[TLQ-B2] 20. Cursed Ambition (Patreon)

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Cursed Ambition

Remnants of the blizzard that had changed the landscape filtered out from the east and made me rub my shoulders. The frosty touch of the Monarch still lingered.

Are you feeling any change, Your Highness? Durand said.

Because of his limited awareness, he’d not been privy to all the details of my sudden meeting.

“It’s just my imagination,” I told him. “There’s nothing off with my body.”

Kalameet may be a Monarch, but I was no child. If he’d done anything to interfere with either my soul or body, I would’ve noticed.

But I’d give up my firstborn if he wasn’t planning something.

‘Still, I’d give up my firstborn if he wasn’t planning something.’

No undead enjoyed being used. Especially not by someone they considered their lesser.

Is Your Highness certain accepting the mantle was right?

My eyelids narrowed. Titles. Mantles. Both were terms for the same—a right to power. A the universe bestowed upon a being that would give access to powers otherwise unavailable.

I’m not certain I understand what is doing the bestowing. Are you speaking of a god?

“It’s nothing so grand.” I turned away from the east towards the corpses still kneeling in a circle while I scoured my thoughts for the best way to explain the concept of a system. I landed on how Lucian had explained it to me long ago. “Imagine that there is an impartial administrator who keeps track of the progress of everything in the universe.”

…like a bookkeeper?

“Exactly like that. As one’s power increases, the bookkeeper changes their notes to reflect that person’s evolution.”

Durand paused for a heartbeat. “And this recording cements your status, giving you more power in the world?”

“Something like that.”

To be honest, I didn’t fully understand the system myself. I’d only half paid attention when Lucian explained the concept to me, since my previous world didn’t have it. Our laws played out behind the scenes. Perhaps the bookkeeper was there, but if they were, they’d never revealed their presence to anyone.

Still, a small smile played on my lips. ‘Status, huh. What an apt word.’

My gaze went to my system screen.

Sepharin K. Vrost =

{

Mantle = [Black Monarch (Fragment)]

Status = [CURSED]

Skills = [Lesser Frost Necromancy, Minor Frost Manipulation, Minor Miasma Control, Minor Necromancy, Greater Frostmancy]

Racials = [Icy Veins, Goliath, Overbearing, Callous, Vorst]

Laws = [Necrofrost (Awakening)]

Miasma = 780 /1340

Skill Points = 20

Training with Kalameet had given me a bunch of skill points. Not only that, my necrofrost seed has matured to an ‘Awakening’ stage. I wasn’t sure what that was supposed to represent yet.

However, more attention grabbing than anything was the new entry on my screen.

‘Cursed…’

I’d known in advance that adopting Kalameet’s mantle would be no simple feat. He was a Monarch of Death. That mantle was heavy, no matter who wore it in which era. Because it was powerful. Deadly. The tales my father had told me of exceptionally strong undead rulers in the past all involved them having dominion over the element like no one before them had. Their legions wreathed death and havoc wherever their feet carried them and had the mortal races bowing and begging for mercy.

Yet what awaited all those powerful rulers was a gruesome, personal demise.

Those who the universe deemed as ‘Gods’ of Death didn’t live long. And yet I’d bartered for it.

I didn’t have some grandstanding reason or masterplan for as to why. There were simply too many things in this world much stronger than I was. The Children were only the most recent example. Cebas was a powerful demon who’d battled Grandmother in the past—and though I didn’t consider myself their lesser, I was far removed from reaching Grandmother at her peak. Then there were magi like Moonwalker and Xun. How long would it take for me to reach a level where I could contest them head-on in battle?

Even if I did reach that place, larger threats existed. The foulbloods ruling Kreed, the highbloods ruling from Queleth, the orcs, other demi-humans, and the spirits hiding under the land…too many outside factors were present to name every one. Yet it was my duty to protect the Duchy from all of them.

If you die, you won’t be able to safeguard anyone, Your Highness.

“You speak true—”

I reached the foot of the circle housing my soon-to-be undead, where the kneeling dead waited to be raised and join my legion.

“—but I am no stranger to such stakes.”

I had worn a mantle before. Had I reached the peaks of my predecessors? No. But that wasn’t because I couldn’t.

‘There’s no reason to don such a mantle,’ I heard my father say.

Rather a long-living, weaker ruler, than one who ruled the myriad universes for a mere century and ceased to be. I could see the truth in it, so I’d never developed my mantle past the initial stages.

‘It shouldn’t be much of a risk for now.’ As long as the mantle stayed a fragment, no life-altering blowbacks would be coming my way. It also meant the power I’d gain from it wouldn’t be as promising, but that was an alright trade.

An image of Lucian leaning in the entrance of a balcony passed through my mind. ‘What if it doesn’t function the same as in your previous world?’ he asked.

My gaze lingered on his.

…

Then I’d deal with it when I got there.

The thought on my mantle, father, and Lucian, I kept closer to my chest and didn’t allow Durand to hear—as I did with any thoughts related to Lucian or my previous world. Perhaps I’d tell him one day.

After he’d proven his undying loyalty to me.

Before I began raising the corpses, I turned to my shop.

[Skills Menu = Upgrades [Minor Frost Necromancy] (2 points) [Frost Manipulation] (5 points) [Necromancy] (5 points) [Lesser Frostmancy II] (10 points) [Miasma Control] (5 points) New Skills [FRAGMENTED]]

Lesser Frostmancy II was new and had not been there before. Another boon of Kalameet’s training.

‘Unlocking the next stage of a skill probably requires you to gain a certain level of understanding first.’ So that was another boon of Kalameet’s training.

Despite spending days with me in this place, we had not gone through two percent of what there was to teach. Which was why I’d worked his continued mentorship into our vows. He wouldn’t be able to make good on his promise until I brought him back into the real world in some fashion, either as a talking skull capable of teaching me or in the flesh, but it was in our contract.

I eyed the fragmented skills. Those wouldn’t rear their heads until I developed the mantle.

‘Everything on its time.’ I breathed out. My palm touched the nearest corpse, and I got to work.

The next day, the last of the undead rose. A full suit of black plate armour weighed down its skeleton, the shoulderpads of which protruded like a set of wings.

[Warmonger - Level: 20 | Tier: II]

‘Warmonger…one of Billy’s pack.’

At level twenty, it was a mere five levels away from reaching tier III and but four levels lower than Durand. It was also why the undead didn’t immediately fall to one knee.

A heavy snort resounded in my head.

Oy, Billy… Durand said.

The undead I’d raised earlier this morning didn’t deign his companion with an answer. His presence diminished and the servant retreated into his mind, shutting out the remainder of the world.

‘Well, calling him a servant isn’t quite right.’

Unlike the others, Billy was a bona fide tier III undead. My first and only undead of that stage. That had its advantages and disadvantages.

My chin rotated over my shoulder. The deep grooves in the grassland were like wounds in the earth. Clouds of miasma and frost still wafted from them in the wake of our clashing powers.

Durand had helped me trap Billy in his crystal. However, even now, with Billy subduing his mind, I could feel the undead prodding his cage for when my powers waned or weakened.

I preferably never want to do that again, Your Highness, Durand said.

He wasn’t a fighter, after all. Him holding Billy down had cost him a few slabs of dead flesh. Small wounds that Meridyth had already healed him.

The second of the trio of giants was quite the specimen. Unlike her attire suggested, she wasn’t a priest and more of a mage, though not one focused on combat.

The appropriate term is Theurgist, Meridyth whispered. Her voice was as soft as silk…her dropping of any honorific was also on purpose.

I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. This trio of undead were the most disloyal bunch I’d had under me in a while.

‘No matter.’ I’d tame them in soon. I made sure to broadcast that thought clearly into their heads.

Meridyth metaphorically turned her shard around, while Billy sank deeper into slumber.

Are we heading back? Durand asked.

“Yes.”

I cast a final glance at the world behind me. Since Kalameet had revealed the purpose of this realm, there was no reason to treat these spirits as living entities, no matter how much they resembled them. And thus no reason to say goodbye.

My chest relaxed. ‘I would’ve liked to figure out more of what happened.’

Kalameet hadn’t shared when I’d asked. I could still see the Elder sitting with his arms crossed. ‘The terms, no less.’

Which was the end of that. Staying longer to learn more was possible. However, there was no telling what part of the timeline I was in. It could take another century before whatever happened to this place transpired. I didn’t have that long.

So, I absorbed the warmonger, seated myself to enter meditation, and cast my spirit back.

Morgathis awoke in the dark recesses of the dungeon. No breath entered her artificial lungs. It was better that way. The air had turned stale again from sitting still for so long.

She found herself glancing at the entrance of the genesis chamber. A day had passed since that child entered.

The tall, kneeling figure, which had not trembled when speaking to her. The strange pureness of her miasma. Those ice blue eyes piercing through the slits of her helmet…Morgathis remembered all of these things about her granddaughter clearly.

‘What did I expect, honestly?’ For the door to open as soon as she sat back down in the throne? She chuckled to herself. Sepharin’s demeanour and the air around her certainly gave her the impression it was possible. However…

‘My maternal side is clouding my judgement.’

If that child had exited that chamber within a day, she would’ve been the next coming of the Dark Lord, a being so deeply buried in their history that neither Morgathis nor her grandmother had known anything of them beyond their title and that they were a fiercely powerful necromancer.

Her chuckle turned into a laugh. ‘Go back to sleep, you silly woman.’

A veil of darkness clouded her sight, and her mind slipped into that deep, shadowy realm beyond sleep.

The room took in a breath.

Morgathis’s eyes shot back open. She whirled towards the entrance—

Shadows parted to reveal an all-black figure standing ramrod straight in the middle of the entrance. Behind them, the blue glow of the lights on the walls slowly died out as the trial had served its purpose. This would make the door heavier to open.

But what was heavy for a giant?

The big undead loomed over her granddaughter, its two massive hands placed against the doors. When Sepharin strode out, her granddaughter again fixed her in place with that steel gaze. Morgathis almost shivered. Something…something about her was different from when she’d entered. What—

A phantom appearing behind her granddaughter stole the breath she didn’t know she had. It vanished in a blink. But for an instant, which Morgathis knew to be real, she saw hanging from Sepharin’s shoulders what she could only describe as a cape woven from dead flesh. The torn garment didn’t reach past the small of the back, yet it fluttered behind her and whispered with the laments of a thousand cursed spirits.

Morgathis shivered to her core. That cursed name, which should never return, reared in her head.