The lesson ended with a wave of Alazaar's skeletal hand, glyphs fading mid-air as arcane diagrams dissolved into dust. Lucien gave a short nod of understanding, eyes scanning over the fading remnants before turning his wheelchair with a thought. Blue light gathered beneath the frame, humming softly as strands of magic carried him away from the chamber.
The catacombs whispered around him—wet stone, lingering death, and the distant echo of memories. His mana-propelled wheelchair rolled quietly over uneven stone floors as his thoughts deepened.
*What am I supposed to be?*
His brows furrowed. The discovery of his noble lineage—House Vaelthorn, long tied to the Dark Faction—had opened new possibilities. He wasn't just a random soul cast into a broken world. He had roots. But why had he been alone in that wreck?
*According to Alazaar, there were no other bodies. No horses. Only the shattered frame of a carriage remained, and me—buried beneath its ruins.*
He stopped at an intersection, staring into the dark.
*Was my family ambushed? Wiped out? Did someone erase House Vaelthorn... and I was the sole survivor?*
A pulse of emotion rose, not quite grief. More like purpose.
*Then perhaps... I am the Scion of a fallen noble house. Destined to take revenge. To raise my name from ash and bone.*
He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes.
"Cold. Calculated. The world set fire to my bloodline... so I will burn the world," he whispered to himself. He adjusted his posture, face tightening into a mock scowl. Chin up, eyes narrowed.
*No... more arrogant. Like those bastard young masters from the novels.*
He practiced the look.
"Lucien."
The voice echoed.
He blinked, caught mid-pose.
Alazaar stood at the end of the corridor, arms crossed, the void-blue glow in his sockets flickering.
"What... are you doing with your face?"
Lucien cleared his throat and turned the wheelchair toward him. "Nothing. Practicing my... court demeanor."
A long pause.
"Troubling."
"Do you have the materials ready?"
Alazaar gestured with a lazy flick of his bony hand. "Circle's prepared. Components beside it. Come."
Lucien followed the Lich into a shadow-cloaked chamber. In the center stood a grim altar, carved from black stone and veined with violet runes. A summoning circle pulsed faintly, waiting.
Beside it rested a strange arrangement of bones: the ribcage, biceps, femurs, and upper legs were unmistakably human—TIER II. But the limbs were fused with dire wolf remains—TIER I. A large, lupine skull with elongated canines and powerful jawbones sat atop the pile, and beside it all, a heart encased in crystal.
Lucien raised an eyebrow. "That's not all human."
Alazaar nodded. "Correct. The corpses were... unstable after my intervention. Only parts were recoverable. I supplemented with canine remains—dire wolf. It may strengthen the structure."
Lucien examined the bones, then turned to the heart.
"A healer?"
"Recently killed," Alazaar confirmed. "Still carries faint traces of holy power. I was curious—would a divine heart balance the construct against my presence?"
He stepped closer.
"It may even anchor the spirit more tightly."
Lucien nodded slowly. "Then let's see."
He extended his hand, and the Necroforge interface flared open before him. A dark pane with segmented branches bloomed into view.
> [BASE: Hybrid Bone Structure - Human (TIER II) / Dire Wolf (TIER I)]
> [CORE: Blessed Heart (Healer) - TIER III]
> [INFUSION: Select Mana Input...]
Lucien dragged the slider deliberately, his mana pool having grown to 600 MP over the years through consistent system optimization and the effects of his Mana Fiend trait.
> [Mana Infusion: 100 MP / 600 MP]
> Warning: Mana will be reclaimed only upon summon destruction.
He stared at the forge circle, then at the bones.
*This time... this one has to hold.*
"Let's see if this one can stand your shadow."
He hit [FORGE].