After

  his initial exclamation, Garth's face contorted through a range of

  emotions from shock to bafflement, and through curiosity to utter

  astonishment. All within a couple of seconds as he watched

  Fang-Knife's inner azure flame.

  When he finally turned to look

  at Seventh, he had settled on a small, uneasy smile. "Sooo, you

  have an advanced undead. advanced undead. You...how...by

  Death's balls, how in the Heavens did you do that?!?" His

  emotions finally boiled over, and he pointed at Fang with an

  accusatory finger.

  Seventh had sunk into his seat and raised

  his empty teacup for protection. Garth's tone was strict without

  being angry, much like a disappointed father scolding a child. Making

  the matter worse, Seventh had no idea what he had done wrong and what

  the guildmaster was talking about.

  "I-I-I just channeled

  the mana! I used Meditate and Area Channeling to boost my mana

  regeneration and just...cast the spell?" Seventh said, defending

  himself.

  Garth's eyebrows rose high. "Oh, really? And how

  did you manage all that without severe manaburn? You must have dumped

  all your mana in the spell to make your minion like that." He

  continued making wild hand gestures towards Fang. The ratkin tilted

  his head and retched incredulously. He didn't know what was going on,

  but he didn't appreciate the tone the older man was

  using.

  "Manaburn? I didn't get a headache or anything

  like that. I started to feel a little woozy and released the spell.”

  To be totally honest, Seventh didn't remember Fang's reanimation

  clearly. It happened a long time ago, and the results overshadowed

  his recollections of the casting itself.

  Garth stopped his

  almost manic pondering and focused on his newest guild member.

  "You...didn't get burned? How is that..." He furrowed his

  eyebrows, deep in thought. He quickly snatched the forgotten list of

  skills back into his hand.

  He

  went through the list yet again, brushing his hand through his hair,

  making the cared hair point in all directions at once. “There's

  nothing for that kind of spellcasting here.” Garth raised an

  eyebrow and looked over the list at Seventh.

  “How

  about this Ashen Will? You described it as 'helps with undead

  command', but is it all it does? Buffing Raise Dead within the aura,

  perhaps?”

  "No,

  not really. It gives mental stability, more cohesion with my order to

  the undead, and some kind of mental debuff to enemies."

  Garth

  looked Seventh like he had been smacked with an indecently old fish.

  "It's an aura with effects?”

  He rose from

  his seat to take a thick book off the shelf. A bottle was pulled out

  from the hollowed-out book, and Garth poured himself a stiff drink

  into his teacup and promptly drained it. He made himself another

  drink and wiggled the bottle as an offer to fill Seventh's cup. The

  younger Necromancer refused as he was still using his cup as a flimsy

  cover.

  Finding himself back at his seat, Garth let out a deep

  sigh. "Apologies about my abrupt rudeness— it really is

  beneath me to react in such a way, but two grand shocks have a

  tendency to shake even a stout man's resolve about day drinking."

  He sipped from his alcohol-filled cup as an emphasis and stared at

  Fang.

  The ratkin was sniffing around and had slowly approached

  Papa by circling the room, taking note of every new smell and sound.

  Something in the old carpet had taken considerable attention, but now

  Fang was standing on his toes, curiously peeking above the counter at

  the other undead.

  "I really should have done the normal

  rounds of questioning... well, anyways, that boat has left the harbor

  and sunk already," Garth mumbled before raising his voice to

  normal volume. "What you have there is an advanced undead.

  Usually, they are quickly used and lose their cerebral cohesion

  within a day, falling back into their normal behavioral patterns.

  “They

  are nothing unusual, really— but you have somehow shoved that

  ratkin to the brim with mana. If you are a smart boy, you will

  observe the next twenty-four hours of his use, and take careful notes

  on how his mana dissipates. Recognizing mana patterns in combat is a

  crucial skill."

  The

  guildmaster waited for Seventh to react or say something, and all he

  got was a blank stare.

  “He

  has been reanimated for weeks now,” Seventh said blankly,

  suspecting another abrupt reaction from the guildmaster. “I mean, I

  think so? It's hard to say, the dungeon being underground and all.”

  “I...

  see.” Garth sipped his drink and kept a slightly shell-shocked

  expression on his face. The two men sat silently as Fang sniffed the

  bookshelves.

  Finally

  putting his tea plate and cup on the table, Seventh spoke, ”Is

  there going to be problems?”

  “Well,

  no and yes. No, in the sense that nobody else than a Necromancer

  would understand or realize what kind of undead Fang is. Yes, in the

  sense that there is a possibility that he could be kidnapped as a

  test subject.”

  “What?!”

  Seventh half-yelled and almost rose from his seat. Fang turned to

  look at him and swiveled his ears and whiskers around.

  “Oh,

  yes. The academia is backstabbing, neck-snapping, cutthroat business,

  my dear boy. Finding unique specimens and publishing a paper on them

  is a surefire way for scholarships or general funding.”

  Seventh's

  mouth hung loose, and his left eye twitched. “What the Hells are

  you talking about?”

  “Research

  and publishing, of course! How else can we further our knowledge of

  magic? If we just hoard our research, we would be at the mercy of the

  System to give us Skills that have nuggets of useful information.

  Imagine a world fumbling in the dark as you have been."

  Leaning

  forward and stroking his starting beard, Seventh thought about

  Necromancers doing research. The first thing that came to his mind

  was dark rooms filled with hooded people, chanting in a mysterious

  language, and raising ancient evils.

  “Sounds...

  useful?” he finally mumbled.

  Teacup

  clinked as Garth poured two shots, one for him, one for Seventh.

  “Quite. It is obvious that Fang is indeed an abnormal reanimation.

  Unknown magical reaction between your skills, your mana, dungeon

  mana, state of mind, and all the other things you shoved into that

  ratkin to make him what he is. I might even have to force you to do a

  proper study and publish it."

  “I'd

  really like to avoid thinking back to that time of my life,”

  Seventh said, and sipped from his cup. It was properly smoky whiskey

  with hints of fruit and oak.

  Garth

  shrugged. “I can't really force you to do anything. Besides paying

  taxes and guild fees, everybody has to do those sooner or later. But

  a proper study would shield you and Fang from corpse snatchers.

  Showing that there is already completed research is a better shield

  than, well, a shield.”

  “I'd like to see anybody trying to

  snatch Fang,” Seventh said with a chuckle. “He has a lot of

  knives.”

  “Those

  he has,” Garth replied, and continued looking at the ratkin. His

  eyes occasionally moved up, making Seventh realize he wasn't looking

  at Fang but the Death Mana inside him.

  “That

  actually leads us nicely to the nitty-gritty details of the law. Tell

  me, what do you know about your rights and obligations as a

  Necromancer?” the guildmaster continued.

  "One

  minion inside the city, unless I am attacked? Something about

  self-defense?"

  "Technically correct. One minion

  inside the city areas not designated as a dungeon or areas with a

  special permit. The Corpse Flower has a multitude of research rooms

  where you can summon, conjure, create, and reanimate undead to your

  heart's content. Just remember to book the room first, there is a

  list."

  "Is the archives one of those special rooms?"

  Seventh eyed Papa and a faint whisps of Death Mana he could barely

  see through he bookshelves.

  Garth shook his head and grinned.

  "No, I'm afraid not. Only I can have multiple undead in this

  room. Perks of the Guildmaster, you see."

  "Might

  makes right," Seventh repeated the old attenndum. It was

  slightly leaned towards the classes that used Might as a primary

  Attribute, but it rhymed and was factually correct. Those who had the

  power, skills, and ranks were the gilded ones.

  "Quite,"

  Garth said with a slight displeasure. "Unfortunate side-effect

  of people gaining social status by stomping monsters to the head.

  Personally, I think there should be some kind of merit system, but

  what do the Head Archivist and a guildmaster know? Not much,

  according to the current Guildmaster of the Adventurer's Guild,

  that's for sure."

  Peering into his once again empty cup,

  Garth made a sheepish grin. "Oh dear, that might steer us to

  other unsavory paths. Let's try staying on the topic, shall we? Now,

  when you exit the city gates— to a dungeon or the general outside—

  you can have multiple minions around, but at the general outside, you

  must have a corpse lantern on every single minion. No exceptions.

  I'll get some of them engraved for you, don't worry about the cost,

  it’s included in the joining fee. During a battle, you are free to

  raise all kinds of Hell, but afterwards maintain your minions. That

  includes using the lanterns."

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  Garth stopped to assess

  Seventh's expression. He had been steadily nodding without asking any

  questions.

  "Can you give me a recap? Just to see if you

  are paying any attention or napping off."

  "Corpse

  lanterns on the undead while at the outside, no need in the dungeon,

  and after fight, reassess the situation and act accordingly."

  "Very

  good. I should probably make some pamphlets with that.”

  Garth

  picked his pocket and placed a small cylindrical brass lantern onto

  the table. It was small enough to be held in a palm and had a sliding

  cover that could be moved over the small glass lens. Inside was a

  familiar looking Essence Stone held in place by two brass rods from

  above and below.

  “You

  can use this for the time being. Usually, there is your name and

  guild engraved so the undead could be identified.”

  Seventh

  picked up the lantern, testing its weight. Heavier than it looked.

  “Identified so the guard can come and clobber the poor necromancer

  whose undead has caused a scene?”

  “Yes,

  that is the norm. Put it on Fang and see how it works.”

  With

  a gesture, Fang skittered next to the table, and Seventh tied the

  lantern on the ratkin's belt with a piece of leather string Garth

  provided. After a while, a soft azure glow started to emanate from

  the lantern. With Sense Magic, Seventh saw a small portion of Fang's

  Death Mana changing its direction and flowing through the Essence

  Stone inside.

  “That's

  useful. Do I need to change the Essence Stone, or does it just work

  forever? Do lanterns reduce the time limit on advanced undead?”

  Garth

  smiled at Seventh like he was his favorite student, asking prudent

  questions. “It just works. No need to change the stone, it should

  work for a couple thousand years— give or take a century.”

  The

  guildmaster stroked his clean-shaven jaw in thought. He seemed to get

  over Seventh's unorthodox minion. “I don't believe it would shorten

  the time. Maybe a minute or two, but nothing major? It doesn't

  actually use the Death Mana, the stone resonates with it and projects

  it as color. You have quite a calming one. Mine is also blue, but

  deeper.”

  “I

  know.”

  “You

  know?” Garth looked at Seventh, raising his eyebrow. “How would

  you know that?”

  Seventh

  pointed at Papa. “I mean, isn't it obvious? You reanimated Papa,

  right? That's your mana in him.”

  Furrowing

  his brow, Garth looked between Papa and Seventh. Something clicked.

  “Oh! You see color! That's quite nice.”

  “You

  don't?” Seventh asked, nonplussed.

  “I

  see shapes and movement, but not color— well, maybe subtle changes

  between grey, but that's too small a detail to hang on. Do you see

  anything else, or is it just a ball of color?”

  “Fang

  is like an azure camprife out of control. Papa is a tightly wound

  ball of delicate movement, like a ball of yarn?” Seventh compared

  the two undead.

  “Fascinating,

  but I'm afraid we have other work to do than compare Skills.”

  For

  the next fifteen minutes, Garth ran some hypothetical situations

  where Seventh could find himself as a Necromancer. It all basically

  boiled down to: hide your undead, and if some idiot kills it outside

  of combat, seek refunds from his guild. At the end, Garth was back on

  the normal track with the introductory speech for newly minted

  Necromancers and had switched back to tea.

  He gave Seventh a

  brand new book with a dark brown cover and golden lettering: Infernal

  Speech, a Mortal's Guide to Speak With the Immortal and the

  Dead.

  "That is your own copy of .

  Read it today, before making any more minions. I don't want you to

  die for some silly nonsense like a misplaced comma or open-ended

  command to kill everything." He squinted at Seventh. "Do

  you have any standing commands like that with your minions? If you

  have, make some hasty corrections."

  Seventh lifted his

  gaze from the book. It had made a pleasing crackling at the spine

  when it was opened for the first time. "Fang has an order not to

  backstab my party or me."

  "You have a party?"

  There was surprise in Garth's voice, and he looked pleased.

  "No,

  not anymore. They died."

  The guildmaster made a slow

  side-glance at Fang. "Did your minion...?"

  "Nononono!

  He didn't do anything— it was just a group of

  ratkin."

  Garth visibly relaxed. "Good, good. You

  seem to have already figured out the basics I was going to go

  through, so we can just skip it. Before I reprimand you for your

  blatant disregard of your Soldier class and Attributes— do you have

  anything to ask about what we have been discussing?"

  Reprimand?

  What did I do now? "Actually, yes. So what are auras?"

  The

  joviality melted away from Garth's face, replaced by the tiredness of

  a teacher whose most disliked student had asked the most stupid

  question ever.

  "My good boy, where is this Hamlet of

  yours? I personally fund an expedition there to bring civilization if

  you are so backwards you don't know about auras!" Garth buffed

  himself with a full cup of tea.

  Seventh's

  deadpan expression made Garth sigh deeply before continuing.

  "Anyways, auras, yes. Broadly speaking, auras are area effects

  that are manifestations of your own magical field, your Presence. One

  could say they are the Skills that reveal your true self. Cadralians

  actually teach that auras are, literally, your soul interacting with

  the world."

  That

  perked up Seventh's interest. Souls reacting with the world and

  manifestation of self? It sounded fascinating, marvelous, and

  wonderful until he remembered what his does: confusion and

  disorientation to the enemies. More powerful against the ones who had

  survived hardships.

  “Oh,”

  Seventh said dryly.

  Garth continued, "They have too many

  effects to list, but I can use my own aura— Sanctuary of the

  Scholar— as an example. It simply keeps paper, parchment, and

  vellum in pristine condition. It is purely a supportive Skill without

  any combat applications, and I gained it after I had embraced the

  Scholar life full heartedly."

  Seventh licked his lips.

  His mouth was suddenly dry, and he poured more tea for himself. "So,

  if I have a combat aura...?"

  "It would seem that the

  adventuring life is the Path for you," Garth said. "I hope

  that's something you wanted to hear? You can't remove your Aura

  Skill. It never latches on classes, so no help removing them either."

  Seventh's

  eyes opened wide. “You can remove Skills and Classes? Isn't that...

  how?”

  Garth

  shrugged. “I don't know. Haven't had the need to know, and I have a

  sneaking suspicion that the people who know aren't the most

  law-abiding citizens if you catch my drift.”

  Instead

  of dwelling too deeply on the knowledge of his soul being a

  schoolyard bully, Seventh made a faint smile. "Sounds like it's

  the adventuring life for me after all. No cushy scribe job with only

  paper cuts and spilled ink to worry about.”

  “I

  have spells for those, if you're interested,” Garth said with a

  toothy grin. It reminded Seventh of Junior's smile. Like father, like

  son.

  "But

  you can always use your aura in customer service,” he continued. “I

  know a lot of receptionists who would kill for a skill that lets them

  stare literal daggers or holes at difficult customers."

  Seventh

  laughed at the thought. He would keep that in mind for the

  future.

  "Is my aura something I should focus on? It

  sounds kinda important."

  "Not really, no. It is a

  fundamental part of you and will rank up like any other Skill through

  training, achievements, and inspiration. If it starts to lag behind—

  — it becomes a problem." There

  was a much harsher tone when Garth spoke about Soldier Skills.

  Oh,

  that was what he meant by reprimanding me, Seventh thought and

  sheepishly took cover by sipping his tea. Garth had an excellent

  displeased teacher look.

  "Oh yes, don't you think you

  leave here with only praise. What have you been thinking, boy? Rank.

  Your. Classes. Evenly." The guildmaster clapped his hand at

  the end of every word. "Honestly, you have almost two ranks wide

  discrepancy between Necromancer, Scholar, and Soldier! Scholar, I do

  understand— it takes time— but Soldier with two attack Skills? Go

  into the fight and start hacking!"

  Seventh looked at his

  guildmaster incredulously. "I have! Wanna see my other scars? I

  have been there, in the front line with my comrades, stabbing and

  fighting like them!"

  He suddenly realized that he had

  stood up and raised his voice. Fang had crossed his arms and was

  nodding approvingly. Garth's eyes had widened, and he was gesturing

  for him to calm down.

  "I— apologies, that might have

  been too crass of me," Garth said with an apologetic expression.

  "It's just that your skills should be much higher than they are

  now, then. Have you used Cleave and Thrust with every fight? Armor

  proficiency and other passives rank with time, but your active skills

  are..."

  Something seemed to click in Gath's head, and he

  squinted his left eye in mild suspicion. "You been

  activating your Skills, right? Not just...running into the melee and

  swinging your sword around?"

  Seventh squirmed back into

  his seat, feeling suddenly very, very small. "Eeeh,

  nooo?"

  There wan't anything in the Skills description

  that said anything about activation! Not a single word! And the

  innate knowledge Seventh gained from the skill—

  Crap. It

  totally tells me to activate the Skill. Apparently, there is a

  difference between thrust and Thrust, cleave and Cleave, Seventh

  thought as a sheepish smile rose to his face.

  "Sooo, how

  do you... uh, activate Skills?"

  A new book appeared atop

  the . Skills and You: a Child's Guide to

  Active and Passive Skills, Instructed by Enra the Rabbit and Dodger

  the Badger. It was clearly a book with more pictures than

  text.

  Garth didn't say a word, but he started to rub his

  temples while looking down at the carpet. Seventh suddenly had a

  weird urge to apologize for breaking a vase.

  "I'm

  starting to doubt if I can really just let you go and join the Guild

  upstairs. But it's not really my job to babysit grown damn man, no

  matter how idiotic they are."

  He lifted his eyes and made

  a predatory grin that didn't bode well for Seventh. "Since I am

  your guildmaster, it is my prerogative to give suggestions to the

  other guilds. I have a training program for you.

  You're gonna get those Skills ranked up in no time! And get to do

  some damn adventuring on the side."

  Seventh gulped

  loudly. He had a bad feeling about this.