"Tell me, Zena… The skeletons I raise—are they under my control? Like, obedient servants or something?"
"No. Well, not really. The skeletons you raise will have a good impression of you, a kind of default trust. But that's it. The rest depends on how you treat them."
"Hm… I don't know if I like that. But then again, it's supposed to be The King's Race, not The Race of the Guy Who Magically Controls Other Guys, right?"
"That's a healthy perspective."
In front of the door to the second room, the skeleton stood still. Skull tilted slightly, sockets locked on the old wooden boards, as if weighing the mental conversation that had just taken place. Three, seemingly puzzled by the sudden pause, waved a hand in front of the other's face.
A small nod reassured the smaller skeleton. The larger one then pointed toward the door with a subtle gesture. Three responded with a nod of their own.
And off they went, wordless, only the soft clatter of bones on stone marking their passage.
The next room looked like a forgotten storage area—or maybe an old sleeping chamber. Dust-covered sheets, torn bags, a handful of shriveled provisions, and a stack of books resting on a crooked stool. The air felt heavy, though no one breathed it anymore.
The supplies were mostly useless to creatures without stomachs. But still, a few items held potential. The books... Would potentially prove useful, reading was no problem, oddly enough. Whether that came from a past life or the magic that had reawakened this skeleton was anyone's guess.
A sudden rattle of excited bones drew attention back to Three. The small skeleton was busy rummaging through a pile of crates stacked in a corner. Some were filled with meticulously sorted bones: tibias, femurs, skulls. A morbid inventory, likely prepared for necromantic use. But next to these were several sturdier crates, nailed shut with heavy iron spikes.
Three glanced back, then mimed a digging motion, pointing at the crate, and then toward the door. Without waiting for confirmation, they scurried off into the previous room.
The skeleton stood in silence. Moments passed. Then, Three returned, dragging an old, rusted pickaxe behind them. Without hesitation, they began to swing at the nearest crate.
The wood cracked with a muffled snap.
A faint green glow flickered across Three's face: a window floated in front of their skull, identical to those the main skeleton had seen earlier. There was no need to read it aloud to understand.
[DING!]Skill unlocked: Mining (Lv1)
Zena confirmed it mentally: "A skill unlocked through action. Three is adapting well."
Inside the crates lay something truly valuable: weapons. All kinds—short swords, single-handed axes, chipped daggers, spearheads, wooden shields, a few short bows, and scattered arrows. It was a proper arsenal, though even an untrained eye could tell the quality was poor.
The skeleton crouched and picked up a dagger. Its edge was dulled, the blade nicked, but it would still function. For a body that didn't feel pain, that was good enough.
Meanwhile, Three sorted the weapons with methodical precision, organizing blades, tips, and handles as if following some unspoken military protocol. The previous though about that small skeleton with thick bones seem more and more true, they were probably a dwarf before their death, now how did they end up here was another story, dwarves tend to take care of their dead very well, but maybe not all of them
Just another mystery to add to the growing pile.
Like reading. Or thinking. Or internally monologuing. The skeleton's past identity remained buried in the fog of death, yet some skills had clung to the soul—or the magic animating it.
The silence stretched on, broken only by Three's efficient movements as they dismantled the remaining crates.
"I wonder what the necromancer was planning with all this," the skeleton mused silently, surveying the crude weaponry. "Building an army? Starting a crusade? Defending his basement against belligerent moles?"
No answer. Even Zena, usually chatty, remained quiet. Perhaps the spirit didn't have access to that kind of knowledge—yet.
He rose, brushing nonexistent dust from his finger bones, and paced slowly across the room. A glance toward Three, then back at the scattered weapons.
Despite the cold and gloom, something resembling a plan had begun to take shape. A base. Logistics. Tools, resources, and now, a companion who showed unexpected competence.
A stray thought passed through the skeleton's mind.
"I hope the guy who used to live here didn't piss off the neighbors. I haven't even met them yet."