I'm The Only Necromancer In This Cultivation World-Chapter 45: Garrick Vayne (part 2)
Aiden nodded slowly, hiding the faint curl of satisfaction at the corner of his mouth.
"That’s the point."
The three brothers had no idea why he needed ten extra sets.
As far as they were concerned, their boss was simply preparing for expansion. Hiring new men. Building a force.
"We even got different sizes," Kain added. "In case the new recruits aren’t built the same."
"Good," Aiden said. "You did well."
Reth puffed his chest slightly at the praise.
Aiden rose from his seat and walked toward the bundles, inspecting the armor pieces with careful hands. His mind was already calculating.
Ten basic-grade undead.
Clothed. Armored. Armed.
Once covered, their bones wouldn’t show. With gloves and boots, even their hands and feet would pass in dim light. A hood would hide the face.
---
Aiden returned to the plaza just as the city began to stir with unease.
The wide stone square was far busier than usual. Guards moved back and forth in tight groups, their armor clinking as they pushed through the crowd. A few stood near the notice board, voices raised, while others questioned civilians who looked more confused than frightened.
Something had happened.
Aiden slowed his pace and blended into the flow of people. He kept his expression neutral, his posture relaxed, like any other passerby with time to waste.
Whispers floated through the air.
"Did you hear about the cemetery?"
"They say graves were dug up."
"No, not dug up. Emptied."
A pair of merchants stood near a fountain, speaking in hushed tones. One of them leaned in close, lowering his voice as if the dead themselves might be listening.
"There were no bodies," the man said. "Not a single bone left behind."
"That’s impossible," the other replied. "Grave robbers take valuables, not corpses."
"That’s the strange part. The caretaker swore the coffins were empty."
Aiden stopped near a fruit stall and pretended to examine the goods. Inside, he was calm. This was expected. Ten disturbed graves were never going to go unnoticed.
Near the center of the plaza, a guard captain was barking orders.
"Seal off the western road," he shouted. "Double the patrols near the outer districts. Anyone seen near the cemetery last night is to be questioned."
Several guards nodded and hurried off.
A small crowd had gathered nearby, drawn by fear and curiosity. Some looked nervous. Others looked excited, as if the mystery was a form of entertainment.
An old woman crossed herself repeatedly. "The dead don’t just vanish," she muttered. "This city is cursed."
Aiden turned away from the stall and continued walking.
Aiden let out a quiet breath as he walked along the street.
’I guess what I did caused quite a stir.’
Even from here, he could still feel the tension in the air. Guards were more alert, patrols tighter, conversations hushed. Ten empty graves would do that to a city.
But that wasn’t his concern right now.
His boots carried him down the familiar road lined with lantern posts and painted doors. The scent of perfume drifted faintly through the air, even in the morning light. The brothel stood ahead, its red curtains drawn halfway across the windows, the sign above the door freshly polished.
Aiden slowed.
To his surprise, Vayne was already there.
The head chief of the guards stood just outside the entrance, speaking to one of the attendants. He wasn’t in full armor this time, just a fitted dark coat with a short blade at his waist. Even dressed down, he carried himself with authority. Broad shoulders. Sharp jaw. A man used to giving orders.
And yet, there he was.
Back at the brothel.
In the morning.
Aiden leaned casually against a nearby pillar, watching without appearing to watch.
Even if you’re a degenerate, he thought, you’re still the head chief of the guards. A man of status. A man with responsibilities.
Vayne glanced around before stepping inside, his movements slightly hurried.
It looked more like impatience.
Or desperation.
That was what bothered Aiden.
Something was off.
Aiden straightened and crossed the street at an easy pace. The brothel’s door opened briefly as a servant slipped out with a basket of linens. For a moment, Aiden caught a glimpse of the interior, golden light, silk curtains, polished wood, and the faint sound of soft laughter.
Vayne had already disappeared inside.
Aiden stopped just short of the entrance, his eyes narrowing slightly.
’Let’s see what kind of woman can make this man act like a horny dog.’
He stepped through the doorway.
Warm air wrapped around him instantly, thick with incense and perfume. The interior was lavish without being gaudy. Velvet drapes hung from the ceiling, dividing the hall into private sections. A few women lounged near the center, their smiles practiced but not forced.
One of them approached him.
"Welcome," she said gently, her voice smooth as silk. "Are you here for someone specific?"
Aiden gave her a faint smile, calm and polite.
"Just looking around," he replied.
But his eyes were already scanning the room.
Near the back staircase, he saw Vayne ascending, led by a single woman.
She wasn’t dressed more extravagantly than the others, but there was something different about her. Her posture was relaxed, almost regal. She didn’t cling to Vayne’s arm. She walked slightly ahead of him.
And Vayne followed.
Not like a customer.
Like a man pulled by a leash only he could see.
Aiden’s expression didn’t change, but his interest sharpened.
He didn’t waste a second.
The moment Vayne disappeared upstairs, he slipped into a quiet corner of the brothel’s hall, lowered his head as if in thought, and activated his skill.
Possession Command.
Outside, in the narrow alley beside the brothel, Bone Fist stood perfectly still in the shadows. Cloaked and masked, he blended into the darkness like a silent guard no one had hired.
Aiden felt the pull immediately.
It was like something hooked behind his eyes and yanked.
The warmth of his own body faded. The faint noise of chatter inside the brothel dulled. For a heartbeat, everything went black.
Then his vision snapped back into focus.
But it wasn’t his own.
