Hungry Necromancer - Chapter 241

Despite my speaking to it, the Goblin Shaman is unable to understand a single word of my threats, promises or bargains. As such it’s a tad difficult getting the information I need from it.

We’d dragged and tied it to at the base of a tree where it can see its over grown minion lay, moaning in pain as we chop off regenerated parts every so often.

Jungle is impatient as ever, pacing about the clearing urging that we move on to his thing since mine is a clear deadend. It frustrates me that he’s right, but I’m not giving up yet, not on his demands anyway.

“Do you see anything to it? Anything that could power it to do this?” I ask.

Anselm, floating beside me shakes his head, he looks between the giant goblin and the shaman and sighs, “No, there’s nothing linking them either, at least nothing I can see.”

‘So how does the shaman give her orders?’

Biting my lip I wonder, could it be so unintelligent that it doesn’t even recognize it’s own power and superiority over the shaman? Could it be a natural Goblin, unchanged by magic and only trained to be a guard, like one would train a pet?

‘Pets?’

At the thought my mind draws to Shaco, the bond between the giant and the shaman could be a Master-familiar kind of bond. In truth, with the way Shaco grows he could in theory be the end of me, but I’ll take solace in that the System makes no mistakes.

Betrayal is not something I’ll experience from my creations.

Stroking my chin I mutter, “How do I sense pact bonds? How can I confirm there’s a link between the two?”

To my surprise it’s Shaco who provides a thought, slithering out from my shirt he says, “If you were to die, I would transform back into what I was created from.”

“Kill the shaman you say?” I give it a moment of thought before shaking my head, “Maybe after we figure out what powers it, how it manages to regenerate like that.”

A power like that would be invaluable to use on myself and even more so if I put it to work on my undead. I would control a truly unstoppable army of the dead, never to be put down.

Jungle struts up to us, I can hear his heavy, anrgy breathing from behind his mask as he yells, “Have you even tried opening it up?”

“Opening it up? No that would kill…it…oh…haha.”

He groans, facepalming and groaning some more as he causes himself undue pain.

Breathing necrotic energy on my dagger I activate the spell [Vampiric Dagger] and ready to perform a surgery.

“This will be disgusting.”

Anselm snorts, twirling an ice-blade, “Can’t be the worse we’ve seen, can it.”

I shrug and in unison with him stab my blade into the back of the Goblin. It roars and struggles, attempting to trash us off of it but that is far too futile. My large blood spikes still pin it’s every joint to the ground.

A putrid smell attacks our senses as we cut off the first layer of skin and cut through its spine, making an open circle of its back. The Goblin’s open back does more than stink, it steams as well. Whether that’s from its body temperature or something else, I’m not sure.

“What in Anera’s name is that stench.” Jungle gags, standing far away from us.

As though alerted by the stench the shaman starts to scream, gurgling with blood from her throat she fights against her bonds. Shaco slithers off to her, enlarging himself so he wraps over her torso in one go, ready to crush.

We’d taken away her staff, a magical tool I intend on keeping. It allows fine control of spells, not letting a single drop of mana waste. She and the ramble of goblins she led must have stolen it off some poor adventuring Mage’s corpse, but it’s fine equipment, undamaged.

I’ll gift it to one of the many Mayor’s now under my rule once I get back to said rule, it should prove useful in currying favour as well as inspiring competition. A little something I’ve learned from Medieval history, the King’s safety is assured when he’s either all powerful or his unpredicatable underlings are busy trying to one up each other they don’t realize they only exist to empower the King.

I plan on employing both strategies. In this world, with magic, with my Necromancy, it’s not all so farfetched to see myself become untouchable. Yes, even with Maylin on the loose.

“Asher, there’s something in here.” Anselm starts, quinting through the steam. He coats his hand in ice and plunges it in, eliciting another round of screams and groans from the shaman and her Goblin.

It takes some digging, deep digging, but Anselm pulls out his hand and along with it comes a glowing green orbs, wet and slick with guts.

The groans stop but the shaman roars, loud enough I have to spare a look. I turn back to what Anselm has in his hand, “What…is it?”

“Guys, the Goblin is dead.” It’s Jungle that alerts us to this development, true enough the giant is unmoving, muscles relaxed and regeneration come to an end.

“I guess this it the power source you’re looking for.” Anselm shrugs, “It’s…hot.”

With its steaming it looks like only Anselm can take hold of it, but there’s something…familiar about the energies in it, something I know to be powerful. The familiarity calls me and so I put out my hand, “Give it to me.”

Anselm does a double take at this, “Are you sure? Its hot even with the ice on my hands, it’s also pretty gross.”

He shrugs and drops the orb into my hand after I say nothing. He’s right. It is hot. Wincing in pain I feel the familiar energy swirl, slamming against the sides of the orb to get at me.

‘It’s hollow?’

There’s green mists within the orb, dancing at the sides, twirling and slamming. Without warning the scalding pain disappears and a notification pops up.

[Soul Gem Acquired!]

[Unloading Souls]

‘Unloading souls? Wait-!’

Rather than burn my hand it almost fused with the orb as energies from me torrent into what I now know to be a gem.

It’s over before I can complain and my hand is freed from the orb, but a connection is clear.

[32 Souls Remain]

This is Necromancy…Necromancy I didn’t create. Fuck.