Strength Based Wizard

Chapter 27

After Hours at Graveyard Castle, Part VI (Sweat)

The last of the skeletons stumbles into the throne room, its rusty sword dragging behind it with a scraping noise that makes my teeth itch.

“Okay, so this is all of them?” I ask, glancing around at the amassed crowd of bony sentinels. The throne room looks like an undead pep rally. One skeleton idly scratches the top of its skull.

Walter taps his chinbone, counts silently, then nods. “Fifty-five. All present.” He snaps his fingers, and a weathered scroll materializes in his other hand. With a flick of his wrist, a quill appears and starts scratching away like it’s got someplace to be.

The past hour has been a bureaucratic fever dream. Walter, the literal bonehead, has been barking orders like a middle manager on a power trip, coordinating skeletal squads like this is an HR nightmare instead of an undead castle. Assembling the requisite skeletons took just under an hour by my approximation.

Before that, I’d spent another hour peeling back the curtain on Graveyard Castle’s respawn mechanics. Picking Walter’s knowledge-filled skull.

Turns out, when one of these poor schmucks gets taken out, their soul hops on the express elevator down to the Graveyard, which is somewhere on the Castle’s grounds. No pearly gates. No harp music. Just a grim recycling center where they’re graded like overachieving high school students.

“And it’s based on performance?” I had asked earlier, scratching my chin.

Walter had grinned—or at least, I think that’s what you call it when a skeleton widens its teeth and shrugs. “Yes, performance since their last soul recycle. Combat effectiveness, loyalty, morale contribution, cleanliness… you name it. The criteria, and how it’s weighted depends on the castle inhabitant in question.” He pointed a bony finger at himself. “Take me, for example. My most heavily weighted criteria is how many of my subordinates are promoted during my current cycle.”

Interesting, I had thought. I had immediately thought about how it was a numbers game. Numbers could be manipulated. I had memories of toying around with EBITDA, adjusting (“normalizing”) the figures to get a company’s numbers to tell the story my superiors wanted our Investment Committee to hear. “And this whole up-down system,” I continued, eyes narrowing. “You’re telling me if one of these guys does well, they can get upgraded to, like, a lich themselves or something?”

Walter gives me a finger-wag. “Not quite a lich. But stronger, yes. A ghoul, revenant, maybe a dreadknight if they’re exceptional.”

“And it’s a queue, right?” I say, ticking off the mental bullet points. “Does each recycle take a specified amount of time?”

“First-come-first-serve basis,” Walter had said, nodding. “Meaning if someone dies, they’re stuck waiting until the queue cycles back around. Sometimes a week or so, sometimes months.”

The conversation kept looping back to the same twisted logic, like a snake eating its tail. Skeleton economics. Dead guys climbing the corporate ladder. I had known that I could use it all to my advantage somehow.

“Okay...” I’d said, pinching the bridge of my nose, which has somehow become a nervous habit, like I’m squeezing ideas out of my brain. We’d been going in circles, but the circles were closing in. Walter had been nothing but accommodating, his skeletal fingers steepled in thought as he answered every probing question.

“So, let me get this straight,” I’d asked, voice cautious. “If some of your guys get promoted after dying, that’s good for you?”

Walter’s grin widened, and even without flesh, I swear he managed to smirk. “Precisely. Their success feeds into my success.”

“And… you track this?”

“I keep meticulous notes,” Walter replied, pulling out a scroll from his Inventory so tattered it might have been pilfered from some ancient crypt, inked from top to bottom with names and data points like it was a long-lost civilization’s most important Excel spreadsheet.

Yeah, yeah… This could work, I had thought. The tricky part was going to be selling the idea forming in my head to Walter.

“Okay, Walter. What if I told you, I had a method of ensuring you met your promotion criteria without clogging up the recycling queue?...”

And so, I laid out my idea before the Skeleton Accountant. It was simple really. To earn a promotion, a skeleton had to have met all of its criteria and then die in active duty. Which meant die fighting an adventurer while protecting the Castle. Walter would bring all of the skeletons under his command who were due for big promotions, tell them to fight me with everything they had. I would defeat them, sending them to the graveyard. Walter would accumulate good marks towards his own promotion. I would fight Walter last before leaving the Castle and heading back to my own Realm. We would both level up, in a sense.

Walter tilted his skull, the candlelight reflecting in those hollow sockets. I could practically hear the gears creaking behind his brow ridges. For a moment, I thought he might laugh it off.

Then, like watching someone close a Faustian deal, Walter’s whole demeanor shifted. “I see...” he had muttered, bones tapping against the desk. “I could meet triple my quota in one day. Maybe even higher... A single cycle performance such as that has been unheard of… Might even be worth of multiple promotions.”

It’s all about incentives, I had reminded myself. People—living or dead, it had seemed—are predictable that way. Find their angle, and you can twist the world in your favor. If you could convince someone that they got what they wanted in helping you achieve your objectives, negotiations became easy. The hard part was uncovering what truly motivated the other party. In Walter’s case, his fixation on promotions was fairly obvious. I had felt like I was back at Summit Lake Capital, for a moment.

Walter’s jawbone clicked as he stood. “You might have some brains after all, kid.”

He extended a bony hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

I shook it, trying not to think about what that handshake would feel like on bare skin.

I had plenty of time to kill while Walter went full middle-manager mode, corralling his league of calcium minions. So, naturally, I checked out my achievement reward. Might as well see what corporate perks I get for charming undead middle management and a zombie goldfish.

The System window slides open like the world’s most dramatic PowerPoint transition.

Ping!

Reward: Trousers of the Serpentine Lord

Description: These trousers are imbued with the energy of the Serpentine Lord, one of Lichlord Dinescu’s archrivals he defeated in combat long, long ago. This is an Enchanted Item.

Enchantments:

[Personalized These trousers will take a unique form specific to the wearer.]

[Growth: These trousers will grow in strength the more often they are equipped and used in combat.]

Attributes:

+8 to Dexterity

+5 to Willpower

+10% chance to evade any area of effect type Spells and abilities

Skill: Speed Boost (Beginner)

Description: When equipped, this item provides the user access to the ‘Speed Boost’ Skill. When triggered, the user’s speed and acceleration are increased by +100% for ten seconds. This Skill has a 2 hour cooldown timer.

I blinked in absolute astonishment. “Holy shit,” I whispered. The thing was absolutely busted. Not just a little strong. It put my other equipment to shame.

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Fast forward to now, and Walter has the gang assembled. Fifty-five skeleton guards, all standing at attention in a ragged line like some bone-white Boy Scout troop waiting for their badges in self-immolation.

Jelly Boy boings up next to me, all jiggly enthusiasm. He’s been bouncing around the throne room like a kid on a sugar high while I waited for Walter to assemble his troops. I had told him to stay in the room where I could see him. He had a penchant for stirring up drama, and I didn’t need him wandering around the Castle and getting into trouble. I blame all the Real Housewives.

“Well, buddy,” I say, cracking my neck and eyeing the crowd of clattering bones, “looks like showtime.”

Jelly Boy gives a little wiggle in response, which I’ll interpret as ‘let’s get dangerous.’

I let out a sigh and glance down at Jelly Boy, who’s doing that wobbly, eager bounce he does when he’s amped up.

“Not this time, buddy,” I say. “I’ll handle this one solo. No stealing my XP, okay?”

He quivers, deflating just a little, but gives a resigned blorp and settles by my side like a gelatinous dog told to stay.

“Don’t worry. If you behave, I’ll hook you up with something later. Promise!”

Jelly Boy jiggles begrudgingly.

Walter steps forward and claps his bony hands together. The skeletons all snap to attention like a row of deadbeat toy soldiers.

“Alright, boys,” Walter says, pointing a bony digit straight at me. “This is your intruder. Your job is simple—take him down. Give it all you got! No mercy!”

A chorus of rattles and clanks erupts as the skeletons ready their chipped swords, rusted spears, and assorted murder implements. I swallow hard.

For half a second, doubt creeps in like a slow-rolling fog. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Maybe I’m about to get Julius Ceasar’d by fifty-five undead goons in a room that smells faintly of moldy drapes and disappointment.

But then I remember the weightroom back home. Results are forged in sweat and iron. Or in this case, bone and borderline suicidal optimism. No pain, no gain, I think. I roll my shoulders, crack my neck, and prep my interface. I slot a few low-quality health potions into my hotlist, withdraw my wand, and finally, with a deep breath, equip the fancy new pants I just got.

The second I do, my legs flash, pixelated light washing over me. The room suddenly feels colder, like someone just opened a window. And when the light clears…

“Oh, come on,” I groan.

I’m standing there in front of Walter, Jelly Boy, and fifty-five skeletons wearing the most skin-revealing pair of jean shorts imaginable. We’re talking Daisy Dukes with a 3-inch inseam, acid-washed and frayed just enough to hint at poor life decisions. A brown belt cinches it all together, complete with a snake-shaped buckle, the serpent curling into itself to bite its own tail.

My face burns. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Ping.

My interface blinks and a notification pops up:

You have equipped a Cursed Item. This Item will be automatically equipped when in any Realm outside of your native plane. This Item cannot be unequipped when in any Realm outside of your native plane.

“What the fuck,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face as the skeletons snicker in dry, hollow rasps.

Walter lets out a low whistle. “Tough break, kid. We don’t have any Curse-breakers here at the Castle… Nice legs, though.”

I want to die.

“Well, anyway,” Walter says, grinning wide with teeth that could use some serious dental work, “should we get to the fighting and the killing?”

I glance down at my ridiculous shorts, then back up at Walter.

“Yeah,” I sigh. “Let’s get this over with.”

Walter scoops up Jelly Boy like a proud dad at a soccer game and moseys off to the side, out of the splash zone and harm’s way. “Don’t let him eat anything weird!” I call after them.

The skeleton crew—literally—begins closing in, a semicircle of bone, glinting blades, and soulless sockets. Fifty-five Skeleton Warriors, all eager to stab, slash, or bludgeon me back to oblivion. I take a deep breath, slow and steady.

Alright, Joe. You wanted this.

I exhale, and the world narrows. The embarrassment over my new apparel washes away. I’m focused on a singular goal: fight and survive.

My wand is out, pulsing faintly. I tap into it, casting Wizard’s Hand once. Whoosh! Lefty appears in a shimmer of mist. Again. Whoosh! Righty joins the party. Both spectral fists hang in the air, ready to rumble.

The wand practically hums, its passive ability keeping my MP fully topped. I send the spectral hands flying into the fray.

They slam into the first rank of skeletons like wrecking balls through drywall. Vertebrae clatter to the floor. A femur whistles past my head as a skeleton gets clotheslined by Lefty and explodes into a cloud of dust.

I move like I’m navigating a mosh pit at a metal concert—sidestepping around the throne dais, using its bulk to keep distance between myself and the horde’s rusted weapons, bottlenecking skeletons whenever possible. I learned my lesson from the last scrap: no getting swarmed.

Lefty and Righty stay tight, orbiting me like heavyweight champions, sending haymakers into any skeleton dumb enough to get close. It’s a ballet of violence, bone chips flying like confetti at a funeral.

A sword grazes my bicep, but I down a health potion like it’s a lukewarm energy drink, and the wound closes instantly. No debuffs this time. Thank God.

It’s not long until the room is a dust storm, thick with the crushed remnants of Walter’s underlings. My shorts cling uncomfortably to my thighs, reminding me of their cursed presence every time I lunge. Luckily, I avoid any wardrobe malfunctions.

By the time the last skeleton crumples, my muscles are buzzing. I’m panting, but grinning. Sweat is pouring off my body in waves.

Ping!

I receive the notification as my Wizard’s Hands smash through the final skeleton. It’s the second notification since the battle started.

You have defeated Skeleton Warrior, Level 3.

Level 10 increased to Level 11.

Hell yeah! Level 11. Not bad.

[2 Stat Points Currently Unallocated. Assign Stat Point?]

The first time I had leveled up during the combat, I had immediately pumped two points into Constitution.

Now, I place another point into Constitution, bringing my base Constitution up to 8. I place the other point into Strength, my mind making the selection on instinct. That means my Strength currently sits at 19. So, so close to cracking 20.

Righty and Lefty both disappear in a puff of silvery mist, the timer on my cantrip seeming to have run its course.

I dust off my shorts, brush a bone shard off my shoulder, and glance over at Walter and Jelly Boy.

Walter approaches with a swagger, Jelly Boy tucked under one arm like a football. He plops the slime down and scoops up a chipped sword from the boneyard that used to be his crew. The blade rattles in his grip.

“Well, looks like I’m the last line of defense,” he says, loudly as though hoping for a hidden listener to take not. He puffs his non-existent chest.

I smirk, the burn of adrenaline still humming through my limbs. “Then bring it on, Walter.”

Walter lets out a comically heroic battle cry as he charges, sword hoisted overhead like some kind of undead barbarian.

He gets three steps in.

I snap my fingers. Wizard’s Hand ignites in a flash of silver mist, cutting off the skeleton’s path. Righty materializes mid-air and delivers a karate chop that would make Bruce Lee proud, cleaving Walter’s skull clean in half. The skeleton collapses like a cheap Halloween decoration.

You have defeated Walter, Skeleton Accountant, Level 10.

“Seriously?” I mutter, staring at Walter’s heap of bones. “Level 10 and you get one-shot by a single Wizard’s Hand?”

I’m still blinking at the notification when Jelly Boy wiggles up beside me.

“Well, buddy,” I say, scratching the slime behind what I think might be his nonexistent ears. “Ready to go home?”

Jelly Boy jiggles like a gelatin mold on a trampoline. I’ll take that as a yes.

I dismiss Righty with a flick of my wrist and swap my wand out for the Return Ticket. The second I activate it, the parchment crumbles into electric-blue threads of light that twist and spiral through the air, knitting themselves into a swirling portal of pure energy.

“Let’s bounce,” I say.

Jelly Boy bounces.

We step through together, leaving the Castle—and its pile of broken skeletons—behind us.

A flash of light punches through my eyes, and suddenly I’m back. The Castle’s ominous halls are gone, replaced by the rotten metal towers and scattered debris of Steve’s junkyard. The night sky stretches overhead. The comforting stench of rust and burnt rubber hits me like a warm blanket. Somewhere, just beyond the junkyard’s fence, a streetlamp buzzes. Beyond that, the sound of traffic.

I glance down. My pants are full-length and mercifully intact. No cursed jorts.

“Thank God,” I mutter, flexing my legs.

I place Jelly Boy onto a flat sheet of metal and immediately get assaulted by a wall of notifications.

QUEST COMPLETE: In the Grim Darkness of the Castle.

You have successfully completed this Quest.

Reward: Gate Ticket (Rank D Quality) (x1), Ally Recruitment Token (x1).

PARTICIPANT-SPECIFIC QUEST ASSESSMENT COMPLETE (In the Grim Darkness of the Castle)!

Quest Description:

Time limit assigned to Participant: None.

Grade: B-1 (Great).

Final Dungeon Reached Prior to Return: Level 3.

Grade: B-1 (Great).

Overall Efficiency and Performance Rating: B-1 (Great).

Additional Reward: Ally Recruitment Token has been upgraded to an Enhanced Ally Recruitment Token.

I withdraw the Ally Recruitment Token and a comically large, thin silver coin appears in my hand. One side is smooth, blank. The other side bears the image of a castle. The System interface produces a description of the item when I examine it more closely.

Enhanced Ally Recruitment Token

[Description: A Token that may be gifted to any non-Participant. The non-Participant may accept or reject the Token. When rejected, the Token loses all power. When accepted, the recipient will become an “Ally.” An “Ally” is a non-Participant, semi-permanent party member. This Token has been enhanced! When accepted by a non-Participant, the non-Participant will obtain a boost to a random stat.]

I barely finish reading when Jelly Boy starts wildly vibrating. The vibrations are frantic, unmistakable: “You owe me dude!”

I grin. I did say I owed him one if he stayed out of the skeleton fight. “You want this?”

He jumps. Literally. Straight up like a spring.

I crouch down, holding the token between my fingers. It’s warm, almost pulsing, like it has a heartbeat of its own. The sensation is unsettling. “It’s your decision, buddy. Not a pet anymore… this would make you my official partner. And that means accepting all the responsibilities that comes with.”

Jelly Boy doesn’t hesitate. More jumping. More excited jiggling.

“Okay!” I say, laughing. “It’s yours.”

I flick the token, and it spins through the air, landing squarely on Jelly Boy’s gelatinous head. Instantly, it melts into his body like butter on a frying pan. His goo shifts and shimmers. A golden aura explodes outward, surrounding him in a soft, glowing outline.

A pulse echoes through my entire body.

Ping!

You have obtained a new Ally!

Jelly Boy the Slime has joined your Party!

. . .

See Ally information?