NOVEL NEXT Chapter 143: Inspector Mills
The eastern edge of the Necro-Mall's growing territory pulsed with the silent, relentless rhythm of labor. Ghouls stripped logs of bark and drove thick, pressure-treated wooden beams deep into the earth. Their pale, dense muscles flexed, hauling massive carts of stone and soil. They moved with an eerie, tireless steadiness, never breathing, never pausing except when Vitro barked an order.
Karl stood on a small rise, hands folded behind his back. His immaculate black suit seemed out of place against the mud and raw industry of the worksite, but the sight pleased him. A future was being built here, brick by calculated brick.
Down below, two ghouls strained to lift a particularly heavy beam into its socket.
"Higher. Left. No, left." One rasped, voice flat but oddly precise.
"Your left or my left?" the other muttered, eye sockets glowing faintly white.
"The lord's left."
"…What does that even mean?"
A third ghoul shuffled past with a wheelbarrow full of stone, deadpan. "It means stop arguing and lift."
The beam slammed into its slot with a dull thunk. The three stood there for a moment, not panting, not sweating, but tilting their heads at the fit.
"Good enough," one said.
"Sir Vitro will say it's crooked."
"Then Sir Vitro will straighten it."
Karl smirked faintly at the exchange before turning as Vitro approached. The foreman had grown into his role quickly; his posture was straighter, his voice steadier and crisper with every day of command. Vitro unrolled a rolled sketch tucked under one arm.
Karl spoke first. "Vitro. Update me. How long until the perimeter wall is finished?"
Vitro unrolled the sketch, pointing with one clawed finger at the schematic lines. "If we go with a standard chain link fence, one kilometer radius, seven days. That timeline assumes Dolrik and his smiths drop the new truck prototype and prioritize the fencing material."
Karl's brows pinched. "That pushes the prototype back a week. Unacceptable." He tapped his chin, weighing the cost of security against the cost of stalled innovation. "Not ideal."
Vitro's tone was calm, practical. "We can substitute pressure-treated wooden beams for now. We are clearing trees for the residential zone anyway. It won't hold like steel, but it will clearly define the border, create the barrier, and buys us the week to maintain the vehicle timeline."
Karl's mouth curled into a small, calculating smile. "Efficiency. Do it."
Vitro inclined his head in acknowledgment.
Nearby, another group of ghouls wrestled with a cart stuck in the mud.
"Push."
"I am pushing."
"You are leaning."
"Same difference."
"On three."
"…We don't breathe."
"Then count anyway."
The cart lurched forward with a sucking sound, splattering mud across their pale legs. None reacted. One simply looked down and said, "Mud. Again."
Karl continued, "The new Tier III recruits from the recent raid—those beastkin ghouls—have been integrated and assigned to replace the mall staff. Reassign them here under you. More hands will speed this up. Once the border's done, you can begin clearing the east forest for housing. I want homes built, not just for the workforce, but for the kobold villagers when they move out of the Dark Forest."
"Yes, my lord," Vitro said, his tone as crisp as cut stone.
"And Leo should've sent you the final layout by now."
"He has. A solid design. Streets, zoning, sewage, everything's accounted for. Highly optimized."
"Good," Karl said with a short nod. His gaze drifted to the tree line where shadows pooled. "I'll have DRIS set up a forward camp on the southeastern side to mitigate harassment. And if raiders do come…" His smile twitched wider, sharp and cold. "All the better. Manpower shortages don't solve themselves. Corpses are cheap labor for the Corps."
Vitro did not flinch, though his pale eyes lingered on Karl a moment longer than usual.
Karl went on, tone flattening back into pure business. "The fence isn't enough. Work in defenses now. Spike pits, watchposts, firing lines. I don't care if it looks ugly. Orcs raiding is not a matter of if—it's when. And when the beastkin races finally tear each other apart over their petty grudges, prices will soar. I need production steady, war or no war, so everything should be locked down and tight, no matter what issues arise."
Vitro bowed slightly. "Understood, my lord. I'll draw up the defensive revisions tonight."
Karl gave a final glance over the skeleton of the wall, wooden beams stabbing upward like the ribs of some great, skeletal beast. Satisfied, he turned back toward the main road. A tall ghoul in a black suit—one of his more refined attendants—fell into step behind him, silent as a shadow.
"Keep the pace, Vitro," Karl said over his shoulder. "This territory's only as strong as the line we draw around it."
"Yes, my lord," Vitro replied, already calling out a new sequence of orders to the builders. The chorus of axes and shovels rose again as Karl made his way back toward the Necro-Mall.
Karl stepped out of the private transport lift onto the Seventh Sublevel. Unlike the quiet, calculated order of the executive floors above, this level hummed with controlled chaos. This was the heart of Necro Corp's manufacturing might: the air thick with the smell of hot elemental steel, ozone from arc welding, and the deep, rhythmic clang of automated forging hammers. The Ghoul workforce here moved not with the military precision of the construction site, but with the focused intensity of technicians, each pale hand performing a precise, specialized task.
The entire southern wing of the floor had been partitioned for the Department of Elemental Weaponry & Steelworks (DEWS), its centerpiece being the newly finished Engineering Works.
Karl found Dolrik, the Chief Engineer, wiping grime from his massive, stocky hands with a rag that was perpetually stained with axle grease and soot. Dolrik, a middle-aged Ghoul whose corporeal body was built like a retired dockworker—sturdy, powerful, and utterly unflappable—looked up, his eyes lighting up with genuine excitement.
"My Lord, you're here! Perfect timing," Dolrik boomed, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that cut through the factory noise.
Karl smiled, the sight of the industrial power easing the tension from his shoulders. "Dolrik. Just checking the progress on our first truck. I trust we're on schedule?"
"On schedule? My Lord, we're ahead of the frame schedule!" Dolrik's enthusiasm was palpable as he led Karl toward the center bay.
There, resting on thick assembly stands, was the nascent form of Necro Corp's first vehicle—a robust, high-riding utility truck. It was all solid, squared lines and heavy steel plate, designed for durability in the hostile terrain of the outer world. Karl felt a surge of proprietary pride. He could already picture the Ford Ranger/Godzilla hybrid it was destined to become.
"The frame is complete, over-engineered to hell, just as you requested," Dolrik reported, gesturing broadly. "Right now, we're focused on the heavy-duty transmission, the elemental-steel axles, and the driveshaft. Once those internal organs are in place, we'll move on to the suspension and the steering system."
Karl's smile widened. "It's beautiful. I'm already excited to see it rolling. But let's get the headache out of the way first: the mana flow disruption problem."
Dolrik's smile didn't falter; it simply became more knowing. "Ah, the Qualscoo artifact's little trick. That was a fun puzzle, my Lord. Turns out, the magic artisans were key. After restoring the prisoner's crystal, they found something fascinating: it only disrupted a single, common mana frequency. The one that passively permeates everything, like background noise."
"And the fix?" Karl prompted, leaning in slightly.
"The fix is elegantly simple! The mana-to-power coupling in the Arcstone distributor? We just shift the frequency it draws from," Dolrik explained, looking immensely proud. "It's like tuning a radio. We're changing the Arcstone's channel so the Qualscoo's interference remains on the old frequency, and the truck's engine never loses power. It completely neutralizes the Foxkin intel tech."
"Alright. Good work, Dolrik. Ingenuity prevails over brute force magic," Karl affirmed, giving a small nod of respect.
Dolrik flushed slightly beneath his pale, dead skin. "Thank you, My Lord. That means a great deal." He hesitated, eyes darting to a Ghoul apprentice nearby who was holding a wooden object. "Actually, since you mention fuel efficiency… I do have more for you."
Dolrik signaled the apprentice, who came forward and carefully handed Karl a small, crudely fashioned wooden bucket. Karl's eyes scanned the bucket's contents—a thick, black, viscous liquid. His eyes widened, a genuine, delighted shock crossing his face.
"Is this…?" Karl asked, the word sticking in his throat.
Dolrik grinned, nodding vigorously. "Yes, my Lord. Crude oil."
"Where did you find this?" Karl demanded, the surprise overriding his usual corporate composure.
"A disabled footsoldier from the town of Tallowshade came by during the market reopening. He was selling scavenged supplies. He sold this to us, said it was recently used at the so-called 'Wall' as part of their siege defenses—like an ancient Greek fire, I suppose."
"And did he say where they sourced it?"
Dolrik's face fell slightly. "The staff asked, but he swore he didn't know. Just that the supply wagon brought it in."
"Ah, shites," Karl muttered, but his mind was already spinning, calculating the potential. "Still, this is excellent. With oil, we can save our usage of Mana Stones, which are already heavily taxed by our production facilities. Oil is a solution to a logistical bottleneck. We'll still need Elemental Stones for certain core engine parts, of course, but gasoline... that is excellent for fuel economy and scale."
He looked back at Dolrik. "I want you to begin designing an internal combustion engine model for this fuel. It's not a priority for immediate rollout, but it's a critical future project. Alright?"
"Yes, my Lord. Understood."
Karl's skeletal fingers tapped the wooden bucket. "You see, Dolrik, while raw mana stones are a good fuel source, anyone can acquire them by slaughtering monsters or mining crystals. It's too democratic. Oil, on the other hand…" Karl's smile was all business, cold and final. "Oil requires refinement, infrastructure, and controlled access to the source. That is the kind of monopoly we need to secure the future of Necro Corp."
Dolrik acknowledged with a wide, understanding smile. "A good kind of monopoly, My Lord. I agree."
"Right. On to the next topic. My new toy: the rifle?"
Dolrik quickly pivoted. "The blackpowder rifle is ready, My Lord! My apprentice, Jorr, has been successful in creating the prototype based on the schematics you provided—the Mauser Model 1871."
Dolrik gestured, and a lean, young Ghoul, noticeably smaller and shyer than the others, approached, carefully holding the finished rifle. Karl took the weapon, turning it over in his hands. It was an antique work of art, with a long, elegant barrel, a substantial wooden stock, and the beautifully simple bolt mechanism of the original Gewehr 71.
Karl's mind immediately flashed with the data. The G71. The progenitor.
His instincts were already dissecting the rifle. Even with their rudimentary paper-based ignition, the mere presence of the metallic cartridge was the true victory here. This was the revolutionary leap—moving past the gas-leaky paper cartridges of the old Dreyse needle guns and establishing a reliable, powerful military package.
He ran a thumb over the action, admiring the clean lines of Peter Paul Mauser's original design. It was inherently simple, robust, and reliable—the core characteristics that defined all subsequent, legendary Mauser rifles. Karl noticed the rudimentary 'wing' safety lever, already in place, and the bolt handle's subtle camming feature, which was so innovative for its time in helping to free the spent cartridge case for smoother extraction.
And the manufacturing implications are huge, he thought. This rifle, even in the 1870s, was one of the first European weapons built on the "American System" of interchangeable parts. Faster production, easier field repair, consistent quality. This wasn't just a new gun; it was a factory floor blueprint. It was the conceptual and mechanical foundation for everything to come: the Gewehr 98 and beyond.
"Since we lack the necessary ingredients for mercury fulminate or other standard primers, Jorr utilized an ingenious substitution," Dolrik explained, pulling Karl out of his analysis. "The firing pin is adapted from a fire steel mechanism. The cartridge itself—a hybrid of fire and earth steel—is durable enough to be reused, and instead of a primer cap, we replaced the base with reinforced paper. The fire steel pierces the paper at the bottom upon striking, and the spark ignites the black powder directly. It's less reliable than a true primer, but it's a massive leap in usability over the old needle guns."
Karl smiled down at the apprentice, Jorr, who was looking at his feet. "Nice work, Jorr. Very nice work. You've just ushered in a new era of warfare for Necro Corp."
Jorr's head snapped up. His eyes, typically just pale white slits, seemed to glow a little brighter, and he sheepishly scratched the back of his head as his workmates cheered. Receiving a compliment from Karl—the Lich Engineer—was a rare, high honor that eclipsed any medal.
Karl hefted the rifle one last time. It was still inferior to the high-velocity, smokeless powder arms of Earth's modern era, but the G71 bolt action and the metallic-cased cartridge were the foundation. Although it was technically a single-shot rifle that was quickly surpassed in firepower by repeating rifles (and then rendered obsolete by the French Lebel and its smokeless powder round just a few years later), its excellence lies in its engineering and its role as the first step in the evolution of the world's most successful family of bolt-action rifles.