The journey back to Drastum was unforgiving. Anthony reminisced of the way back from the dungeon, where he had stamina potions and the ground wasn’t so damn jagged. He wasn’t going to complain, though. Not in front of Brent, who’d single-handedly fought back those giant Vorcen lizard-people and came out alive. Not in front of Daniel, who honestly looked like he wanted to sit down and die from exhaustion after casting so many spells.

But the trip was painful. For everyone. Anthony felt his cracked and recently bleeding skin shift every time he took a step. That ritual had nearly caused him to explode—literally—from all the mana surging into his body, and he counted himself lucky for only suffering less than an hour. He couldn’t imagine being trapped there for days, or weeks, unable to move and being slowly brought towards death by the very energy that they were supposed to control.

But that had been what happened to the other mages they’d rescued. They were mostly still unconscious—thankfully for them, since it would be agonizing to be moved through the underground like this—although the two mages that had been captured with him had been strong enough to travel without the [Levitate] spell. Anthony learned that their names were Harrison and Liahna. Like him, the monsterfolk had come across them in the raid and taken them back to the camp. They had been part of a survey team in the mines for mana crystal formation.

Neither of them had much experience with monsters, being under level fifteen and non-combat orientated. Getting kidnapped by the Lithauri was a nasty realization of the darker side of being underground. They’d barely had any exposure to the undead, either, which made traveling back with one in tow a bit awkward.

“So, a necromancer, huh?” Harrison asked, eyes flicking to the revenant. He was speaking softly for the sake of not attracting attention in the tunnels, but everyone in the group heard. Anthony noticed that quite a few people perked up to listen. He fidgeted with the hem of his tunic and thought of a response.

“Yeah. Had a talent for death magic from early on, so I became a [Mage], and here I am.”

Harrison nodded. “That’s about what I expected. You don’t seem like an off fellow, either. Mages normally like developing the magic that they’re good at. But—dead people? Do you really work with that?”

Anthony was tempted to sigh. He shook his head and swore as he stubbed his toe for the umpteenth time on a nub of rock. “Damn. Yes, I work with dead things. Not necessarily people, and even then, there’s a lot of permission and laws I need to go through in Drastum. I’m not some evil dark lord who goes around stealing bodies.”

Brent gave a quiet chuckle from his position at the front of the group. “That’s something rare for you. A necromancer who’s not a right bastard. Sorry, Anthony, but my experience with death magic has been undead monsters and twisted mage-folk that we’ve had to put down. It’s strange to see someone different.”

Anthony shrugged and winced as some of his wounds protested at the movement. “I’m not even a proper [Necromancer]. I’ve got the class and all, but I can’t control a lot of undead or do anything really impressive. More of an apprentice, really. The revenant was my first tier three undead.”

“Wait, what? That was tier three?” Lucas broke in. “I saw it take on a group of monsterfolk in armor, plus one of those Vorcen. No way a tier three undead can do that.”

Anthony gave a grim smile. “It did? I used [Necromantic Bond] before the ritual fully started. Dumped all my mana to the revenant. Figured it would be better off with it.”

Scanning the tunnel behind, Aaron whistled quietly. "We thought your revenant was tier four from the way it tore through those lizards. If you don’t mind me asking, why don’t necromancers do that more? This is the first time I’ve seen it.”

Through the haze of taking step after step, Anthony remembered something he’d been taught by his mentor, Marcadeus.

“Time gives way to numbers. A necromancer’s best friends.” He said, thinking back to lessons in Drastum. “We don't focus on individual undead because armies are better. If horde abilities and swarms of corpses aren't enough, a handful of stronger undead won't help. It doesn't help that they'll almost always fall short of their living counterparts.”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense. Swarms of undead have been our experience.” Aaron’s voice took on a strange tone. “You talk about other necromancers, though. Do you know a lot of them?”

Anthony tried to find a new fold on his tunic that wasn’t bloody or stained, and failing that, started fidgeting with his cloak. He rubbed his shoulder, wishing he had the reassuring weight of his glaive to hold onto. “Not really. I’ve studied a few, as part of my… um, education with my mentor. Like Verith of Graves, or Paragon Fallow. I don’t really know any personally because, well, they do their own things.”

“They're monsters.” Liahna muttered. She had been silent so far, content to walk and listen to the others, but the sudden words brought an awkward silence to the group.

Anthony looked down at his feet. He wanted to say that he was different, that being a necromancer was okay, but he couldn’t. Because necromancers weren’t okay. They crossed the sacred threshold between the living and the dead. Bringers of undead abominations and all the corruption that came with. He couldn’t blame anyone for painting him on the same slate as others of his class.

But he was different, damn it. He wasn’t going to be a horrible person. But he didn’t say that.

Lucas tried steering the conversation around.

“So… this’ll just be a straight shot to Drastum? Wouldn’t want to run into anything on the way back.”

“We’re out of the Crags. If we see anything, it can’t be worse than a bronze-rank threat.” Aaron said, and shrugged. “Probably. Although I’ve heard of some nasty burrower mite infestations that Drastum hasn’t cleaned out yet.”

“Burrower mites? Try hurithon. Those are actually silver-rank. And a bitch to fight.” Brent said, looking back. “Snatch you up and paralyze you before you know what’s happened.”

Over this exchange, Harrison and Liahna shared an uncomfortable glance. Harrison broke in, sounding nervous. “You mean rakers? Um, we’re not going to run into any, right?”

Brent smiled. “Nah. We’re just debating monster. Drastum sends out teams to flush the tunnels every now and then. Even if we go looking, chances are we won’t find any. Rakers are real cautious; once you’ve killed one, it takes a while before another moves in.”

Lucas nodded. “They’re not fun, that’s for sure, but worrying about them now won’t lead to anything. Besides, we’re less than two miles from Drastum. This should be a quick and quiet trip back.”

Anthony sighed in relief. He was dead on his feet from traveling for hours, and the others probably felt the same. The moment he got back he would crawl into bed and get some actual rest. And maybe take a bath while he was at it.

A few minutes passed in silence as the group clambered over a particularly craggy slope of rock. To chase the growing static over his eyes away, Anthony’s thoughts turned to things to do when he returned to Drastum, of which one was to show Marcadeus the revenant. Another was to return to the surface. He had told his father that he was on a study tour in a remote magistrate outpost, which bought him a few months of separation at a time, but he was due to return soon. No need to get his old man worried.

His sister would be concerned, though. Probably because she knew exactly what he was doing. She knew what he was.

Although she actually didn’t know about Drastum. The magical oath Anthony had taken before he descended prevented him from telling anyone about the underground city. But his sister already knew enough about a certain group of necromancers to damn herself five times over if the Necronum became aware of such a loose end.

The Gray wasn’t aware, though. Thankfully. She was smart enough to keep her older brother’s secret secret.

Anthony wondered what she was doing now. While he was trudging through the underground, she would probably be working in Kriloris. Apprenticed to an [Artificer], the last time he heard. It would be a steady job. Maybe she could help him out with getting some new equipment…?

Lucas broke his musings by speaking up again.

“We’re approaching a city outpost. It’s up ahead.”

Anthony looked hard at the contours of the tunnel they were walking in, seeing a strangely familiar patch of luminescent moss on the ground.

Then it came to him—this was a part of the same path that he had taken back to Drastum from the dungeon, so many hours earlier. The same tunnel that the monsterfolk raiders had came down.

Lucas noticed him peering around at the corner ahead.

“You might recognize this section, Anthony. We investigated the outpost along this tunnel and saw that some undead had fallen. Monsterfolk, too. Did you try and fight off the raiders?” He asked.

“Something like that,” Anthony replied. “Some scouts came across me when I was poking around the outpost. I tried fighting them off with the undead I brought, and—” He remembered animating the skeletons of the guards. Unsanctioned necromancy. A crime. But the adventurers should already know. Shouldn’t they?

No harm not telling them if they don’t. He kept going, “—and the revenant. I, um, didn’t see what happened after, but I remember waking up in the middle of the raider group later.”

Lucas quirked an eyebrow and Brent spoke up. “A scout team? No wonder you didn’t see what happened. They’d have shot you with darts the moment they saw you. Nasty stuff, they’ll use raker venom for mages. I’m surprised there were even any monsterfolk casualties, though, because—no offense—the undead we saw didn’t seem like they were up to beating a number of raiders.”

Anthony looked over at the revenant, which was walking in between him and a tunnel wall because nobody wanted it near them. “Yeah, a handful of zombies wouldn’t do it. But with the revenant and—”

“—and those skeletons?” Lucas cut in. “The reanimated guards?”

“Er, yeah, and the skeletons. I thought I could’ve beaten the scouts if I had their, um, help.”

Lucas frowned. “That’s illegal, you know. Working necromancy on Drastum soldiers.”

“Hah, who gives a damn?” Brent said from up ahead, the sound bouncing down the tunnel despite his efforts to be quiet. “Definitely illegal, but that’s what I’d have done. Better go down fighting then bend over to the lizards, eh? Don’t worry, Anthony, we’ll vouch for you. It was that or your life.”

He looked back at Lucas. “Right, Stelmer?”

Lucas faintly grinned. “Yeah, yeah, cap. Just wanted to point it out. He won’t get any trouble.”

Anthony nodded and gave him a grateful smile.

“Hey… Anthony? Mind switching over?” Daniel said, hearing that they were done.

Anthony saw that the [Mage] was getting shaky. “Oh, yeah—sorry.”

He felt guilty that he hadn’t offered to take over levitating the unconscious mages earlier and immediately began casting. It was more difficult without his glaive and the focusing gemstone, but he made do.

Daniel immediately relaxed as Anthony took up the strain of keeping the spell active. The floating bundle of mages wavered as the two casters switched over, but settled down to hovering steadily at waist level above the ground. Anthony took a deep breath and shoved the sensation of mental pressure to the back of his mind. It would get worse over time, but he was fine for now. It was a welcome feeling to the red buzzing—

Not now. Don't think of that now.

They soon rounded the corner before the outpost. Immediately, a shout rang out through the tunnel.

“Stop right there and identify yourselves!”

“Crashing Hawks, Drastum team on assignment!” Brent called back.

A few seconds of silence passed as the soldiers at the outpost digested what he said. Two men came out from the tower at the side of the pass, both armed and one holding a short metal rod. They approached the group and the one with the rod peered at Brent, eyes briefly flickering to the floating mages and the revenant.

“Adventurer Jerdam?”

“Aye, that’s me.”

The guard glanced at the rod and nodded, apparently satisfied. “Come along, then. You’re all cleared.”

Brent grinned and adjusted his arm in its sling before motioning for everyone to follow. Lucas was practically skipping and Harrison and Liahna both perked up as they entered official Drastum territory. Only a bit more traveling to go.

Anthony looked around, seeing that the city hadn’t been idle while they were gone. Soldiers were manning the outpost, as evidenced by the light coming out from the observation slots and the guards that had accompanied them. The gate had been partially repaired and all of the bodies had been cleaned up. The corpses of the guards floated through his mind and he shuddered.

The group continued down the tunnel, noticing that the ground was suddenly less craggy and magic lanterns began appearing along the walls, evidence of being in safe territory—meaning no more monsters to worry about. Not that they had been in constant danger while traveling through the underground, but the tunnels outside the city’s influence always held risks.

Now, it was just a simple trek back to the city proper. Less than half an hour. No problem.

Anthony yawned as they passed around another winding turn. He wondered when the last time he slept was. It was definitely before he set out to the dungeon, at least a day ago. Time felt different underground, more stagnant, but his internal clock told him that he was long overdue for some good rest.

Which he would get. Soon.

— -

The group entered Drastum through a large gate sitting at the end of a massive tunnel. Wall section four, if you wanted to be precise. Stone fortifications stretched to either side of the tunnel and rose high into the air, ending in crenellations with the wooden arms of ballista visible from afar. Anthony gazed upwards and saw the faces of soldiers staring right back, standing in position behind the mounted weapons and holding bows. He looked back down.

The small procession trooped under the archway of the gate and into a holding area. There, a stern-faced captain performed the same procedure as the soldiers at the outpost and ushered them to wait while he conferred with his superiors. Anthony managed to stay on his feet and let Brent do all the talking, dully inspecting his injuries.

Someone came to relieve the levitating mages and Anthony watched them leave on floating gurneys. A vision of the monsterfolk obelisk flashed back and he clenched his fists, trying not to get caught in that terrible moment. He felt a cold touch on his shoulder and snapped out of it, turning to see the revenant standing by him. It looked at him with expressionless black eyes.

Is something wrong?

Even though it should be impossible, the revenant managed to convey a feeling of concern.

I’m fine. Just… tired. Anthony thought-whispered back. He watched as his hands slowly stopped shaking and patted the revenant’s icy arm. You’re doing good with staying quiet, by the way. Don’t speak until we get to my place.

The revenant blinked. It didn’t need to, but the motion seemed instinctive, Anthony noticed.

What is your place?

Well, it’s a phrase— He cut off, seeing that the guard captain had returned.

The man was saying something to Brent, who nodded and shook his hand. The adventurer looked back and smiled, “Hey, guys, we’re all good to go. Harrison and Liahna, there’s people who’ll be here to take care of you two. Anthony, stay with us. We’re off to a debriefing.”

The revenant was looking expectantly at Anthony. He mentally murmured, Never mind, I’ll tell you later. Follow me.

He walked up to the adventurers, who were being thanked profusely by Harrison and Liahna near the exit of the holding area. Not wanting to make it awkward, Anthony waited until a pair of [Healers], identified by the white diamond marks on their robes, came to take the two mages away before stepping forward. To his surprise, a third healer came up and brusquely blocked his way.

“Mr. Crishaw? Allow me to perform a quick inspection, if you don’t mind. It’s to make sure there aren’t any serious injuries.”

Anthony didn’t have any time to protest before the healer took out a small crystal and touched it to his forehead. The white-robed man hummed for a bit and took out a wand, sweeping it over his body.

“Mmm, yes. Light mana burns, mostly internal. You’ve been through a rough spot. Nothing healing potions can’t take care of, although I’d advise you to take it easy on spellcasting for the next few days. I recommend you get some treatment and rest as soon as possible, but other than that, you’re clear to go.”

“Thank you,” Anthony nodded, bemused at the sudden check-up. Somehow, the inspection had caused his skin to hurt less, and some of his lethargy had disappeared. He marveled at how much better he felt. The healer must’ve had [Revitalizing Touch] or a similar ability.

The white-robed man smiled and stowed away the crystal and wand. “My pleasure, Mr. Crishaw. Do stay safe.”

The healer moved away and Anthony went to the adventurers, who were lounging by the exit. Brent turned away from Lucas and unfolded his arms.

“All right. Glad we could get the mages all sorted out.” He smiled at Anthony, but his face quickly darkened. “Although we left a lot of people behind.”

Lucas punched his arm lightly. “We already had this conversation, cap. Four silver-rankers can’t magic a hundred civvies out of the middle of a monsterfolk camp. We did what we could and completed the assignment.”

He gestured discreetly at Anthony and did a little start when he realized the necromancer was looking at him. Brent did a grimace but lightened up.

“Yeah. Well, Anthony, we’re nearly done. Sorry to keep you from getting some rest, but there’s a few things that I need to do first and that involves having you stay with us for a bit. Unless there’s anything you need to take care of?”

Anthony shook his head. “Nope.”

“All right. We’re off to Linnik.”

— -

Marcadeus was waiting for them in an administrative meeting room, along with an average-looking man wearing what seemed to be a silver monocle on his right eye.

“Brent Jerdam.”

The adventurer captain gave the sketch of a salute with his uninjured right hand.

“We’re back, sir.”

“So I see. Your team did an excellent job bringing back the mages, as well as getting information of the Lithauri camp. A commendation is in order.”

Brent nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

Anthony couldn’t help but notice that they were acting quite formal in front of Marcadeus. The black-haired [Death Knight] was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, the very picture of refined casualness. He had fixed Anthony with an undecipherable look when the group came in, but was for the most part regarding the adventurers coolly.

“…sent over in a report. I know Lucas used a number of magic arrows out of our own stock, and we went through a fair amount of potions. Other than that, there wasn’t much else.”

“Understood, Captain Jerdam. You will be compensated for all the equipment you used, as agreed to prior the assignment. Now—I believe Sir Monroe had something to say about that.”

Anthony watched as Marcadeus unclasped his hands.

“Indeed. Thank you, Seneschal. Captain Brent, to cover your expenses, a full sum of twenty golden marks will be issued to your team.”

Linnik’s eyebrows raised and Anthony exhaled. That was a lot. He didn’t know how much magic arrows cost, but a handful of golden marks could’ve gotten him a weapon fit for a silver-rank from a level thirty [Artificer]. The Necronum wasn’t holding back.

“I do realize that your assignment was rather, ah, obligatory.” Marcadeus said, having the grace to look apologetic. “I would like to extend the gratitude of my organization for taking up the duty. To be clear, we were only very concerned about Mr. Crishaw’s situation. He is an aspiring member and it would be a tragedy to lose him at such a young age.”

Brent nodded stiffly. “Yes, a tragedy. I’m glad we could fulfill your… request.”

Before tension in the room could rise further, Linnik clapped his hands together, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “Well, if there’s nothing that I’m needed for, I’ll be taking my leave. Bureaucracy calls. Captain Jerdam, Sir Monroe, good day.”

He nodded at the two men and left the room. Anthony caught the flash of his monocle before the door closed.

“Who was that?” he asked, looking to Marcadeus.

“Linnik Soens. Drastum seneschal. An administrator, if you will. He’s quite capable.”

“Oh.”

A seneschal. Was that a type of minor noble? Or a steward? Anthony was never very good at government studies, but he guessed that the position was pretty important if it meant moderating between the Necronum and the city adventuring team.

“So, uh, I’ll be leaving too. My team needs to take care of some things.” Brent said, looking uncomfortable now that Linnik was gone.

Marcadeus inclined his head.

“By all means. Again, you have my sincere gratitude, Captain Jerdam. You and your team.”

“Thanks.” Brent relaxed and shook his hand, one warrior to another. “Take care, Anthony.”

Lucas winked at him. “Don’t run into any more monsterfolk.”

And just like that, the adventurers were gone. And Anthony was alone with Marcadeus.

The [Death Knight] narrowed his eyes at the revenant, and then at the necromancer in front of him.

“So. You have some explaining to do.”

Anthony slumped down weakly.

“Er, Marcadeus, I just got back. Can I sleep first?”

His mentor sighed and ran his fingers through his shoulder-length hair.

“Lords, Anthony, I was worried sick. It was supposed to be a quick excursion to the dungeon and back. A simple trip. But no, you got yourself up and carried away by the Lithauri. It was pure luck that the silver-ranker elites were on call to rescue you. We nearly overextended ourselves with the request for the adventuring team so soon after a raid. ”

“But—but that wasn’t my fault!” Anthony protested. “How was I supposed to know the monsterfolk would be attacking?”

“It… wasn’t quite your fault.” Marcadeus admitted, turning his gaze on the revenant. “But it was a pain. An expensive one. I do hope that your undead was worth it.”

“Oh, yeah. It was. It helped rescue me, actually.”

The revenant shifted slightly at the remark, dark pupils locked on the strange man in the room. Anthony leaned over and patted it on the shoulder, wincing as the movement drew pain from his yet-to-be-healed skin.

The brief expression caused Marcadeus to frown in concern. He pulled out a faintly glowing red vial and placed it in front of Anthony.

“Here. Healing potion. Take that and go off to your room. I’ve done enough talking for now, get some rest. I’ll come calling later.”

Anthony smiled with relief.

“Thanks, Marcadeus.”

He walked around the meeting table and opened the door. The revenant followed him, but Marcadeus called out, “If you don’t mind, I want a look at your undead.”

Anthony looked at the revenant. He… trusted Marcadeus, but at the same time, the revenant felt like a child that he didn’t want to leave behind.

Er, do you want to stay with him or come with me?

The revenant just looked at him.

Whatever you wish.

Anthony shrugged.

“Okay. All yours. It’s cognizant. Don’t mess with it.”

Marcadeus raised his eyebrows.

“I see. Your project must’ve been more impressive than I thought.”

“Yeah. Anyways, take care of it. I’ll see you both later. Bye.” Anthony said, retreating from the meeting room. He looked at the vial in his hands and took the cork off, swallowing the contents in one gulp. The potion rushed into his system and he felt his body being magically stimulated to heal. The feeling was slightly unpleasant, but Anthony smiled when his skin stopped aching every time he moved.

Now. Treatment was done. Time for some sleep.

He exited the administrative building, drawing quite a few stares from the people working there at the blood all over his clothes. He ignored the looks and focused on tracing his footsteps to Drastum’s residential section.

After a few minutes of walking, he arrived at Floating Wisp, an inconspicuous place for lodging. Like all buildings in Drastum, it was constructed from stone—in this case, stone bricks, not stone shaping—and nestled neatly into the ground. Anthony descended the steps leading to the first floor and entered.

There was a woman behind a counter to see everyone coming in. A receptionist. Sort of. People called her Grace—she insisted—although Anthony knew that it wasn’t her real name. She was… nice. And Necronum.

“Anthony.” She set down a pen. “You’re back.”

“Hi, Grace.” Anthony walked up. She looked pointedly at the dark red stains on his tunic.

“How was it with the monsterfolk?”

He sighed. “Bad. I'm going to go sleep.”

“Sure, sure.” She nodded amiably and returned to writing something. Probably blackmail, if Anthony were to judge. Not that he wanted to.

He trudged up the stairs to the second floor and entered his room. Everything was exactly how he left it; a blanket hastily pulled over the mattress, dresser in the corner, half-filled waste bucket, books and diagrams scattered around—there was the remnant of a rune circle in the center of the floor—and some plates on the table/chest that he kept most of his stuff in. Oh, and the rack for his gear. It was empty save a stick that functioned as a training weapon and Anthony couldn’t help but glance miserably at the gap where his glaive would’ve gone.

He looked at his mostly clean mattress, and then at his shirt. It was covered in his blood.

His blood.

His blood.

Anthony stumbled to sit down on his bed, dizzy. He rubbed his face and his fingers came away covered in—

Blood.

It glistened wetly on the guardsman’s skull Anthony blinked in the dim light wondering which poor soul it belonged to

Dead bodies so many dead bodies death wasn’t supposed to look like this way he asked himself why but he knew why it was because this world had monsters

They grabbed him to be turned into a corpse bleeding suffering with broken eyes like that man he would never forget

Everything was empty and he was filled with pAin it would never end—

Anthony crumpled up, beginning to shake. Everything was catching up.

For a moment, the necromancer cried. He wasn’t ashamed. He didn’t care. When he went to rub his eyes again, his hands came down with more flecks of red.

Carefully, he wiped them off on his shirt, sniffing, and pointed at himself.

“[Cleanse].”

Much of the red sloughed off. He felt better.

Then he laid down and fell asleep.

| New traits: [Mental Fortitude (I -> II)]

— -

When Anthony woke up, he went for his travel bag for a drink, until he remembered he didn't have one anymore. He realised something as he looked over what remained of his possessions.

“I’m broke.”

Anthony looked at the inside of his coin purse, seeing a scarce handful of copper. He dumped the contents into his hand and counted to make sure.

Yep, pretty much broke.

He sighed and slumped in his chair. The chair actually wasn't his, and neither was the room he was staying in, but rather living quarters courtesy of the Necronum. Free of charge, but then again, he was paying by being one of theirs.

It could be worse, Anthony reflected. He was learning under the hand of a master of death magic, as dubious as the subject was, and about to become an independent, fully-fledged member. After a decade of tutelage, he was already past level fifteen in both [Necromancer] and [Mage]. Many people would be happy with the gains.

And yet. He was still broke. And he couldn’t change much about that. The Necronum wasn’t exactly a steady job, and he wasn’t one of those fancy people who had enough money to keep in a guild account. The raiders had taken everything he carried, which basically amounted to all his worldly wealth. The enchanted heat-flask alone was something he had traded all of his silver for. Now that he didn’t have it, he couldn't get his money back.

Damn, damn, damn. This is bad.

No, wait, think—it's just money.

Just money, Anthony thought wryly. It was such a small matter, and yet beyond him at the same time. Who would’ve known that necromancers could be poor. Lords, at this rate, he wouldn’t be able to eat within a few days.

Now, not being able to afford food wasn’t too much of a problem considering Marcadeus wouldn’t let him starve. Probably. But Anthony was determined to not stoop that low and start relying on the goodwill of his mentor to get by. He needed to support himself. Otherwise, he would have to see himself as nothing without the Necronum.

And he would never admit to that. So. Supporting himself. It would obviously start with a job. But where to start?

Anthony realized he had no idea where to go. How did someone randomly get a job? Didn’t you need experience? Certain classes? In any case, he was sure there was someplace that would take him, though. A level seventeen [Mage] was valuable in a lot of settings. Even if inexperienced.

He just needed to earn enough to get back on his feet. Once that was done, he could… he could…

Do what? Work on another project? Another time-consuming undead, like the revenant? It had been the result of three years of effort and research, and all it really did was defend him from some monsters. The idea had seemed great beforehand; take the mindweave and pair it with a tailored animation—

Wait.

Monsters.

Money.

They were connected. Somehow. Anthony knew. He thought furiously, trying to find the relation.

Ah—it was obvious.

Adventuring.

It was a profession. A dream. A way of life.

A job.

Anthony began to grin.