead army might find it thrilling or cool, but Valred, gazing upon the tragic remains and the fate he was about to impose upon them, could only say:
"No, this is not good at all."
Of course, it wasn't entirely without merit. His sister, while studying philosophy, once posed him a question:
"An army of the living, perpetually on the brink of death, or an army of the dead, already devoid of life—which is more tragic?"
"Depends on the circumstances," Valred had shrugged in response, earning himself a pillow to the face.
"You can't answer like that, dummy! If I gave such a vague answer, Sally would laugh at me—think harder, you idiot!"
"Someone who asks a six-year-younger brother for homework help has no right to call me an idiot!"
Well, that was that. Philosophical musings could wait for a time when he had nothing better to do. For now, Valred's sole focus was to revel in his achievement—and revel he did.
Yes, he had been bestowed the greatest gift to secure his place in this world—an entire skeleton army. What could possibly be more exhilarating?
And so, Valred laughed—softly at first, then louder, until he was roaring with laughter amidst the sea of bones. His laughter marked his farewell to the mortal self he once was. From this day forth, he was Valred von Carstein, heir to the Carstein bloodline, lord of Sylvania, younger brother to Isabella von Carstein.
He was a necromancer and a vampire lord.
As his slightly hysterical laughter subsided, Valred shook his head, raised his hand, and began to gather the magical winds. As his hand rose, the winds grew more tumultuous, a pale glow enveloping him. The skeletons began to rise—those with broken spines reattached their vertebrae, those with severed limbs reconnected their bones, and those decapitated retrieved their skulls and placed them back on their shoulders. The wounds mended under the influence of the magical winds, leaving the skeletons as good as new.
Under the pale glow, these millennia-old remains stirred once more, animated by the unholy power of necromancy. They stood as servants to their summoner, stretching their revitalized, skeletal limbs. They were lowly undead, pitiful in their existence, yet once more walking the earth. This spell, though far cruder than the one used to create the fourteen tomb guardians, consumed less of Valred's energy.
"Clear out everything," Valred commanded, his eyes glowing with a red magical light. He focused intently, commanding the skeleton soldiers and quickly tallying their numbers—eleven thousand, two hundred and twenty-one in total.
However, about a thousand were too diminutive, either from being children or too elderly and frail. Nearly ten thousand were usable. Valred directed the sturdier adult skeletons to gather the remaining thousand bones, along with the rusted yet still valuable black iron weapons. They were to return to the place where he had concealed his army.
With most of the traps and mechanisms already triggered on their way in, the return journey required little caution. The only notable obstacle was the pitfall that had nearly claimed Valred before.
He ordered the undead to cross first. As before, the trap remained inactive against the lifeless skeletons. Once they had all passed, Valred cast a levitation spell, floating safely across.
Thus, Valred spent a fruitful night. Under the crimson moon of Morrslieb, the young vampire had outsmarted most, securing the foundation of his undead army and other valuable assets unnoticed.
He returned home with his fourteen new tomb guardians in tow. As for the skeletal wolves, since they weren't part of the official Carstein forces, the absence of two went unnoticed. Valred was confident that no one would raise an eyebrow.