The curtain slid aside with a rasp of leather on metal. Fendrel's eyes adjusted to the deeper darkness, picking out shapes in the gloom. A man bent over a rough wooden table, his dark robes pooling around his feet. Three more figures loomed behind him, standing perfectly still in the shadows.

  The necromancer's head snapped up at Fendrel's entrance. Pale fingers splayed across papers scattered across the table's surface. His face twisted from concentration to shock, then fury, his teeth bared in a snarl.

  "What is this?" The words came out as a hiss. "The smith has a death wish?"

  The three figures remained motionless. No breath stirred their robes, no slight movement betrayed life beneath the fabric. Their stillness raised the hair on Fendrel's neck.

  Blood stained the necromancer's sleeves, fresh crimson drops falling from his fingertips to splatter on yellowed parchment. The sweet-metallic smell grew overwhelming - decay masked by perfume and preservatives.

  Fendrel's muscles locked. His mind screamed at him to move, to reach for a vial, to do something. But his body refused to obey. The wrongness of the scene paralyzed him - the unnatural stillness of the three figures, the rage twisting the necromancer's features into something inhuman.

  The necromancer's hands clenched into fists, crumpling the papers beneath them. "Well. This complicates things." His voice dropped to a growl. "I'll have to kill you too."

  The undead lurched forward with unnatural speed. Fendrel stumbled backward, his boots catching on the uneven floor. His hands flew up in a useless defensive gesture as skeletal fingers reached for his throat.

  The moment the creature's flesh touched his skin, purple light erupted from the glyphs etched across Fendrel's arms. The undead's hand dissolved on contact, flesh and bone sloughing away like wax under intense heat. The creature's momentum carried it forward, pressing its chest against Fendrel's raised forearms. More flesh melted away, revealing blackened ribs and rotting organs that collapsed into a puddle at his feet.

  [STATUS] You have absorbed the essence of lesser ghoul

  [NEW PASSIVE SKILL] Rune Warding LEVEL 1

  Blue text flashed across his vision, status updates and skill notifications competing for his attention. He blinked hard, trying to clear them away. There wasn't time to read - not with two more walking corpses advancing on him.

  Power surged through the glyphs in his arms, different from before. Where the previous reaction had been outside of his control, this energy responded to his will. The fading purple light stabilized, dimming to a steady glow that traced each marking on his skin.

  He activated the mudclaw by instinct together with the fungal aura to no apparent effect.

  The remaining undead lurched forward in unison, their movements jerky yet quick. Fendrel's muscles reacted before his mind could process the threat. He lunged at the nearest one, claws extended. His strike connected with rotting flesh, but the ghoul barely registered the attack. Its head snapped toward him, jaw unhinging to reveal rows of blackened teeth.

  Purple light blazed from Fendrel's glyphs. The markings burning against his skin, their power surging outward in waves. Where he touched the ghouls, their bodies crumbled. Flesh dissolved into ash, bones collapsed into dust. In seconds, nothing remained but two piles of gray powder on the floor.

  New text flashed across his vision:

  [STATUS] You have absorbed the essence of lesser ghoul

  [CLASS LEVEL UP] Necrotic Etherbane Engraver LEVEL: 1 -> LEVEL: 2

  [STATUS] Glyph-Melded Form destabilized.

  [FORM STATUS]: Form's required substance: Reinforced Gravebloom Tincture, Glyph Mana Recovery Potion: Dose required in 9 hours.

  INTEGRATION: Xytril Nematode LEVEL: 10 -> LEVEL: 11

  Fendrel's mind raced at the implications. Somehow he'd absorbed essence from the creatures and leveled from killing it.

  Isn't this how combat classes level up?

  But before he could process any of it, something slammed into his chest with massive force.

  The impact knocked him backward. Pain bloomed across his torso, followed by an icy numbness that spread outward from the point of contact.

  [EFFECT]: You have been exposed to necrosis

  [STATUS]: You are immune to necrosis

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The pain vanished as fast as it struck. Fendrel glanced down at his torn shirt, expecting to find mangled flesh beneath. Instead, unmarred skin gleamed through the holes in the fabric, purple glyphs pulsing with a steady light.

  The necromancer's eyes widened. "Impossible." He stepped back, hands weaving through the air in a complex pattern. "You should be rotting where you stand."

  Fendrel didn't wait for another attack. He launched himself forward, claws extended. The necromancer's fingers twisted into claws of their own, dark energy crackling between them. Another blast of power struck Fendrel's shoulder, but like before, the necrotic energy dissipated harmlessly against his skin.

  His claws raked across the necromancer's arm. The man hissed in pain, but there was barely any effect - nothing like the devastation the poison had on normal humans. The necromancer grabbed Fendrel's wrist, and Fendrel braced for the burning sensation of his glyphs activating.

  Nothing happened.

  The purple markings remained inert, useless against the living flesh of the man. The necromancer's lips curved into a cruel smile. "Not so dangerous against the living, are you?"

  They grappled across the workshop floor, knocking over a table and sending equipment crashing to the ground. The necromancer was stronger than his thin frame suggested, matching Fendrel desperate blows. No blood trickled from the shallow cuts left by Fendrel's claws, and the man showed no signs of succumbing to the poison.

  Fendrel's hand closed around another vial in his pocket. The Witherfang Resin. He pulled it free, thumbing with the cork as the necromancer slammed him against a workbench. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, but he kept his grip on the vial.

  The necromancer's hands closed around Fendrel's throat. Fendrel brought the vial up and slammed the glass against the man's face.

  The effect was immediate. The resin clung to flesh like hungry acid, eating through skin and muscle with terrifying speed. The necromancer's screams cut off as his throat dissolved, his body collapsing into a bubbling mass of liquefied tissue on the workshop floor.

  The workshop looked like a war zone. Shattered glass crunched under Fendrel's boots as he picked his way around overturned tables and scattered tools.

  The acrid stench of dissolved flesh filled the air, emanating from the puddle of liquefied tissue that had once been a necromancer. Bones poked through the viscous mass like broken teeth, already starting to dissolve in the caustic resin.

  Two piles of gray ash marked where the ghouls had fallen, their remains scattered across the floor by the struggle. Dark stains spread across the wooden floorboards where blood and chemicals had mixed together, eating small holes in the surface.

  Fendrel straightened his torn shirt and brushed debris from his sleeves. The purple glyphs beneath his skin pulsed with a steady rhythm, already settling back to their normal state.

  He strode into the front room of the shop, where the blacksmith cowered behind his counter. The man's face had gone pale, his eyes darting between Fendrel and the workshop door.

  "So, where did we stop?" Fendrel's attempt at casual tone seemed to unnerve the blacksmith even more.

  The man's mouth worked silently for a moment before he found his voice. "I... you..."

  "You said you have my order, correct?"

  The blacksmith nodded frantically and scrambled to retrieve a wrapped package from beneath the counter. His hands shook as he placed it on the scarred wooden surface.

  "I'm short on money now." Fendrel kept his voice level, watching the fear play across the blacksmith's face. "We'll clear the price when the rest of the order is delivered. Agreed?"

  The blacksmith's jaw clenched. For a moment, it looked like he might argue about payment. Then his eyes flicked to the workshop door again, and whatever protest he'd been about to voice died in his throat. He gave a sharp nod instead.

  Fendrel gathered up the package, checking its contents quickly. Most of the ingredients he needed were there, along with the promise of mana brewing equipment to come. It would have to do for now.

  He left the blacksmith standing rigid behind his counter, the man's relief at his departure almost palpable in the air.

  Fendrel pushed open the door to his workshop, package tucked under his arm. The familiar chemical smell hit him first, followed by the sight of five figures standing around his workbench. The bodies from earlier had been shoved against the far wall, leaving dark smears across the floorboards.

  Eryndra paced back and forth, her boots clicking against the wooden floor. Her usual composed demeanor had cracked, tension visible in the set of her shoulders.

  "Are you alright?" Fendrel set his package down on a clear section of bench.

  She whirled to face him. "No, I'm not. You're late."

  "Had to deal with some undead before collecting my order." Fendrel began unwrapping the package, laying out glass vials and metal implements.

  A tall man in a dark coat stepped forward. "Undead? What kind of bullshit is this?" His hand rested on the hilt of a curved dagger. "Who even is this guy, Eryndra?"

  "I never asked for more of you to show up." Fendrel didn't look up from his unpacking. "If you have a problem with me, you can fuck off."

  The man's face flushed red. "You little-"

  "Enough." Eryndra's voice cracked like a whip. "We don't have time for this. Fendrel is who I said he is - our new supplier."

  "A supplier who can't even show up on time?" Another figure spoke up, a woman with close-cropped gray hair.

  Fendrel started putting vials on the workbench. "Would you prefer I let the necromancer at the Ashen Anvil live? Because I can go back and un-kill them if you'd like."

  That brought silence to the room. Eryndra stopped pacing, her eyes narrowing. "The Ashen Anvil? When?"

  "Just now. Three ghouls and one necromancer."

  The tall man's hand tightened on his dagger. "You expect us to believe-"

  "I said enough." Eryndra stepped between them. "If even Waller was compromised, it means the necromancers didn't target just us."

  "Or he's lying," the gray-haired woman muttered.

  Fendrel pulled out his mortar and pestle, setting them on the workbench with a sharp crack. "Check it yourself if you want. Though I wouldn't recommend touching anything - the residual toxins might be... unpleasant."

  The room was silent short of Fendrel rustling with ingredients.

  "We're wasting time." Eryndra's voice cut through the tension. "The safehouse needs to be cleared tonight. The longer we wait, the more likely they'll catch wind of our plan and get reinforcements in."

  The other Cabal members shifted uncomfortably. Fendrel noticed how they all kept their distance from his workbench, eyeing the various bottles and equipment with suspicion.

  "I need an hour," Fendrel said, already measuring out ingredients.

  "An hour?" The tall man scoffed. "We don't have-"

  "You'll get that hour," Eryndra interrupted and turned to her companions. "Check the area. Keep an eye on those guys in the opposite building and make sure we weren't discovered."

  The others filed out, leaving only Eryndra behind. She watched as Fendrel began grinding herbs in his mortar.

  "What are you preparing?" she inquired. "They weren't wrong about not having time."

  Fendrel paused his work. "Do you trust me?" When silence answered him, he resumed crushing the Bluecap Mushrooms. "Well, I suppose that makes us even."

  "Fine. One hour." She moved toward the door.