Chapter 44: Chapter 44: Garrick Vayne (part 1)

With each summoning, a faint pull tugged at his mana, like a slow, steady leak. He could feel it clearly now, but it wasn’t overwhelming. The passives he’d chosen did their work, easing the drain and keeping his breathing steady.

By the fifth summon, the air around him felt colder.

By the eighth, the ground was littered with broken soil and cracked headstones.

Finally, the last black orb floated down. Aiden activated the skill one more time, and the final undead emerged, joining the others in silent formation.

Ten undead stood before him.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t move unless commanded. Their presence alone was enough to make the cemetery feel wrong, like the land itself had been violated.

Aiden lowered his hand, surveying his work with calm eyes.

Aiden stood there for a moment after the last skeleton settled into place.

He closed his eyes and focused inward, feeling the flow of mana inside his body. The drain was steady, but not overwhelming. He measured it carefully, comparing it to what he was used to.

“Hm.”

Maintaining all ten basic-grade undead felt almost the same as sustaining a single bronze-grade summon. The difference wasn’t as large as he expected. It was manageable, more than manageable.

“That’s not bad at all,” he muttered.

If basic-grade undead only cost this much, he could afford numbers. And numbers were what he needed.

Without hesitation, he lifted his hand slightly.

“Return.”

One by one, the undead dissolved into wisps of dark smoke. Their bones crumbled into black dust before fading completely, leaving the graves disturbed but empty. The air grew warmer as their presence vanished, and the cemetery returned to its usual silence.

Aiden didn’t linger. He adjusted his cloak and walked out through the rusted iron gates, disappearing into the quiet streets before dawn could touch the sky.

—-

The next morning, the caretaker of the cemetery, arrived as he always did, grumbling about his knees and carrying a wooden bucket.

He froze before he even reached the center path.

“W-What in the…”

Ten graves.

Ten graves that looked as though someone had clawed their way out from beneath the earth.

The soil was overturned, headstones tilted, and dirt scattered everywhere. His hands trembled as he approached the nearest one. He swallowed hard and knelt down, brushing the loose soil aside.

The coffin lid inside was broken.

He hesitated before peering in.

Empty.

Cold dread settled into his stomach.

He stumbled to the next grave. And the next.

All empty.

The remains were gone.

By mid-morning, the city guards had sealed off the cemetery.

Head Chief Garrick Vayne sat behind his heavy oak desk, irritation written plainly across his face.

He was a large man, broad-shouldered and thick-necked, his Body Tempering cultivation evident in the way his presence filled the room. The armor resting on a stand nearby bore the crest of the city guard. His status wasn’t something common folk could ignore, he was the strongest man in the guard ranks, a Body Tempering practitioner, and the iron hand that kept order in the city.

And yet, despite that authority, his mind wasn’t entirely on work.

His night at the brothel still lingered in his thoughts.

The wine. The perfume. The laughter. The warmth of the most famous woman in the establishment.

He hadn’t returned home.

He hadn’t even sent word to his wife.

The door to his office opened abruptly.

“Chief Vayne,” one of his captains said, face pale. “There’s been… an incident.”

Garrick frowned. “Speak.”

“The cemetery. Ten graves were dug up during the night. No signs of forced entry at the gates. No witnesses.”

Garrick leaned back in his chair, expression darkening.

“Grave robbers?”

“Most likely, sir.”

Silence filled the room.

Garrick’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“And the bodies?”

“Gone.”

The air seemed to grow heavier.

For a brief moment, something flickered across Garrick’s face, unease. Then it hardened into irritation.

“Find whoever did it,” he said coldly. “I don’t care if it’s thieves, lunatics, or cultists. I want them dragged in.”

—

Aiden was already awake by the time the sun climbed over the rooftops.

He sat at the small wooden table near the window, eating a simple breakfast of bread, dried meat, and warm porridge. The morning light spilled across the floorboards, catching faint dust in the air. From the outside, it looked like any ordinary start to the day.

Inside, his mind was anything but idle.

Harlan stood nearby, arms crossed, watching him eat like a bodyguard.

“We still have supplies?” Aiden asked between bites.

Harlan scratched the back of his neck. “Not much left, Boss. If we ration it properly, maybe two days. Three if we stretch.”

He reached into his pouch and placed ten gold coins on the table.

The coins clinked softly against the wood.

Harlan’s eyes widened slightly despite himself. Ten gold wasn’t a small amount, even for a growing mercenary group.

“Restock everything,” Aiden said. “Food, water, dried rations. Enough for at least a month. Don’t cut corners.”

Harlan nodded immediately. “Understood.”

He scooped up the coins carefully, as if afraid they might disappear.

Not long after Harlan left, heavy footsteps echoed from the stairs.

Reth entered first, grinning as usual, followed by Kain, who looked more reserved but equally satisfied. The two brothers were carrying bundles wrapped in cloth and tied with rope.

“Boss!” Reth called out cheerfully. “We’re back.”

They dropped the bundles onto the table and the floor with dull thuds.

“You told us to buy ten sets,” Kain said. “So we bought ten sets.”

They began unwrapping the items.

Ten sets of simple but sturdy clothes, dark tunics, trousers, boots, gloves, and cloaks. Nothing flashy, but practical. Durable fabric that could survive rough use. Neutral colors that wouldn’t draw attention.

Beside them were ten sets of armor. Not heavy plate, but light leather reinforced with metal plates. Enough to protect vital areas without restricting movement. Each set came with a weapon, mostly short swords, a few spears, and a pair of axes.

Reth picked up one of the cloaks and held it up proudly. “See? If you put this on a skinny guy, no one would even notice.”

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