The Little Necromancer [LITRPG]

The black banners of conquest hung tall above the throne, each one marked with the sigil of Helmutt's empire. Beneath their weight, the Emperor sat sprawled on his gilded seat, one hand resting on the armrest while the other lazily drummed his fingers against the hilt of his sword. His court was quieter than usual tonight. Fewer attendants, fewer ministers.

Only his most trusted aides flanked him.

That alone said enough.

At his side stood Chancellor Ruvan, an older man whose white beard was trimmed to a knife's edge, and Farresh, commander of his personal guard. Both leaned close, their voices low, but heavy with concern.

"My lord," Ruvan murmured, "this woman—Veraine—she is not to be trusted. Her circle has vanished nobles and Paragons alike. Even other high houses whisper that she walks with the shadows. No one sees her unless she wishes to be seen. With her request to see you now—it is no good thing. I urge you to reconsider, and cast her out of the city. Do not grant her an audience."

Farresh's tone was sharper, his gauntleted hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Aye. I would sooner cut her down where she stands. Allowing her to step foot here risks far too much. We should not be humoring her at all. She is practically a noble force of her own. Allowing an enemy within these castle walls is something I am against."

Helmutt's lips curled in a humorless smile. "Humor her? You think that is what I am doing?" His voice rumbled low, filling the chamber. "We have broken kingdoms, Farresh. I have snapped crowns beneath my boot. The Empyrians are still being tortured as my playthings. If she thinks herself dangerous, let her prove it to me here. Beauty and rumor are not blades."

"My lord," Ruvan pressed, his voice firm despite the tremor in it, "her beauty is the blade. Do not let it cloud your judgment. She is famed for it. More than one man has undone himself staring too long into those eyes. She is spoken of with shadows because she pulls you into an endless darkness."

Helmutt chuckled, leaning back in his throne. "I have seen plenty of beautiful women, Chancellor. Another with a sharp tongue and a curve to her hips will not unman me."

Before either aide could reply, the heavy doors at the end of the hall creaked open. A breathless messenger hurried across the long carpet, bowing hastily at the foot of the throne.

"My lord," the man panted. "She has arrived."

Helmutt straightened. "Send her in."

The doors groaned wider.

"Let's see this Lady Veraine, leader of the Shaded Circle," Helmutt murmured.

Veraine entered as though she belonged there. White silk flowed about her, as if the air itself parted for her stride. Her gait was unhurried and deliberately slow, each movement carrying the poise of a queen unbound by crown or chain.

Helmutt's gaze sharpened the moment he saw her. For all his boasts, his throat tightened. The edges of her dress revealed more than most noblewomen dared. Pale skin gleamed at her collar, her neckline cut low across her chest—enough to suggest both invitation and defiance. The high slit of her dress revealed glimpses of her leg with every step. Her long hair draped down to her waist, while a heavy bang veiled her right eye behind her glasses, concealing part of her beauty.

And then Helmutt realized how wrong he had been. Past the curtain of her hair, he caught sight of her ears. Pointed. Not a common elf. A High Elf. There was no other way to explain the extravagance and reverence she exuded.

She stopped just short of the stairs leading up to his throne. With the faintest of smiles, she bent into a bow. Not the bow of a courtly subject or noble vassal—but a dancer's gesture. A deliberate tilt forward, bending at the waist, leaning just far enough that the valley of her chest filled his view, framed deliberately by the spill of her hair.

The aides stiffened at once, murmuring at such insolence. Helmutt could only stare at the display within his own castle.

"Lord Helmutt," she greeted smoothly, rising without haste.

"Lady Veraine," Helmutt replied, his voice neutral. "What is the purpose of your visit to my kingdom?"

She smiled. "I believe… we share similar interests. Particularly in matters regarding the Empyrians."

A murmur rippled among those present. Helmutt's brows lowered as he tried to gauge her intentions.

Her smile deepened, just slightly. "Though I must admit… for a man who crushed an empire, I expected to see more spoils adorning your halls. Perhaps my expectations were too high."

"Insolence!" one of the chancellors barked, stepping forward. His voice rang sharp with rebuke. "You stand in the presence of Emperor Helmutt, ruler of Arlasand! Show proper respect or—"

Veraine didn't so much as glance at him. Her eyes remained fixed on Helmutt, calm and unwavering, as though the protests of lesser men barely existed. She spoke over the man, cutting him short. "I only speak plainly. Surely a conqueror values honesty… or was I mistaken? Should I lie instead, just to flatter your pride?"

Farresh stepped forward, red-faced. "This vixen dares try to seduce the lord and speak of honesty?! We can all see your—"

Helmutt raised a hand, silencing the court before the outrage could swell further.

"My lord," Farresh pressed, lowering his head, "it is obvious to all of us what her true goal is."

Helmutt's gaze flicked to him. "Be that as it may," he said, before turning back to Veraine. "Candor is rare in these halls. Rarer still from the lips of a woman as striking as yourself."

"Thank you for the compliment, my lord," she replied smoothly. This time, she curtsied, lifting her white dress just slightly to reveal the skin of her leg.

The gesture drew even harsher stares of indignation from the gathered aides.

"Speak your purpose, Lady Veraine. Before you cause all of my men to go feral," Helmutt said.

Veraine straightened. Her gaze drifted across Ruvan, Farresh, and the guards arrayed through the chamber. "What I propose is best spoken without so many ears." She returned her attention to Helmutt.

"A private conversation, my lord. Without your chancellors or guards. Just you and me."

"My lord—" Ruvan began, ready to object.

He was silenced with a raised hand before he could finish.

"Very well, Veraine. A private audience," Helmutt declared. His voice left no room for protest. "Everyone. Leave us."

Ruvan stood frozen, words dying in his throat. Farresh glared, but obeyed. One by one, the guards filed out, the heavy doors closing behind them.

"There. It is just us now," Helmutt said at last, straightening on his throne, arms settling against the carved stone.

"How lovely. A man who knows what to do when he's in charge," Veraine said, her voice velvet. "Women appreciate such control." Her words were wine poured into a poisoned cup—the more she offered, the deeper the venom seeped.

"Enough of the flowery words, Lady Veraine." Helmutt's voice hardened, though his gaze betrayed a flicker of appreciation. "I admit, you are striking to the eye. But I am still an emperor. I will not take any further attempts at seduction lightly—no matter what tricks you use to beguile ear or eye. Speak your purpose. What do you want with the Empyrians?"

For a heartbeat, Veraine's smile faltered—but just as quickly, her composure returned. "You… you are looking for the Empyrian princess, are you not? Lia Empyria?"

That much was already known throughout the Enchanted Layer. After his conquest of the Empyrian Empire, word spread quickly that he sought the last of their line—the hidden daughter of the king and queen. He had burned their empire to the roots, and it would only be complete with the death or capture of Lia Empyria.

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Helmutt's tone hardened. "Speak plain, Lady Veraine. What is your true purpose in coming here? Stop with the prying questions."

Veraine's lips curved faintly, her head tilting in a graceful acknowledgment. "Very well, then. You seek the Empyrian girl—Lia, the last seed of that cursed line. I am here because my circle seeks her too. Our clients wish her alive. You wish her gone. In this, our aims converge. I can assure you—if she is taken by us, she will never trouble your throne. I trust you will not interfere in this matter. Perhaps, you may even lend us, your assistance."

Helmutt's gaze narrowed. "You speak as if you know where she is."

"I do." Her voice was calm, certain. "Not here, not hidden in some Fifth-Layer cellar. She is below you. On the Second Layer. Near a city called Talo."

That drew Helmutt's attention. He straightened, studying her face for a lie. "Talo?"

"A fortress city," Veraine explained, voice low and precise. "Famed throughout the layers for its barrier. Crafted by an Archmage, a man by the name of Laventis. So strong that even a monster wave cannot topple it—and the city has endured them each time. It can even survive several attacks from S-ranked spells and skills, directly from an Obsidian-tier War Paragon. More importantly, the city shelters two Obsidian-tier War Paragons. Laventis himself, and a strategist by the name of Lorrin who controls their forces. Between the barrier and those paragons, any attempt to breach it directly is folly."

Helmutt frowned. "No barrier is impenetrable. Though two Obsidian-Tier War Paragons would prove a challenge. This is the first I've heard of such figures."

"Of course. I rarely expect any of us to care about the workings of the lower layers. They are inferior, after all."

Helmutt nodded with a hum.

"As for what you said earlier," Veraine continued softly, "a subordinate of mine has already breached their barrier. By acquiring the help of some nameless demon worshipper experimenting on demons, she sent one of her toys directly into Talo with a warp crystal. Unfortunately, she failed in her task." There was an edge to her voice. "I intend to reprimand Ginne for trusting such a lowlife…"

Helmutt ignored her muttering. "A warp crystal? That is certainly a means of penetrating the barrier. But from how you frame it, I assume you do not possess another to repeat the process?"

"Indeed," Veraine replied. "Such things are too scarce, too expensive to acquire. The only way left is brute force. Two of my subordinates will go to Talo. If the girl still resides there, my circle will capture her. If not—we drag out those who harbored her and force them to tell us where she has gone. She is but a child. Traces of her existence will remain, especially after the demon worshipper's pet caused a ruckus during the attempted kidnapping."

Helmutt's fingers drummed on the stone arm of his throne. "Even brute force falters when two Obsidian Tiers hold the walls. You know as well as I how few warriors match their power."

"Which is why they must be distracted," Veraine replied smoothly. "And there, fate provides. The season of monster waves is upon the Second Layer."

"Monster waves?" Helmutt repeated.

"A cycle, Emperor. In the lower layers, beasts grow frenzied at certain times of year. They rise in countless numbers, surging against settlements like a tide. Normally, cities prepare for it. But this time, there is… interference. A rabble calling themselves Phantom. A ragtag band, nothing more, but they have long hated one of Talo's ruling houses. Their existence and goals are of no consequence. What matters is that they intend to turn the wave into something far more dangerous. Not a wave, but a flood."

Helmutt grunted. "Petty vengeance of peasants. Why should I care?"

"Because peasants with the right tools can stall even Paragons," Veraine said sharply. "With your resources—arms, potions, artifacts—Phantom can fan the wave into a true disaster. Laventis and Lorrin will be forced to defend their city. They won't allow Talo to fall. And while they are locked against the tide, my circle will strike. They cannot both hold off a flood of beasts and repel my subordinates. No matter if they are War Paragons—they are still ones from the lower layers. Simply no match for those from above."

She folded her hands neatly, her tone once more smooth. "We cannot do this alone. No matter how much rousing this Phantom group does, it surely won't be enough to impede two Obsidian-Tiers. That is where you come in, Emperor. I will send my circle down. You will feed the fire, supplying Phantom with what they need. And in the end—together—we erase the last of the Empyrian line."

Helmutt's expression hardened, his hand curling against the throne. "You speak of partnership, Lady Veraine. Yet I see only one side bleeding resources into filthy peasant scum, while the other reaps the prize. Tell me—what do I gain? How do I know your client won't raise her to power and march her back here, banners flying, one day?"

Veraine's smile did not falter. Instead, she blinked. Her pupils shifted—gold suffusing her irises, bright and alluring, with the shape of two white wings unfolding in their depths.

Helmutt froze. His grip tightened on the throne's armrest, the stone groaning faintly beneath the pressure of his aura. "You—" his voice dropped like a hammer, "you're a Godsworn?"

"Yes," she said simply.

His jaw flexed. Thought raced behind his eyes. "So that's it. Lia Empyria is your vessel. That's why you want her."

"You understand, then," Veraine replied, her voice smooth. "If you know this much, you know the girl will never rise to claim a throne. Never build a kingdom. She will belong to powers higher than either of us. And the ritual? It will be conducted below, far from your precious empire. She will trouble you no more."

Helmutt leaned forward, his aura still heavy in the air. "And yet," he growled, "I still gain nothing. You've told me where she is. Bound by the Accords or not, I can act. I can whisper to the lower houses. I can mark her for death with the Void List if I choose. Why should I not crush her myself, now that you've laid the path before me?"

Veraine's smile deepened, almost pitying. She tilted her head, her bang shadowing one golden eye. "My, my… you've worked hard to keep your secrets, haven't you, Emperor?"

His expression sharpened. "What did you say?"

"You tried so carefully to bury it," she purred. "To keep the whispers from escaping your palace walls. That your wife… was unfilial." She let the word linger, venom wrapped in silk. "That your precious heir is not of your blood."

The air shuddered as Helmutt's aura exploded outward, shaking the stones of his throne. "Insolence!" His voice thundered, eyes burning with killing intent.

But Veraine did not flinch. She merely lifted her hand, as if soothing a wild beast. Her aura bloomed—golden heat surging outward, colliding with his power until the very air thrummed under the weight. "Calm yourself," she said smoothly. "If I intended to spill your secret, I would not be standing here. On the contrary—I came to offer you something. Would you like to know where your runaway wife is hiding… right now?"

Helmutt froze. His aura faltered, disbelief cracking through his fury. "…What?"

She stepped forward lightly, her smile sharp as a blade. "I told you, Emperor—I see many things. The gift of an Oracle. Your elusive wife is but one of the cards in my hand. One I offer… freely."

His fingers curled against the stone. Hunger to know warred with pride and rage across his face.

"And there are more." Veraine's voice dropped to a velvet whisper. "Another house. The noble line of Drestent. One of their shining princes… has been exchanging letters of a most intimate nature with a cousin of very low heritage. Very… intimate. And it seems they've taken to meeting in quiet little inns, far from the eyes of the court." She let her smile linger, sly and wicked. "You know what that implies. You know the scandal it would ignite. And I, Emperor Helmutt, have the letters. The documents. Proof."

She let silence stretch, savoring his stillness. "All of this… could be yours. Weapons to turn enemies into allies. To force rivals to kneel. To bend the nobility to your will."

Helmutt's fury had cooled into something sharper, hungrier. His aura no longer roared, though his eyes gleamed with the predator's gleam. "You offer much, Lady Veraine. But I am still not convinced. Should the other houses learn I conspire with you, their scrutiny will fall squarely upon me. I have no wish to wage war against them all at once. Especially not with a Godsworn at my side. Dorian would have my head."

"Well…" her tone dripped with silk, "there is always more I can offer. You know how capable my circle is. My network will bring you leverage beyond even this. But if you desire something immediate…"

She placed two fingers at the hem of her neckline, adjusting it just enough to draw his gaze downward toward the curves of her chest. Then, with slow, deliberate grace, she ascended the stairs toward his throne. Each step revealed a whisper of her legs as her hand brushed her silk dress aside, as though by accident, though nothing about her movements was accidental.

She circled behind his throne, perfume trailing like smoke, until her presence pressed close. Intimately close. Her arms slid over the chair, draping lightly across his chest.

"And one final offer," she whispered, her voice a velvet blade at his ear, "if you dare accept it… is myself."

Helmutt stiffened. His head turned, gaze dropping shamelessly to the faint press of her chest against his shoulder before rising to meet her golden eye, glowing and unblinking, with wings folded deep within their depths.

"You would go this far, just for my support?"

"Of course," she breathed. "It is all to show my sincerity. All that I do is for the gods. If I must sacrifice my purity to accomplish their will, then so be it."

He raised a brow. "Purity?"

She smirked. "That's right. Completely pure. Untouched. All you need to do is agree." She leaned closer, lips nearly grazing his ear. "So, Emperor… what do you say? Perhaps you'd like to try for another heir. One with… high-elven blood?"

Her golden gaze held his—unyielding, endless. The longer he stared into her eyes, the more something gnawed at his will. His chest tightened. A primal instinct stirred, clawing upward. Something whispering for him to yield. As an emperor, he should have had the upper hand. He had conquered the Empyrian Empire flawlessly. She had even told him where the missing Empyrian princess was hiding. And yet… hunger broke through reason. A hunger that could not be denied.

A warning rose to his mind. Something that his chancellor had told him. Something about beauty… but he couldn't remember. He didn't care to remember. All he wanted was what was in front of him.

He rose suddenly, gripping her wrist and yanking her body close. "Fine," he growled. "I'll send resources to this Phantom rabble. Enough to cause trouble even for Paragons of the Obsidian tier. But your offer—" his voice dropped, hard and low, "—I'll take my compensation first."

Veraine's smile only deepened. She leaned back just enough to slip her wrist from his grip. With deliberate grace, she gathered her long hair and tied it back neatly behind her head.

"Then we have a deal," she whispered. "A vessel for my gods… and an elf, for you."

And with that, their private meeting was sealed. For the next several hours, the royal courtroom remained closed, barred to all. No records would be kept of what was spoken—or what was done—within. Only that Lady Veraine and Emperor Helmutt… reached an agreement. On terms far more intimate than politics alone.