Lord of the Dead: A LitRPG Saga (The Eternal Journey Book 2)

by C. J. Carella

  “I think that when my Node Mastery goes up by a few levels, I’ll be able to take passengers. Then it will be an easy commute back and forth.”

  “Well, good for you, Node Boss.”

  “It is good,” Tava said. “Hawke has reaped many great prizes, but he is always willing to share them. He is very generous,” she added with a smile.

  “I do try to spread the good stuff around. But you should try to get some sleep.”

  “I will,” Nadia said, stretching out in bed and tempting Hawke to get a little extra loving before going off to work.

  He resisted the urge, noting that it actually took some effort. Was that his Sidhe side influencing him? For all he knew, it had been at work from the beginning. Maybe that was one reason he’d ended up involved with three women and actually considering adding a fourth. His old self would have found the whole thing ridiculous. Something to think about.

  After saying goodbye, he teleported himself to the Stronghold. Lots of work to do.

  * * *

  “There isn’t much to report, sir,” First Sergeant Marko Clades said. “The Arachnoids are back in their villages, tending to their mushroom fields. They are mostly keeping to themselves. They are, well, just like any other folk, seems like.”

  The High Guard sounded a bit surprised about that. Hawke couldn’t blame him for that. Before his current duty, he had only seen Arachnoids from the end of a naginata, with chittering, buzzing warriors charging him in the dark. Between that and their inhuman appearance, it took some mental work to think of them as people. Hawke himself was guilty of thinking of them as ‘it’ rather than him or her. It wasn’t easy to overcome instincts that screamed that ‘different’ was equal to ‘dangerous.’

  “Korgam and his followers will be back tomorrow,” Hawke told him.

  The Arcane Miners had already located a large deposit of gold, silver and some mithril, as well as several other lesser metals, including lead and copper. Korgam was eager to come back and do some work, although first he wanted to supervise setting up the smaller but more convenient mining camp near Orom. The three Dwarven Eternals had all learned mining and joined the Stern Company. Hawke had let them know that they were always welcome in Orom if they changed their mind, but all three seemed happy with being a part of the small community. Their Identities had been all low – in the case of the poor bastard who had committed suicide, non-existent – and they felt more comfortable turning into their characters. He couldn’t even blame them.

  “In any case, I didn’t forget you,” Hawke said as he started unpacking.

  He had brought several days’ worth of food, all courtesy of his inventory and the extra pouches of holding he had acquired. Marko smiled at the parcels of dried meat, barrels of wine and other victuals, and had a couple of Volunteers take the stuff to a storage room next to the refurbished barracks that housed the eleven Volunteers still in the stronghold.

  Hawke had also brought a disassembled iron cast stove for cooking. The Necromancer’s troops had not needed food or drink; the whole place would have to be remodeled to accommodate human guards. For now, the small force should be all right, although he would look into rotating troops as soon as possible. The Stronghold’s ambiance was not pleasant.

  “I also have six extra large pizzas, but I’ll wait until dinner to serve them up,” he told the subcommander.

  “The men will appreciate that, sir,” Marko said. “But we all were wondering, what is the status of this place? We all signed up to protect Orom, and to bring down the Necromancer. When we finally find him and give him the Final Death, our job will be finished. What happens next, sir?”

  Hawke had given it some thought. “As the ruler of both the Death Spire and Orom, I would like to bring the two places together, along with the territory between them.”

  “A Domain, you mean. As a Steward, it is within your power, but folks won’t like the idea.”

  “No rush. I will try to talk people into it first,” Hawke said. “This place has a lot of Arcane Workshops. It would be great if people relocated here and made use of them.”

  “This place is dark and has an evil cast to it,” Marko said.

  “I know. I’m going to work on it. Make the place more welcoming,” Hawke went on, thinking out loud. “Open some light shafts, maybe, and more air vents. Add some basic plumbing. I’ll make sure people get plenty of clean drinking water. Maybe get a recycling system going.”

  “That all sounds wonderful, sir. I think it will make the squad feel better. The pizza and extra rations will help as well.”

  “Good. Once the place is a little more homelike, it could become sort of a suburb. The craft buildings would make the town stronger and more prosperous, especially with all the mining going on. And trading with the Arachnoids might be profitable as well.”

  Marko just nodded in response. Hawke realized he was babbling. Lack of sleep and having dozens of things that needed to be dealt with quickly probably had something to do with it.

  “Very well, then,” he said. “Carry on.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hawke headed to the Stronghold Interface and went back to work.

  Fifty-Eight

  Death Spire (Level 12 Stronghold)

  Affinities: Darkness, Death, Undeath

  Available Mana/Mana Pool: 2,154/12,000

  Garrison (Maximum Size): 0/1,200

  Mana Generation: 1,000/day (1 Level 5 Mage’s Tower, 1 Level 10 Mana Node (Death), 1 Death Temple (Level 1), 1 Darkness Temple (Level 2)).

  Mana Expenditures: 250/day (Minion Support: 0, Processes: 250)

  Ongoing Processes:

  Empower Defenders: Raises the level of all sworn defenders and created or summoned minions by 5. (250 Mana/day)

  “Lots of Mana per day,” Hawke said. “Even more if I turn off the Empower Defenders bennie.”

  He did so, since at the moment the only defender or minion in the Spire was him. The Volunteers hadn’t sworn allegiance to him as master of the Stronghold; he needed to figure out the politics first.

 

  “Yeah, there is that. You’ve been pretty quiet, by the way. Didn’t even call me a dumbass for prattling on in front of Marko.”

 

  “Which means he could be anywhere. Thousands of miles away for all we know.”

 

  “From going through his memories, I know he’s a coward. Maybe he’s running again.”

 

  Setting that aside, Hawke set half of the Stronghold’s Mana per day into fixing the damaged buildings. One Mana point could restore one Durability point; the walls and barracks were down a bit over two thousand Durability, so they would be fixed back to full in five days. He postponed improving any buildings or adding new ones until after that was taken care of. But with Domort unaccounted for, he wanted to improve the defenses. A squad of Volunteers, even if three of them were Adventurers, wasn’t enough. He went through the Interface’s menu until he found an entry for Minions and Summons. As it turned out, Minions were created by the Stronghold itself, based on the ‘recipes’ it owned, and Summons were any entity that Hawke himself could create himself, made permanent by a continuous Mana expenditure from the Stronghold itself.

  Available Minions:

  Basic

  Basic Skeleton (1 Mana/day): Level 5 Undead. Health 100 Mana 50 Endurance n/a. Can be equipped with weapons. Requires a humanoid corpse (any age). Can be made into an Elite (x 3 Characteristics, +100% Damage) for 1 extra Mana per level per day. Level can be increased for 1 extra Mana per day per le
vel, up to level twelve.

  Basic Shambler (1 Mana/day): Level 5 Undead. Health 125 Mana 50 Endurance n/a. Cannot wield weapons. Has contagious bite. Requires a humanoid corpse (no more than a week old). Can be improved as above.

  Advanced

  Abomination (2 Mana/day): Level 6 Undead: Health 180 Mana 120 Endurance n/a. Can be equipped with weapons. Requires three corpses (no more than a week old) and a Mixing Vat (currently destroyed). Can be improved as above.

  Harpy (7 Mana/day): Level 5 Undead: Health 70 Mana 100 Endurance 60. Flier (Medium Speed). Can be equipped with weapons. Can cast Minor Lightning Bolt. Can be improved as above.

  Wraith (12 Mana/day): Level 6 Undead: Health 90 Mana 150 Endurance 120. 95% Resistance to Physical damage. Flier (Slow Speed). Can cast spells: Minor Death Curse, Minor Lightning Bolt, Terror. Can be improved as above.

  Summons Available

  Animate Shadow: 6 Mana/day. Effective level: 12. Can be made into an Elite (x 3 Characteristics, +100% Damage) for 1 extra Mana per level per day.

  Nature’s Guardian: 12 Mana/day. Effective level: 12. Can be made into an Elite (x 3 Characteristics, +100% Damage) for 2 extra Mana per level per day.

  Darkness Guardian: 15 Mana/day per Guardian level (Maximum 12). Elite summon; cannot be improved further.

  The Undead would make decent cannon fodder, especially the Wraiths, but then nobody normal would want to visit the Stronghold. Hawke decided not to use them. Instead, he allocated 60 Mana per day to raise ten Animated Shadows, 120 on ten Nature Guardians (split evenly into DPS and Tanks), and a massive 180 Mana per day for a level twelve Elite Darkness Guardian. The giant shadow monster would be the Stronghold’s mobile reaction force. Before he confirmed the additions, he remembered to go outside and warn the Volunteers they were about to have company. The human defenders were intimidated by the Shadowlings, especially the big one, but were happy to have reinforcements. Hawke set Marko and Calvus as sub-commanders who could order the creatures around as long as they didn’t contravene Hawke’s direct commands.

  He added the remaining Mana toward repairs, cutting down the time to completion. After that, he could go on a shopping spree on Stronghold improvements. He had done his part in protecting the Stronghold. Now it was time to visit the Vault that his Interface had located underneath the Necromancer’s laboratory.

  Hawke might not have killed the Lord of the Dead permanently, but he had taken his Stronghold and all the stuff in it. It was time to collect some loot.

  Fifty-Nine

  All but rubbing his hands greedily, Hawke headed to the Vault.

  The labs had been cleaned of all the disgusting experimental tools the Necromancer had accumulated. Hawke had no desire to see them ever again, let alone use them. He had let the Volunteers, under Marko’s supervision, cart everything away and do whatever they wanted with it. Some stuff, like metal pipes and glass compartments, would no doubt be useful and valuable. They had also found about five miles’ worth of copper pipes and tubing in a warehouse next to the barracks, and that he had kept. A closer inspection of the buildings revealed that the Necromancer had running water, fed from one of the streams, throughout the lower levels of the tower. When he had time, he was going to extend and improve the system.

  “Faucets, hot showers and flush toilets, baby,” he said to himself.

  A section of floor hid a staircase going one more level down, accessible only through a mental command by the Stronghold’s owner, or by a team of people with picks and shovels who didn’t mind getting blasted by a handful of high-powered Death Cyclone spells while they were digging. At the other end of the staircase waited a metal door made of mithril, hardened steel and Adamant, with ungodly damage resistance (250/95%, meaning the first 250 points of damage were simply ignored and anything above that was reduced by ninety-five percent) to just about everything, a Durability of 5,000, and another Death magic trap for good measure. As the current proprietor, Hawke opened it without any difficulty and let himself in.

  Lights came on as he stepped into the large room. The magic runes lining the ceiling were just as good as so many hundred-watt bulbs; they were set up in a way that made Hawke remember Earth, where darkness could be banished with the flick of a switch. The Necromancer hadn’t cast aside everything from his previous life, just any sense of morality or compassion. In the Realms, most places shut down shortly after nightfall and cities became completely dark outside a few enclaves of the super-wealthy.

  Thanks to his Dark Vision, Hawke wasn’t as bothered as most people, but the Fae ability only showed things in hues of blue, so it wasn’t a perfect workaround. The Necromancer had tried to recreate modern life through the use of magic. The Stronghold had been dimly lit with a scattering of magic runes; Hawke would look into increasing their number and availability. He wanted light for as many people as possible, not just himself.

  The room had a central marble table and no other furniture. The walls had twelve metal doors, each about the size of a large locker, on each side. They didn’t seem to have a lot of room inside. As it turned out, they didn’t need to be big. As soon as Hawke touched one of the ‘doors,’ he found himself looking into an Inventory!

 

  The Vault he opened had sixty-four slots instead of his inventory’s thirty-two. And forty-nine of those slots were filled with all kinds of stuff. Crafting components in dozens of varieties. Many were disgusting things like Preserved Human Brains, but others seemed to be normal Alchemical substances, including herbs, powders, extracts and oils. He recognized Fey Lilies and Bone Caps; there were a whole bunch of varieties of plants he didn’t, species like Infused Sunflowers, Shadow Orchids, and Gold Moss. Each slot had no fewer than a hundred units or bunches or whatever measure you counted ingredients with; some had eight or nine hundred. He had to bring Flava over to help catalogue the stuff. Probably offering her a few of those ingredients would be payment enough. Who knew what all that stuff was worth?

 

  “That twice the value of those gold and silver bricks I donated. Well, loaned, sort of.”

 

  “Well, let’s see what else I can donate to the needy.”

  Three vaults contained nothing but potions. There were the usual Healing, Mana, Endurance and Rejuvenation kinds, in their Lesser, Minor and Common varieties. Each Vault slot held up to a hundred potions. The Vaults held about six thousand recovery potions in total. No wonder Greg had been so carefree with his potion use.

  There were plenty of more exotic concoctions as well: potions of Elemental Protection that gave you +10% Resistance against a given Element (all eight varieties were available), two hundred Fire Salves, which smelled terrible but had come in handy during some memorable encounters with Fire Lizards, and all kinds of mixtures that would repair crippling injuries, give you temporary boosts to your Attributes or Characteristics, let you breathe underwater, and a bunch of other abilities.

  Hawke took his time examining every type of potion, looking for a particular kind. His pulse quickened as he dared to hope. If any place could have what he was looking for, this was it. He found it in the third Vault. Three slender vials filled with a gold-speckled amber liquid. His True Sight identified them.

  Potion of Youth Restoration (Legendary Quality)

  Drinking this potion will reduce your biological age by twenty-five years (for Humans, Gnomes, Orcs and Goblins), or one-fourth of your typical lifespan for longer- or shorter-lived species. The potion will not reduce your age below the prime of youth (early twenties for Humans, Gnomes, Orcs and Goblins). Only two potions can be taken safely by an individual; beyond that there is an increasing 40% chance the process will p
ermanently damage the imbiber.

  Hawke immediately transferred the three potions to his Inventory. He had no idea what the vials were worth, but he didn’t care. Two for Kinto, who was pushing eighty, and one for Dorrham. He owed them that.

 

  He wanted to tell Tava the news. She was out of reach of Saturnyx’s telepathy, unfortunately. On the other hand, this was the sort of thing that could wait for the whole family to gather together. He smiled at the thought.

  “Who knew that looting the vault of a high-level Necromancer with fifty years’ experience was going to be this profitable?”

  He decided to mix things up a little and check the vaults on the other side. The first four were mirror copies of the four he had examined: one filled with Alchemical components (all slots had assorted herbs and spices), and three filled with roughly the same number of common Alchemical mixtures, except there were no more Potions of Youth Restoration among them. It looked as if the Necromancer liked to keep things in matched sets. A little bit OCD, maybe, not that there was anything wrong with wanting symmetry in life.

  The fifth Vaults on each side contained a different kind of chemicals: they were filled with poisons of all kinds. Not his sort of thing, even as a Twilight Templar, who did a lot of sneaky things but, unlike Ninjas, didn’t go for better killing through chemistry. Alba, on the other hand, would likely appreciate the chance to put a little something extra in her blades or crossbow bolts; so would the seven Rogues among the Eternals in Orom. Alba would get poisons for free, within reason. The rest would have to pay fair market prices, with discounts for Guild members, of course.

  If he found a seller for everything he had found so far, he could make thousands of gold, but the money wasn’t important. What he could do with that stuff was. And he reminded himself he hadn’t taken the Stronghold single-handedly. All the Adventurers and normal people who had followed him into battle were owed a share of the spoils.