The next thing Sokram did was use his moonstones to create crimson runic bombs, but that took a while.

  Just as he traced the final rune with blood-ink, the stones pulsed once in synchrony.

  Then, heat seeped into Sokram’s fingers as the runestone in his hand glowed with sinister red lightning, as it greedily drank in the ambient mana and vibrated with unstable energy.

  As Sokram finished sending some to his golems, someone came to look for the Necromancer that Sokram was now impersonating.

  “Deacon Goblin Raiser! Where are you, fucker?! The sun is going to come out in a few hours. We must close the entrance!”

  Sokram slipped a needle into the bark of a gnarled tree; the mithril's gleam vanished beneath living wood.

  He approached the Necromancer, who was looking for him, in silence.

  The Necromancer’s gaze landed on him with a scowl and began cussing him out.

  “You fucker, I told you not to wander into the forest! Don’t you know that rumors about our hideout are spreading in every city around us?! You know what? I don’t even want to hear your excuses this time, just go back to your lodge and get out of my face, you fucking weirdo!”

  Sokram lowered his head and rushed down the stairs.

  As he descended, skeletons scrubbed and swept the stone floors with stiff precision, while others were doing repairs and other odd jobs as their bones clicked and cracked softly in the stuffy, stagnant air.

  ‘Alright, time for the trial of fire…’ Sokram thought to himself, hoping the death energy in the rune around his neck would be enough to fool the undead around him.

  He passed the skeletons without a hitch.

  But once he passed a zombie, the zombie stopped its sweeping.

  Its milky, rotted eyes locked onto Sokram, tracking him with an intensity no mindless drone should possess. Its jaw worked silently, its teeth grinding with a dry rasp that scraped at Sokram’s nerves.

  Sokram froze for an instant, ready to teleport away.

  “Why are you looking at my kid like that? He just got curious.” An elderly female voice came from below him.

  “He looks familiar, is this…” But before Sokram could finish his sentence, the elder spat out in a hushed tone.

  “Shush! Dumbass! Once you join the cult, your past doesn’t matter anymore. You are with us long enough to know. You’re no longer Jensen. You’re Deacon Goblin Raiser now. Now go back to your lodge. I don’t want to see your ugly face.”

  The zombie was no longer staring at Sokram, and the masked elder gave him passage.

  She huffed, turning her back on him with an exaggerated swish of her robes, stomping her foot like a petulant child.

  ‘These fanatics are always an eccentric bunch,’ Sokram couldn’t help but laugh inwardly.

  Before reaching the end of the stairway, Sokram hid a needle inside a crack in the wall.

  Then, at the bottom of the stairs, he looked around, not seeing anyone, and hid a runic bomb there.

  As soon as he reached the entrance of the underground city, he felt the strain on his mana and mind easing, like unfastening a belt that had been tight for too long.

  It wasn’t only because he was closer to his golems, but also because there were many mana-gathering arrays spread all over the place.

  ‘This will work in my favor once the runic bombs go off,’ Sokram thought as he followed the way described in the diaries.

  He found Goblin Raiser’s lodge and entered, locking it from the inside. He left a needle there too, before teleporting to one of the sustentation pillars, swapping places with his golem.

  While Sokram infiltrated the small necropolis, his golems worked nonstop, planting explosive runes at each tunnel's structural point and pillar.

  All to make sure the tunnels collapsed immediately after the explosion.

  But without a detonation array, he wouldn’t be able to make them all explode at the same time, so using his Shadow Cloak, he began drawing two runic arrays next to one of the pillars and linking every runestone to them.

  Meanwhile, inside the castle, the Pope of the necromantic church, draped in golden robes and a golden mask, heard a whisper in his ears.

  “Send your bishops out in the city. There is a spy in your midst.”

  “Bishops, gather here now!” In a matter of seconds, all the bishops were gathered in front of the Pope.

  “Lord Macal whispered to me. There is a spy in our city. We must find him quickly, or all our plans will be wasted. Don’t fail me, don’t fail the Death Lord!”

  “Yes, Your Holiness!” The bishops vanished almost instantly, their rippling steps dissolving into empty air.

  Just as Sokram finished linking the last of his runestones, he hid the arrays using Elemental Manipulation, forming a small earth dome over them, leaving them active and waiting.

  After that, Sokram activated the runic bombs, which began slowly absorbing the ambient mana from the environment.

  Now all he had to do was wait.

  He teleported back to Goblin Raiser’s room, once again switching places with his golem.

  Sitting in meditation, Sokram controlled the golem as it navigated through the shadows of the small city.

  He kept an eye around town, not lowering his guard for even a second.

  That’s when he caught sight of one of the bishops jumping from roof to roof, searching for something, ‘Weird…’

  But Sokram remained there waiting. By the density of the Magi around the city, he would need three hours tops for an explosion big enough to bury this small necropolis for good.

  Seconds felt like minutes.

  Time ticked slowly as he waited. Even as he entertained himself spying on the necromancers, time insisted on crawling instead of walking or running as he wished.

  The silence of the room pressed against Sokram's ears, amplifying every sound that came from outside.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  When there was only half an hour left, he heard steps approaching the room, then a knock on his door.

  He ignored it, but the knocking only got louder and more urgent the second time.

  ‘Sigh… Well, it wouldn’t be fun if it were so easy, right?’ Sokram laughed inwardly as he stood up to open the door.

  It was the same elderly woman from before, “Come, we are going to the pub.”

  Sokram shook his head and spoke in a soft and meek tone, “Sorry, Deacon Crying Witch, I’m going to the library. I thought about what you said the last time we talked, not on the stairs, but the previous day. And I decided to let go of the past and dedicate myself fully.”

  Through the mask, Deacon Crying Witch's eyes widened with pride, “I knew you would come around! What are you going to do?”

  “I want to start studying to build my first Necromonger, but I have no idea where to start,” Sokram explained what he read in the diaries.

  Yet he knew what a Necromonger was and how terrifying they were, having faced many in his previous timeline.

  Usually, the undead kept by a Necromancer could only be as strong or weaker than their Master. But a Necromonger could become stronger by feeding on the mortal remains of stronger foes.

  “Amazing! Thank Macal! You’re back to your old self.” Deacon Crying Witch celebrated, full of enthusiasm.

  Then she handed Sokram a red ruby. “Here, go to the requisition hall. This should be enough for you to get at least some good research material.”

  “Thank you, Crying Witch.” Sokram stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, waiting for the old lady to leave, but it wasn’t going to be that easy.

  “Then what are you waiting for? Go, it’s there, right in front of Macal's statue. Go!” The old lady rushed him to move.

  Sokram walked away awkwardly a few steps until she told him something that almost made his heart freeze, “And you should stop smoking those mushrooms, it’s already messing with your voice, it wasn’t so deep before.”

  “Hah, no, I just think I ate the wrong one, and I told you already, I’m not smoking them, just eating.” Sokram was very thankful for his Hyperthymesia at that moment.

  “Tsk, then stop eating them,” Deacon Crying Witch said, crossing her arms, as Sokram left.

  But as soon as he was out of sight, she went into his room.

  Sokram quickly summoned back the needle he had left in the room. Knowing they were suspecting him, he wouldn’t go back there.

  The city wasn’t so large that Sokram could easily stall for time, especially when people were already looking suspiciously at each other.

  Sensing the runestones, he still needed to stall for around twenty minutes when he reached the Requisition Hall, which was unmistakable.

  It resembled an antique store, shelves sagging beneath centuries of forbidden knowledge and dust-choked scroll, but also packed with folders storing papers, research materials, and books.

  Sokram entered and approached the blue-robed masked man. His mask looked like a boar, and he had his head low, reading something.

  “Cardinal Two Tusks, can I make an exchange for some research material?”

  “What are you looking for?” The man didn’t even look up when he asked.

  “I want to borrow everything you have on humanoid anatomy,” Sokram asked humbly, trying to act as meekly as possible.

  ‘Since I’m here, why not go all out, right?’ He thought, knowing that his time was limited.

  “And how do you plan to pay for it?” Finally, he looked up from what he was reading.

  Sokram placed three rubies and a diamond on the stand. “Please bring everything you have on it.”

  The Cardinal picked the stones and used an analysis spell on them.

  Seeing that they were real, he nodded and went to gather what Sokram requested.

  The Cardinal wasn’t in a rush, slowly going from shelf to shelf, which brought Sokram some relief as he had a place to stall for time.

  A little more than 15 minutes later, there was a pile of books, scrolls, research journals, and many other reading materials.

  “What are you researching, young man?” The Cardinal asked.

  “I’m just trying to find my path into building my first Necromonger,” Sokram said softly.

  “Oh, a Necromonger, hm? Well, good luck with that…” The Cardinal’s reaction was strange.

  Despite his humorous tone, the smile never touched his eyes, which remained sharp beneath the mask.

  His gaze remained cold and calculating, dissecting Sokram with surgical precision, as if stripping him layer by layer.

  Much different from Deacon Crying Witch, who fooled Sokram, acting as if he had said something amazing.

  This revealed Sokram’s mistake.

  He realized, albeit too late, that these necromancers still believed that creating a Necromonger was nothing but a legend.

  Like in many other worlds in the Awakened Zone, very few had the resources to create one.

  A Necromonger that was fed enough powerful remains would become the apex of the Undead Warriors, a bona fide, absolute weapon.

  But Sokram had little knowledge about the necromancers in his world. In his previous timeline, he would either avoid them or hunt them down.

  However, the Cardinal’s reaction made him realize that Goblin Raiser wasn’t someone of an ordinary mind.

  Living in secret bases required at least this level of care, especially since the followers of Macal always wore masks, which made their churches very prone to infiltration.

  And Goblin Raiser’s diaries had such a fail-safe.

  'No wonder this dammed word was repeated so many times. It was a diversion in case he was killed, and his spatial rings were stolen. Necromonger, hm? Cleaver fucker!' Sokram lamented not catching on to it earlier.

  Yet, he had to admit that the elder, Crying Witch, was an excellent actress.

  This made Sokram find a new level of respect for these necromancers, who were still doomed anyway.

  Sokram swiped his hand over the books, placing everything into the spatial ring he had stolen from Goblin Raiser’s body, thanked the Cardinal, and turned to leave.

  Just then, the woman in white robes he had seen previously entered the store.

  “Lady Bishop Night Owl,” Sokram and the Cardinal saluted her politely, and Sokram continued walking out of the store.

  Just as Sokram placed his hands on the door, he heard a sweet voice calling, “Deacon, wait.”

  Sokram turned around with his guard up, prepared to summon Draggonia, and asked her, “Yes, Lady Bishop?”

  “You forgot this,” She said, extending a book to him.

  ‘Classic move to make me lower my guard. This place is already surrounded, hm? But that book looks interesting though.’

  Sokram approached her, still pretending to be shy.

  As soon as his fingers brushed the leather cover, the mana around them instantly shifted. The hair on his arms stood up as the air around them condensed.

  It was the warning of a spell about to trigger.

  Sokram knew he was caught, and meeting her gaze, his tone and demeanor shifted back to his original one. “Thanks.”

  As he pulled the book from her grasp, an overwhelming Force Blast exploded on his face.

  But since Sokram was prepared, he was faster than her in their silent casting.

  He managed to activate his Runic Blood Tattoos, increasing his fighting power to match a Tier 10 Reformed, and raised a Mana Shield before being hit.

  The blast didn't just push him; it obliterated the Hall's entrance.

  Stone shattered and wood splintered.

  The shockwave hurled him backward, as his Mana Shield shattered.

  But even so, it wasn’t powerful enough to knock him out of balance as he landed on his feet with Draggonia in hand.

  “Heh, to think someone as talented as you would choose to become a disgusting fanatic serving that disgusting corpse-eater Macal,” Sokram, no longer hiding, spoke loudly, already surrounded by necromancers and undead warriors.

  Suddenly, every piece of his armor set under the robes seemed to react to something behind him.

  Sokram looked back and saw a man draped in golden robes.

  The man stood like a pillar of gold in the surrounding gloom.

  The mask he wore was featureless save for a permanent grin that mocked the death surrounding him.

  But it was the boots, dark as the night, tailored from the same basilisk leather and black dragon scales as the rest of the set, that drew Sokram’s eyes.

  ‘So it was he who took the greater part of the inheritance back then, hm?’

  But to everyone’s surprise, the Pope spoke with joy, seeing Sokram.

  “Thank you! Thank you! I’m very grateful to you, and I promise I’ll add you to my undead collection and treat you very well!”

  But Sokram wasn’t having it, “It seems you can also sense it, right? But you should know two things first…”

  “BOOOM!!!”

  Sokram activated the first array connected to the runic bombs, demolishing the tunnels and the entrance.

  The ground jumped. A deafening roar swallowed all other sound as the tunnels collapsed.

  Rocks and debris blasted out toward the city, even hitting some of the less alert necromancers near the explosion's radius.

  At the same time, a grey cloud coated the city in dust behind them.

  The explosion created a distraction big enough for Sokram to throw two needles at the Pope.

  One was clearly out of target, so the Pope only dodged the one aimed at his head.

  But that was an ambush.

  “Slash!” Draggonia flashed from behind the Pope.

  An arc of dark Mithranium severed bone and flesh just above the Pope's ankles.

  Before the Pope could even fall, his boots, and the feet inside them, vanished into Sokram's Void Gloves, and Sokram dashed away in a flash of Dark Lightning.

  “NOO!!” Night Owl shouted, followed by the other bishops, as they rushed to aid the Pope, but it was already too late.

  When their eyes found Sokram again, he was on top of one of the houses, “…Look around. I’m not the one trapped in a crumbling tomb. You are. And second, you bunch of disgusting fanatics, send the stinky one my regards when you reach the Nether!”

  The Pope on the ground pointed at Sokram, his fingers trembling, and by his tone, he had just begun to feel the pain of his severed legs, “Dark Lightning…"

  "He’s the one…" the Pope gasped with horror bleeding into his voice, "Dark Lightning Killer!”

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