Another week bled away inside the stone walls of the warehouse.
Thud! Thud-thud-thud—!
“Arrgh! I can’t stand this anymore—!”
My theory was sound; the method wasn't wrong. After several trials, I had managed to control an undead creature through sheer force of will. I leaned back, watching the lone zombie I controlled flail its limbs in a clumsy, macabre dance.
The reservoir of ‘dark mana’ within me was pathetically small, certainly not enough to command an army. I had scraped together every last drop, sparing only the bare minimum required to animate my own form, but even the weakest zombie pushed me to my limit. Even an elite among my kind was little more than a walking skeleton, to begin with. I wasn't a commander, and I couldn't use magic.
My ‘magic affinity’ seemed to be helping me absorb more ambient mana over time, but the rate of growth was agonizingly slow.
“If I were a skeleton wizard, none of this would be a problem.”
Muttering uselessly to myself, I considered other strategies.
A mouse, a now-familiar sight, scurried over to the row of inert skeletons and began nibbling at their dusty toe bones.
“Persistent little thing,” I thought. “Wait a minute…”
An idea sparked. I rose silently, a faint light glowing in my eye sockets, and crept toward the mouse, which was wholly focused on its task.
The only undead I could control was a single zombie. But the zombies standing here were useless in my current situation. So, what kind of zombie would be useful?
Squeak-squeak—Squeak-squeak—!
I looked down silently at the mouse now gnawing on the bones of my fingers. For a creature that should have been living comfortably in a lush environment, it was surprisingly quick. I thought it would be an easy catch, but capturing it before it could scurry away at the slightest sound turned into an intense struggle.
After plugging the mouse hole, I deployed my zombies, using ‘life detection’ to corner the creature. It became a chaotic, clumsy hunt.
The memory of finally trapping it beneath my body, only to watch it dart effortlessly through the gaps in my ribcage, still made my phantom stomach churn. In the end, I only caught it by having the zombies ambush it along its escape route. The unplanned exercise of rapidly switching control between targets had, at least, improved my command over the undead.
“I’m sorry, Whispering Shadow. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten.”
I gave the mouse a name on a whim. Then I plunged a finger bone, saturated with ‘dark mana,’ through its lower jaw. The sharpened tip of my bone, a natural consequence of my undead state, sank deep. Whispering Shadow’s struggling slowly ceased, but I kept my finger in place, continuing to inject ‘dark mana’ into its tiny body.
And then… the still form began to twitch once more.
I cautiously placed Whispering Shadow on the ground, focusing on the reanimated creature as it squirmed.
Perhaps because I'd infected it directly, or maybe due to its small size, the control was far smoother. The connection felt almost seamless.
I now possessed an excellent scout. I resolved to send it out the next time the door opened.
That opportunity came soon enough.
“Ah—what a pain. Such a bother. Why do I have to be the one to do this every time?”
This time, the guard on duty was a perpetual grumbler named Grave-Hand. As he stepped inside, I let Whispering Shadow, who was waiting in a dark corner, slip past his feet just before the door swung shut. Grave-Hand was so lost in his own complaints he didn't even notice the tiny creature scuttling past his boots.
“We’ll see about this later. I’ll get that old man back for this.”
Leaving the grumbling guard behind, Whispering Shadow scurried cautiously into the shadows. The connection was different from how Grave-Hand controlled me. Because we were both undead, and because I was using a method similar to controlling an ‘avatar,’ the link was stronger, allowing for a degree of shared sensation. It wasn't perfect, but it was more than enough for gathering information.
Despite Whispering Shadow’s diligent exploration, he didn't find much at first. The passages seemed to lead only to other warehouses, and there was just one potential exit. Even that was impossible to confirm, as every door was, naturally, shut tight.
“This complicates things,” I thought. “It’s never as simple as walking through one door in a place this secretive.”
But as always, I had my unwitting assistant, Grave-Hand, to help me in times of trouble.
“I’m not the kind of person who should be rotting away in a place like this. It’s all because those incompetents blindly trusted and installed it…”
Just then, Grave-Hand, having given my warehouse a cursory glance, stepped back out into the passage. Whispering Shadow kept to the shadows, cautiously tailing him. As he walked toward another warehouse, Grave-Hand’s stream of complaints never ceased.
“Doesn’t this guy ever get tired? And what’s in that other warehouse? More undead?”
As he opened the door to the next underground storeroom and went inside, Whispering Shadow slipped in swiftly behind him.
The warehouse was filled with undead, but their presence was strangely muted. The incessant chatterbox fell silent, his eyes scanning the warehouse's interior. No, it became clear the moment Whispering Shadow entered why Grave-Hand had stopped talking.
Though the warehouse was full of undead, their presence was barely noticeable. In the center of the room was something else, a presence so overwhelming it eclipsed everything around it.
“What in the world is that?”
Whispering Shadow, a mere zombie mouse, couldn't get any closer to check. It felt an instinctual dread, a certainty that getting too close to ‘that thing’ would mean utter annihilation. Hiding near the entrance, I waited, watching through Whispering Shadow’s eyes as Grave-Hand moved through the room with a grave expression.
I didn't know what these people were doing or what their purpose was. But when you’re dealing with villains, the first rule is to watch and learn.
“Let’s just observe for now. The ‘Grave-Hand chance’ isn’t over yet.”
After a few more minutes of inspection, he quickly exited the warehouse.
“Phew, it’s draining every time I go in there. How did I end up…”
Following the guard, who was resuming his tirade, I directed Whispering Shadow toward the door leading outside. This door was different; it had no visible lock. Grave-Hand placed his palm flat against its surface. A strange pattern glowed, and the heavy door slid open smoothly.
“Huh, so I can’t just walk out?”
I was taken aback for a moment but quickly sent Whispering Shadow scurrying through the opening after him.
“Yeah, it really is draining. When is the aging process going to be done? Did you hear anything?”
Outside the passage, a young man was sitting at a desk. Like Grave-Hand, he was one of the guards who periodically visited the warehouse. He was likely posted to watch this entrance.
“Should be soon, right? The master’s been down there every day lately. He only missed today because he had to communicate with the higher-ups.”
“Yeah? Well, I want this finished so I can get out of here. I’m sick and tired of this ‘Fragment of the Abyssal Lich’ nonsense.”
“Tell me about it. I have to check that warehouse every single day.”
Hiding Whispering Shadow in the shadows beneath the desk, I listened in on their conversation, once again silently cheering for my unwitting helper, Grave-Hand.
“Hey, isn't it ridiculous that we have to guard it? There’s a barrier on this door and another one around the entire village. Who could possibly sneak in here?”
“Well, it’s just in case. You know how it is.”
“Just in case of what? Nothing alive can get through these layers. Maybe a corpse could, but that’s it, right?”
Grave-Hand chuckled, then stalked off.
“You know, maybe that guy isn’t so bad after all. Anyone would think he was deliberately trying to help me.”
In any case, my little operation—‘A Mouse Hears the Secrets of the Night’—had been a resounding success. Thanking Grave-Hand for his cooperation, I quietly guided Whispering Shadow out of the building. Fortunately, night had fallen, making it easier to move unseen.
Whispering Shadow traversed the village, weaving through the deep shadows. Most of the buildings were locked up tight, but using his particular expertise, Whispering Shadow slipped through tiny mouse holes. Yet, he found no more information than what Grave-Hand had already provided. It seemed the village housed about forty individuals, most of them not dark wizards but their underlings.
Satisfied with my haul of information, I was about to recall him when—
A black thorn erupted from the ground, impaling Whispering Shadow’s body.
“Hmm… so you were up to something, little mouse.”
I heard the voice of the village head—the dark wizard, Elder of Rot.
“Damn it,” I thought. “I’ve been discovered.”
“Undead? But I don’t sense the aura of dark magic… A naturally occurring one, perhaps? Created by ambient dark energy? Where did you come from?”
As Elder of Rot drew closer, I quietly severed my connection to Whispering Shadow.
He hadn’t noticed my presence yet. Slowly, carefully, so he wouldn't sense a thing…
“It’s strange. This body is saturated with dark magic, but it doesn’t seem to be an enchantment. Where could it have been exposed to so much?”
Through the fading connection, I sensed Elder of Rot pause before letting out a frustrated sigh.
“There’s only one place around here overflowing with that much dark magic. And right, Grave-Hand was on duty in the warehouse today.”
Grave-Hand, you were a great help! My apologies!
The connection was severed completely. I knew that Elder of Rot had utterly destroyed Whispering Shadow. I took a moment of silence, paying tribute to my valiant and heroic scout.
“Whispering Shadow. I will avenge you. Just watch me.”
Elder of Rot was Whispering Shadow's enemy. I had decided it. I pushed aside the pinprick of my conscience and organized the new information.
“Grave-Hand’s real name is Grave-Hand.”
Hmm. Unnecessary information.
“What they want is the ‘Fragment of the Abyssal Lich,’ which is aging in the adjacent warehouse, and Elder of Rot is monitoring it constantly. But the undead are unaffected by the barrier.”
What they wanted with the ‘Fragment of the Abyssal Lich’ didn't matter to me. I just needed a way to use this against them.
“If I can just create a diversion for Elder of Rot, it might work…”
Yes, there was always a way.
“Wait… Whispering Shadow’s enemy!”
Grave-Hand was in a foul mood. Being the warehouse supervisor yesterday had been irritating enough, but then he’d gotten a severe scolding from the master for his supposed incompetence.
“Well, how was I supposed to know a little rat would crawl out of there!”
As punishment, he was left in charge of the warehouse alone for the foreseeable future. Silent Watcher, the guard at the entrance, received a similar penalty.
“This filthy world! How is anyone without connections supposed to survive! And what’s the big deal about one little rat! Damn old man.”
Grave-Hand suppressed his rage, not daring to voice it aloud. He was on edge, knowing the master could appear at any moment. He stormed along the corridor, threw open the warehouse door, and marched inside.
After slamming the door shut, he meticulously lit the lamps, a stark contrast to his usual carelessness.
“Hey! You lot! [Stand properly], you fools!” he barked at the row of skeletons.
“What’s this now! Hey! [Stand straight]!” he yelled, turning his attention to a zombie that was listing to one side, its ankle severed.
But the zombie only staggered, its injury preventing it from obeying. Enraged, Grave-Hand stormed over and began kicking it.
“Hey, you think you can disrespect me? Huh? Do it right! [Stand straight], I said!”
Grave-Hand fumed for a while longer, then stopped and looked around the silent room. Everyone here obeyed his commands without question. This was how the world should be. He lowered his gaze, glaring at the still-staggering zombie before moving on.
“Huh? Who’s this? Isn’t it that arrogant bastard from before?”
His eyes fell on a familiar figure. Grave-Hand approached the zombie of a man in his early twenties and prodded its shoulder with his staff.
“Hey, why don’t you say what you said to me back then. Huh?”
The zombie was unresponsive, simply swaying with each push.
“What’s the matter, so quiet? Ah, that’s right, I pulled your tongue out, didn’t I? Hehehe.” Grave-Hand’s face twisted into a grin. Just when his stress was about to boil over, a perfect outlet had appeared.
“Phew—those were good times. Hunting the villagers, one by one.” He kicked the zombie, rambling like a madman.
“You were especially noisy. So full of arrogant talk. What was it you said? If I touched your family, you wouldn’t let me get away with it.”
Somewhere in the room, there was a faint grinding of bone on bone, but Grave-Hand, lost in his own world, didn't notice.
“Hehehe, I even gave you special treatment. The looks on your faces when your family cried and begged right in front of you… it was quite a spectacle.” Recalling the scene, he vented all his frustrations on the silent zombie, his lips twisting into a cruel sneer.
“But what can you do now? Where’s that family you wanted to protect? They’re gone, and you’re here all alone…”
A wet, tearing sound sliced through the silence, and a spray of hot blood painted the air.
A skeleton had crept up behind him, grabbing his shoulder and head with its bony hands and sinking its teeth into his neck.
“Kkuh—! What is this?!”
The magical barrier that constantly surrounded him shattered under the surprise attack. Thanks to that, however, he managed to wrench his head aside just enough to avoid having his throat torn out completely.
Grave-Hand instantly blasted dark magic from his entire body, violently throwing the skeleton from his back. He clapped a hand to the gushing wound and staggered back to face his attacker.
“A skeleton? Why is it suddenly—?”
He had no time to be stunned. The skeleton, which had been knocked to the floor, shot back to its feet and charged him again.
“Argh… [Stop!][Stop!]”
The skeleton lunged, ignoring his commands as if it couldn't hear.
Though caught off guard and wounded, Grave-Hand was still a dark wizard. His opponent may have been undead, but he had plenty of ways to counter a single skeleton. The moment he began to gather magic for a spell, something was forced into his mouth, and an excruciating pain erupted in his throat.
The zombie from before had silently approached from behind. It had shoved its hand deep into Grave-Hand’s mouth while simultaneously biting into the other side of his neck. With his barrier gone and his mind reeling in agony, the spell he was preparing dissipated.
In his panic, Grave-Hand's wild eyes met the dead, vacant stare of the very zombie he had just been tormenting. They were the same eyes that had glared at him with his last breath, promising vengeance.
He couldn't sustain a constant mana emission to defend himself, and now the skeleton was upon him, its jaw gaping wide before his face.
Fear flooded Grave-Hand's eyes.