The Little Necromancer [LITRPG]

After running in a circle around the balcony, Enya and the rest of them made their way back down to the first floor. The Dullahan was still above, walking terribly slowly.

Pell made it down first, spinning around to look above. "Summon that rat thing—have him run up there in circles to distract it."

Enya nodded at once, quickly summoning Digsby. He dropped down on all fours, bone claws thudding against the floorboards.

"Digsby! Go up there!" Enya commanded.

The rat skeleton bolted straight up the steps, encircling the top balcony, keeping its distance from the knight. However, once the Dullahan reached the side of the stairs, instead of continuing its way in a circle chasing Digsby, it instead turned and began walking down the steps.

Not toward Digsby.

Toward Pell and Enya.

"What?!" Pell snapped, stepping back.

Elria laughed, drifting lazily above their shoulders. "Cute idea, but no. The Dullahan doesn't care about bone puppets. They're empty. It follows souls. And between you two and that rat…" Her eyes glinted mischievously. "Only two of you count."

Pell froze. "So it's either me or the kid."

"Correct!" Elria twirled midair. "And between you and her? I think you'd make the better chew toy."

"Then you distract it," Pell shot back, scythe angled at her even though it would never connect. "Float circles around its head, keep it busy while we search!"

"Pass." She crossed her arms.

"The fuck do you mean PASS?" Pell spat with disgust. "Just fly above it in circles!"

"Nuh-uh. I want to explore," she said, doing an annoyingly fake pout, turning her head to the side. "You do it."

The Dullahan's footsteps continued walking, and each step wasted, meant further doom reaching closer.

"That thing can kill me too, you know. I may be annoying, but I'm not suicidal. And besides—flying's not a guarantee. A swing like that—" she mimed the knight's colossal downward strike with a ghostly hand "—wouldn't care if I was three feet higher. I'd rather stay intact."

"Gods damn it, you're useless!" Pell snapped.

"Useless?" Elria said, shrugging. "No. Selectively helpful. I'll help you search for clues, but I'm not going to stay as bait duty."

Pell's soul-flames roared brighter, but he bit it back, muttering curses through clenched teeth. If Elria wouldn't take it, then there was only one option left. His grip on the scythe tightened.

"Fine," he said, voice low and burning. "I'll pull it. But you two better move fast."

Enya's mouth fell open. "Wait—Pell, you can't—"

He gave her a hard look. "Kid, you want us both dead? Because that's how you get us both dead."

The Dullahan stepped forward, the floor quaking with its approach, purple flame flaring in its empty helm.

Pell rolled his shoulders, scythe gleaming black in the carrier's light. "Alright then," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Let's see if this bag of metal can keep up."

He broke off from them, getting closer to the dullahan while hugging the side of the manor's wall. As Elria said, it definitely turned, its armor creaking as its attention changed.

"Come on, you hunk of rust," Pell muttered, stepping backward with measured pace. The knight's headless frame tracked him like a magnet locked to iron.

He curved his path, circling wide around the foyer until he reached the base of the stairs again. Its sword lifted faintly, as though eager for another strike, but Pell gave it no chance—no risk. He used his blink ability and teleported directly to the top of the stairs.

He turned, looking back down.

"Yeah, that's right…" he muttered.

The Dullahan was following, taking its first step up the staircase.

On the balcony, Pell's soul-flames narrowed in irritation. "Guess I'll be running circles up here while you two figure things out."

Elria spoke, a smug expression plastered permanently on her face. "Hah. It's like a dog fetching a bone."

Enya's brows knitted, worried about Pell. But if the Dullahan kept that pace, then Pell just had to be consistent. There wasn't any way for it to reach him as long as he was careful.

"Hurry up and go already!" Pell shouted, walking backward while looking at the reaper chasing a reaper.

"You heard the bait! Let's go!" Elria said, pleased and happy.

She began to float down the same way where the study was. Down there, there was another room further down the hall. Enya followed along, looking back once at the balcony, before focusing on what was in front of her.

Enya quickened her pace into a jog, the carrier's light bobbing in her grip. She passed by the library, and continued. Ahead, the faint outline of a doorway waited. Elria floated through first. Enya reached it moments later, pushing the heavy door open.

A kitchen spread out before her—far larger than she'd expected, stretching almost as wide as the manor's entire second floor.

Two long island counters sat in the center like slabs in a morgue, their surfaces chipped and stained. Around the edges, a broader counter wrapped the room in a perfect square, enclosing everything in wood and stone. Shelves lined the walls. Cabinets crouched both above and below, their handles green with tarnish.

Knives, cleavers, and rusted pans still hung from hooks, like soldiers standing in silent formation. Sacks of flour slumped in one corner, pale dust bleeding out onto the floor in faint trails.

The smell struck next. A sour, clinging stench. She pulled a sleeve against her nose as her eyes landed on the source—foodstuffs stacked in cupboards and baskets along the wall, every last piece overtaken by mold. Loaves furred green, meat spotted and sagging, cheeses collapsing inward like sickly growths.

Only one light burned here. A single candle on the far counter, flame wavering unsteadily. It flickered on and off, guttering as though it fought to stay alive. It wasn't bright enough to light the entire room up.

Luckily, Enya had the perfect thing.

Enya stepped inside cautiously, setting the Carrier's Light on one of the central counters. Its glow washed outward, filling the corners, pressing the darkness back until every grim detail of the kitchen was laid bare.

Enya moved past the central counter, boots crunching against a scatter of displaced flour. She brushed a hand across the top of one island, leaving a clean streak through years of dust. The air was stifling, heavy with the sour stink of rot.

Elria drifted alongside her, slipping through cabinets and shelves like mist through cracks. Each time she emerged, her expression was flat, unimpressed. "All empty. Or worse—full of spoiled junk." She wrinkled her nose, though whether in disgust or mockery, Enya couldn't tell. "This place is really committed to the aesthetic."

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Enya raised her hand and summoned the Grim Pullet. The black tome snapped into existence in her palm, fluttering open to the page she'd marked with her quill. She scanned the lines she had copied down, whispering them to herself.

The hand that feeds is the hand that binds.

She frowned, tapping the page with her finger. "If we're in a kitchen, then… it has to be here, right? This clue?"

Elria didn't answer right away. She hovered just above the counters, staring off into the shadows at the far end of the room. The silence stretched longer than normal—long enough that Enya's eyes narrowed.

Finally, Elria turned her head, her face arranged into a casual smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Ah. Yeah. Probably. Hand that feeds? Kitchen? Makes perfect sense." She spun slowly in the air, drifting toward the wall of cabinets, her voice airy. "Best place to start looking."

Enya blinked at her. That pause hadn't been like Elria at all. Normally, the spirit fired back answers instantly—sharp, smug, quick to show she knew more than anyone else in the room. This time, she had paused.

They searched for several minutes, pulling open drawers and cabinets. Everything was the same: rot, mold, and the stale stink of food long dead. Enya's hands were powdered with flour dust, her boots leaving trails of dust against who knew what was the discolored piles littered on the ground. It was disgusting in here, but it wasn't any worse than the rotting flesh that staled inside of Sable's dungeon.

The ceiling outside trembled; it was a steady, ongoing rhythm. Enya could only hope that Pell was alright. She kept periodically checking his health, and each time—it was full.

Enya brushed a sleeve across her brow and glanced toward Elria. The spirit had gone strangely quiet. She drifted along the far wall, pausing near a looming block of iron in the corner. Its door was streaked with rust, its handle pitted and blackened by age. A faint, unnatural chill seeped from the cracks around it.

Elria tilted her head toward it, eyes half-lidded. "Hmm… this..."

Enya blinked. "That's… a refrig… frig… fridge."

She gave up.

Elria gestured toward it, expression unreadable. "Might be something inside. Couldn't see anything as I phased through it. It's pitch black in there."

Enya nodded, already stepping closer. She gripped the handle, pulling hard. The door creaked open, hinges stiff with age.

A wave of chilled air rushed out, prickling her skin with cold. She leaned forward—and her breath caught.

Inside, arranged neatly on the rack, lay the skeleton of a pig. Its form was still bound with rope, knotted tight around its feet, though the flesh had long since rotted away. The bones gleamed pale, brittle with age. Between its teeth sat the round outline of a rotting ball, decayed and withered with time.

"…The hand that feeds," Elria muttered finally, tilting her head. "The pig. The hand that binds…" She gestured lazily at the ropes still tied around its skeletal legs. "Also the pig. A stuffed pig, huh. I guess it's a bit clever. But gods, it's too obvious when it's the only thing in here that isn't rotten bread or moldy cheese." She threw up her hands. "Gah! This infuriates me! Why are those witch-bitches so uncreative!"

Enya's brows drew together. She'd heard Pell mention that B-word once before. But he specifically told Enya to never repeat it.

"So… is it the clue or not?"

Elria huffed through her nose and waved her hand. "Yeah. Probably. The hand that feeds, the hand that binds. Bound stuffed pig set for a feast. Checks out."

Enya's frown melted into relief. She smiled, stepping closer to grab it. "Okay, then."

The moment her fingers brushed the ribcage, the pig collapsed.

The bones disintegrated into a fine powder, crumbling apart into dust that cascaded through the rack like sand through an hourglass. Enya gasped, jerking her hand back. Only a faint pile of bone-dust remained at the bottom of the fridge.

"Huh? No—!" Her eyes widened. "It died!"

Elria let out a short, delighted laugh. "You really are an adorable little girl." She leaned lazily against the fridge's doorframe, mist coiling around the rusted metal. "Things already dead. Been for centuries, probably."

Enya puffed out her cheeks, glaring at the dusty remains. "Then… what now?"

Elria tilted her head, voice lilting with amusement. "What do you mean 'what now?' Just revive it. Aren't you a necromancer?"

Enya blinked. "Oh." Her pout vanished into sudden realization. "Yeah…"

This girl has a screw loose somewhere, Elria thought.

Enya crouched, placing her flour-stained fingers onto the ashy bone-dust. She channeled her mana and began the spell.

If it was just for a clue, she didn't need to soul-forge it.

The bone dust shivered, then swirled, lifting into the air as if drawn by an unseen hand. Splinters reformed into joints, fragments spun into ribs, hooves took shape. Piece by piece, the pig's skeleton pulled itself together, until a small frame stood wobbling on the fridge's shelf. Its empty sockets flickered faintly as it wobbled to its feet, tail vertebrae twitching. It opened its jaw and tried to oink—only for a hollow hrrnk to rasp out, like a sigh trapped in a flute.

Name: Bacon
Level: 21
Type: Quadruped Skeleton
Class: Unassigned
Power Rating: 166

Enya's face lit up. "He's cute."

Bacon's stats were… awful. But it made sense; it was only a pig, not some type of monster. And for the first time, her summon was just a regular quadruped skeleton that wasn't mutated, or ugly or disgusting.

Elria arched an eyebrow. "Cute? That's one way to describe it, I guess. But why not summon it properly? As a zombie, at least. Or a vampire swine. Something with flesh?"

Enya blinked at her, tilting her head. "I don't know how." She crouched to pat the pig's skull as it happily clacked against her hand. "Sable's books were destroyed before I could learn the zombie ones. I only managed to copy down a few of the skeleton spells."

"You said Sable?" Elria's voice sharpened. Her usual nonchalant expression slipped into something unreadable.

Enya looked up at her, curious. "Yeah. He's… my master, I think?"

The pig squealed another hollow rasp and skittered circles around her boots, leaving faint trails of dust in its wake.

Elria crossed her arms, hovering lower. "Huh. That guy actually took in a disciple?" She leaned in close, her face inches from Enya's, studying her expression with unsettling intensity. "Didn't realize he liked cute things. You sure you ain't his daughter or something? You don't seem the type to be learning magic under him."

Enya blinked once. Twice. Then straightened. "Ah no—I only had his books. Pell and I got lost inside one of his sanctums. I've never met him. Do you… know him?"

Elria's mouth twitched, completely unreadable. "Kind of. I know of him." She pulled back slightly, arms folding tighter across her chest. "He's a dangerous man, though. The kind most people regret crossing paths with. Extremely dedicated to his craft. One of the closest things to a Death God in the layers. I'm not sure if he's still around, though."

Enya's gaze dropped to the little pig skeleton, which was now butting its skull happily against her shin. "… Oh."

If he were alive, Enya would have loved to meet him. His books had been very helpful in getting her where she was today, not to mention giving her the chance for the unique Necrosmith class.

They gave the kitchen one last sweep, pulling open drawers and cabinets, but every handle creaked with nothing more than stale air or rotten scraps. No second clue waited here.

Enya crouched at the center island, reaching for the Carrier's Light. As her fingers brushed the lantern, her brow furrowed.

The glow wasn't steady anymore. The pale radiance pulsed faintly, flickering like a candle caught in a draft. It was weaker than before, the edges of its light shrinking back inch by inch.

Her chest tightened. It's fading.

She picked it up, cradling it in both hands. The warmth she felt before was dull now, its core starving for more power. And she knew what it needed—the witchcraft energy bound inside the teddy bear Felicity had given them.

A shiver ran down her arms. Even remembering the sensation made her stomach turn. It was only after fueling the carrier's light, did she realize how awful the power felt. It wasn't like soul-energy, pliable and familiar, shaped to her will. Warped, jagged and crooked—something that felt prickly to her fingers. Repulsive in a way that felt wrong in her very soul, as though her body wanted to spit it out the second she touched it.

"Next room," Elria said, twirling in the air. "And let's check if your grumpy grandpa's keeled over yet. That would certainly be a sight."

Enya's brows knit. "Don't say that. I don't want Pell to die. Not again."

Elria chuckled, rolling her shoulders in a lazy shrug. "Whatever you say, princess." She drifted once more around the kitchen in a wide circle before pushing the fridge door closed with a sharp click with a swipe of her hand. Then she floated to Enya's side. Together, they left the room.

The foyer greeted them with the same thunderous rhythm of iron boots. Each step rattled through the walls, shaking dust from the chandelier above. Enya lifted her head toward the balcony—and froze.

Pell was still circling. But he wasn't strolling anymore. His pace had quickened into a brisk jog, scythe clutched tight, soul-flames burning hotter with each turn. The Dullahan lumbered after him, its gait heavier, sharper, and faster than before.

"Hey!" Pell's voice cracked down from above, echoing through the vast chamber. "You find anything yet?"

Enya cupped her hands to shout back. "Yeah! Got a pig!"

Pell stumbled mid-step. His skull tilted down in disbelief. "…What? The hell do you mean you've got a pig?"

Enya looked at the small skeleton trotting happily at her heels, bone hooves tapping on the floor.

That made two riddles solved—or at least she hoped so. The problem was proving it.

And with the Dullahan pacing in endless circles on the balcony, right in front of the paintings themselves, proof was going to be hard to get.