Strength Based Wizard

Chapter 25

After Hours at Graveyard Castle, Part IV (Tour Guide)

I stalk across the ruined battlefield of bones and dust, cradling my broken arm like it’s a sick puppy. Every step feels like my stamina bar is laughing at me. It continues to plummet, practically zeroing out. My Health is trickling upwards thanks to the potions I just chugged. My vision flashes as excruciating pain tears through my mangled arm. I can feel it healing, but it’s very, very slow. God damn that Corrosion debuff!

Jelly Boy wiggles from my backpack, but I nudge him back in. “Not now, dude,” I mutter. I’ve got other things to deal with.

Like the skeleton currently pressed against the far wall.

Scroll in hand, eye sockets wide, jaw slightly slack. I squint at him, and the System pings.

New Monster Identified: Skeleton Accountant

Level: 10

Classification: Professional Undead

“What the hell does ‘Professional Undead’ mean?” I mutter under my breath.

I limp closer, still clutching my throbbing arm as skin and bone actively reknit themselves. The Skeleton Accountant trembles, parchment quivering in his bony grip. This one’s different from the others. No weapons, no armor, just an aura of someone who files tax returns on time. Or of middle management.

“Do you happen to have a map?” I ask, voice hoarse.

He flinches like I just asked if I could borrow his bones.

A wave of temptation crashes over me—easy XP. A Level 10, sure, but this thing looks like it’d crumble if I sneezed hard enough. I could probably take him out right now, even with one arm practically useless. Get that sweet, sweet dopamine hit of a level-up notification.

But…

But he spoke earlier. The way he bossed around the skeleton crew, the way he’s clutching that scroll like it’s a lifeline. There’s a flicker of intelligence in those hollow sockets, something more… Something human. And it’s not like the creature is posing a threat to me at the moment.

I exhale, shaking off the urge. I’m not a monster. I can’t help but feel a slight, burning shame rise to my cheeks.

“Look,” I say, softer this time, lowering my voice like I’m talking to a feral cat. “I don’t want to turn you into bone meal. I’m just looking for a map. I need to get to the heart of the castle.”

The skeleton’s jaw works silently for a second, then clicks shut.

I watch him carefully. If he makes a sudden move, I’m ready. Well, as ready as a guy with a mangled arm and a dwindling stamina bar can be.

The room is silent, save for the soft drip of some questionable liquid leaking from the ceiling and the slow, whining creak of the chandelier overhead.

The skeleton shifts uncomfortably, or as uncomfortably as a skeleton can shift, scraping bony toes against the cold stone floor. “Sorry, pal, no map,” it rasps, voice thick with gravel and stained with what sounds like decades of chain-smoked cigars. It sounds like he should be hustling poker games in the back of a dive bar, not standing in the middle of a torch-lit murder dungeon.

I squint at him, my ruined arm throbbing like a second heartbeat. “You sure? No dusty old parchment in your Inventory you could use to sketch one out?”

The skeleton shakes his head. “What do I look like, a cartographer? Nope. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d appreciate if you didn’t murder me like you did my entire second shift.”

I blink. “Second shift?”

“Yeah, second shift.” He gestures at the bone litter decorating the chamber like party confetti. “The castle guard. You just flattened them, buddy. That’s gonna set me back years on my promotion if I don’t get it sorted out right.” He groaned, palming his forehead. “Don’t even get me started on reworking the staffing schedule.”

I rub my temples, nearly punching myself with how janky my healing arm feels. “I’m not following any of this.”

The Skeleton Accountant folds his arms, parchment scroll still dangling in one bony hand. “Look, you’re clearly new here. I don’t know your deal, and frankly, I don’t care. But if you think this place runs on ‘random skeletons that pop out of closets,’ you’ve got another thing coming. There’s structure. Management. People work here.”

I growl, feeling that low simmer of frustration edging toward full boil. “If you can’t help me, then I’ll find my own damn way.” I try to ignore how the skeleton spoke about the mobs of warriors I’d just defeated. Shit, did I murder like… a skeleton with a skeleton wife and baby back at home?

The Skeleton Accountant raises a bony index finger. “Didn’t say I couldn’t help you. Just that I don’t have a map.”

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I stare. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Maybe a little, I’ve got to admit.” A raspy laugh escapes the skeleton’s mouth. “Not often you get new adventurers coming through these parts.”

I sigh, letting the weight of the situation sink in. No MP, Stamina cratered, no idea where I am, and now I’m negotiating with what sounds like a skeleton bookie I’d find back in New York. Jesus Christ, I think.

He clears his throat—impressive for a guy without lungs—and speaks up again. “Walter. Accountant and Schedule Keeper of this fine establishment. Soon to be Senior Accountant and Assistant Overseer, if management stops jerking me around.” He bows slightly, scroll wobbling.

“So…you’ll help me?”

Walter nods. “Sure. I can show you to the heart of the castle, if that’s where you’re headed.”

“And the catch?”

“No more mayhem,” Walter says, dead serious. “At least not until I’m out of the room.”

I squint at him. “Wait, you’re really not mad about all the skeletons I just…y’know.”

Walter snorts, sounding like he’s chewing on gravel. “Mad? Yeah, sure. But mostly about the paperwork. Most of those sorry sacks of bones will be fine. Their souls’ll float back to the Graveyard and get recycled. Bruised egos, maybe a few who’ll be grateful to be out of night shifts. Rogir? Guy’s been on the list for a zombie upgrade for, like, twenty fiscal years. He’s probably thrilled to finally have had an opportunity to die in the line of duty… That’s the thing: don’t die while actively working, you get a lateral recycle…. Or worse, a demotion!”

I blink, caught somewhere between confused and morbidly fascinated.

Walter jerks a thumb toward the mess behind me. “Though, if it’s all the same to you, I’d appreciate if your slime didn’t eat the remains of my crew. It’s… a little rude.”

“Slime?” I spin around just in time to catch Jelly Boy, my amorphous blue buddy, halfway through vacuuming up a pile of crushed femurs of the Skeleton Warriors I had taken out with the Magnify Gravity spell scroll. He waves a slimy pseudopod at me like I’ve just caught him stealing cookies.

Goddammit, Jelly Boy.

Walter sighs. “Yeah. That.”

“Hey, buddy—”

I pause. I actually don’t think I’ve ever seen him extend his ooze body to create a temporary appendage before. Huh, I wonder if he’s been able to do that the entire time. Or if it’s a new skill of his.

I walk over to Jelly Boy, crouching down beside him. “Back in the bag,” I say, keeping my voice firm but soft.

He lets out a low, warbly vibration, like a kid caught red-handed. But after a beat, he sulks back into my backpack, his gelatinous body squishing in like a guilty dog crawling back into its crate.

I stand up and march over to Walter. “Alright, you’ve got a deal. No more mayhem if you get me to the heart of the castle.”

Walter extends a skeletal hand, parchment scroll still clutched in the other. I reach out to shake it without thinking, using my bad arm.

White-hot pain lances up from elbow to shoulder. “Motherfu—” I grunt, teeth clenched as my vision swims.

Walter winces—or at least his voice does. “Oof. Magical backlash, huh? Seen it before. Low Constitution, yeah?”

I nod, holding my ruined arm like it’s about to fall off.

He taps his bony chin. “And you’ve got Corrosion ticking on you too. Nasty combo. Look, I know a guy. Zombie cleric named Preston, works on the second floor. Real professional. He can strip that debuff and patch you up, no problem.”

“That… would be amazing. Thanks.” I manage a breath between the throb of my arm and the dull ache of my pride. “I’m Joseph, by the way. And the little vacuum over there is Jelly Boy.” I stick a thumb back towards by pack.

Walter gives a small nod. “Pleasure. Walter, as mentioned. Let’s try to keep this professional. The sooner you’re out of this castle, the sooner I can start cleaning up this mess you made.”

I mentally swipe open my menu, feeling the interface flicker to life despite my current state. One unallocated stat point blinks at me like a snarky reminder.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, sliding it straight into Constitution. The moment it registers, there’s a subtle, grounding sensation through my core. Lesson learned.

Walter watches me, sockets somehow amused. “Smart move, kid.”

I’m still cradling my arm when I glance over at Walter. “Wait a sec… how did you even clock that? The low Con, the Corrosion?”

Walter chuckles, the sound like dry leaves rattling in the wind. He turns and strides out of the break room, bones clacking with each step like someone playing the world’s most apathetic xylophone. “Aetheric Vision Trait, kid. Comes with the territory. Maybe a few hundred years ago… Promotion. I can see your stats clear as day. Your slime too. Speaking of—looks like ol’ Jelly Boy sucked up the leftover energy from that gravity spell you threw around. Probably why he was eating my crew’s remains.”

I stop dead in my tracks. “He what now?”

Jelly Boy absorbed the Magnify Gravity Spell? My stomach does a somersault. I flash back to the Light cantrip incident from my first Gate, back when I was fighting that nightmare of phlegm and fangs. The Gluttonous Bob. Absorbing energy from a Spell…What does that even mean for a slime?

“Yeah, you heard me,” Walter says over his shoulder. “Your little guy’s munching on spell residue. He must really like the stuff. Might want to keep an eye on him before he starts bending space-time in ways you won’t like.”

I stare at the bulge in my backpack where Jelly Boy nestles, probably smug about his new trick. Fantastic.

“I’m kidding,” says Walter. He sniggers to himself.

He’s already halfway down the hallway, skeletal hand giving me the universal ‘get moving’ wave. I jog to catch up, teeth gritted against the sharp throb in my busted arm.

The corridors are worse than I expected—narrow, crooked, and lit by torches barely hanging onto life. The flames sputter and cough, casting jittery shadows on cracked stone walls and faded tapestries depicting scenes of… honestly, I have no idea. The images are faded, lost to time.

Walter halts beside a rusted sconce and gives the lit torch blazing within a sharp tug. The wall shudders, the stones grinding open, revealing a narrow ramp curling upward into blackness.

“Secret passages now?” I mutter. It’s a scene straight from Scooby-Doo.

Walter chuckles. “You should see the trapdoors.”

He strides up the ramp, not caring to look back at me. I follow, boots scraping against the worn stone.

“So, what’s the deal with this place?” I ask, still nursing my throbbing arm. At this point, it’s largely back to normal, though still hurts. And there’s a mental sensation of something foreign in my body. I presume it’s the lingering debuff. “All these guards and the weird... corporate vibe?”

Walter glances over his bony shoulder. His eye sockets somehow convey amusement. “Castle belongs to the Boss. It’s really a vacation home, but he hasn’t been around in a while. We’re just here to maintain and defend it until he chooses shows up.”

I frown. “So, you’re like… undead property managers?”

Walter shrugs. “Close enough.”

“And who’s the Boss?”

Walter’s voice drops low, ominous, like a B-movie villain about to reveal their master plan. “Lord Dinescu, Lich of the Shivering Sands.”

I blink twice. Of course it’s a lich.

Walter snorts. “Yeah, and you’ve probably just rung his doorbell.”

“Wait, what?!”

“Kidding.” The skeleton sniggers.

He stops, standing before an old, wooden door. The knocker is in the shape of a man’s face, twisted in screaming agony. Walter grips the knocker and slams it against the door three times. “Now, let’s get you fixed up.”