The Extra's Rise-Chapter 122: Mana Programming (1)

After I’d finished signing the contract with Vakrt, carefully scrawling my name on enough pages to rival the weight of the skeleton I was buying, I handed over the down payment with a heavy heart and heavier wallet. The Ancient-grade sword from my personal collection gleamed mockingly as I placed it into the hands of Vakrt’s representative as collateral. It felt like a betrayal of sorts, like giving up a loyal companion to pay rent. But sacrifices had to be made, and this particular sacrifice was one step closer to the absurd goal of creating a Lich. A fair trade? Time would tell.

Rose, ever the gracious host, waited patiently by the exit, scrolling idly through her holo-watch. "You done selling your soul?" she asked with a smirk as I joined her.

"Just about," I replied. "Though I might need to sell a bit more if I ever want that sword back."

She laughed, the kind of laugh that managed to be both friendly and mocking. "Oh, don’t worry. I’ll make sure Vakrt keeps it polished for you. Let’s go. You’ve been glaring at those papers for so long I’m afraid you might turn them to ash."

We stepped out of Vakrt’s sleek, fortress-like building and into the vibrant streets of Avalon City. It was hard to stay in a grim mood in a city like this. The air was temperature-controlled, the sky always an unnatural but oddly comforting shade of blue, and the streets pulsed with the quiet hum of vehicles. Rose insisted we explore, and who was I to argue? After all, she’d just helped me secure one of the most valuable Skeletons I could ever dream of.

Our first stop was a floating café that hovered a few meters above ground, tethered by shimmering cables that sparkled in the sunlight. The coffee wasn’t particularly memorable, but the view of the city’s winding streets, interwoven with towering crystalline skyscrapers, was worth every overpriced sip.

"You know," Rose said, stirring her drink with a faintly glowing spoon, "you’ve officially ruined my standards. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at another client’s project without thinking, ’Well, it’s not a Lich.’"

"I’ll take that as a compliment," I said, though the corners of my mouth twitched into a smile.

"It is," she said, grinning. "You’re ambitious, Arthur. That’s a rare quality. Dangerous, but rare."

We wandered through the marketplace next, where vendors displayed wares ranging from intricately enchanted trinkets to fresh produce that seemed to glow faintly with stored mana. Rose dragged me to a stall selling necromantic books—most of them overpriced junk, but a few caught her eye.

"This one’s about enhancing undead reflexes," she said, holding up a thick tome bound in what looked suspiciously like snake skin. "Not your style?"

"Not unless I want my Lich to dance," I replied. She snorted and put it back.

As the day wore on, we ended up at one of Avalon’s countless parks, where artificial streams meandered between carefully arranged trees and flowers.

"Thanks, Rose," I said, breaking the companionable silence as we sat on a bench overlooking the water. "For everything. The connections, the advice, the plane. You didn’t have to do any of it."

She looked at me, startled for a moment, before her expression softened. "Oh, don’t get all sentimental on me now," she said, though there was a warmth in her tone that hadn’t been there before. "I didn’t do it for charity, you know. I expect a full tour of this Lich when you’ve made it."

"Deal," I said.

When it was finally time to leave, the flight back to Mythos Academy felt quieter, though not unpleasantly so. Rose dozed off halfway through the trip, her holo-watch still glowing faintly as it displayed some report or another. I stared out the window, watching the world blur below, my mind already racing ahead to the next steps. The Skeleton was secured, but the real work was just beginning.

When we landed, Rose yawned and stretched, giving me a lazy wave as she headed off toward her dorm. I lingered for a moment, letting the reality of it all settle. Thirty-two billion dollars. A Blood Wyvern Skeleton. And a Lich waiting to be born.

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"Back to work," I muttered to myself, dragging my thoughts away from the brief respite of social interaction and toward the mountain of tasks looming ahead. My room greeted me with its usual silence, the quiet punctuated only by the faint hum of the mana-light above. It wasn’t exactly cozy, but it was mine, and right now, it was the perfect space to dive back into the abyss of theory and planning.

The White Star was still an enigma, a puzzle I couldn’t quite crack. For hours, I pored over notes, books, and arcane diagrams, the intricate glyphs almost mocking me with their stubborn refusal to align into clarity. It wasn’t like the Black Star; that had come to me through a forced epiphany, a searing moment of intuition that burned itself into my understanding. This, though—this required finesse, a light touch, and a kind of conceptual elegance I was still grasping for.

When my brain felt like it had turned into mush, I switched gears to studying the Lich. That, at least, felt more manageable. The forced epiphany I’d experienced while acquiring the Basilisk Heart had elevated my grasp of dark mana to something tangible, something intuitive. It was as if the once-impenetrable web of necromantic theory had untangled itself just enough for me to start weaving it into something functional.

After hours of study, I collapsed into bed, the weight of knowledge and ambition pressing down on me as I drifted into restless sleep.

"Oh gods, what the hell did you do?" Professor Gravemore’s voice boomed, startling the class as his eyes locked onto me.

I blinked at him, unsure of how to respond. "I formed my Black Star," I said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I needed it for my Lich, didn’t I?"

The professor stared at me, slack-jawed for a moment, before pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like I need a drink. He straightened, peering at me as if I’d grown a second head.

"You do," he finally said, "but how in the name of the twelve elements did you manage to form something like that with your constitution?"

I shrugged. "Talent?" I offered innocently.

Gravemore groaned, rubbing his temples. "No, no, I suppose thinking about it will only hurt my brain more. Let’s just move on before I lose the will to teach altogether."

I couldn’t help the small smirk tugging at my lips as the rest of the class looked at me like I’d just casually announced I’d solved world hunger. Gravemore waved me closer to his desk, pulling out a series of scrolls that looked older than the building itself.

"Alright," he began, his voice slipping into lecture mode. "Now that you’ve decided to set the bar absurdly high for yourself, we need to address the next critical aspect: the Source. As you know, the Source will house the artificial programmed soul for your Lich. It’s the heart of the construct—pun very much intended—and easily the hardest part to get right."

I nodded, leaning in, eager to absorb every word.

Gravemore tapped the scrolls meaningfully. "A soul—whether artificial or real—is not just a repository of memories or emotions. It’s a mechanism, a symphony of interconnected functions that allow independent thought, reaction, and adaptation. Programming a soul artificially is like trying to write a symphony for an orchestra that doesn’t exist yet. Every line of mana-code must be flawless, every function harmonized with the Skeleton and the Skull. Otherwise, the whole construct collapses."

"But," I interrupted cautiously, "can I not put a real soul into it and make it fully sentient?"

Gravemore paused, staring at me with an unreadable expression. Then he sighed, rubbing his eyes as if my audacity had physically aged him. "No," he said flatly, "and I’ll explain why before you decide to do something catastrophically stupid."

The room seemed to tense as he leaned forward. "There are tiers to necromantic creation. Liches made with artificial souls, like the one you’re attempting, are considered advanced constructs. They are autonomous but lack true sentience. Wild Liches, those that form naturally, possess real souls, which grant them true sentience—and far more volatility. However, what you’re asking about is something far rarer: a controlled Lich with true sentience. That, my dear overachieving student, is the crown jewel of necromancy. It is the domain of absolute monsters—necromancers so skilled, so godlike in their craft, that they can bind and control a sentient Ancient Undead."

The air in the room felt heavier as Gravemore’s words sank in. His eyes flicked briefly to Jin, who was seated quietly, his stoic expression betraying nothing. Then his gaze returned to me.

"Even for the most skilled necromancers in history, achieving that level is rare. And you, Arthur, are walking an entirely different path. You’re building a Lich from scratch, using materials so high-end they’d make half the Western continent weep with envy. What you’re attempting is unprecedented for someone at your level. And while it’s ambitious—commendable, even—it’s also incredibly dangerous."

"Got it," I said, keeping my tone light despite the weight of his warning. "No sentient soul for now. Just a perfectly programmed artificial one."

Gravemore nodded, though his eyes still held a trace of doubt. "Good. Now, let’s focus on the theory. You’ve got the Basilisk Heart, an incredible Source. But to integrate it properly, you’ll need to refine your mana pathways and design an intricate lattice of commands that will allow the artificial soul to interface seamlessly with the Skeleton and Skull."

He gestured to the scrolls on the desk, unfurling one to reveal a dizzying array of diagrams, equations, and mana-construct glyphs. "We’ll start with the basics, but don’t let that fool you. This will be the hardest part of your project. Are you ready?"

I nodded, my hands already itching to dive into the work. The road ahead was daunting, but I couldn’t deny the thrill of the challenge. This wasn’t just about creating a Lich anymore. It was about mastering the impossible.

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