A Lich's Golden Touch
["Yes, you're my creator, aren't you?"]
It was a historic moment.
Simon stared at the undead he had created, gripped by a feeling he couldn't quite put into words.
It was speaking.
It was moving.
The lich — a frame of crystal-sheathed bone with nothing more than an ordinary skull for a face — wriggled its body this way and that, crossed its fleshless legs, and flipped a hand through the empty air where hair should have been.
["But the creator's still a baby? Hilarious. How old are you?"]
"……?"
Was this lich... female?
The lich uncrossed its legs and rose from where it sat.
Thump— thump—
The Life Vessel was pulsing like a war drum, drawing in the surrounding mana, converting it into Jet-Black, and feeding it through the entire body and the magic circuits. An undead that sustained its own vitality — even without Simon connecting to it through thoughts, even without him granting it Jet-Black.
'I made this!'
The excitement welled up so fiercely he couldn't calm down. Since he'd begun studying Summoning, this was the first time he'd felt anything like true *awe*.
If the Ancient Undead hadn't been standing all around him, he might have shouted out loud for pure joy.
Just then the lich drew close and tipped up Simon's chin with a skeletal finger.
["You're cute, but way too young. Not my type. Out of my defensive range."]
"……?"
He'd been standing there minding his own business, and his own creation had just rejected him.
At that, Erzsébet — arms crossed, scowling — snapped with undisguised irritation.
["Where does a freshly-made whelp get off touching our Legion Commander! Keep your hands off him!"]
The lich's head swiveled toward her.
["What's that? A spider? Why is a spider wearing a human school uniform? Too funny."]
A crackling callus bulged up on Erzsébet's forehead. Akemus grabbed her shoulders and urged her to calm down, but she exploded.
["How dare a brand-new undead speak to an Ancient Undead that way! Do you want to be unmade the moment you were born?"]
["You're a weird one, lady. Do undead rank each other by who died first or something?"]
"Enough, enough."
Simon clapped his hands to break the tension.
"My name is Simon Polentia. I made you. What should I call you?"
Truthfully, even as he said it, Simon had been quietly hoping to give her a name himself.
["Herseba."]
The lich placed a hand on her ribcage.
["My name is Herseba."]
Perhaps it was because he'd used such an expensive heart — but this lich had an extraordinarily strong sense of identity.
"Do you remember anything from your life?"
["Of course I do!"]
Herseba crossed her arms and smiled. Or rather — only Simon *thought* she smiled. Unlike Pier, that skull showed no change of expression at all.
["But I'm an undead now, aren't I? It all feels like it doesn't matter anymore. I've been reborn! Like I've been freed from a heavy body of flesh! Honestly, it feels great."]
And with a "la-la-la," she began spinning in place, dancing in circles.
The Ancient Undead politely backed away, and Simon scratched his head.
["Hey, Simon!"]
Prince glared at him, features hard.
["Are you sure you built this thing properly? Somehow you've managed to create a lich with a screw loose!"]
"I-I built it correctly, I'm sure."
Had Herseba been a ballerina in life? The skeleton twirled elegantly round and round, then tapped a finger against the wall.
["Hm?"]
Nothing happened. She tapped again, and again, then began jabbing at it hard with her finger, over and over.
["What! What!"]
She shrieked, flustered.
["Where's my power! Why can't I use it?"]
"Ah — a lich channels magic through a staff. I'll connect you to one right away."
["You scared me! Hurry up and do it!"]
Simon brought out the final ingredient.
A long case of luxurious make. The moment he opened it, the autonomous staff *Areldelu* shot up into the air with a snickering cackle.
"Hold it down, please."
He asked Pier to keep a grip on it, worried the wretched thing would pester him with more stray shots.
The moment it was in Pier's hand, Areldelu went docile as if by magic.
'Good. Now, the finest staff I own.'
Simon drew the final magic circle.
* * *
As Simon worked through the finishing touches, his conversation with Venya Vanilla drifted back to him.
— Oh, the staff? Just use the highest-quality one you've got.
Simon had tilted his head.
— Since the heart is Herseba's heart, shouldn't I source a staff that matches the materials?
— But how would you or I know whether it matches the heart or not?
— ……
He had to admit she had a point.
— Honestly, arranging the 'Three Elements of a Lich' always comes down to throwing in the three best materials you have and hoping for the best. Working alone, the Life Vessel's success rate — lich creation in general is a craft that leans heavily on luck.
— So that's how it's always been done.
In the end, Simon had chosen Areldelu as the lich's staff.
The most expensive staff in his possession. A genuinely rare artifact with black magic and curses already woven into its core — the obvious choice. Venya had said it was the best option too.
But.
["Kiyaaaaaaagh!"]
Watching what unfolded before his eyes, Simon regretted that decision — just a tiny bit.
["Y-You dare try to steal my body? You're dead!"]
— Hehehehe!
The moment their minds linked, the lich and the staff had begun to fight.
Perhaps because Herseba's sense of self was so overwhelming, and Areldelu had a consciousness of its own, the two entities wrangled madly over a single body.
Crack! Crack!
Sparks flew everywhere as Jet-Black tangled and churned into a whirlwind. Pier's ruins groaned and shuddered like they were about to collapse.
["S-Shouldn't someone stop them?"]
Prince, flattened against the wall, shouted in a panic.
But Pier shook his head.
["Once the mind-link has begun, interfering endangers them both."]
It was utter chaos. The staff and the lich were locked in each other's arms, brawling. The skull shrieked *get off me!* — then went limp, only to snap upright with a strange cackling — *hehehe!* It sagged again, and Herseba's voice rang out — *a mere staff, of all things!*
After roughly thirty minutes of this.
BOOM!
With a massive explosion, the spiraling Jet-Black burst outward in every direction.
Silence fell.
Everyone, who had pressed themselves as far back against the walls as possible, blinked around in bewilderment.
Prince said sourly,
["Promise me, Simon. That this lich was the last lich of your life."]
["Do you think it's because you packed in materials that were too expensive?"]
Simon lifted his head, coughing.
'Who won?'
At the center of the blast, he saw the slumped lich and the staff lying on the floor.
Thankfully, the Life Vessel was still throbbing steadily — it seemed fine.
["Ha!"]
Then came Herseba's voice.
["I won! I beat it! I defeated that insufferable staff! Kyahaha!"]
— said the staff, as it bounced up and down. Then it belatedly noticed something was off, and froze.
["What! What! WHAT! What is thiiis!"]
Herseba's mind had ended up inside Areldelu. The staff wailed and soared into the air.
["How did this happen! Why am I in this thing's body?!"]
But Areldelu's consciousness — perhaps destroyed in the fight — didn't respond, and the lich's body didn't move.
Simon rushed over and examined the lich.
It was fine.
The Life Vessel was beating normally.
["Wake up! Wake up, my body!"]
Herseba sobbed as she tried to move the lich, but only the Life Vessel pulsed; the arms and legs hung limp and lifeless.
["It's over! It's all over! What am I supposed to do like this?"]
Panic-stricken, she went flying through the air — and, unaccustomed to her new body, smacked straight into the wall.
"……?!"
Simon's eyes went wide.
Just now — the wall the staff had struck had turned to gold.
["Sniff! Waaah!"]
Thud! Thud!
Every time the staff's tip touched the wall, it turned to gold; the stone chips raining from the ceiling turned to gold the moment they grazed it.
Simon's expression sharpened rapidly.
'This is Herseba's—!'
He'd heard it from Venya before. The reason Herseba's heart had been so absurdly expensive was that she had been a being who *wielded an innate special ability* inside a dungeon — and after death, she'd been preserved so well that her ability survived, manifesting through her skull and heart. An exceptionally rare case.
Venya had predicted two possible outcomes.
A lich that burned Jet-Black to cast ordinary dark magic.
'Or a lich that burned Jet-Black to use her ability.'
A shiver ran down his entire spine.
Simon hurriedly checked his own condition. The surroundings were turning to gold, yet none of *his* Jet-Black was being consumed. He turned his head — and saw the Jet-Black draining from the lich's Life Vessel.
'There it is!!'
His mind snapped taut, hypotheses stacking one after another. When an ability user became a necromancer, they were said to expend Jet-Black to fuel that ability. It had been true of Serne, of Lorraine, of Nephthys.
But just now, when his summon had used the ability, it hadn't been Simon's Jet-Black that was spent — it was the Jet-Black from the lich's own Life Vessel.
'Incredible.'
Only her mind had transferred into the staff — but as a lich, she was functioning exactly as designed.
'Isn't that actually better?'
The lich's greatest weakness was that if its Life Vessel was destroyed, the necromancer suffered catastrophic losses — both in power and in money. That was why summoners traditionally deployed their liches only at decisive moments, or wrapped them in layer upon layer of defensive dark magic — sacrificing offensive strength and accepting the trade-off.
But if that chronic weakness simply vanished?
A smile crept across Simon's lips all on its own.
["Boo-hoo! It's ruined! I'm leaving!"]
Oblivious to all of it, Herseba-in-the-staff was in despair. She made to fly off into the sky.
"H-hold on a second!"
Simon leapt and grabbed the staff. Herseba kept wailing and rocketing upward.
'Whoa!'
Simon clung to it with both hands. Passing through the moonlit ceiling, she shot out of Pier's ruins in an instant and climbed without end.
'We're high up!'
Looking down made him dizzy. Simon desperately slapped the staff's body as he spoke.
"Calm down, Herseba!"
["Do I look capable of calming down?! My beautiful body—!!"]
That skeleton hadn't exactly been beautiful either.
The moment that thought crossed his mind — *pat.* The Jet-Black feeding into the staff cut out.
'Oh no!'
He'd drifted too far from the main body; the supply had been severed.
Simon and Herseba lurched hard sideways, then dropped under gravity's full pull.
["Kyaaaaaaagh!"]
Hugging the staff to his chest, Simon screwed his eyes shut and turned his back to the fall. He could feel himself scraping and slamming against trees all the way down. He gathered Jet-Black across his whole body to shield his back.
CRASH—!
Where Simon and Herseba landed, an enormous cloud of dust billowed up.
"Ugh."
Simon winced, one eye squinted, and pushed himself up. Herseba, having taken the impact, was silent for a moment.
Now that he looked, since Areldelu was the base, the staff had eyes and a mouth.
'Where are we now?'
The Forbidden Forest was bigger and broader than he'd imagined — and making this much noise was dangerous. He could run into patrolling sentinels, and more importantly—
— Grrrrr.
— Grrr.
The Forbidden Forest was teeming with monsters.
Wererolves, drawn by the commotion, came prowling in from all sides.
["Eek! W-Wolves!"]
Herseba hopped up and dove straight into Simon's arms.
Simon stroked her body soothingly.
"Don't worry, Herseba."
["Wh-What are you doing? Scare them off already!"]
The instant Simon took hold of her, a strange elation surged through him. Most of all — Jet-Black was flowing out of Herseba again.
'Of course. We're close to her main body again.'
Calmly, Simon gripped Herseba in one hand and raised her like a sword. The wererolves crouched low, wary.
"Herseba — from now on, you're going to fight with your own power."
["Wh-What?"]
Simon grinned.
"Tell me everything about the ability you carry."