Chapter 121: Transition and Invasion
The wide iron gates of the Necro Market stood open, and streams of customers shuffled out into the sunlight. Wagons lined the dirt road, their wheels creaking under the weight of crates and barrels. Skeleton staff in crisp black suits moved with practiced precision, carrying bundles of wool, sacks of grain, and boxes of bottled juices to waiting carts. Behind them, the eleven kobold employees hurried about, taking notes, checking lists, and bowing politely to every departing guest.
"Careful there, sir," one skeleton said in its smooth, polite tone, setting a heavy crate onto the back of a wagon. "Your glassware is fragile. Packed with straw, just as ordered."
A Ramari merchant patted his belly, beaming as he climbed onto the driver’s seat. "Fine work, fine work! Never thought I’d see the day skeletons would carry my goods without dropping them. Better service than half my apprentices!"
Nearby, three villagers from the hill tribes stood gawking at the bags of flour and smoked meat they’d purchased. One muttered, "By the stars, all that for what we’d usually pay for half the lot back home. Five days without this place? Feels like punishment."
His companion groaned, adjusting the reins of their mule. "Aye, five days is too long. Back to thin stew and stale bread. No iced juice, no hot buns, no... gods, no fried meat."
Mina, one of the kobold employees bowed quickly. "Renovations will be worth it, sirs. When we reopen, there will be new halls, more goods, even guest rooms for those who wish to stay."
One of the villagers scratched his head. "If it weren’t so damned costly to build a village from the ground up, I’d haul my family here and be done with it. Living next to this market would be worth any tax."
A bearfolk woman passing by overheard and snorted. "You’d have half the alliance calling you traitors. But truth be told, if I had the coin, I’d do the same."
Closer to the gate, two foxkin women adjusted the straps of their baskets as a skeleton held open the wagon door for them. One sighed, sipping the last of her iced tea through a straw. "Five days, and I’ll have to boil swamp water again."
Her friend nodded miserably. "And no more fresh bread. I’ll go mad."
They paused to look back at the market one last time. Even with the bustle of closing, the air from the cooling stones still drifted out through the vents, a cool, refreshing breeze against the hot afternoon. One of them whispered, "Feels like walking out of a dream, doesn’t it?"
Behind them, a lupen merchant muttered darkly as skeletons stacked his barrels. "Damn it all. I was just getting used to drinking cold water after a long day. Five days... might as well be five months."
Another traveler clapped him on the back. "Quit whining. We’ll all be back, won’t we? It’s not like there’s another place like this."
Laughter followed, but it carried a hint of unease. Everyone there knew the truth — the Necro Market had raised their expectations, and returning to the old life outside its walls felt unbearable.
As the wagons rolled off one by one, the skeleton staff bowed in unison, masks gleaming in the light. Their hollow voices rang out together: "Thank you for visiting the Necro Market. We look forward to serving you again in five days."
The line of departing customers stretched down the road, some smiling, some grumbling, all of them changed by what they had seen inside.
The dirt road stretched wide and dusty, lined with carts groaning under their new loads. The Necro Market’s black walls loomed behind, its banners pulled down for renovation. Ahead lay the open plains, hot wind whipping at cloaks and ears.
A group of farmers trudged side by side, leading two donkeys hitched to a cart stacked high with flour. One of them wiped his brow.
"Feels strange, doesn’t it? Like we’ve been spoiled. A week ago I’d kill for a loaf of brown bread. Now? Now I’m thinking about iced juice and fried meat."
His neighbor snorted. "Aye. Five days without it, and my wife’ll be hearing me complain every hour."
An older woman laughed, teeth missing but eyes bright. "Better than complainin’ about empty bellies, eh? Don’t forget what it was like before. Half a year of salted stew, no spice, no sweetness. That place gave us a taste of something better."
Behind them, a trio of kobolds pushed a handcart with bundles of fabric. One grinned up at the farmers. "You lot thinkin’ the same thing we are? If it weren’t so damned costly, we’d move our whole warren right next door. Imagine it—work in the fields in the morning, spend the evenings in a market with cold air and hot meals."
The older woman sighed. "And be called traitors by every beastkin council in the Hills. They’d have our heads before we even built the first hut."
Further down the line, two foxkin argued over their purchases, one clutching a jar of pickled fruits.
"Should’ve bought more of these," she grumbled.
The other swatted her hand. "More? You spent half your coin already. Five days isn’t the end of the world."
The first foxkin groaned. "Easy for you to say. My cubs will throw fits when the sweets run out."
A ramfolk merchant walking alongside overheard and chuckled. "Five days, and you’d think the world ended. Truth is, we all got fat off luxury. The market’s clever—give us just enough to make the old life unbearable. Now every day without it feels like punishment."
The group murmured in agreement, some nodding, others scowling as the sun beat down harder.
From the rear of the line, a lupen muttered to his friend. "If I had the coin, I’d build a hut right there by the wall. Sod the alliance. Who’d stop me?"
His friend barked a laugh. "You’d last a week before the Ursarok came knocking. But I’ll admit—tempting."
The wagons creaked on, the sound of grumbling and laughter mixing with the dust. Every word carried the same truth: the Necro Market had changed their measure of comfort. Five days without it already felt like too long.
One hour later, the Necro Market was silent.
The wide avenues of its first floor, usually filled with noise and laughter, now echoed with nothing but the soft hum of the cooling stones. The canteen was shuttered, the merchant stalls locked, and every gate barred. Deep within, past layer upon layer of stone and iron, lay the Monitoring and Security Wing on the tenth floor.
There, ninety-six skeletons stood in formation, stripped of their uniforms, nothing but bare bone and glowing sockets. Their frames gleamed faintly under the pale witchlight. Among them stood Rook, Libera, and Eoghan Dullahan, each beside their own tomb. The air was heavy with anticipation.
Karl strode slowly down the rows of stone sarcophagi, running a hand along the cold slabs. "Status of the main entrance," he asked without turning.
Leo was at his side immediately, bowing slightly. "Sealed, my lord. The slabs are thirty inches thick. But... stones are only stones. They will not last against the future."
Karl smirked, scratching his chin. "Then we’ll replace them. Hybrid glass with a hybrid steel frame. I want something that laughs at catapults."
Leo bowed again, pulling a slim notebook from his coat and jotting down the words. "Noted, my lord. Adjustments added to renovation plan."
Karl paused at the end of the row and asked, "And the kobold employees? The children?"
Leo adjusted his spectacles. "Temporarily sealed on the fourth floor, within their quarters. The newly installed entrance towards core room and egress platform are also functional and has been set to passive mode to level 4 clearance, should evacuation ever be required. It will be trigger an emergency evacuation for them."
Karl’s smirk widened. "Good. Very good. Are they ready?"
Leo’s sockets glimmered faintly, and though he had no lips, there was the sense of a smile. He nodded once.
Karl clapped his hands together. "Then let’s not waste time. Prepare."
The command echoed like a bell.
The skeletons moved in perfect silence, stepping one by one into the waiting tombs. Stone lids scraped as they pulled them shut from the inside, the sound rolling down the chamber in a grim chorus. Bare bones settling into coffins, as if they were returning to the earth.
Leo lingered. He unbuttoned his coat, folded it neatly, then removed his tie, shirt, and trousers, placing them carefully on a chair. Before stepping into his tomb, he turned back to Karl.
"My lord," he said quietly, voice steady. "You took me from dust and made me serve with purpose. I will be grateful for this existence, no matter what form it takes."
Karl blinked, caught off guard, then scoffed and waved a hand. "Sentimentality doesn’t suit you, Leo. Get in your damned coffin before I start crying."
Leo bowed deeply, then stepped inside his tomb and pulled the lid closed.
Alone now, Karl sighed. "Alright... let’s do this." He tugged off his jacket, threw it carelessly over a tomb, and lowered himself onto the hard stone. The lid scraped shut above him, the cold pressing against his back. "Hells, this thing’s as comfortable as a tax audit."
He lifted his hand, summoning his panel. A glow filled the tomb as lines of text unfolded before him.
[Update Available: Ghoul Integration Protocol]
All current and future summons will evolve from
Skeletons → Ghouls (Tier III Workforce).
Retroactive Evolution: All existing skeleton units will undergo enforced downtime during transformation.
Estimated Integration Time: 6 Hours (Dungeon Operations Efficiency -70%).
Summon Cost (post-update): 40Mana+120NP per Ghoul.
Command Slots: 2 each.
Upkeep: 0.05Mana/hour.
Retroactive Upgrade: Free (automatic for all units).
New Minion Class: [Ghoul]
Adaptive Musculature & Flesh Reconstitution.
Distinct Appearances (male/female variants, mutated traits).
Independent Speech & Persona Generation.
Role-Specific Enhancements (Miner, Artisan, Soldier, Trader).
Integrated into Necro-Network V3.0.
System Prompt:Dungeon Lord Karl Leech — You have reached the threshold of corporate necromancy. Your workforce is no longer merely summoned units, but a proto-society of adaptive undead. This process is irreversible.
Do you wish to initiate update now?
[ ] YES – Begin Ghoul Integration Now
[ ] NO – Defer Update
Karl stared at it for a long moment, chest rising and falling. "No going back, huh? Damn... I’ll almost miss these bony fingers."
He exhaled, steady and slow, then pressed YES.
His and his minion’s vision went dark.
---------------------------------------
The kobold quarters buzzed with noise. Six bunk beds were pushed against the walls, blankets thrown in messy heaps, and the five little beds for the pups were crammed in the corner. The center table was littered with dice, cards, and tiles.
Misha slapped a winning hand on the table and laughed.
"Pay up, pay up! Don’t look at me like that — I told you, I can smell luck."
"You can smell cheating is what you can smell," Lala muttered, tossing her cards down.
"Don’t whine, Lala. You’re just bad at poker," Misha teased, scooping coins.
Manicia leaned back, smirking. "Next round’s mine. Don’t come crying when I strip you clean."
Across the room, the pups squealed, racing their toy carts. "Crash him! Crash him!" one shouted as two wooden wheels collided.
Mina, sitting on her bunk, tilted her head toward Orkesh, who was quietly sharpening a blade in the corner. "So, Orkesh," she said, "why did the boss shut everything down? One minute it’s business as usual, the next — sealed gates and silence."
Orkesh shrugged, not looking up. "Who knows. The boss keeps secrets. Always has. But he’s never wasted effort before. If he closed the Market, there’s a reason."
Manicia grinned, eyes gleaming. "World domination, maybe?"
That made the table laugh.
"If he wanted to, he’d do it with coins," Misha said. "Stacking debts until even the Ursarok lords kneel. Like the Ramari. You don’t need swords when you own the ledgers."
Aisha chuckled. "Hells, that’s scarier than swords."
The laughter lingered until Orkesh’s voice cut through, steady and low. "Enough jokes. There’s news. From the manager."
The dice stopped clattering. Everyone turned to look.
Mina leaned forward. "What kind of news?"
Orkesh folded his arms. "It’s about our kin in the Dark Forest. If they stay, they’ll pay for it with their health. It’s not curses. It’s smoke. Poison from those yellow rocks, from the boiling ponds. Breath it long enough, it tears the lungs apart."
Mina’s ears flattened. "That explains Orkell. He coughed so much last time he came to deliver the ’sul-foor.’"
Manicia frowned. "And Yrix. He looked ready to spit blood. We thought it was bad luck."
Orkesh shook his head. "Not luck. The manager said it plain — it will get worse. Coughing, wheezing, worse than that. And no healer’s charm will fix it."
The table went quiet. The pups’ laughter in the corner suddenly sounded distant.
"So what do we do?" Mina asked softly.
Orkesh sighed. "The boss already promised to help. There’s a plan for a new village. Near the Market, safe land. But our kin... they’re proud. They’ve settled. They’ll resist leaving, no matter the cost."
Mina’s voice hardened. "Pride won’t stop them choking."
Orkesh nodded slowly. "I know. That’s why I’ll ask for leave. Three days. I’ll go myself, talk to them. They’ll listen better if it comes from me."
The kobolds exchanged looks. Respect — and trust — filled their eyes.
Manicia finally said, "Then we’ll back you. The boss keeps his promises. And we’ll do our part, too. Kin comes first."
The pups cheered as another toy cart flipped over. But the adults sat in silence, each holding their thoughts close.
Meanwhile, deep in the forest... Torches swung wildly as fifty bandits stormed through the trees, their boots pounding against the earth. They laughed, shouted, and cursed with every stride.
"Fifty gold!" one frogkin bellowed. "That’s five lifetimes in one job!"
"Ha! If we live through it," a kobold shouted back, earning a chorus of jeers.
"Live through it? The job’s piss-easy. Smash wagons, burn some tents, scare a few peasants."
"And kill a few skeletons," another ramari sneered.
That earned laughter. "Skeletons? Hah! I piss harder than a bag of bones!"
At the front, Garruk One-Eye loped with long strides, scar catching the torchlight. He barked over his shoulder. "Keep laughing, you lot! Rogina’s wagons are fat and slow, and this ’Necro Market’ is just a pile of rock with spooks inside. By dawn, their gold is ours!"
The bandits howled in answer.
"Drinks on me when we’re done!"
"Bah, you’ll be dead before you pay!"
"Not me — I’m buying a whole farm when this is over!"
"A farm? You? You’ll gamble it away in a week!"
They shoved, jeered, and cheered, but the rhythm of their boots never faltered. Fifty voices, brash and hungry, carried through the trees like a storm.
The Necro Market’s walls waited ahead.
And the Black Poison was coming.