The Necro-Industrial Revolution

Eventually, the number of beasts wandering into the valley kept increasing significantly with each passing day.

Jack monitored the situation meticulously, keeping personal watch through the empty eye sockets of Grim in the southern woods, while also cross-referencing the daily perimeter reports by the mages.

Things were progressing incredibly smoothly.

As the beast population in the woods swelled, a few starving stragglers inevitably tried to attack the village. But they were never a threat. Before the rabid winter wolves or boars could even reach the spike-filled trench outside the palisade, they were effortlessly shot dead by the guards manning the watchtowers with heavy crossbows.

Once the coast was clear, a specialized retrieval team—heavily armed and moving with practiced efficiency—would rush out of the gates, hook the carcasses, and drag them back inside as quickly as possible. The village butchers immediately set to work. The meat was harvested for the stew pots, and the valuable pelts were stretched and cured. It was a flawless assembly line of death and profit.

The environment had become dangerously cold, the freezing winds howling against the wooden walls. But because Jack had ensured an abundance of coal and they also had insulated winter cabins, the plummeting temperature wasn’t a major issue as long as one stayed indoors.

Even the guards stationed outside on the high watchtowers had adapted. They utilized heavy iron braziers—sturdy scrap metal baskets raised on thick legs—filled with burning coal to stave off frostbite during their shifts.

The original villagers barely blinked at the cold; they had lived in this unforgiving region their entire lives and were used to the miserable northern winters. However, many of the former slaves, who hailed from other territories, quickly fell ill. As the peak of winter hit, fevers and severe chest colds swept through their numbers.

But this, too, was a non-issue.

Jack had seen this scenario coming months ago. This was precisely why he had spent a big fortune during the autumn caravan to buy out the merchants’ medicinal herbs and such. Karen and her two designated assistants managed the new apothecary flawlessly. They brewed potent root teas, administered fever-breaking poultices, and had the sick villagers back on their feet in a matter of days. Sitting in his warm study, Jack felt deeply validated; that massive expenditure of gold had just saved his people.

As the days marched on, the true first wave of the winter beast tide finally began to form.

Unlike last year, the atmosphere in the village was entirely different. There was no terror. There was no weeping or desperate prayers. Even the former slaves, who had never faced a beast tide, were brimming with confidence. Having spent months building the terrifying, steel-reinforced defenses and seeing the lethal ballistas lined up in the snow, they were absolutely certain they could repel even low-tier magical beasts without a scratch.

One afternoon, as the concentration of beasts in the woods reached a concerning density, Jack officially ordered the Church mages to cease their perimeter patrols outside the walls. It was too risky. Instead, they were confined to the castle, sitting idle in one of the guest rooms.

“I don’t think we will even need to lift a finger,” Carla sighed, taking a delicate sip from a steaming cup of herbal tea the maids had just served them. She looked out the frosted window toward the mountains. “I had my doubts at first. Seeing ordinary peasants preparing to fight a beast tide seemed like suicide. Yes, the vanguard consists of non-magical creatures that are relatively easy to kill, but these are just commoners. Yet, watching them hunt and butcher over the last few days… I am quite certain they can win this on their own. And they haven’t even touched those massive siege weapons yet.”

“You aren’t wrong,” Nathen chuckled, lounging comfortably on a armchair, staring up at the stone ceiling. “I went down and talked with the villagers a few days ago. I wanted to know who designed those heavy steel ballistas and traps. And guess what? This Lord Frost Grip took in a batch of bonded slaves earlier this year. Which is standard for nobles, I suppose, but at least he isn’t working them to death in a ditch.”

Nathen paused for dramatic effect, a smirk playing on his lips. “But here is the interesting part. One of those slaves happens to be a master engineer. He hails from one of the border towns near high-beast density forests—the ones constantly raided by bandit mages who use captured beasts to breach the walls. That engineer spent his life building specialized defenses to hold back monsters until guild reinforcements arrived. And by sheer, dumb luck, he ended up sold to this exact valley. Truly, what absurd luck this Lord has.”

James laughed from his seat by the hearth, glancing over at their hulking team leader. “I truly feel bad for you, Banty. It looks like you’ll have to wait another entire year to advance to Layer 3. Assuming you ever get an assignment this easy again, or if the dungeons finally stabilize.”

Banty stared into the fire, his broad shoulders slumped. He looked defeated.

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“It is a complete waste,” Banty muttered, his voice heavy with a bitter, deep-seated frustration. “It is extremely hard for a lower-core mage like me to advance if the higher-ups don’t actively support it. If they deny access to the safe resources, there is nothing I can do. I am trapped behind a desk of bureaucracy. Unless one is born into a wealthy noble house or possesses absurd innate talent, hitting a ceiling is inevitable.”

Banty let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his face. “But… I suppose in the grand scheme of things, we are still the lucky ones. Just being born with the capacity to awaken a core puts us above countless normal humans. I shouldn’t complain.”

“Hey, don’t let it drag you down,” Carla said softly, offering a comforting smile to lighten the mood. “It’s just a missed opportunity. Didn’t the regional bishops mention they were actively working on cleansing the unstable dungeons? They should be safe to enter soon. Besides, look on the bright side—this time, we are literally getting paid to sit in a warm castle and drink tea. Assuming the higher-ups don’t dock our contribution points for zero kills.”

Finally, the day arrived. A massive surge of wild beasts poured through the rift in the region.

It was already evening in the Frost Grip valley. The villagers were safely locked inside their warm cabins, and the heavily armed guards were manning the watchtowers, peering into the falling snow.

Deep in the southern woods, hungry, mindless beasts began to wander through the frozen timber, desperately searching for food.

The woods were packed with predators, yet a strange phenomenon occurred. A massive, towering brown bear with frost-tipped fur growled viciously at a lean winter wolf that was currently gnawing on a frozen carcass.

The winter wolf, terrified by the sheer size of the bear, scrambled backward and let out a frantic howl, calling its pack. Dozens of glowing eyes appeared in the brush as the wolves gathered. They snarled, but they didn’t dare attack the massive bear.

More importantly, the starving bear didn’t attack the wolves. Despite being ravenous enough to eat tree bark, it simply snorted and turned away, continuing its march through the snow.

Similar scenes played out across the forest. Different species of predators crossed paths, practically starving to death, yet they refused to cannibalize or attack one another.

Sitting in his study, Jack watched this exact interaction through Grim’s empty eye sockets.

Just like last year, they don’t attack each other, Jack pondered internally, resting his chin on his hands. The texts claim these beasts spill out of the rifts from a ‘third continent’ that no one has ever mapped. They must share some sort of biological programming. They only seem to attack things that don’t belong to their native ecosystem. To them, humans are the alien invaders.

Jack observed the horde for several hours as the sun completely set.

Soon, the shifting winds carried a distinct scent through the trees. It was the smell of woodsmoke, roasted meat, and hundreds of warm, living humans packed tightly together.

By now, the vanguard of the tide had fully crossed through the rifts. Driven mad by hunger and the undeniable scent of prey, the beasts stopped wandering aimlessly. With a collective unity, the horde turned and began to move toward the village.

Down on the southeastern watchtower, the freezing wind whipped against the wooden planks.

“I can barely keep my eyes open,” one of the guards muttered, rubbing his soot-stained face as he huddled closer to the glowing iron brazier. “I was on butchering duty all morning. Gutting those wolves takes it out of you. I need a bed.”

“You’re always complaining,” the second guard taunted with a laugh, leaning on his heavy crossbow. “You should try doing some actual exercise. This is what happens when you sleep all day and drink too much broth.”

“Hey… do you see that?” the third guard interrupted, his voice suddenly dropping to a tense whisper. He pointed a gloved finger into the white haze. “Those shadows near the tree line.”

The other two guards stopped laughing. They squinted into the dark, their eyes widening in horror as the snow seemed to part, revealing hundreds of glowing, starving eyes.

The beast tide had arrived.

The guard nearest the bell grabbed the heavy wooden mallet and struck the iron with all his might.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The frantic alarm shattered the quiet of the valley. Inside the village, doors slammed open as off-duty militia members rushed out, grabbing their crossbows and sprinting for the walls.

Up in the castle, Jack heard the echoing alarm sound. He stood up from his desk, an anticipating smile crossing his face.

Down the hallway, the loud ringing sent the Church mages into a panic. Assuming that something happened Banty, Carla, Nathen, and James threw on their cloaks and burst out of their guest room, rushing toward the Great Hall to find Jack.

Karen stepped directly into their path, blocking the corridor with a polite posture.

“Move aside, head maid!” Banty demanded, his hands glowing with faint earth mana. “The beast tide is here! We must see your Lord immediately!”

“Lord Jack is currently indisposed, preparing his retainers,” Karen replied smoothly, not flinching at the magic.

“We are not here to sit by the fire while people die!” James argued. “We are going down to the village. We need to assess the situation, see if those wooden toys of yours actually work, and intervene if the walls fall!”

Jack, having heard the commotion, stepped out into the hall.

“Let them pass, Karen,” Jack ordered calmly. He looked at the four mages. “You may go down to the palisade and observe. But remember our agreement: do not intervene unless the walls are physically breached. If you ruin my harvest with your magic prematurely, I will hold you accountable.”

Banty scoffed, but nodded. The four mages rushed out of the castle doors, sprinting down the winding hill toward the village gates.

Jack didn’t follow them. Instead, he turned and walked back into his private chambers, opening the doors leading to his high balcony. The freezing wind immediately whipped at his coat, but the vantage point was perfect. From here, he could see the entire perimeter of the village illuminated by torches, and the dark, writhing mass of beasts emerging from the woods.

Jack gripped the stone railing.

He had strictly forbidden the Church mages from fighting, but he had no intention of sitting out. He was going to use his Necromancy to subtly manipulate the battlefield, farming the life force and magical friction he desperately needed to push his Iron Core toward the third layer—all without the Church mages ever noticing a thing.