After a quite lengthy interrogation from my ancestors, I slept and rose into a seamless schedule of studying, training, experimenting, and teaching.

The process began with me stirring awake in the early morning before Doyle’s class. After greeting Zakira, I made a quick trip to my Under to mentally reorganize my Bobs and restructure their ranks before I promoted them all with more power. The promotions warranted another necrotic deposit for even the draugr. Not to empower him further, though it still would. But to evolve his basic level of sentience into a proper intellect. He could speak. He could parrot the things I knew. But he couldn’t think for himself. This recent change would mitigate that. It would place his intelligence on par with a fairly smart adult. Not to mention, they gained the ability to siphon life from their prey and consume dead flesh to regrow what was lost. Those were my main reasons to promote my laborers. However, it simultaneously posed a problem.

The other ‘rewards’ for their promotions involved a return to the Shade Palace for education and training. That, and an enchanted or otherwise magical weapon. Things I was either unable to or couldn’t afford to make. What I could make was a sentient weapon, but those were reserved for the higher ranks. In the end, I decided to add their necessary tools and an improved weapon for Zaraxus to the height of my priorities. Then, I went through the painstaking process of naming my twenty laborers according to their convention.

Naturally, the ‘Big Boss’ of my undead labor bosses- the superintendent if you will, was Bob. A skeleton who was visibly no different than the rest, but one tasked with mastering each of the nineteen jobs his subordinates held. Robert and his buddy, Bo were designated as the lumberjack and carpenter respectively. Though, the latter wasn’t to be confused with Beau, the Barber. But I digress.

With their newfound intelligence, the goal was to mold them into non-hostile undead who cared only for their crafts. In doing so, they would one day assume my Doppelganger’s place and become the instructors for the nineteen classrooms I formed within the Shade Palace. While still barren and undetailed, I led them through the ostentatiously arched entrance to stop in the center of its first floor. A vast parade field, walled on each side by five voluminous alcoves that were domains in their own rights.

Upon entering, Bob and Bo veered away from the group to enter the alcoves sitting adjacent to the entrance, wherein vast, lumber-filled classrooms adorned with whatever saws, hammers, and other tools I had in my inventory. Bert, my Mason, had his own altered environment in which he tirelessly worked as well. A ‘badlands’ of towering stones and broken boulders he was meant to cut into stone blocks. As did Roberts, the builder, who spent her days building and having various structures judged by my clone before they were torn down and constructed again.

Besides the four, virtually all of the others were to receive book instructions rather than delve into their crafts like the others. For two of them, their lessons consisted of reading umbral tomes ‘written’ by my clone out of the ambient energy. Rob, for example, read about the various conditions and nutrients crops needed for high yields while Robby learned much the same, only for domesticated animals. The rest were instructed or assisted in some way by a shadow analog of the materials they would be working with. Materials that were too expensive for them to ruin with failed attempts or perhaps be corrupted by the foul energies of the place.

Rubi, for instance, sat in his diner to learn of nutrients, the food pyramid, and other locally unknown aspects of food before he attempted to cook a number of umbral dishes. Robbi learned how to process tenebrous leathers and manipulate textiles. Robin hunted amorphous renderings of game creatures while Robi sat next door, butchering creatures of the same constitution. Rupert tended bees, Beauregard made boats, Beau, of course, cut hair and Rod learned the breeding habits, diets, and everything else I knew of marine life fish before she attempted to master fishing in the faux ‘ponds’ and ‘seas’ in her room.

And then there were five. Five had yet to christen their domains.

Berto and Albertus were Bamfed to the Cove to practice their respective crafts- ceramics and metallurgy, alongside Robertus and Robetus who spent all hours of the day and night making shoddy but usable armor and weapons for the other minions. Alberto, on the other hand, was put on standby with the 15 skellys, 10 zombies, and a shadow to act as a gofer. On standby they remained until Olga’s class came around, wherein I had them excavate a secret level 5.5 in the mines, giving me free rein to spend her classes smelting and crafting an array of working tools for me and my Legions. Tools of the variety that had yet to exist in this world.

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The sub-level began as a deep tunnel that ended at a dead end on the northeastern side of the mine's edge. After warding off enough space for them to work, I sealed them inside with one shadow and left them to work. By the end of that week, the meager cave had grown into a deep web of caverns that stretched through the unnatural geology found below the Wilds. Like the mines the sub-level started from, ores of iron, copper, and other common metals were found at auspiciously regular intervals. And eventually, so too were ores containing tin and wolframite. As they wheeled around to the south- near the shores of the vast lake these cliffs overlooked, Alberto’s crew found bauxite. A prized ore that would undoubtedly have its uses in the future. But still, no mithral. No adamantine ore. Unsurprisingly.

Come the following week, I found myself with a meager deposit of ores smelted by the Bobs over the weekend that was added to over the course of the week, resulting in a veritable fuck-ton of bronze and brass on top of those I already had. Naturally, those materials were passed off to Robertus, Robetus, and sometimes Robbi. Who, having no need for food, water, or sleep, managed to cast enough crude weapons and armor for every skeleton and zombie to have their own plus a replacement. Gladius’, spearheads, knives, and other weapons in a matter of days. And shields, bows, quivers, and arrows were finished by the end of that week. All made of either bronze, wood, or both and all made a step above shoddy at best.

With the exception of my squad, the rest of my undead were always on the hunt. Always on the prowl. Patrolling in an ever-expanding ring to accrue as much experience as they could before they found something interesting enough to warrant my investigation. With that came more promotions for my undead. The mindless into Sergeants and the Sergeants into Uncs. But my shadows remained as they were. And would remain so until they leeched enough life on their own to grow. The most I could do was give them a better weapon than their tenebrous swords and daggers.

Or give them stronger opponents to fight.

That aside, the thought was enough to push me into designing yet another weapon and prioritizing it above the dozens of weapons, instruments, and tools I was already so eager to make. Some of them I made within only a few days. An improved, but still non-magical club for Zaraxus and ten 1,000-count jars of Pachinko balls. Plus an arrangement of scalpels, drill bits, hex keys, ratchets, and other hand tools that had yet to exist in this world. Many others were initialized by the latter end of that week. Or the following one. Bongo drums, flutes, violas, violins, and saxophones were all meticulously designed and created. Then passed on to the 21st Bob I instilled and promoted. Pop, a Luthier, and maker of other musical instruments.

Though I had no regrets about the action, it was something I didn’t want to make a habit of. Starting projects and not finishing them. Though the reason was justifiable in my eyes, I decided to make Peter’s war fans. While I truly wanted them to be enchanted, he needed something better than the flimsy paper and sticks he was using. Additionally, such a project served to take away from the monotony of our classes. However, that wasn't to say I shammed out on my training. On the contrary, I delved into experimenting in Doyle and Zeff’s class with just as much intent as I poured into Olga’s.

Eventually, the days began to stream into a constant blur that flung the weeks by, almost causing the war fans that held my focus to grow like bamboo before my eyes. The frames were made of high-carbon steel with bronze inlays and a thick web of carbon nanotube fiber. The ribs were steel as well. Formerly rods that had been widened into the relatively thick needles that protruded along the ridge to form a webbed spine. It took me until the final week of the second quarter to call the first phase of production complete. Roughly four weeks after I began. Yet, I still had to etch the metals, dye and engrave the fabric, sharpen the blades, and craft a sheathe or holster. A lot of work that I completed in less than a day thanks to time dilation.

Though it went without saying, my undead spent all hours of those weeks toiling. Perfecting their crafts and working to my ends. Some of them had started to put their lessons to efficient use. Notably, Rob, who ventured off into the wilds to grow me a burnbud and tobacco patch. Others had evolved to take on abstract tasks and sometimes collaborate on projects of their own. As in the case of Robbi demanding to meet with Robert, Beauregard, Robertus, and Roberts to formally decide on a common theme for the Legion’s uniforms, vessels, armor, and architecture. With my Doppelganger present, that fell into a discussion about our name, motto, and other idiosyncrasies that culminated with a surprising verdict.

‘Yeah.’ I sent a mental ripple of satisfaction through my Under. ‘We’ll go with that.”