Draco's A+ Evolution

A bone-chilling crack split the air as something shattered to pieces.

With a grinding crick-crack, the fractured bones reassembled themselves, and the body began to swell.

Wait.

The bones and flesh that made up the body were still the same—so how was the frame getting bigger?

That was just osteoporosis.

Don't worry.

I've got plenty of materials to feed you.

Bones and blood-slick chunks of flesh rained down from thin air.

With wet, crunching sounds, Draco—already bulked halfway through its growth—took in every scrap of monster byproduct with its whole body. The materials vanished the instant they touched its hide, absorbed and gone in a blink.

Ingrid poked her face in, then rounded her mouth in a soft little oh.

"It's eating quite a lot, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

The spare byproducts stockpiled in the Death Blacksmith came to roughly one ton.

That ought to be enough.

It'll be enough.

Yeah. Definitely!

…It'll be fine, right?

【Great Lord. I fear the byproducts may run dry at this rate, if you take my meaning.】

"Do not doubt your lord, you thief."

"Hoho. Master has a plan for everything."

【Amazing. Excited.】

No.

There is no plan.

Even a broken clock is right twice a day, they say. Zaug finally said something sensible for once—and nobody agreed with him.

I was starting to sweat.

What if the materials ran short and the enhancement failed?

When the byproducts stored in the Death Blacksmith dropped below ten percent, my back went clammy.

Should I sprint to the Hunter Market right now?

Thud.

A scrap of flesh fell from the air, failed to sink into Draco's body, and slid off to the side.

Hah.

My legs nearly gave out. I locked my knees through sheer pride—I was not about to look pathetic in front of my subordinates.

Dracos.

Did you really have to make your big brother's heart race like that?

"Its bulk has grown considerably."

"It looks at least twice as big. Its specs must have climbed just as much."

The mana wavelength rolling off Draco had grown far stronger.

Even before the evolution it had been a B-class undead.

How much stronger had it become? Who wouldn't want to know?

I swallowed hard and opened the status window.

The stats had been copied.

That wasn't a metaphor or a figure of speech.

They had genuinely risen by roughly double.

"To this maiden's eye, it looks more like 2.132 times."

Ahem.

Let's drop the decimals, please.

Ridiculous specs worthy of an A+ rank!

And that wasn't all.

The status window didn't show it, but additional corrections from Undead Maker and Corpse Crafting were stacked on top.

— Undead Maker: All stats +15%.

— Corpse Crafting bonus effect: Weighted +20%.

Fifteen percent of twenty is three—so a total of eighteen percent on top.

The Resurrected privilege didn't apply here, so this was as far as it went.

"Heh—heh heh heh. This isn't a dream, is it?"

"Shall I pinch your cheek for you?"

"Gah! To dare lay a hand upon our lord's sacred person!"

"Grrrrngh."

The Draco—now more than twice its former size—shoved its head in close.

The pressure was apocalyptic; the other subordinates were shoved aside. Even Sir Isra, with her Resurrected bonuses, couldn't hold her ground without pouring mana into her stance.

"Grrrrr!"

"That's it. Good boy."

Reminded me of Happy back ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠home.

Its intelligence had clearly gone up—so why did it feel even more dog-like?

"Grrrngh!"

"Woof!"

Whoa, whoa.

Don't compete so hard, you two. If you keep that up I might get squashed flat and shatter into pieces.

Two Dracos nearly six meters tall jamming their heads at me made for one hell of a squeeze.

"In appearance there is little difference."

"Ugh. You iron-skulled oaf. The details are completely different."

"What?!"

"You can't even see how much denser the scales got?"

"Ahem—ahem. A knight does not fuss over every trifling detail."

"That's exactly why you're an iron skull."

"Gah! To insult chivalry itself!"

Sorry, but Ingrid was right.

The overall silhouette hadn't changed much, but a closer look showed improvements all over. Not just the scales—the way it moved, the way it sat, everything felt closer to a true dragonkin than a ghoul.

If you saw it inside a gate, you'd feel the presence of a dragon race for sure.

"What do you make of it, Sir?"

"Two-on-one would still be somewhat difficult, I fear."

Combat-power specialist Teacher Isra's estimate was more than satisfying.

"How does it compare to that big-nosed bastard?"

"One-on-one, roughly forty percent. Two-on-one is an unconditional victory."

Force enough to trade blows with a peak A-class hunter.

Honestly.

That was insanely impressive!

"Were their intellect sharper, the odds would look better still—but I would not pin my hopes upon it."

Draco's tail spun like a fan.

Mm.

Yeah. Let's not get greedy.

Two new combat assets with power rivaling Sir Isra the Resurrected had just been added to the roster.

Clearing the Tower of Chaos…

Maybe we could actually pull it off?

Beep! Beep!

A heavy trailer truck backed up, its reverse alarm blaring.

"Your order, as requested."

…Excuse me?

"Did I ask you to buy me a truck?"

"There's too much byproduct. You won't be able to store it all in the Death Blacksmith."

I'd figured six tons of capacity would be plenty.

Huge mistake.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Crafting a single Tigris alone ate more than five hundred kilos of space.

"It's a freezer trailer. Just hop in and out whenever you need something."

President Baek handed over the keys.

Unbelievable.

I never expected him to take care of me this thoroughly. He even caught the details I'd overlooked—life just got a lot easier.

"Boss, you're the absolute best."

"If you need anything else, come find me anytime."

With that, President Baek spun on his heel and left.

Wow.

Ice cold. Cool as hell.

To climb to executive at a major conglomerate affiliate in your forties, you probably had to be that sharp.

Giving up on the job market and going all-in on hunting was the right call.

I could never work like that.

I opened the trailer doors and a wave of cold air brushed my cheek.

"Frozen storage. It shall not spoil."

"We can age whatever we need in the Pit of Malice as we go."

If the byproducts ran low, I just had to walk over to the trailer and grab more. Done.

Perfect.

The work environment was flawless. All that was left was managing my own condition.

"All right. Let's get started."

I affixed the corpse-doll arms to my back.

I lit the forge.

The roaring flames shifted color by degrees. I drew out a bone glowing cherry-red.

I fused the proven pairing—Owlbeast bone with Runic Bear bone.

Clang!

Kang!

Fwoosh!

Blue flames licked and shimmered where mana collided with mana.

Oh.

That felt good.

Ever since I'd forged the replica of Sir Isra's beloved blade during the promotion exam, my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠senses had grown sharper.

"Eheheheh."

I poured myself into the work with a satisfied grin, and before long a full set of Tigris armaments was complete.

【Great Lord, do you not ordinarily craft the undead first and the arms afterward?】

"Foolish thief."

"He's working while they age, obviously."

【Thief. Dumb.】

【You are the junior, if you please. Kindly keep silent.】

【…….】

Everyone knew Roan hadn't followed Zaug's lead—he'd simply chosen silence because of his skill penalty.

【This is the dignity of a senior! Heh-het!】

Everyone except one person.

Well—everyone except one Resurrected, anyway.

"Even the iron skull understands that. The one who doesn't is you."

"And what, pray, do you take me for, mage?"

"An iron skull who knows nothing but knighthood."

"Gah!"

Thanks to the Pit of Malice, I was saving mana stones. Rapid aging burned through a surprising amount of them. Ordinary aging couldn't push a corpse into spirit-energy supersaturation, so you had to burn stones for it.

The Pit of Malice let me build the exact environment I wanted. I could drive the base corpses—the frameworks for the dead—into spirit-energy supersaturation on demand.

"I roughly sized them when I dropped them in the pit."

I was not about to finish a set of armor and then have to expand or shave it down. No double work for me.

Perfect.

I fitted the pre-made armor against the bodies. Close enough. Any small gaps I could fix by carving the corpses down.

"Open your eyes."

A Tigris took twice the labor of an ordinary undead. Armed Zombie Strengthened Soldier plus Blood-Draining Demon—it was basically crafting two undead at once.

"Let's knock out the high-maintenance ones first."

"Should you require aught, speak it at once."

"Want to sing me a song?"

"Ahem. Ahem. That would be… somewhat…"

"I'm kidding."

"Master, shall I belt out a tune for you?"

"I'm fine. Go do your job. You said you were going to map out the Death Blacksmith."

Even if you sang, once I focused I wouldn't hear a note.

Besides.

If you actually started singing, I'd be the villain in the story. Making someone do that would get me reported for workplace abuse and hazing.

Please don't turn me into a tyrannical employer.

"Sir. One question."

"Speak."

"The Armed Zombie Strengthened Soldiers. Do they suit your style?"

"If I am to be honest—no."

Sir Isra's swordsmanship was a typhoon that overwhelmed enemies. It did not mesh well with the Armed Zombie Strengthened Soldiers, who were strong but ponderous.

And yet she had still stationed them as her knight-order troops for a different reason.

"Because of my escort detail."

"So you knew."

"We've got room in undead storage now. Let's reshuffle the deployment."

Death Space — 80 units.

Pit of Malice — 40 units.

Filled to the brim that was 120, and with the Death Blacksmith's capacity on top I could station even more.

I wouldn't crank out a hundred in a week, of course.

Still—capacity had multiplied several times over. Time to redistribute the forces.

"An excellent judgment."

"Please expand the mage corps while you're at it, Master!"

Yeah, yeah.

Until now I'd used the Witch Corps as fire support and a source of variables. With an undead like Sir Isra—overwhelming breakthrough power—and with an SSS-class clear in mind, I'd had to run speed battles and ration mana carefully.

The situation had changed quite a bit.

The number of undead I could field had multiplied, and I was about to climb the Tower of Chaos—a continuous-combat theme. Ratios, deployments, all of it needed attention now.

"Would it not be wiser to invest some time rather than challenge it at once?"

"My popularity's gotten a little too high lately."

China's Superhuman General Bureau.

The Black Sky Society.

I doubted either organization was going to sit around twiddling their thumbs.

The answer, then, was simple.

Get stronger.

The Tower of Chaos was the means to seize that answer.

I picked up the hammer again and went back to crafting undead.

Claaang!

Kang!

A single week flew past like a loosed arrow.