The Orc, The Amulet, and The Lich's Domain

The thin orc, his eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and pure culinary ecstasy, was still munching on the last bite of his burger. He swallowed with a loud gulp, thumping his chest with a bony fist to clear his throat.

Karl chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "Slow down, you can have more if you want. We have plenty."

The orc gave a shaky thumbs up, his green eyes bright. "Thank you, thank you! That was… that was really good!" His voice, though still rough, was filled with genuine awe. "I didn't know food could be cooked like that. It's… revolutionary." He finally eased up, a visible relaxation in his posture.

"Well, that was just the first iteration," Karl said, a subtle smirk on his skull. "It still needs crucial ingredients for it to be a real thing, a true masterpiece."

The orc's eyes, now filled with a newfound respect, fixed on Karl. "I cannot thank you enough for sparing me and even giving me food. I didn't know until now that an undead could be kind to the living."

"Kindness?" Karl's non-existent eyebrows might have risen. "Well, it's just business. I don't believe in violence, not directly anyway. Not when there are more efficient methods." He paused, letting the words hang in the air. "But I do believe I could interact peacefully with the living through immortal industrialization and trade. A mutually beneficial relationship, you see."

The orc's eyes widened further. "If that's the case, how much are you selling that… that weird food for?"

Karl's smile widened. "How much do you think this would sell for? Given its… unique qualities."

The orc closed his eyes, muttering to himself, his brow furrowed in concentration. "With the seasonings and exquisite taste, and perfect cooking of meat… logistics and transportation wise, with retail markups and potential demand, as well as its sheer novelty and potential popularity… I think this would go for at least 100 silvers!" His eyes snapped open, bright with a sudden, audacious thought. "Would you… would you agree to franchise this product?!"

Karl was genuinely amazed. Woaaahh! This orc is phenomenal! He even goes as far as to franchise it! This orc is truly unique. He found himself wondering why this orc was so different from his peers, so un-orc-like in his ambition and intellect. "You're quite smart for an orc," Karl replied, a dry, almost complimentary tone in his voice. "I bet you find it hard for your kin to accept your intellect quality."

The orc sheepishly lowered his gaze, a faint blush, a rare sight on an orc, creeping onto his skin. "Please, you jest, sir. I'm just a lowly orc." The compliment, so unexpected, was clearly a rare thing for him.

"That aside," Karl continued, extending a bony hand. "What's your name? You can call me Karl."

The orc smiled, a genuine, hesitant smile. "I call myself Simon, but everyone calls me Squezalokh." He took Karl's hand. It was cold, hard, but surprisingly firm.

"Then Simon it is," Karl said, a dry chuckle. "Now, we can go ahead with the main thing. Do you know where your grandfather's amulet is?"

Simon's face instantly turned serious. He reached under his tattered robe and pulled out a necklace. Dangling from it was a pendant, a dark, polished stone intricately carved with glyphs and symbols. As he held it, the gem slowly faded out, then glowed again, a faint, internal pulse. Karl recognized the symbols—they were identical to some of the runes he'd seen on the Dungeon Core.

"Initially, during my investigation on Stonehorn Crossing," Simon explained, his voice low, "the gem was not glowing at all. My father said that if my grandfather's amulet is near, or if a dark mana was visible, connected to the tomb, it would glow. That's why when I found your associates—" he gestured vaguely towards Rook and Orkesh—"on Stonehorn Crossing, I followed them back. I… I didn't quite know they would find me." He smiled sheepishly, a flicker of his earlier embarrassment. "My brother said I wasn't good at hiding in the first place, but it wouldn't hurt to try."

Karl's skeletal jaw stretched into a wide smile. He remembered the crypts on the -4th floor, the vast, silent chambers where the dead rested. A crypt… a tomb… it fits perfectly. "Come on, Simon," he said, standing up. "I think I know where your grandpa's tomb is. Though I'm not sure if he's there, I'll lead you to a place where the dead rests."

Simon's eyes lit up, a spark of desperate hope. "Thank you! Thank you!" he cried, bowing deeply, his head almost touching the floor.

"No problem," Karl said, a dry, almost magnanimous tone. "The honor's mine." As he walked, Simon followed, his steps quick and eager. Rook also followed behind, maintaining a respectful distance, his cloaked form a silent shadow.

They reached Level -2, the industrial section. Simon's eyes wandered, taking in the bustling activity: the rhythmic clang of the Metallurgy Center, the whirring of the new weaving machine in the Softloom Spindle House, the constant movement of skeletons hauling materials. "This is amazing," he breathed, his voice filled with genuine wonder. "The efficiency in this… it's incredible."

"That's just the start," Karl said, glancing at the industrial sections, a hint of pride in his voice. "This section is responsible for my products' endless production of all sorts of things." He envisioned an assembly line of tanks, of warplanes, a silent, terrifying future.

They then arrived at Level -3, the barracks. The air here was colder, filled with the sharp scent of sweat and bone. The rhythmic thwack of practice weapons and the booming commands of the Training Instructors echoed through the hall. Simon didn't look at them, his gaze fixed on the floor, his body tensing. Karl didn't blame him. Each skeleton soldier emanated a certain aura of intimidation, a chilling presence that spoke of honed combat prowess.

Karl chuckled, a dry, reassuring sound. "Come, they're not going to do a thing to you."

They finally reached Level -4, the deepest accessible floor. The first section was a series of crypt rooms, dark and silent, filled with ancient, undisturbed tombs. Karl remembered waking up in this very place after his death on Earth, beginning his new life as a Lich. He didn't regret leaving the old world behind. He smiled, a dry, satisfied stretch of bone.

He turned to Simon. "You can check every room," he said, gesturing to the crypts. "Until we find what you're looking for." As he spoke, he glanced at Simon's pendant. It was glowing faster now, pulsing with a vibrant, emerald light.

Simon, his heart pounding, began checking each room, his eyes fixed on the glowing pendant. He moved quickly, his hope growing with each tomb. Finally, at the last room, near the entrance to the mines, the pendant didn't flicker. It glowed permanently, a steady, brilliant emerald.

"I-it's here!" Simon cried, his voice choked with emotion, tears welling in his eyes. "My grandfather's amulet is here!"

Karl approached the room. Inside was a small, simple chamber with only a single stone coffin. He lifted off the heavy stone cover, revealing a large skeleton within, its bones massive, its skull adorned with huge, curving tusks. Clutched in its bony hand was an amulet, identical to the one Simon wore, but larger, radiating a faint, dark energy.

"Grandpa!" Simon sobbed, rushing forward, tears streaming down his face as he recalled fragmented memories of his grandfather, a wise, gentle giant who had told him stories of ancient times. He gently took the amulet from the skeleton's hand, his fingers trembling.

"Thank you," Simon whispered, his voice thick with emotion, his tears flowing freely. "Thank you, thank you."

"It's no problem, Simon," Karl said, a dry, almost benevolent tone. "The honor's mine." He watched the emotional reunion, a flicker of something akin to curiosity in his empty eye sockets. This emotional display, this raw, unfiltered grief and relief, was a stark contrast to the cold, calculating world he now inhabited.