Alazaar turned on his heel, his movements abrupt and full of purpose. "Follow me."
Lucien blinked in surprise, taken aback by the urgency in the Lich's voice. "Where are we going?" he asked, wheeling his chair forward.
"You'll see."
They moved through the crypt's winding corridors in silence, the only sounds being the faint clatter of Lucien's bone-forged wheels and the occasional groan of the ancient stone beneath them. At the base of the stairs leading up to the surface, Alazaar turned and with a flick of his skeletal hand, Lucien's chair began to levitate, guided upward by Alazaar's magic.
This was the first time Lucien had left the catacombs since he had been taken in by the Lich. As they stepped beyond the heavy air of the graveyard and into the untamed wilds, Lucien felt it instantly — the death magic that clung to every stone of the crypt faded, replaced by a breeze that was light, fresh, and full of unfamiliar scents.
Over the years he had grown accustomed to the deathly energy around him, and once exiting the graveyard, he could feel a soothing and refreshing climate.
Towering trees stretched skyward, their canopies dappling the ground in golden light. Birds chirped above. Rabbits darted between thick underbrush. Deer grazed quietly in open patches. Butterflies floated lazily on the wind.
But what truly caught Lucien's eye were the slimes — translucent blobs of varying hues, wobbling across the forest floor or clinging to tree trunks. Some were green, others blue, a few faintly glowing with mana-rich cores. They moved slowly, harmlessly, leaving behind faint trails of glistening slime.
So they exist here too, Lucien thought. Good to know.
The moment was fleeting, however, as Alazaar continued pressing forward without a word, and Lucien rolled after him.
"This way," Alazaar said, guiding them through a dense patch of woodland. "We're heading to the rear of the crypt's protected territory."
Lucien glanced around, curiosity and caution in his gaze. "Why here?"
Alazaar's tone was even. "Recently, a tribe of goblins settled here. They used my presence as protection from larger predators. I have known of them for some time. They caused no harm and made no demands, so I allowed them to remain."
Lucien narrowed his eyes. "And now?"
"We made no contract that I must protect them," Alazaar said simply. "And now, they will serve a purpose."
As they emerged into a clearing, Lucien spotted the goblin encampment. It was crude — wooden barricades with primitive spikes, tents stitched from leather, grass, and rotting wood. Despite its simplicity, it was organized.
"They have grown," Alazaar murmured. "There were only twenty-three last time. Now I count thirty."
He turned to Lucien. "Go on then. Let's see what your creation can do."
Lucien stared at the camp, a bubbling mix of excitement and anxiety welling inside him. Then a thought sparked — How would a powerful master act?
He crossed his spindly legs, clasped his hands over his knees, tilted his head slightly, and let a sly smirk play on his lips, his silver-white hair catching the breeze.
"Kill them for me," he said softly.
The skeletal chimera beside him let out a blood-curdling howl, its unholy voice piercing the air. The beast launched forward, claws scraping the dirt, moving with terrifying speed — fast enough to rival a moped in his old world.
The goblins, already on edge from the scream, scrambled into a ragged formation. Spears of wood and bone braced behind makeshift barricades.
It didn't matter.
The beast leapt high, landing with a crash. The crude spears snapped against its mana-infused bones. With claws sharper than daggers, it tore through their defenses like wheat under a scythe. Goblins screamed and scattered. Some with clubs and rusted swords tried to retaliate. The clubs left cracks — but cracks healed in seconds.
Regeneration.
The archers in the rickety towers could only watch as their kin were shredded.
Within minutes, the goblin camp fell silent. Blood painted the soil. Bodies littered the clearing.
The construct stood over the carnage, its ivory bones now crimson. Its glowing green sockets gleamed with primal pride.
Lucien stared, his expression unreadable.
+5 Soul Points for killing [Lvl 5 Goblin Warrior]
+5 Soul Points for killing [Lvl 5 Goblin Soldier]
+5 Soul Points for killing [Lvl 5 Goblin Archer]
The notifications stacked. Thirty kills. +150 Soul Points.
The creature raised its head and let out a triumphant howl, the sound echoing through the woods like a grim anthem.
Alazaar stroked his chin, clearly impressed, but contemplative. Lucien, still in character, nodded slowly.
"Excellent." he said, as the Soul Points kept rolling in.