Seventh wasn't quite sure how he got to the Adventurer's Guild front door so fast. It felt almost like teleportation. One moment, he was exiting the interrogation room, and the next, he was briskly crossing the entrance hall.

  A split second before he could yank the door open and disappear to the street, a woman's voice sounded behind him. "Mister Seven? Don't you have something for me?"

  The nicer clerk, Cexilia, was looking at him expectantly. Seventh remembered the pieces of parchment Miller gave him and her instruction to get them notarized.

  Seventh's fight or flight reflex was at the high end of flight, but he could linger just for a moment longer in the guild. "Hi. I did say we'll meet again. I was just... going to get a little bit of fresh air," he said and smiled to the red demoness behind the counter, offering parchments to her. A fraction of a smile crept at the corners of her lips. A small crack in her polished professionalism.

  "Didn't doubt you for a second, Mister Seven,” she said while checking the parchments for authenticity.

  Yeah, she knows I was going to get the hell away from that investigator guy and his priest friend. Seventh nervously tapped his fingers on the counter while Cexilia worked.

  "Please, Mister Seven is my father. Feel free to call me Seventh.”

  "Very well, Mister Seventh. I assume you still need directions to the Corpse Flower?"

  Seventh thought for a moment if he should ask her to drop the 'Mister' part, but decided against it. She seemed like a stone-cold professional, and it would just take both of their time.

  For another moment, he thought if joining any guilds here would be wise. If the guild is under investigation, would Seventh want to accidentally make himself an accomplice for something illegal— or worse, heretical?

  "Mister Seventh?" Cexilia asked. Seventh had spaced out for too long.

  Two proofs from the Order of Illumination were in front of him, proving he had gone through the “interview” and the legality of his extra Attribute. The fresh red wax seal glimmered with the Adventurer's Guild insignia, sword and staff crossed over a shield.

  "Can I ask you something?" Seventh asked while storing the parchments in his voidspace. Cexilia looked at him expectantly, but didn't say anything.

  "Is there something... off about the Corpse Flower? If there is some kind of investigation going on... is it prudent to join them?"

  "You could say that the guildmaster is indeed— as you put it— off, but not in the way you fear. I assure you, Mister Seventh, joining the guild is more than advisable." She made a side glance at the pudgy human who had ratted Seventh out. "Personally, I'd join them first and the Guild the second."

  "Oh, why is that?"

  Her smile was alluring— even with the sharp fangs. "Paperwork."

  Seventh snorted at the surprising joke. "Alright, alright. I'll check Corpse Flower out. Directions?"

  "Take the main stairway down— the same one you flew down just a moment ago— and follow the 'Archive' signs."

  Seventh nodded with a thankful smile. "Thanks. I'll get back if I get lost."

  "I'll be here waiting for your return in anticipation."

  Going down, Seventh made cursory glances at the artwork that slowly changed from fine brushwork to more experimental, brutal strokes before becoming framed pieces of parchment with crude ink or charcoal drawings of monsters. Before the last floor down, all paintings vanished, leaving grey rock walls unaddorned. Looking up, Seventh counted the five floors he had ascended. The building was truly vast, bigger on the inside than it seemed from the outside.

  Small wooden placards on the walls and hanging from the roof guided Seventh towards the Archive. There was also a multitude of storerooms, armories, and just numbered rooms.

  Stopping at the right door, Seventh noticed two brass signs on the door: Archives, Corpse Flower. A small piece of parchment was stuck on the lower sign and read: Come on in, no need to knock.

  Following the parchment's instruction, Seventh walked right into the guild hall— or more like a stuffy, cramped room. It was fairly small, only around fifteen feet by twenty, and most of the room was dominated by large bookshelves filled with thick tomes. A cozy-looking reading corner, and a battered old table were all that had been fitted in the door's side of the room.

  A frayed, old carpet led straight forward to a service counter much like upstairs, but the thing standing behind was very different. An undead man silently watched Seventh. There was no doubt about it. It was an older man with pruned skin, dried out and shrunken around his bones. That was something Seventh had no trouble dealing with. Hanging around with the undead— for weeks, months? — had scraped off every sense of discomfort from dead walking around.

  What made Seventh flinch and pause was the fact that the man was wearing fluffy bathrobes, half-moon glasses, and had a pipe hanging from his shrunken lips. The two undead stared at each other in silence before Seventh collected himself. He was a necromancer for crying out loud! Awkwardly staring at corpses was beneath him, pedestrian even.

  It was odd that he didn't see a speck of Death Mana coursing through the undead man. Seventh quickly checked his Skills and realized Death Sense was toggled off. Had the manacles done that? Interesting, but the presence of an undead secretary standing calmly in a guildhall was more important than wondering about the minutiae of mana-sapping prisoner implements.

  Activating Death Sense, familiar Death Mana filled the corpse, a steady flow animating the corpse. Unlike Seventh's roiling pyres of azure flame, this undead had tightly wound ropes of mana emanating from a ball of yarn-looking cluster of blue power so deep it bordered on black.

  Before even realizing it, Seventh had closed the distance and was examining the magic working more closely. From an outside perspective, it would have looked like his undead had more mana than this one, but the blue flows were more precise, controlled bursts. Seventh could see faint ripples working through the corpse. Magnificent work of a master. Not a single drop of mana was in the wrong spot or leaking out of mana channels.

  Seventh hadn't actually noticed the corpse lifting its arm and gesturing towards a piece of parchment next to a bell.

  "Drop off your paperwork here. If you have a need for further assistance, please ring a bell," Seventh read out loud from the parchment. There was also a well-made drawing instructing the same. Literacy was not guaranteed among the adventurers.

  DING!

  "One moment, please!" A man's voice hollered from back, somewhere behind the bookshelves. In his wonderment, Seventh had failed to notice anything behind the undead serviceworker. The counter was in front of a tall bookshelf that rose all the way to the roof, eight feet high. A small walkway was formed between two shelves, and a robed man appeared.

  He was a dark haired, middle-aged human wearing a simple, single-piece brown robe tied with a black belt. His sleeves were splotched with black ink, and he was rubbing his hand on a towel. The only adornment in his attire was a black patch on the left side of his chest representing a flower with a golden thread.

  "Hello! Problems with paperwork?" His voice was deep and friendly, almost fatherly, which was reinforced by an expectant but patient expression.

  Seventh nodded as a greeting. "Actually, no. I'm looking Corpse Flower, the Necromancer guild? I think I'm at the correct place?"

  "Yes, you are!" A slow smile rose into the man's expression. "Say, you're not joining my guild perchance? You don't have the bearing of an enraged citizen or a tax collector. And you don't seem creeped out by Papa."

  "Eh, Papa?"

  "Yes, that's my father manning the counter. The guildmaster before me, rest his soul."

  Out of all the guilds and classes, I had to choose and get one with a loon for a master, Seventh thought. He was certainly doomed to more than a normal amount of oddness.

  "Seventh Seven. And yes, I'm a Necromancer looking to join your guild." He stepped closer to the guildmaster and offered his hand for a handshake.

  His hand was gladly accepted, and a firm squeeze preceded a full-blown smile. "Marvelous! Absolutely fantastic! Caleb Garth, Guildmaster of Corpse Flower, at your service. Sadly, there is a little... outside procedure we need to perform before the necessary identifications, rituals, and paperwork. Follow me upstairs?"

  Garth released Seventh's hand and was already swinging a section of the counter open to exit before Seventh spoke. "You mean the interrogation by the Order of Illumination? They have actually done that already. I got snatched after I told the receptionist that I was a Necromancer."

  "You have already done that? Excellent, excellent. That actually cuts my work in half, which is a nice bonus. No need to ask about your criminal record or where you gained the class. Do you have the Proof of Interrogation with you? Believe, but confirm, I'm afraid." Garth closed the counter, but held his hand up expectantly.

  Seventh plucked the necessary parchment from his voidspace and handed it to Garth. The guildmaster looked mildly surprised seeing the Skill, but retained the friendly expression. He accepted the parchment, read it carefully, and walked next to...Papa.

  Behind the counter, he pulled open a couple of drawers that Seventh couldn't see, and after finding what he was looking for, crumbled something, and finally nodded in satisfaction.

  "Great! Since that seems to be in order, we need to talk about the mundanity of coin first. Are you aware that there is a fee to join the guilds? Including Adventurers' Guild?"

  Seventh, in fact, hadn't known about this. By the gods, why hadn't anybody said anything? Maybe it was just a nominal fee and easily payable?

  "Erh, how much?"

  "Thirty gold for the Adventurers' Guild, twenty-five for Corpse Flower."

  "What the—?!? Fifty-five gold just to join the guilds? How-why-wha?" Seventh's jaw slackened as he worked the number. How in the world would he have money for that? How did anybody have money for that?

  Garth raised his arms in a calming gesture and waved them up and down. "Please, let's stay calm. This is an archive after all, and I like to think the library rules apply. Actually, Hells, I'm the guildmaster, aren't I? The library rules do apply!"

  Seventh stared at the smiling man and again thought that he was slipping closer to insanity. Still, he had to admit that Garth had a point and it was in fact Seventh's fault that he hadn't asked about fees.

  "Sorry," Seventh said and bit into his lower lip. "So...I don't have that kind of money."

  "Worry not, there's a myriad of solutions for everyone. Since you just walked in, I assume you want to join here and now, today?"

  "That would be preferable. I do have a week's worth of lodging and food, but I doubt I could cough up that much gold in a week."

  "Excellent, excellent. You are miles ahead of some poor fellows who have gone through the main doors." Garth opened a drawer and picked up a piece of parchment, and seemed to check it out. "If you don't have enough money, we can see if we can generate some capital for you. Are you aware of the general open contracts? Killing slimes, rats, those kinds of lower-end monsters, and material requests? How about material deposits?"

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  "You don't need to be an adventurer to get money from the guild?"

  "We don't like to advertise it too much— civilians running to their deaths and all— but yes, if you splatter a rat and there is an open contract, you can get paid. Have you done any of that kind of thing lately?"

  A quick series of ratkin exploding with magic and being skewered with a spear ran through Seventh's mind. "Yes. Is there a contract for ratkin?"

  Garth lifted his eyes from the list to look Seventh in the eyes. "There is always a contract for demihumans. Nasty little things, always stealing and killing innocents."

  Not as much as adventurers kill them, I bet, Seventh thought, but bit his tongue.

  A smooth stone appeared from behind the counter with a heavy thud. It reminded Seventh of the Identify Stone, but this one was larger and filled with tiny lines of runic symbols forming concentric lines all around. Flicking Sense Magic briefly on, Seventh saw a spider's web of mana flowing in and out of the stone in an astounding pace.

  One strand went straight to a mirror that Garth lifted and tapped twice. After a moment, he nodded and gestured towards the stone. "Place your hand on the stone and state clearly, Return: open quest, ratkin."

  Placing his hand on the stone, Seventh felt a slight tingle on his palm. Saying the words, he felt heat from the stone and the mirror Garth was holding glowed in a soft glow.

  "Marvelous! You are in luck, there indeed is...an open quest...for...ratkin?" Garth's eyes widened as he read whatever he was looking at, and his jaw slackened a bit. He blinked for a moment before slowly peeling his eyes off he mirror.

  He spoke with slightly less enthusiasm than before, "With the running rate of three silver per ratkin, fifteen gold per Brute...your total comes to eighty-seven gold, nine silver."

  There was a silence as Seventh actively refused to do the math. Instead, he spoke again, "Return: open quest, umbrefel."

  He was fairly certain that would be a conversation piece at least if not another quest. Seventh could almost see Garth's questions bubbling to the outside. Instead, the guildmaster glanced back at the mirror and slowly nodded.

  "Aaand that's another forty gold, totaling at one hundred and twenty-seven gold, nine silver." He slowly lowered the mirror out of Seventh's sight. "Unless you have more shocking discoveries to share?"

  How could anyone resist an opening like that? Giving the guildmaster a wide, toothy grin, Seventh lifted his hand, and after a flash of purple, an umbrefel pelt was balancing on his palm.

  Garth lifted his eyebrow and gestured to receive the pelt. "The umbrefel pelt, I assume?"

  The pelt exchanged hands as Seventh spoke. "Yep. I met a Rogue who estimated it at two hundred gold."

  Looking between Seventh and the pelt, a slightly befuddled expression started to rise on Garth's face. "I believe we have successfully fixed your financial problems, Mister Seven. Unfortunately, I can't just give you two hundred gold on a word from a stranger, but with your permission, I can take the pelt and sell it through the guild's associates. It might come a little short, but if the Rogue's estimation holds, it should be at least one hundred and eighty gold?"

  "Sounds good. Saves me the trouble of finding a proper buyer. What else can I sell at the guild? Essence Stones?"

  Garth rolled his eyes before answering. "Good Heavens, no! The Prismatic Stone has a foothold on those, but all you can hack off from a monster corpse should be sellable. There's an abattoir one floor up where you can drop off corpses. Usually adventurers use the outside door, but you seemed to have a useful Skill..."

  Seventh quietly filed away the name of Prismatic Stone. He assumed it was the Enchanter's Guild he had heard about. The question was left politely on the air hanging, and since Seventh was there to join up and maybe get some guidance on necromancy, he decided to answer. "Inventory Skill. I can store organic material and some inorganic."

  "Ah, how marvelous! I have to fiddle with a Bag of Holding when I want to carry my minions around... But that conversation must wait, I'm afraid. We need to get you sorted out and names to parchment! When you join the guild, all you say and tell me inside these walls is confidential. To some degree— if you flat out confess crimes, I have to turn you in."

  "Of course I join," Seventh said eagerly. He added some humor to his next words, "I heard there was a ritual? Some paperwork? Do I just open my palm and write with blood or what?"

  "Oh please," Garth said a rolling his eyes. "If you are going to use blood, do it properly. Open up a vein and be done with it. Wounds on the palm also hurt like you would never believe."

  He winked before continuing. "Seriously, though, just normal paperwork. Your name, place of birth, Classes, and such. You know how to read and write?"

  "Yes. I have a Scholar Class too."

  Garth closed his eyes and took in a pleased shudder of air. "Mister Seven! If I weren't a happily married man, I would buy you a dinner. I'll get those forms to fill out for you."

  Contrary to its name, paperwork consisted of a small pile of parchment with a multitude of questions, and boxes to tick. Seventh received a pot of ink and a quill from Garth and started happily filling them out.

  Some segments he left blank, like the names of his parents, age, place of birth, and most of the sections detailing his past life. He marked his home as Hamlet, though. If you lie, lie consistently.

  With a flourish, he signed the last page and handed it down to Garth. He had been checking his work and occasionally asked just to put something in the fields. Apparently, there was a certain percentage of sections that the Adventurer's Guild allowed to be kept empty. Seventh's parents were now Mom and Dad, a proud necromancer tradition if Papa was an indicator.

  Every piece of parchment was signed by Garth and stamped with the guild's official stamp. Apparently, it was much more convenient than "those damnable wax seals cracking everywhere".

  Unsurprisingly, the writing had an inevitable effect on his skills.

  Pleased, Seventh closed the window. His Scholar skills had lagged seriously behind, and he had been slightly worried about them, even if they didn't contribute directly to combat. Having access to a library or just a pile of monster books would be invaluable in the long run. Seventh could research the local flora and fauna, find out about the local geography, search for monster weaknesses and tactics against common and rare monsters.

  He would do his best not to run blindly up the stairs, killing most of his party. He looked at a dark drop of ink that had splattered on the worn counter. It was already dry.

  "Marvelous, all paperwork is in order, and when you check with the upstairs, they will dock the joining fee from your payment. Congratulations, you are now a proud member of the Corpse Flower! Have a patch." Garth handed Seventh a black patch with an embroidered flower. Looking closely, it seemed very...feminine.

  "Erh, thanks. Is it— do I have to put this on?"

  "Of course! How else are you supposed to be recognized as a member of our exquisite order of the walking dead?"

  Seventh narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Why haven't I seen any patches on other adventurers?"

  "They... aren't guild affiliated?" The guildmaster's polished veneer gained a tiny crack. It was all Seventh needed for confirmation. His leg was being pulled again.

  "I don't really need to put this on, do I?"

  "No, but I would really appreciate it if someone would. I worked hard on the design!"

  "I can see that. It's very...detailed."

  Garth sighed in defeat. "Just...keep it and see if you want to put it on, okay? Now. As a fully pledged member— payment pending, of course— we can go into the delicious nitty gritty details of your build. Do you mind sharing your Necromancer Skills and other classes? Small descriptions of the Skills, too, please."

  Seventh picked up an empty piece of paper and started to make a list of his skills. He grouped Void of Entropy in his general skills, keeping his extra Attribute hidden. If his guildmaster had a Skill or other way to find out about it, they would cross that bridge when necessary.

  While he was busy working, Garth had disappeared between the bookshelves and returned with a tea tray laden with snacks and a fresh pot of tea. He made himself at home in the reading corner and poured two cups of tea when Seventh approached with another piece of neat handwriting. He looked at the two cups and didn't have the heart to tell him he really didn't need another haunting memory of an afternoon tea gone wrong.

  "I have to say, it is a rare pleasure to get to read such diligent work. It might come from Skill, but it has become of you. The System provides."

  Custom dictated that Seventh should echo the sentiment, but it wasn't needed. Only the true believers would do that every time, completed with a hand sign. The book Degen had gifted him truly was a goldmine of information. Another win for the Scholar class.

  "I see you have a Soldier too. I'm not too familiar with it, but it has good synergy with the Necromancer. Some oddities, like your aura... You already have a group buff, Comrades in Arms. Does it work with normal undead, or do you have to have advanced ones?" Garth continued.

  Seventh was going to sip his tea, and he had to stop just before commitment. "I don't know. I might be a little hazy about... all of this. Necromancy, I mean. All I know comes from skills, and comparing my minions to... Papa just hammers the point in."

  Gods, it is creepy to say “Papa”, Seventh thought while stopping himself from shivering. He could feel the empty eye sockets of the undead clerk staring at him.

  Garth peeked behind the parchment and met Seventh's eyes. "Oh yes. That. I have some good books to sink in some basic magical theory into you, and if you bring in some corpses in that nifty Skill of yours, we can do some workshopping. I am myself a Fleshcrafter, someone who modifies corpses to their needs— so I have better than average knowledge about Raise Dead and other reanimation skills, and most importantly: the manipulation of Death Mana."

  He looked at Seventh's skill list before adding, "You have Death Sense— no surprises there, it's either that or Grave's Grace— and Sense Magic. I don't know if you know, but getting Sense Magic outside of Wizard, Mage, or magical craftsman classes is rare. Nothing legendary, I assure you, but it is a clear sign where you should put your effort in. You still with me?"

  The guildmaster had noticed that Seventh was still nursing his tea, not a single sip yet taken. Seventh realized that too, and hurriedly tasted the tea. It was made with care and had just the right amount of fruitiness, balancing the bitterness of the leaves. Something else than the East Valley blend Seventh had been accustomed to, but good nonetheless.

  "Sorry, I just... I have been a little lost lately and getting some actual advice... it feels good, that's all."

  "Seventh, this is what I'm here for. To guide and help. I confess that I do have a tendency to steer people to the magnificence of fleshcrafting, but if you had walked in with Summon Skeleton— I would have pulled the spellbooks for conjuration out of the shelves and hammered in those principles," Garth said. He continued with a mumble behind the parchment, "And made merciless fun of you the whole time..."

  "Is summoning that bad?"

  "Bot bad per se, but a trained Wizard can just dispel summoned foes away. Sure, they use a lot of mana to do that, but they can't do that to raised undead, their Death Mana acts as a magical motive force for reanimation, and are generally untamperable— like souls. And yes, I know we have to carry our minions with us, but with proper precautions, reanimation is better."

  The more Garth passionately spoke about their Class, the more Seventh felt like home. A place where he belonged and could be like himself. No way in Hells he would pop in a conversation: Oh, by the way, I'm also undead. A Wraith, actually. Isn't that neat?

  "Do you mind if I pop out one of my minions? I'd love to get some feedback. And I do have a lot of questions about the undead and how they behave."

  "If you don't mind, we can look into your work after tea," Garth said as he finished reading the list. It had taken a while, and he had commented about Sense Magic, which was in the lower end, so he had clearly reread the list a couple of times with thought.

  "I see you have good foundations for a classical Necromancer— with a delicious twist. Like you probably know, we are usually lumped into the support caster box and are expected to just use masses of hordes to either supplement the tanks or be used as attack mooks. You have been doing things differently." Garth's eyes wandered from Seventh's scared ear to his mangled hand. "You fight with your minions as equals."

  It wasn't a question, but a statement. Seventh was amazed that Garth could do such deductions from a couple of scars and a list of skills. He nodded and waited for Garth to continue.

  "Necromancers are weak in close combat, but you have already found a workaround. Not only that, your Comrades in Arms is probably a product of that? Your undead will be stronger than usual, given some time, and ranks in that Skill. If we refine that synergy, you have a real potential for a successful adventuring career."

  Seventh hadn't missed a tiny detail. "We?"

  "Well, yes. I teach, you learn. I'm not going to follow you around in a dungeon for goodness' sake, but I will make you ready. Mostly with a hefty reading list, but something tells me that just excites you... which also makes me excited. I might have to warn my wife about you." Garth winked and theatrically sighed, closing his eyes. "But alas, I wouldn't endanger Junior's happy childhood."

  "Junior?" Seventh's eyes inevitably moved slowly towards Papa. Where is Papa, there is—

  "Oh, yes! My darling boy! Wait for a moment, I'm gonna— just need to— a-ha!" With a whirlwind of movement, Garth sprinted to the counter, leaned forwards, and fumbled for something behind the counter, balancing on top of it. When he returned, he thrust a picture frame right in front of Seventh's face.

  He could see a black and white picture of a young boy furrowing his brow. He couldn't be more than four or five, with light hair and a serious expression. The quality of the picture was extraordinary, it almost seemed alive.

  The boy in the picture suddenly opened his eyes wide, grinned with one tooth missing, and gave an enthusiastic wave, making his hand stutter in the picture. Seventh stared as the picture continued the loop over and over again, until Garth lifted the picture frame away from Seventh to look at it himself. He beamed at the picture and chuckled.

  "That's my boy, Junior. It's a little old picture, but damn if he isn't a darling in this one. Soon the little rascal runs around here and raises some Hell— or me." He chuckled at his own joke.

  Seventh quietly sipped his cooled-off tea. Madder than a bag of headless snakes.

  "That's my little runt, how about yours?"

  "Huh?" It was a good thing Seventh had just finished his cup, for he fumbled with it.

  "You wanted to show me your minion? We can look at how well you have grasped Raise Dead, and plan for your future."

  "Oooh. Yes, minion. A runt— yes, yes." Seventh hastily chose an empty spot, around four feet away from the chairs they were sitting on, right in the middle of the carpet.

  A ball of knives and indignant ratkin rage nimbly dropped from the hole in reality to sniff the air with a curious expression. Fang-Knife stared at Papa suspiciously and slowly moved his hands towards the handles of his knives.

  Garth's mouth dropped open as he followed the azure pyre all the way to the roof rafters. Seventh hadn't asked, but he had assumed that the guildmaster also had Death Sense.

  "By the Saint's teeth! What is that?!"

  Seventh didn't know why the older Necromancer was so open-eyed and gobsmacked all of a sudden. It was just Fang.

  “Um. Garth, this is Fang. Fang, this is Garth. Don't stab him.”