The central marketplace of Virellia was chaos refined into organization. Merchants shouted over the hum of floating trams and the subtle resonance of mana circuits, selling enchanted trinkets, black-market relics, and devices powered by compressed mana cores. Nobles in elaborate robes passed through alongside common laborers, and scavengers lurked at the edges, seeking opportunity in distracted crowds. Khan moved carefully through it, hood pulled low, Industrial Revenant disguised beneath a tattered cloak that barely concealed its bulk, while his skeletal servants clattered quietly behind him. Every moment in the marketplace was a delicate balance; one wrong step, one display of unregistered power, could lead to the Wardens or worse—other adventurers who hunted necromancers for sport and bounty alike. He had learned patience in the undercity, and he intended to apply it here.
Rumors traveled faster than foot traffic in this place, whispered from merchant to thief, thief to courier, until eventually Khan caught a thread of interest: a private auction in the upper tiers, labeled for "rare curiosities" with promises of relics from the old world. Among the descriptions, he spotted the phrase that made his pulse quicken: "Containers of unstable residual souls." This was an opportunity not merely for gold, but for power. Access would not be easy. The auction was heavily guarded, invitation-only, and potentially lethal to anyone attempting entry without clearance. But Khan was not deterred.
He spent hours observing from shadows, analyzing the guard rotations, noting which corridors were left unchecked, and timing the energy pulses from the wards that protected the auction hall. His Carrion Husk scuttled along high ledges to eavesdrop, while the Industrial Revenant disabled minor security arrays in silence, its metal fists precise and careful. Each calculated move saved mana, reduced risk, and allowed him to observe without engaging prematurely. When he finally approached the storage area where the artifacts were kept, the tension coiled tight in his chest. One misstep could alert the guards or overload his Mana Thread.
Inside the storage area, Khan found a small containment unit, humming with faint green spectral energy. The souls trapped within were powerful but fractured, unstable and resistant, the sort of resource that could provide a significant boost if bound successfully. He knelt, extending Soul Sight and weaving threads of mana into the energy, feeling the tug of the fragments as they resisted. Pain stabbed through his mind as he struggled to maintain control, sweat running down his brow. This was far beyond anything he had attempted before, and one miscalculation could result in permanent damage to his mana core. He pressed on, every ounce of will focused on the task, and gradually the energy bent to him. The fragments stabilized, and two new skeletal thralls, strong and obedient, emerged from the containment, pale green light flickering faintly from their sockets.
The return trip through the marketplace was tense. Khan guided his thralls carefully, avoiding attention from both human and magical observers. The Industrial Revenant intercepted a curious merchant who had nearly caught sight of the bound souls, while Khan wove subtle illusions to distract a patrolling Warden. By the time he returned to his room in the lower district, exhaustion weighed on him like stone. His mana was depleted, his muscles ached, and his body was covered in cuts and bruises. Yet the sense of accomplishment was intoxicating.
A notification appeared within his mind: Passive Trait Evolved – Grave Affinity (Moderate). The trait expanded his perception of fragmented souls, reduced mana costs for binding, and increased control over thralls. It was small, incremental growth, but it represented progress he had earned through patience, observation, and careful risk. Khan leaned back against the wall, listening to the soft hum of his new underlings. Each soul he had claimed, each fragment of energy harnessed, was a step toward security, leverage, and influence.
He was not a hero rising to save the innocent. He was not a villain seeking to dominate for its own sake. He was a man carving a place in a world built on magic, technology, and death. The market, the undercity, and eventually the ruins beyond the city—all of them would yield to a necromancer willing to think, wait, and exploit the resources around him. He flexed his fingers, sensing the faint pull of the souls now bound to him. One day, he would be far more dangerous than anyone currently walking the streets of Virellia. And when that day came, the city itself would have no choice but to acknowledge him.