Corrupted Corprse
Outside the dungeon, dusk pressed against the landscape like a smothering veil. The world was quiet, save for the soft gnawing of bone and the occasional crunch.
Kaelthorn lay sprawled beside the cave's edge like an obedient hound, casually chewing on his own severed arm. The twin wolf heads took turns grinding down marrow with mechanical calm, as if this were just another cool-down routine after battle.
Lucien sat nearby, bathed in the dungeon's faint mana haze. He didn't speak. Didn't move. Just flicked two fingers in the air.
A sleek, translucent interface appeared before him.
> [Soul Points: 374,420]
Years of grinding. Hoarding. Planning.
Now it was paying off.
He leaned back in his bone-carved wheelchair and let out a slow exhale, the closest thing he'd had to a laugh in hours.
"So this is what it feels like to be rich."
He swiped into the **Trait Tab**.
The list was long. Dozens of options, most of them overpriced gimmicks. Fire resistance. Poison skin. Auto-healing at dawn. Meh.
But one entry caught his eye—and held it.
> **[Attuned] – 20,000 SP**
> *Gain 2 stat points per level instead of 1.*
His lips parted in a grin. "Bingo."
It was a simple boost. Brutal in long-term scaling. A slow, permanent drift into absurdity. Lucien didn't hesitate.
> [Trait Acquired: Attuned – 2 Stat Points per Level]
> [-20,000 SP]
Then came the ripple. Stats recalculating. Old limitations reasserting themselves like tripwires.
> [Glass Body Detected – CON locked at 1]
> [Glass Body Detected – STR locked at 1]
> [Bound by Chair – DEX locked at 0]
> [Mana Fiend – All discarded stat points allocated to INT]
Lucien's smirk widened.
He wasn't angry. This wasn't a setback.
It was validation.
His body might've been broken, fragile, unfit for melee—but his *mind*, *mana*, and *presence* were his weapons. And the system knew it.
**HP**: 20
**MP**: 1,130
**Stats:**
• CON: 1 (Locked – Glass Bones)
• STR: 1 (Locked – Glass Bones)
• DEX: 0 (Locked – Bound to Chair)
• INT: 74
• WIS: 26
• CHA: 29
Lucien exhaled through his nose, pleased.
He swiped again, moving from Traits to the **Abilities** tab, eyes scanning for anything to enhance his summons further.
Two entries stood out immediately:
> **[Passive Strike] – 2,500 SP**
> *Skeletons' next attack deals +300% damage. Cooldown: 10 minutes.*
> **[Dark Aura] – 5,000 SP**
> *While within 30 yards of summons: +10% to all summon stats, -10% to enemy stats, plus slow effect.*
Lucien arched a brow.
He had picked up a trait early on—almost forgot it existed. Something cheap, something passive. Something the store probably didn't expect him to use like this.
> **[Darkness Affinity (250)] – Passive Trait**
> *Enhanced control and resistance to dark-based magic.*
The aura's effect wouldn't technically double—but Lucien understood synergy. Enhanced control meant stronger execution. It wouldn't show up on the numbers, but the battlefield would feel it.
"That's filthy," Lucien whispered, grinning.
He bought both.
> [Ability Acquired: Passive Strike]
> [Ability Acquired: Dark Aura]
> [-7,500 SP total]
The power curve was beginning to tilt. And it was tilting hard in his favor.
Lucien raised a hand, fingers curling slightly. A ring of necrotic light formed in front of him.
"Summon."
A single skeleton emerged from the ground—one of the upgraded Silver III units. Its bones gleamed faintly beneath a layer of reinforced armor. A sturdy iron shield was strapped to its left arm, and in its right, a well-forged longsword glinted ominously.
Lucien studied it for a moment, then spoke again.
"Dark Aura."
A ripple of energy pulsed outward from his body. The air thickened with a miasma that clung to the bones of the undead. The skeleton shifted slightly, as if standing taller.
Lucien nodded slowly. "So it's a toggle skill…"
Toggle skills, unlike active abilities, didn't have a set duration. They could be turned on and off at will, continuously draining mana or remaining active until manually deactivated. Dangerous if mismanaged. Devastating if mastered.
> [Inspect]
> [Skeleton Soldier – Silver III – Buffed by Dark Aura (+10% All Stats)]
> CON: 30 > 36
> STR: 25 > 30
> DEX: 22 > 26
The change was minor for now—but measurable. Lucien could feel the difference. More than that—he *controlled* it.
He leaned closer, eyes narrowing as he re-checked the Inspect readout.
"Hmmm… these numbers are higher than they should be."
He tapped a finger against his chin.
"Perhaps… it's Darkness Affinity. That passive must be boosting the output beyond the listed 10%. Hidden synergy, maybe."
He smirked.
"Even the system can't keep up with me."
He swiped the interface back to the main screen.
> [Soul Points Remaining: 346,920]
"Barely even made a dent…" Lucien muttered, almost disappointed.
Like a man on a spree who had only cracked open his wallet, he dove deeper—into the **Materials Tab**.
He scrolled past common reagents, elemental cores, and faded relics. Then one entry caught his breath in his throat.
> **[Corpse of the Knight-King] – 10,000,000 SP**
> *The body of the strongest knight to have ever lived. A king of legends. The Uniter of Myrid.*
Lucien's eyes gleamed. His jaw locked.
He wanted it. He needed it.
But he could not afford it.
All that grinding, all that hoarding—and he was still poor.
Disheartened, he scrolled on… and paused again.
> **[Knight's Defiled Corpse] – 300,000 SP**
> *A corpse from an era past. Once a powerful knight who reshaped Myrid. Now a vessel of corruption.*
Lucien paused, debating the purchase.
It wasn't nearly as grand as the Knight-King's corpse. The name didn't inspire awe—but the price did tempt him.
After a moment of silent calculation, he gave in.
> [Material Acquired: Knight's Defiled Corpse]
> [-300,000 SP]
From the air in front of him, a dark miasma bled through the cracked earth. It churned, twisted, then tore open a breach in the ground.
The corpse rose slowly—bandaged in old cloth laced with shimmering runes, mummified and bound. Foul magic leaked from every inch of it, heavy and oppressive.
Lucien could feel the wrongness—an uneasy power that made even the dungeon's lingering mana recoil.
He closed the interface.
"That's enough farming for today."
"Kaelthorn," he called.
The chimera rose without question. Lucien gestured toward the corpse.
"Carry it. We're going back."
The beast bent down, gently lifting the ancient body with two of its clawed arms.
Lucien turned his chair toward the open plains.
Time to visit Alazaar.
---
The scene shifted.
The graveyard greeted them like a loyal sentinel—familiar and undisturbed. The sky above was heavy with gray clouds, and the air buzzed faintly with stagnant mana. Lucien and Kaelthorn passed the broken gate and descended once more into the crypt's depths.
Stone steps wound downward, echoing with each turn of Lucien's bone-carved wheels and the heavy gait of Kaelthorn's clawed feet. Faint green torches flickered against old bones lining the walls, illuminating ancient carvings and arcane graffiti.
Finally, they reached the heart of it all.
Alazaar stood in the central chamber—a dark silhouette against cold stone, skeletal fingers twirling the broken, cursed sword like a conductor playing with fate.
He didn't turn at first. But his head tilted slightly.
A ripple of power passed through the room.
"Hmm…" the lich mused. "You have brought something interesting."
Lucien lifted a hand lazily.
Kaelthorn lumbered forward and dropped the mummified corpse with a resonant *thud* onto the stone floor.
"I found it through the system," Lucien said. "It's… old."
Alazaar turned, interest flaring. He approached the corpse slowly, reverently, his hollow gaze scanning every rune, every wrap of cloth.
The bandages shimmered with long-dead enchantments. Dark energy pulsed between each fold—uncoiled, restrained fury. The air around it seemed to twist.
"This man…" Alazaar whispered, almost to himself, "was from the time of the Old Pantheon. A warrior of the forgotten age, before the Three rose to prominence. Before even the first churches were founded."
His voice grew more distant. "He was powerful… revered… perhaps even a hero… But something twisted him. Something… older than divinity."
Alazaar's fingers hovered just above the corpse, not quite touching.
"Whatever he was, he was feared… These bandages are not to preserve him—but to bind him. To keep him at bay… or to suppress the power within."
Alazaar looked up slowly, the sword still in his grasp but forgotten for the moment.
"And what do you plan to do with him?" he asked, voice neutral but laced with curiosity.
Lucien gave a slight shrug. "I was thinking of using him as a vessel for the blade."
Alazaar tilted his skull, finally placing the broken sword aside. "You intend to house *this* power within *that* corpse?"
Lucien smirked. "Think it'll survive?"
Alazaar didn't answer immediately. Instead, he knelt beside the corpse, fingers dancing along the bandages, tracing their etched runes. For several moments, he remained there—silent, analytical, occasionally letting his skeletal fingers hover over small breaches where foul energy seeped through.
He plucked a strand of that corrupted magic, letting it coil around his hand before dispersing it with a flick.
Finally, he stood.
"Leave the body with me," Alazaar said. "I will run some tests. There are things I want to see… before we commit to anything."
Lucien blinked, slightly surprised. Alazaar was rarely cautious—normally the first to leap into dangerous experiments without hesitation.
Still, Lucien knew better than to question the lich's wisdom.
"Alright," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Just don't break it."