The Necro-Industrial Revolution

“This feels like heaven,” Carla sighed, sinking deeper into a chair near the roaring hearth. “Sitting in a warm room after days of traveling through that biting frost… I could sleep for a week.”

Over an hours had passed since the Church mages had arrived at the Frost Grip castle. True to Jack’s orders, Karen had quickly arranged for them to have hot baths and fresh, dry clothes. They were in a noble’s estate, after all—even a minor one in the frozen North—so they fully intended to enjoy the luxuries provided to them.

“It is good indeed, Carla,” James, one of the black-haired mages, agreed. He looked around the stone walls, his expression slightly critical. “But it is far too ordinary for a castle, in my opinion. It’s my first time visiting a noble’s keep, but I never imagined it to be this… empty. I mean, it has everything necessary for a comfortable living, but shouldn’t a castle be more intimidating? More opulent? And did you all see that weird building in the back courtyard?”

“The North is known for its weirdness, or at least that’s what I’ve heard,” Nathen, the other slim mage said afterwards. “A friend of mine has an uncle who serves as a guard for one of the Regional Lord in the eastern regions. He told me that whenever the northern Regional lords attend the regional assemblies, they show up looking like they are preparing to march into a bloody war. They are a paranoid bunch.”

“Speaking of paranoid, did you see those two guards of his? The ones entirely encased in that heavy, hulking steel armor?”

“If you are a mage, why would you even need something like that?” James scoffed. “If you have an elemental affinity, or even a specialized one, heavy armor just slows down your casting and movement. Personally, those two were giving me the creeps. They didn’t even breathe loudly in the cold.”

“James, Nathen, you should be careful what you say and when you say it,” a deep, authoritative voice interrupted.

Banty, the muscular, bronze-haired mage, stood by the window, looking out over the falling snow. “We are here on strict orders: aid this fief during the beast tide and get back to claim our contribution points. More importantly, this is a very rare opportunity for me to advance to Layer 3 of the Iron Core without endangering my life.”

Banty crossed his arms. “You don’t get many chances for safe, mana expansion outside of a lethal dungeon. Here, we only need to slaughter ordinary, mindless winter beasts. It’s easy magic. Don’t ruin this deployment by insulting the local Lord.”

“Alright, alright, point taken,” Carla said, standing up and stretching her arms. “But I think we should go take a look at the situation in the village we’re supposed to protect. It’s better to have a clear layout of the defensive lines and know what we need to take care of.”

While the mages discussed their plans, Jack was sitting inside his meeting room, absorbed in a different kind of problem.

Spread across his large table were several pieces of parchment. Jack held a charcoal pencil, furiously sketching out a complex system of wooden pipes, elevated trestles, and mechanical pumps.

He was designing a water transportation system.

He wanted to divert water from the nearby river directly into the center of the village. This wouldn’t just be beneficial during the freezing winters, but it would revolutionize their agriculture and daily life throughout the entire year. Currently, Jack was providing the village with fresh water using the handpumps within the castle walls. But manually pumping water and hauling heavy wooden buckets down the hill for all of people took hours of exhausting labor every single day. If this aqueduct system succeeded, it would save thousands of man-hours annually.

But a glaring question remained: Why didn’t he just dig a well down in the village? Or rather, why wasn’t there a well there already?

The answer lay in the geography of the valley. This exact question had bothered Jack a few weeks ago when the river first began to freeze over. Last year, he had been far too busy desperately trying to survive to worry about plumbing. But when he finally asked Giles and the Old Miller about it, their answer was frustratingly simple.

The ground beneath the village was solid, dense bedrock. It was far too hard to dig deeper than several feet. Furthermore, the village sat on a slight geographical incline, positioning it higher than the riverbanks. They couldn’t even dig a simple, natural gravity-fed canal.

Jack had been trying to solve this logistical nightmare since the summer irrigation. Now, he finally had an idea involving a series of wind-powered mechanical lifts, but the blueprints needed severe refinement.

Just as Jack crossed out a flawed design with his charcoal pencil, he felt a familiar tug in his mind.

He instantly strengthened his mental connection to Elias and Sylvia. Through Sylvia’s senses, he saw the four Church mages approaching her in the hallway.

“Hey,” Carla said, walking up to the armored wind mage. “Until lunch is ready, would you mind walking us through the village? We need to inspect the perimeter.”

Sitting in his chair, Jack sent a swift mental command. Sylvia offered a slow, deliberate nod. She raised her steel-clad hand and gestured toward the gates, indicating they should follow.

As the group fell into step behind Sylvia, Nathen eyed her heavy plate armor. “Why are you wearing all that metal?” he asked, unable to hide his skepticism.

Jack didn’t command Sylvia to answer. He just ordered her to keep walking.

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I really need to find a way to make them look more human, Jack sighed internally, rubbing his temples. But I only had skeletons at first, they were literal walking corpses. What was I supposed to do? Dress a skeleton in fine robes and hope no one noticed the lack of skin? The full plate armor was the only logical disguise!

Following the silent Sylvia, the group of mages walked through the snowy courtyard, down the winding hill, and approached the massive gates of the village.

The snow was falling heavily now, blanketing the valley in a thick, white haze. Because of the bitter cold, there were very few people wandering the streets. Yet, the scale of the village instantly astounded the mages.

They had never expected a minor, impoverished northern fief to look like this.

The winter cabins were uniquely designed—sturdy, heavily insulated, and uniform. But it was the defenses that left them speechless. Massive, thick palisade walls wrapped around the settlement, reinforced with gleaming steel brackets. Tall watchtowers loomed over the perimeter, manned by alert guards wielding mechanical crossbows. Though the mages couldn’t see the entire perimeter through the dense snowfall and the houses, they correctly assumed this level of fortification surrounded the entire village.

They walked through the quiet streets, following Sylvia’s heavy, metallic footsteps. Because there were no villagers braving the snow, the mages couldn’t ask any questions, and Sylvia obviously couldn’t speak to explain the layout.

Finally, near the central square, they spotted a man.

Sylvia abruptly halted. She pointed a steel finger at the man, then gestured to the mages, essentially communicating: Ask him to be your guide.

James caught on quickly. He puffed out his chest, adopting the arrogant posture of a mage, and approached the villager.

“You there,” James called out. “Lord John Frost Grip assigned this retainer to guide us, but we require someone who can actually speak. We are the mages from the Holy Church. We have come to aid your village and protect you during the upcoming beast tide.”

The villager—one of the men who had survived last year’s brutal winter—stopped and looked the four mages up and down.

“Oh, so you’re the Church mages the Lord mentioned,” the man chuckled, completely unfazed by their magical status. “To be perfectly honest, your presence here is completely useless. We can take care of the beasts ourselves. But, since Lord Jack ordered us to be hospitable, I suppose I can walk you through the perimeter and explain a few things.”

James’s face flushed with indignation. “What do you mean ‘useless’? What do you mean you’ll take care of it yourselves?” he demanded angrily.

The villager ignored his tone and simply waved for them to follow.

For the next half hour, the man acted as their guide. Naturally, he didn’t lead them inside the forge or place alike. But he did show them the outer defenses. He pointed out the heavy ballistas mounted near the gates and explained the terrifying, spike-filled trench waiting beneath the snow.

He proudly recounted how they had endured the beast tide last year. “It was dangerous back then, sure,” the man grinned. “But things are different this year. We are armed to the teeth. None of those beasts will even make it past the trench. Oh, and you haven’t lived until you’ve tried smoked dire wolf meat! The tender cuts near the ribs are fantastic.”

By the time the mages trudged back up the hill to the castle, their expressions were completely distorted.

What is wrong with these people? Carla thought, bewildered. Are they completely stupid? Do they not fear death?

And more importantly, what kind of lunatic was their Lord? He was clearly encouraging his peasants to throw themselves into a lethal meat grinder just to harvest some monster flesh!

The mages didn’t know the dark history of the valley. They weren’t from this region; they had selected this specific mission because it was historically known as an “easy” assignment. It was supposed to be a simple way to farm contribution points.

But if what this crazy villager said was true, the locals were going to steal all the kills using their giant steel war engines. If the mages didn’t kill anything, they may not get any contribution points. Meaning this entire, freezing, miserable journey would be completely pointless.

Desperate to clarify the situation, they demanded to see Jack the moment they entered the keep.

Karen met them in the hallway with a polite smile. “Lord Jack is currently indisposed with fief matters. He requested that you rest in your rooms. He will address all your concerns over lunch, which will be served shortly.”

Defeated, the four mages retreated to Banty’s room.

The moment the door clicked shut, Banty exploded.

“Damn it! What kind of suicidal idiots are these people?!” Banty cursed out loud, pacing the stone floor. He was furious. This journey was turning into a devastating loss for him.

He had spent months meticulously preparing his core to advance to Layer 3. Normally, he would have entered a mid-tier dungeon to achieve the breakthrough. But recently, the dungeons had grown extremely unstable and lethal for reasons the higher-ups refused to explain to low-ranking mages like him.

He had taken this remote assignment specifically because it offered a safe environment to trigger his advancement. Now, these stubborn peasants were threatening to ruin everything.

An hour later, a maid knocked on their door, informing them that lunch was served.

The long table was laden with an incredible feast: roasted meats seasoned heavily with spices, vegetables and thick, hearty stews.

The only thing missing was alcohol.

A few weeks prior, the villagers had managed to ferment a batch of crude rice and wheat wine. They had proudly offered the first cask to Jack as a token of gratitude. Jack had politely rejected it. To the villagers and the servants, it seemed like Jack refused because the cheap peasant wine was beneath his noble tastes.

The truth was far simpler: back on Earth, Jack had never been a fan of alcohol. He didn’t like beer, he didn’t like wine.

Jack sat at the head of the table, picking up his spoon and fork. He gestured politely to his guests. “Please, eat.”

But Banty didn’t reach for his food. Instead, the muscular mage stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. His face was tight with barely contained anger.

“Is what we heard true, My Lord?” Banty demanded, his voice echoing in the hall. “Are you actually planning to fight the beast tide yourselves?”

The maids standing near the walls flinched, terrified by the mage’s aggressive tone.

Instantly, Elias—who was standing silently just behind Jack’s right shoulder—took a heavy step forward. The sound of his steel boots hitting the stone was like a thunderclap.

Jack calmly raised his hand, halting the undead mage in his tracks.

Jack looked up at Banty, his expression completely devoid of intimidation or fear.

“Yes, indeed,” Jack said, his voice smooth and deadly calm. “Whatever you heard from my villagers is the absolute truth. We are going to fight off the beast tide entirely on our own.”

Jack took a slow sip of his water before locking eyes with the furious mage.

“Your only job this winter is to sit on my walls, watch if anything goes catastrophically wrong, and monitor our true capabilities. Once the snow melts, you will report our success back to the church.”

Before Banty could shout a protest about Church protocol, Jack delivered the final blow.

“Do not attempt to quote Church mandates to me,” Jack warned softly. “I have already discussed and finalized these exact terms with one of your highest superiors. A Gold Core wind mage and senior. His name is Silas Thorne. I suggest you sit down and eat your food first.”