“Are you really Oran?” Rosamund called out from across the courtyard.

She looked pensive, ready to run, and so did the noble with her. I’d let her root through the leftover supplies of the cultists that they’d dumped on the ground before their assault on the tower. The man had watched me while she’d gathered up the supplies. I didn’t hold the mistrust against them, nor did I fault them for being cautious.

Why she’d bothered to ask me the question was curious, however. Whatever I’d told her, she would have to take it at face value. Or, maybe, mask value. So, I wondered if she asked out of idle interest or a genuine need to know. The possibility that a familial attachment drove her inquiry wasn’t out of the question. I didn’t need that drama in my unlife at present.

And I didn’t want to deal with another tagalong, either. I’d offered to escort her before, and she’d turned me down. I had no intention of doing so a second time.

I shook my head “no”. Then waited to see how they’d take my answer.

Rosamund and her companion both stared at me in silence for a moment. It was the nobleman that responded.

“I know Oran Farrow, and it is as you say, you definitely aren’t him. Thank you for saving us.” He said with a curt bow.

Wish I could say the same. I have no memories of you at all.

Rosamund nodded in agreement, but the subtext was clear. They would honor my words whether they believed them. It was actually a relief to hear. If those two got topside and started spouting off about me to members of House Farrow, I couldn’t even begin to calculate a response.

Thankfully, they packed up and left shortly after, looking over their shoulders the entire while, but I had turned my attention from them.

Because I had sweet gear to pillage!

My minions had already stripped everything into three neat piles, saving me from having to get that horrid body mush on my hands. The first pile was a bunch of naked corpses and miscellaneous organs. A few finger bones taught me to use a bastard sword and the bow and arrow at the expert level. Then, I tried to raise one body as a skeleton, but the magic failed. I assumed I would need to strip them of flesh to accomplish that, and frankly, I decided I’d rather not. There were plenty of already stripped skeletons all around me.

They had nothing else worth taking. That done, I tasked my skeletal champion with feeding the cultists to the blood tree. No reason for that to go to waste.

Never say I don’t care about the environment.

Pile number two was weapons and armor. I couldn’t use any of the armor because my lawn mower minion destroyed everything. Either from the corpse-cicle or playing pinata. I took Algeron’s blackened bastard sword, because it was clearly magical. Between the two hander and the non-magical spear, I wasn’t sure which was the better weapon. Chiefly, because with Necrometry, I was at the master level with a spear, but expert level with the sword. Since I didn’t tire from carrying the weapons, I figured there was no reason not to take them both.

The third pile was everything else. The cultists weren’t carrying much money on them, but had an entire load of demonic knick knacks. As I was picking through the evil garbage, Rissah approached me.

“Are you looking for magical items?” She asked.

I nodded in the affirmative, even though that wasn’t strictly true. Identifying magical stuff was a skill I wish I’d possessed, but mostly I just wanted to see what might interest me.

Rissah crouched down to look at the assortment of rings, amulets, and carvings. After a few seconds, she plucked up an earring to show me.

I wondered how she could manipulate physical objects. She only felt semi-present in the world. Not being able to ask her directly about her limitations annoyed me.

“This earring is for receiving communications,” she said.

Oran had never pierced his ears, and I had no plan to change that.

The pirate life will never be for me. Or barista life. Though the Zombrew Cafe has a nice ring to it. My assistant can even make finger sandwiches!

I motioned for her to put the earring on. Partly, just to see if she could.

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Rissah shook her head. “I can’t put this on. It's already keyed to someone else.”

Now aware that she had at least a rudimentary understanding of magical items, I got her to look over the bastard sword next.

“From what I can tell, this sword inflicts burning wounds and has enchantments for sharpness and durability.” Rissah explained.

The cultists had a scout, and I wanted his bow and arrows, but Rosamund and her employer had taken it with them.

With the looting finally done, I planned to take care of the remaining groves I’d spotted from the tower roof. Seeing them had been difficult through the ice walls, but I felt sure of at least two.

But before that, I still wanted to try out my new spell Create Skeleton. I walked toward the giant wall hole we’d made when I carved out the ice for my ice rink. Liberated bones littered the area where we’d tossed them.

I found a sizable pile, then initiated the spell and waited. The animal remains started shaking, first in the pile closest to where I’d cast the spell, then in a circle outward. All around me for several feet, bones began pulling themselves together.

Your knee bone connects to your hip bone, your hip bone connects to your dick bone. Or something like that. It’s been awhile.

Eventually, when the assembly ended, I had my very own… Hooved creature. I wasn’t exactly sure what the thing was, to be honest. On four legs, the skeleton stood about up to my waist, and had a bone plated skull like a triceratops without the horns. A spiraling horn with small bone hooks jutted out of the center of its skull, resembling a unicorn that shat nightmares instead of rainbows. Unsurprisingly, all the creature's teeth were long and sharp.

I shall call you Vlad the Impala!

Tucked at the bottom of my backpack was a blanket that I’d long ago stolen from Pollina out of spite. I threw the furry blanket over the back of my new minion, then climbed atop it. Although the creature wasn’t quick with all my weight on its back, looking like a boss made the sacrifice worth it.

Rissah watched my decision to ride in style with a bemused expression. Still, she followed along into the maze.

“Where do you wish to go?” Rissah asked, right after stepping into the entrance.

I cocked my head in thought, trying to figure out a good way to explain what a grove was with my fingers without appearing like a reprobate. The word Bush was all I could come up with, and pointing at our respective pubic areas seemed counter-productive to continuing a partnership on good terms.

Fortunately, she sensed my problem and asked follow-up questions.

“Do you seek an exit? Or perhaps treasure?”

I gave her the number two, then opened my mouth and held out my hands, nails out.

“Monsters? You seek more mana for advancement?”

Thumbs up.

“I know this maze very well, you know. Spent many years living in its depths. I’m sorry but I don’t know of any monsters…” she said, looking almost sad she couldn’t help.

That was good enough a response to get me off of my trusty steed. I hopped down and took to the snow to draw a word.

“Groves.”

“You seek the rest areas? But why would monsters—oh. I see,” she said. I could see that the revelation upset her. No doubt this sprawling garden maze had been a thing of wonder at one time.

We spent an entire day, and possibly a night, hitting every grove. Continuing to see the poor state of the once beloved plants bothered Rissah, but I suspected ending their pitiful existence also gave her closure. The overall mana harvest was paltry for me. Yet, I still learned a great deal about the handmaiden while we fought together.

Rissah explained that her primary class had been, and still was‌, Warding. She specialized in improvised protection magic and spells that used physical force. The conversion from human to wraith hadn’t affected her class or skills, just her race and subrace. Apparently, that was par for the course for most classers that converted to an undead. It brought up all kinds of questions for me about the differences between joining a death cult and becoming undead. Because, from what Oran knew, and what I’d seen of Pollina, joining a death cult changed your class, but not your race. Death cultists simply changed their mana type to death mana, using it in a way similar to myself.

The spells she used were impressive, creating bubbles of safeguarding and invisible bolts of crushing energy. She had little variety on account of her being low level, but I still enjoyed watching a classer in action.

We checked out the exit on the other side of the labyrinth, because I wanted to see where it led. With Rissah navigating for us, the journey wasn’t particularly troublesome. However, instead of finding an entrance to a new area of the ossuary, we found a wall filled with that arcane circuitry I hadn’t seen leaving the catacombs.

“Ah, a mana vent,” Rissah said, drawing my full attention.

Finally! An answer to the mystery!

Excitedly, I waved my hands at the wall and mimed talking.

“You don’t know what this is?” she said with a sly smile on her face.

I gave her a blank look; which, not to brag, was a gaze I excelled at. One of the best parts about being a zombie.

Rissah chortled, then entered lecture mode. “Mana vents are nothing more than pipes for drawing mana to an area. It’s not really that complicated. Without this one, all those undead plants and I would have died long ago.”

That rocked me back on my heels. My furrowed brow spurred her on.

“Well, we last a long time. Undead people, I mean. But we do require some sustenance. Without a supply of mana, we will eventually stop functioning and die altogether. This vent has kept the garden functioning, but there isn't very much mana coming in. It is why I lost so much personal strength.”

Admitting her weakness put her in a bad mood, and she didn’t feel like answering many questions after that.

So, we headed back to the tower to see what was above it.