The Skeleton Soldier Failed to Defend the Dungeon

Isaac clicked his beak against the page.

"Here. Someone pried it open and wedged a new sheet in."

I bent closer, studying the parchment carefully, knowing that what one saw depended less on the object itself and more on the observer.

Whatever those red crow's eyes had caught, I couldn't.

Isaac, used to my blank looks, explained, "It was soaked deliberately, then dried deliberately. The wrinkles are different from natural aging. The more I stare at it, the more certain I am."

Rubia glanced at me, then turned to Christina at her side.

"Would you mind keeping watch at the door? Just in case."

"Right… now?"

"Yes."

"But…" "He's the one who sent you to me in the first place, right? No one would guard me better."

A flicker of conflict passed across Christina's face, then she gave a short nod and stepped outside.

Startled by the sudden dismissal, I looked to Rubia.

She only smiled, and her voice brushed against my mind. "This… is how you do it, right?"

"How do you know that?" I asked aloud.

"Because I… remembered."

I linked Isaac and Rubia together. They already knew how to use me as a medium for thought.

"It's been a while, hasn't it, Mr. Crow? Or… should I say, nice to see you again?"

"..."

Isaac turned away, beak snapping closed, pretending she wasn't there. It might have been guilt or the memory of killing her once, but knowing him… that was too generous a reading.

Rubia didn't seem to care and continued naturally, "You were discussing this page, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Then you must have noticed it was swapped in."

"Were you always this sharp?"

"It isn't difficult. The spine was melted and reattached here."

For once, Isaac looked at her with open favor. "Better than you, at least."

"Are you falling for her?"

I meant it as a jab, but he nodded seriously.

"She's my type. Someone who can suffer endlessly without losing her humanity, who endures to the bitter end. Strong."

"…"

"That doesn't sound like a compliment…"

Of course it wasn't. I quickly glanced at her status window. As a Level 4 Archivist, she was stronger than she had been before. If both she and Isaac agreed the parchment had been altered, then it must have been.

But why?

"Would anyone bother faking their hair color? What's the point of that?" I asked.

Rubia answered without hesitation. "Bloodline. If it wasn't every emperor, but only the founding one with an altered description, then the Empire's claim to legitimacy collapses. The Empire began with Seiron I, the man who supposedly saved humanity from the Apostles. If his bloodline never continued…"

I finished her thought. "Then Seiron I may not have been silver-haired at all."

"Exactly. And yet every emperor since, regardless of their mothers, is described as having silver hair. They claim it's a mark of lineage, but it stinks of deceit. Keep reading."

I turned one page, then another.

Thump.

When I reached the final page, I half-expected some reward. However, no Wisdom stat rose, nor did I receive a hidden gain. This wasn't by Ashton under a false name. This book just shared history, plain and brittle.

I closed the book. "Do you still have the necromancy manuscript that was tucked in here?"

That manuscript was the very one that had raised me. I wanted to see the original. Even if I missed something, perhaps Isaac wouldn't.

"Do I… have to…" Rubia hesitated, cheeks coloring.

"Why the coy act?"

Is she hiding something?

Her reluctance only sharpened my curiosity.

Rip.

Rubia slipped a blade into the hem of her skirt, pried at a seam, and drew out a slim bundle of parchment. She handed it to me.

"Here. Ever since that day, I've kept it hidden."

"This is what taught you necromancy?"

"Not taught, exactly. I just… followed it."

The so-called manuscript was thin, barely a handful of pages, making it hardly worthy of being called instructions. Its instructions rambled about calling a skeleton to aid the caster.

Shwiff.

Three pages in, I frowned. "This is… the spell?"

Rubia ducked her head, embarrassed. "Yes."

Mix the following phrases as you see fit.

O dead one!

I have awakened you!

Can you hear my voice?

It is a pleasure to meet you!

Would you look this way?

Add one more line to suit your mood.

That is all. Then the dead shall rise from the grave as your most faithful companion.

If you doubt this effective charm, chant the following at the manuscript itself, to build trust in me.

Dance!

And the manuscript shall dance. Just once. Any more would be embarrassing.

Isaac's voice cut in sharply, leaving no room for debate. "What kind of nonsense is this?"

I couldn't disagree with his reaction.

Is this what really raised me?

"Is something wrong?"

"Who wrote something like this here?"

Isaac looked serious.

I asked curiously, "Did by any chance… the dance…"