I've Got an Inventory Now Too
“Ugh, the stench.”
He’d cleansed his body with Clean magic, but even that couldn’t block the rising reek of filth. Lawrence switched back to his combat artifact, slung the rattling backpack over his shoulders, and thought to himself.
It wasn’t practical to lug around so many artifacts one by one. Maybe he needed to snag some kind of subspace magic?
Everyone else gets an inventory and status window first thing, and here I am with this crap.
How long was he supposed to keep hauling this inconvenient backpack around? For a moment, he pictured a modern guy stuffing his bag with portable batteries.
He resolved to hunt down some subspace magic when he returned to the main house or headed to the Grand Duke’s territory.
The deep passage he entered like that. Normally, you’d expect some trial or ordeal here, but no such luck. There was just a single door guarding the holy grail, nothing more.
At that moment, a message formed on his retina.
Guardian's Legacy Discovered.
“Huh?”
What the hell was this? The message floated before Lawrence as he stood in front of the small iron door. Completely unlike anything from his pre-regression knowledge, he blinked in surprise.
The message reappeared, as if urging the dumbstruck Lawrence onward.
Artifactor, successor of the great guardian.
Claim the dragon's first legacy and fulfill the contract.
Tremendous blessings shall be bestowed upon you.
“Ha… no way I’m passing this up.”
Lawrence boldly flung open the iron door.
Kudududuk-.
The door scraped against the crudely made earthen wall as it swung open. How they’d forged such a door in a backwater village like this was anyone’s guess. But who cared. If they’d hidden it away tight, that was enough.
Kugung-.
A vibration rumbled from above. The shower of falling dirt felt like a signal from outside—no time to waste, move it.
Let’s hurry.
Lawrence carefully shut the iron door behind him and stepped inside.
Hwaruk-.
Instead of a torch, he gripped a Fire Arrow to illuminate the surrounding darkness.
This was an old warehouse, untouched by human feet for ages, blanketed in thick dust.
Sasasasak-.
Various bugs scattered, fleeing the light of the torch. Lawrence advanced slowly inward.
“Can’t you at least tell me where it is?”
Of course.
Love how it skips the pointless filler. He smirked and headed where the message indicated.
There sat a black chalice that looked luxurious at a glance.
Far too pristine and elegant to be called a corrupted holy grail. A work of art so exquisite and beautiful it’d be rare even in the modern world—a wine goblet shape, embedded with a large black gem.
Lawrence cautiously reached out for the chalice.
“No matter how I look at it, it doesn’t seem corrupted…”
Was it somehow influenced by the undead Demian? As he carefully lifted the chalice, a soft glow began to emanate.
Like shining light through a black pearl—an utterly mysterious hue.
At the same time, a voice rang out.
"To think one capable of touching my lingering thoughts exists... astonishing."
“Uh… hello?”
"This is merely my lingering thought. Know that no reply will come."
“…”
Awkward. Lawrence glanced around pointlessly before tuning back in.
The voice of the lingering thought continued to resound.
"I bequeath unto you my authority. The eye containing the power of the Hidden Scale Clan, granting a space vast enough to hold the Thousand Mountains."
"A black abyss like the underworld shall embrace all that belongs to the successor."
"Devour greedily and pile up mountains of treasure."
“TL;DR: I’m giving you a ridiculously huge inventory, so use it well, right?”
Correct.
All that fancy packaging, but yeah, that was it. A colossal inventory. An abyssal inventory right before his eyes.
How had Demian used this thing? In his previous life, how had Demian wielded it? His guess was…
Probably stuffed it full of corpses for sacrifices.
Death Knight creation required massive quantities of bodies, as it turned out. Transporting that many at once? No ordinary subspace magic could handle it.
He’d likely crammed corpses gathered from all over into this grail, then performed the Death Knight summoning ritual. Being a dragon legacy, it was imperfect, but functional enough. In a world where new artifacts weren’t being made, you made do with what was left.
Just thinking about it was horrifying. Good thing he found it first.
“Let’s grab it and go. Implanting this’ll take forever.”
"Take care not to lose it. It is a great legacy."
“Obviously.”
Lawrence hurried back outside. He wanted to wipe out the undead bastards and the Alzeras Knights already, then get back to his pen.
#2
Undead Soldier. The name given to ordinary soldiers who underwent basic training and then turned undead.
Their hallmark? A bit slow, but they never tired.
“Undead soldiers incoming!”
“Soldiers, hold them back somehow!”
“Mages, start chanting buff spells first!”
The Phoenix Magic Corps struggled desperately to block the knight-turned-undead.
The soldiers moved slower than in life and wielded simple swordplay. They’d gained immense stamina at the cost of finesse and speed.
Still, their instinctive terror on foes and tireless charges were a massive burden.
Kwaaaang-!
The first clash erupted.
Soldiers from the Phoenix Magic Corps blocked the undead soldiers’ flesh-and-blood charges with massive shields. They didn’t need to attack—just push back and buy time.
“—O sacred flames of the phoenix, flap your wings and raise a wall of fire! Fire Wall!”
Kwarurururuk!
A crimson curtain of flame rose, followed by a sizzling hiss! Armor cooked, rotten flesh melted away, and their structural integrity began to crumble.
Freya, smoothly handling the undead and dark knights, turned her gaze to the battlefield.
Far off, the Alzeras banners fluttered.
Betrayers after all. She gritted her teeth and kept unleashing spells until the whole village was engulfed in flames.
And watching it all was one figure.
“Faster than expected.”
Green-tinged eyes. A knight with rotting flesh—Demian.
Captain of the Alzeras Knights and bastard son of the family. A tragic man denied even the Alzeras name.
Why am I doing this? Ah… right. To earn merit.
Born a bastard, Demian had trained to death for his father and family’s recognition.
Too much ambition? He’d fallen for someone’s temptation and dabbled in dark magic.
Now he was a puppet, the Source of Plague, spreading undead.
His blue eyes infused with necromantic power obeyed an unknown master’s command: [Assassinate Loria Montemer.]
“We charge for merit.”
“All for Amon.”
“For Amon.”
Demian mounted up too.
“For Amon.”
Hihihihihining-!
His warhorse’s eyes glowed green, letting out a mad neigh.
Today, a scion of a great mage family would die here.
A sickly green-black aura bloomed from his sword. The Aura of Death, wieldable only by Death Knight material—infused with dark magic, it drained life and rotted wounds.
Freya’s face darkened gravely at the ominous distant aura.
Without knights, we can’t stop him!
To think the Alzeras Knights she’d brought for that purpose betrayed them. A bone-deep blunder.
Dudududu-!
The knights’ full charge. A pressure that showed why they were called battlefield destroyers.
The shield-bearing soldiers’ eyes trembled with fear. Mages’ focus wavered, mana sparking wildly.
Especially Loria, facing this horror head-on, kept failing her chants.
“Why, why won’t it work!?”
“Milady, focus! Calm your mind.”
“I-I’m trying!”
Her trembling voice and unstable mana were palpable. Even from a great family, she was still just a middle-school kid.
No trained adult could easily overcome the terror of death. For a little girl, it was near impossible.
I-I’m gonna die—
As she shuddered in primal death-fear, pristine white chains appeared.
Chwararararak-!
The white chains snagged the legs of a horse mid-leap, toppling it instantly. Following horses tumbled in a heap.
The long chain tripped more, perfectly halting the cavalry charge.
Urururung—crashing riders.
The Phoenix soldiers, braced for death, widened their eyes.
“I’m here—! Mages, chant now!”
Holy Chain
Remaining Manifestations: 3/5
Lawrence burst onto the scene, clutching a hunk of meat in one hand—god knows how long he’d hold onto it.
He arrived as the battlefield’s savior with holy magic, undead’s bane.
“Don’t touch my sister if you wanna live.”
Time you tasted some meat too. Lawrence activated another artifact with his young body.
Pajijijik-!
He’d burned through all his Fire Arrows; now he’d empty his Lightning Bolts too.
“Go—!”
The artifact responded to his will, unleashing lightning.
The smell of burning flesh and rising smoke. Electricity arced over steel armor, melting bodies.
“Kaaaaak!”
“You must be Demian, huh?”
Kwajik-!
Toward the one knight retaining a ‘human’ shape, spouting aura—Demian—the holy meat delivered judgment.
But even with holy magic imbued, the power seemed a bit lacking.
Chiiik-!
Flesh sizzled, but Demian endured the pain, countering with aura.
A chilling slash grazed Lawrence’s forearm.
“How dare you—!”
“Ugh!?”
A shallow cut, barely drawing blood. But others freaked—Freya and the mages, who knew undead well.
Freya rushed over, predicting rapid rot, and sparked a tiny flame on his arm.
Act now, or amputation might be needed!
“Young master! You need to push the aura out with mana right—”
Weird. Why wasn’t the flesh rotting? As Freya faltered briefly, Demian staggered to his feet.
“Kill… Loria.”
Grurrruk-.
Gurgling phlegm, raising aura—a grotesque sight.
One hit from that rippling sword, and limbs might rot off mid-death.
But Lawrence wasn’t worried.
“About time they showed up…”
“Grurrruk…”
As Demian took a step, sword raised—Ururung-!
Air thundered like lightning.
Ya—! You fucking bastards—!
A voice rang out. One seething with undead hatred.
Lawrence smirked at Demian.
“You’re in deep shit now, pal.”