The Necromancer’s Scheme 4

Those were the days. The Necromancer remembers them as if it were yesterday. He sits, lost in thought, reflecting on the past. Before him lies a table, piled high with magical tomes—textbooks, some of which he barely understands himself. He hasn’t quite mastered them yet, but there is plenty of time ahead. A necromancer has thousands of years—an eternity, even—to grasp it all. Ah, what times those were!

Back when he was a young necromancer, he would venture into the dungeons every single day, making bold forays into the upper levels. As he grew more advanced, he began spending entire days down there. He was constantly searching for the magical artifacts he needed for his various projects—and, above all, he was hunting for knowledge. He thirsted for it, gathering everything else he required along the way. After all, that is what dungeons are for: they are vast treasuries of objects and lore.

Soon, the hour will arrive—that day, or rather, that night. The Necromancer prefers to leave his tower under the cover of darkness—if he leaves at all. Though, during the day, he could easily slip into the shadows of the trees in the surrounding forest. There is no one else around here anyway; no one ever comes this way but him—which is quite pleasant.

When night falls—a night as dark as pitch—only his eyes will glow, red like a cat’s. He will step out of his tower and lock the door with a magical key, ensuring no one else can enter. Then, he will set off once more—just as he has done hundreds, perhaps thousands of times before—heading toward the dungeon. The very one that lies beneath this mountain. There is no need to look elsewhere; this dungeon is the perfect place. With a vast number of levels descending deep underground—yes, grand journeys into the subterranean depths, into endless labyrinths, were about to begin. The necromancer drifted into a daydream.

For now, however, he remained seated in a chair within his tower. He needed to think everything through and devise a solid plan. He would need magic orbs—all of the same color. Green? No, that wouldn’t do. Red—red would be the perfect choice for this magical project. The necromancer’s project.

Outside the window, the wind began to blow—as it often does at this time of year. The wind frequently distracted the necromancer, pulling his attention away from his textbooks, his grimoires, and the mysteries of the ancient world. But this time, he was simply lost in thought—something he did quite often. He couldn’t even recall whether he spent more time dreaming or studying.

He recalled an incident in a different dungeon—not the one beneath this mountain, but another labyrinth entirely. He had been forced to spend an entire hour regenerating his mana; without magic, a necromancer is nothing more than a pile of bones—weak and vulnerable. But with magic? That’s a different
story. He had stood there, his face pressed against a brick wall, hoping his Cloak of Stealth would render him invisible enough to escape the notice of the monsters scurrying about. He remained that way for a full hour.

Then, he cast a spell to summon a storm of meteoric stones, augmenting it with a field of razor-sharp ice crystals. Every monster in that vast chamber felt the impact. That was how he made his exit—reaching the end of the labyrinth, where a precious prize awaited him: a magical chest!

It was there that he discovered a pair of Boots of Swift Running. Right now, they’re lying somewhere on the first floor of the tower, gathering dust. He needs to carefully prepare his gear for the next foray into the dungeon. Get everything ready. Make a list. Bring along his spellbooks—he could use some extra study. Pack as many health and mana potions as he can carry. Don’t forget his magic dagger. And the cloak of invisibility—that’s an essential item; it’s saved his skin more than once. He should also take some scrolls for quick spellcasting, plus a grimoire for copying down new spells—he can sort through those later, back home.