The Little Necromancer [LITRPG]

The search for more clues carried them deeper into the manor's left wing. After passing by the center foyer, they came across the first door to a chamber.

It was nothing like the sprawling kitchen or the eccentric library. The room was plain, narrow, and carried a faint scent of mildew. As Elria explained, it was a maid's quarters—where the servants of the manor slept and rested between their duties.

Inside was a bed that sagged low on its frame, sheets long since gone gray. Drawers lined one wall, handles dull and stiff with rust. A single closet leaned crooked in the corner; small patches of wood were peeling from its surface. Enya and Elria sifted through the room carefully, searching each crack and crevice. Enya ran her hands through the brittle sheets, over warped wood, and into the abandoned closet to find nothing but aged time.

Were there something specific they were looking for? No. Not really. The remaining riddles left nothing that screamed clue when trying to search. At least, nothing in this room stood out immediately. Unlike a library or a closed refrigerator, they had to actually search this time.

Only when Elria floated down through a broken plank in the floor, did she find something odd. Enya came over, reached her hand down, and pulled out the object.

It was a small glass object. Inside were falling grains of sand, both top and bottom half-filled. She leaned in, focusing on the small grains. It was endless, falling in perfect rhythm.

"What is this?" Enya murmured.

Elria floated in from above her. "That's an hourglass."

"What's an hourglass?"

"It's that," she answers, gesturing toward the object in Enya's hand, "and it's something used to count time. The grains of sand fall from the top to the bottom, and one it's finished, you'll know if a certain amount of time has passed. You reset it by turning it upside down."

Enya looked at her briefly, the back to the hourglass. She tipped the hourglass upside down. The grains began to fall the opposite way, though it was hard to tell. It seemed like the grains didn't end.

"Time… this has to be a clue for that riddle, right?" Enya held out her open palm, summoning the Grim Pullet. It opened immediately to where she had scribbled down the clues.

"When the hour falls, so too begins the day. That should be the sand falling right? When it's finished, the day begins? It matches."

Elria floated beside her shoulder, folding her arms. "Not quite." She gestured lazily with one hand. "It's The end is but another beginning."

Enya frowned. "But the riddle says hour falls—"

"—and this says ending and beginning," Elria countered.

The two stared at the endless trickle of sand. It seemed to fit for both, but they couldn't come up with a definitive answer.

"Well, whatever," Elria eventually said. "It's obviously a clue for one of them. We can just test it against both paintings."

Enya sighed, picking up the Carrier's Light from the floor. "Fine."

They left the maid's quarters behind, closing the door with a faint groan of wood, and crossed further down the hall.

The last room on the first floor was larger, louder somehow, as if the air itself carried the echo of old laughter. Pell's boots still pounded faintly from the foyer, the Dullahan's weight trailing behind him, but here in this chamber, the sounds dulled to background thunder.

Enya stepped into what looked like a tavern built into the manor itself.

A long bar stretched across one wall, its surface sticky with dust. Behind it, shelves sagged with shattered bottles, their glass dulled but still catching glimmers of light. Fragments of cork and long-dried stains scattered across the floor.

The close side of the room held lounging chairs, their fabric ripped and mildewed, cushions collapsing inward. In the corners were light altars, though two of the four were broken. The remaining two were flickering weakly.

Elria drifted ahead, tilting her head as though savoring the sight. "Not bad. A little nostalgic. I used to drink out places like this before…" She trailed off with a smirk. "Well. Before my neck met a rope."

Bacon moved in, curiously sniffing at the wood and various chairs inside the room. Though, Enya wasn't sure if it could actually smell anything.

"Well, let's check the bottles first. Seem like the obvious place," Elria suggested. She flew through the bar, phasing straight through the rows of ruined drinks.

Enya helped search the bottom row, but nothing of much luck came up. Nearly every bottle was broken; the ones that were undamaged, were simply empty. None of the bottles turned up anything.

"Nothing," Enya sighed.

They moved next to the lounging chairs. Enya tugged one upright, its stuffing spilling in clumps across the carpet. She checked beneath cushions, in drawers hidden along the arms, but found nothing. Another chair collapsed under her hand, its back snapping loose from the frame.

Enya's gaze continued further, staring to the far back section of the room, where three different game stations sprawled. The first was a board marked with faint rings and arrows, though the paint had long since faded. Beside it lay a cracked box of dull iron darts, their tips corroded, shafts snapped.

Enya picked one up and weighed it. It bent in her hand before she tossed it aside.

"Game of aim," Elria said, waving lazily. "Mortals used to stand around wasting hours hurling those little spikes. If you were drunk enough, you'd hit your friend in the back instead of the board."

Next to it stood something stranger. A square table carved of stone, shallow grooves etched across its surface. A set of old discs—smooth, round, polished wood—lay scattered across it. The grooves looked like channels, crossing in an intricate grid.

Enya leaned over it, curious. "What's this?"

"Skaletch," Elria said. "Old game. You push the discs with sticks, try to guide them into the holes at the corners. Haven't seen one in centuries. Mostly the dwarves played. They gambled away whole salaries on things like this." She smirked, almost fond. "Mortals and their toys."

Enya brushed her hand across the board, dust peeling away under her fingers. None of the discs were special. Just old, heavy, and forgotten. She sighed and straightened.

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The last station was larger, dominating the corner: a long table lined in tattered green cloth. Balls of faded color were organized in a triangular pattern, set neatly like someone had frozen mid-game. Only one was missing from the tip of the formation.

Enya frowned, stepping closer. She traced the cloth with her palm, noting faint grooves cut deep into its surface from centuries of use.

The missing ball lay waiting in a corner pocket, chipped but intact.

"…What about this one?" she asked softly.

Elria drifted near, hovering above the table. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the pattern. "Well. That's a little more promising." She gestured toward the incomplete triangle. "What is broken may yet be made whole. Put it back in place, and the set's complete."

Enya crouched, plucking the single ball from its resting spot. It was heavier than it looked, cool against her palm. She rolled it carefully between her hands, biting her lip.

"So it's another clue?"

"Maybe," Elria said, her tone cautious. "But… it feels sloppy. Too obvious. I don't like obvious." She circled slowly overhead, hair drifting like smoke. "This whole place is supposed to be about riddles, cleverness, making mortals think. A missing ball on a table?" She scoffed. "Anyone could guess it."

Enya held the ball closer to her chest. "But every room's had something so far. If this is all there is here, we have to take it."

Elria shrugged. "You're not wrong. I just don't like it. You can ignore me."

Bacon happily hopped onto the table, scattering the remaining balls.

Each one went into a pocket.

Elria raised an eyebrow.

Bacon gave a small, hollowed, oink.

They left the wine room behind, stepping back into the wide foyer.

The first thing they both noticed, was the thundering sound of metal boots. The groaning shriek of wood giving in under pressure.

Enya rushed past the corner of the hallway and looked up at the second floor, just to see Pell blur past overhead. His soul-flames flared hot in his sockets, scythe clutched tight, his skeletal frame moving at near sprint. The balcony shuddered beneath his steps, now riddled with wide craters where the Dullahan's sword had come down.

The knight followed close behind. Its lumbering gait was gone. Its strides were heavy and quick, armor rattling like a storm as it pressed after Pell in a relentless chase.

"Pell!" Enya shouted.

His skull snapped toward them even as his body kept moving, his legs turning corners on instinct. "Did you find the rest of the clues yet?!"

Enya cupped her hands. "Some of them! The rest are probably upstairs!"

"Damn it—" Pell's voice cracked with effort as he leapt a broken gap in the railing, his bones rattling from the landing. "This thing's speeding up! Ten more minutes and it'll be running as fast as me!" His flames flared hotter, flicking wild. "Even with this body enchantment you gave me!"

Enya's grip tightened on the Carrier's Light. "Then—what do we do? We have to find a way to kill it, or at least stop it!"

Elria's laugh was sharp, humorless. She drifted higher into the air, folding her arms. "Kill a Dullahan? Don't make me laugh. You can't. That thing's immortal. Its armor is bound by a curse older than me." She tilted her head, watching the knight carve another crater into the balcony with its blade. "The only way you'd have a chance is by separating the body from its head."

"Then where's the head?!" Enya shouted.

"Dunno." Elria shrugged. "It's most likely somewhere in this manor, hidden or locked away. But considering how strong this Dullahan is, I don't think even moving the head to the furthest corners of this place will stop or sever its connection. Half a wing away and the knight would still stand."

Pell blinked again, the Dullahan's blade crashing down where he'd been a heartbeat earlier. He reappeared in a spray of splinters, flames flickering hot with frustration. "What about my inventory?!" he barked down. "If I shoved its head into my spatial inventory—would that stop it?!"

The foyer rattled with the knight's next step.

Elria paused, floating right above Enya. Her gaze turned thoughtful, one pale finger resting against her chin. She didn't smirk this time.

"…Maybe."

Enya cupped her hands, voice ringing through the foyer. "We need to search the upstairs rooms! Pell—you have to drag it downstairs and swap places with us!"

Above, Pell lunged mid-step, skidding across splintered boards as the Dullahan's blade swiped across a corner. He shot a glance down at them, soul-flames flaring. "Fine! But listen—if I drag it down there, I don't get the balcony loop anymore. No more circles. Downstairs is just an open floor. No cover. No tricks. I'll have to focus everything on dodging."

His voice cracked sharper as the knight lunged close behind. "That means you two have to move your asses and find the head fast!"

Enya nodded, heart hammering. "We will!"

"Then get to the base of the stairs!" Pell shouted. "I'll take the opposite side and drop through one of these damn holes. If I'm lucky, the bastard will follow me down."

The balcony trembled under another blow. Pell broke into a sprint, body blurring as he blinked past another collapsing section, keeping the knight's gaze fixed on him. His scythe glimmered faintly in his grip, but he didn't swing—it was all speed, all survival.

Enya turned to Elria. The witch only gave her a sharp grin and a casual shrug, as though this wasn't their lives on the line.

"Then let's move, princess," Elria sang, drifting ahead toward the staircase.

Enya sprinted after her, the pig skeleton rattling along at her heels. They reached the foot of the stairs just as the Dullahan thundered overhead, purple fire spilling from its empty collar. Pell blinked to the far side again, baiting it after him. The knight's armored steps shook dust from the rafters as it raced past, single-minded in its pursuit.

Pell spotted the largest hole in front of him, and made that his target. He vanished into the hole in the floor, bones dropping into the shadow below. A heartbeat later, the Dullahan stepped to the edge and followed, its heavy armor plunging like a falling anvil. The entire foyer shook with the impact as it crashed onto the ground floor.

Enya froze, clutching the Carrier's Light tighter as the purple flame flared in the dust below.

Pell's voice rang out from the haze, sharp and ragged. "Hurry up! I can't do this forever!"

She nodded and gritted her teeth, bolting up the stairs.

Both Enya and Elria tore past the row of paintings, the blank canvases glaring at them like watchful eyes. Now wasn't the time to test their clues—the door wouldn't matter if Pell was crushed into splinters downstairs.

The second floor was riddled with upended planks and large holes. Several long cracks split across the wood, jagged scars from the Dullahan's strikes.

She picked her way carefully, leaping short gaps, weaving through the maze of breaks. Her breath came quick and sharp, the Carrier's Light bouncing in her hands. One wrong step on weakened wood and she may fall through, tumbling down an entire story.

They reached the far end of the balcony. The pale woman's portrait loomed above them, her ghostly face watching with that same stern serenity. Directly beneath it, the corridor split left and right, just like the mirrored halls below. From what Enya could see through the gloom, each hall had two doors, their brass handles faint in the dim light.

Elria floated higher, scanning both directions. "Two halls. Four rooms. Best way is to split up."

Enya nodded quickly, too focused to question. "Right." She sprinted left without another word, leaving Elria alone.

Another crash shook the manor. The sound of metal striking stone roared up from below, rattling dust from the beams overhead. Pell's voice followed faintly, a ragged curse swallowed by the knight's relentless pursuit.

Enya only had ten minutes to find the Dullahan's head—if she couldn't, then Pell was going to be destroyed by that possessed set of armor.

And she wasn't going to let that happen. She wasn't going to let Pell die as bait.

Not again.

Elria herself lingered for a moment. She drifted back a step, gaze lifting toward the large portrait of the pale woman. Her smirk slipped, just for a moment, into a faint frown. She studied the painted woman's features with something unreadable—distaste, perhaps, or something much more complicated.

"A shame. A shame for everyone," she murmured. "Oh, if only fate wasn't so cruel to you two... Maybe we could have been the best of pals."

Then she turned sharply on her heel of mist, muttering something under her breath, and glided down the right hall.

Downstairs, the Dullahan continued to chase Pell, yet it's movements seemed to slow. Even with much more open space, Pell somehow kept it out of reach. He didn't notice anything peculiar though. But from a bystander, it almost seemed as if the Dullahan was purposely missing its attacks. Purposely keeping Pell beyond sword's reach.

As Pell ran, he caught a glimpse of the balcony above. He saw Elria stare down back at him for a whisper of a moment. Her eyes looked... dead. Like she pitied him. She quickly turned away and Pell had to focus back on the charging Dullahan.

What was that about? Pell thought, dodging clean of another strike.