Sacrificial Bondsman

Once the armor and weapons were forged, the wind of magic immediately transformed into a massive orb of water, suspended in mid-air. With another wave of his hand, Valed pressed the armor and weapons into the water orb. After a brief sizzling sound, a large plume of steam rose, and the water orb shrank by a notch. Only then was the task considered complete.

After everything was finished, the armor, helmets, and weapons slowly descended, automatically fitting onto the fourteen sturdy skeletons. Valed, much like in the past when he had unearthed graves, used his rudimentary and somewhat flawed necromantic magic—learned hastily and imperfectly—to awaken these skeletal warriors.

The prolonged effort had drained much of his magical energy, and Valed couldn't help but lament how crude his use of magic was. His efficiency was appallingly low. If an experienced necromancer had performed these tasks, he would have expended only a fraction of Valed's energy and achieved far superior results.

This realization sparked greater anticipation for his future studies—having completed all the basic subjects with his tutor from the age of four to six, he was finally poised to learn true magical skills.

Nonetheless, the outcome was still somewhat satisfying. With a few brief incantations, the skeletons' previously empty eye sockets reignited with a terrifying, phosphorescent glow.

They rose from the ground, their bones clicking with unsettling noises as they stretched their limbs. After a brief movement, they performed a human-like salute to Valed, standing tall in perfect formation. The fine craftsmanship of their equipment and armor, coupled with their impeccable discipline, gave them the appearance of elite warriors—though, in truth, they were little more than decorative spears.

Valed had no knowledge of advanced necromantic magic, and his understanding of even basic spells was superficial. He was merely forcing these skeletons to move with his magic. Due to the high amount of magical energy he infused into them, their strength, speed, and agility were comparable to that of standard tomb guardians.

However, the ancient tomb guardians possessed refined combat techniques, team coordination, formation tactics, and battle experience—traits these skeletons sorely lacked. Not to mention, the ones resembling death knights were utterly clueless—they couldn't cast a single spell. They resembled well-equipped computers lacking an operating system or necessary software—appealing to the eye, but ultimately useless.

Still, considering that he had achieved this with his incomplete understanding, Valed felt content. He walked around the "elite" tomb guardians and noticed something amiss. Upon closer inspection, he realized the problem—their armor was freshly forged and gleaming, whereas the tomb guardians of the Dekkenhof castle appeared worn from years of use.

"This is easy to fix," Valed mused after a brief hesitation, snapping his fingers. "Have you all spar with one another. Just don't fight to the death—some dents and scratches will suffice."

Following his orders, the newly forged guardians began to spar, striking each other's armor with their halberds, longswords, and shields. They left behind cracks and dents, and, under Valed's direction, they grabbed handfuls of dust and sprinkled it over themselves. After a few minutes, the guardians appeared aged and worn, just like their predecessors.

"Very good, but still not perfect—"

At that, Valed commanded them to stop and assume the positions of their predecessors. He cheerfully entered the next tomb chamber.

Bones scattered everywhere.

As Valed had suspected, this was another tomb of sacrificial victims. However, unlike the previous tomb with the voluntarily sacrificed warrior, this one contained the remains of slaves who had been slaughtered for their masters.

Thousands upon thousands of human skeletons lay there. Valed crouched down, able to discern the cause of death from the bones—some had their limbs hacked off, others were decapitated, and many had been severed at the waist. Fragments of ropes suggested they had been bound in life—some were men, others women. Some were young, while others appeared elderly, unable to move.

Two years ago, when Valed was four, he began his education. Yet the "education" of a vampire diverged greatly from conventional understanding. Aside from language and general knowledge, much of his lessons focused on the basics of necromancy and dark magic. Thanks to this training, Valed's ability to identify skeletal remains surpassed that of most medical experts.

He could discern the age, gender, cause of death, and even the habits of the individuals from their bones. At first, this fascinated him, but after a while, he began to feel as though he were losing his sanity.

Suddenly, it dawned on him what he was truly doing—he was creating an army of the dead, a legion of bones, souls, and spirits, a terrifying, hopeless army. Prolonged exposure to such an undertaking would inevitably erode one's mental state.

This insight helped Valed understand why necromancers often went mad, and why vampires held such reverence for their kin. It was simply too maddening. To those who had never encountered a necromantic army, it might seem impressive or even cool. But seeing these tragic remains, and knowing what he would do to them, Valed was certain:

"No, this is far from wonderful."

That being said, it wasn't entirely dreadful. Valed's sister, during her philosophy studies, had once posed a question to him:

"A living army, one that could die at any moment, or a dead army, long since lost to life. Which is more tragic?"

"Depends on the situation," Valed had shrugged in response, only to be pelted with a pillow by his dear sister.

"Idiot! If you answer like that, Sally will laugh at me—think harder!" she had scolded.

"Anyone asking a six-year-younger brother for homework help has no right to call me an idiot!" Valed retorted.

Well, that was essentially the gist of it. Such metaphysical matters could wait until he had time to spare. For now, Valed had only one thing to focus on—joy—just joy.

Indeed, he had received the greatest gift to secure his place in this world—a full legion of skeletons. What could possibly bring more joy than this?

Thus, Valed began to laugh—first gently, then loudly, then with a wild, manic cackle. He laughed at the endless piles of bones, marking the moment when he severed ties with his former, human self. From this day forward, he would be Valed von Castain, heir to the Castain family, lord of Sylvania, and brother to Isabella von Castain.

He was a necromancer and a vampire lord.

When his somewhat hysterical laughter subsided, Valed shook his head, raised his hand, and began to summon the winds of magic. As his hand ascended, the winds grew fiercer, pale spiritual light enveloping him, and the skeletons rose one by one. Broken spines were mended, limbs reattached, severed heads were placed back on their necks. The marks of battle faded, leaving them pristine once more.

Under the pale spiritual glow, the skeletons that had lain dormant for millennia were once again animated, their movements powered by the malevolent forces of necromancy. They stood as servants of their conjurer, their defiled bodies stretching with renewed, though grotesque, vitality. In their pitiful state, they re-entered the world.

This spell, crude compared to the fourteen tomb guardians Valed had crafted earlier, still held together due to the sheer force of his magic.

"Clear out the place," Valed commanded, his eyes gleaming with the red glow of necromantic power. He exerted considerable effort to control the skeleton soldiers, quickly determining that there were exactly 11,221 of them.

However, over a thousand were too small, being children, and another thousand too worn down, likely elderly. The remaining nearly ten thousand were viable. Valed ordered the robust skeletons of adult men and women to carry the bones and rusted but still valuable black iron weapons, transporting them back to his hidden army.

Since most of the traps had already been triggered, there was no need for excessive caution on the way back, though Valed remained wary of the trap that had previously caught him off guard.

He allowed the undead to pass, and as expected, the traps had no effect on the lifeless skeletons. Once they had all passed, Valed cast a floating spell and breezed through unharmed.

Thus, Valed spent a fulfilling night. Under the influence of the red moon, he had deceived most and secured the foundation of his necromantic army, along with many other benefits.

With fourteen newly forged tomb guardians in tow, he returned home. As for the skeletal wolves, they were not part of the formal army and would not draw attention to their numbers. Valed was confident that the loss of two wolves would go unnoticed.