Numerous papers laid atop the desk, left discarded most likely in the last moments before Miller’s action brought him to his demise.

Since going trough all of the materials would take a while the mage chose to stay in the church for the day; the abandoned ruins were the perfect place to start studying the forbidden lore and the undead wolves would be more than enough to keep the area safe in the meantime.

The mage picked up an old chair left overturned in front of the desk and cleaned it off. The [Prestidigitation] was a handy cantrip; a Level-0 spell with no offensive or defensive capability whatsoever but extremely useful for a variety of little tasks.

The chair was a little uncomfortable but big enough to accommodate the wizard. The [Floating Light] was hovering above the desk, it would last for about a minute or so which would make a prolonged study a little inconvenient.

The mage reached one hand in the leather bag hanging at his waist, the arm disappearing in almost halfway to his elbow before removing a metallic object from the inside.

The item was a lantern covered in black cloth at the sides, almost like tiny curtains. He opened the front and a small yellow flame lit up the desk.

The color of the flame almost giving the illusion of warmth from the otherwise heatless fire.

The lantern was made of a fairly simple metallic frame, the true value of it being the [Perpetual Flame] cast on the little stone attached on the inside.

Lastly the wizard retrieved a monocle from a pouch and placed it on his left eye before before starting to study the parchments.

The content of the pages was mostly confusing and chaotic. Written mostly in common, the language used in the majority of the known world; it was an amalgamation of research on the nature of the power over death and the mad ramblings of an insane man dissatisfied with his lack of power.

The most interesting part however was the presence of a different language, and not a human one.

The mage gently touched the side of his monocle and muttered a word. The side of the gold rimmed glass glimmered with runes so small that they appeared to form a perfect circle surrounding edge of the lens.

The letters on the parchment were unmistakably written in the Infernal alphabet, a series of sharp runes used by the fiends of the legions of Hell, but the language itself was different; lacking of the nuances and complexity that made the tongue the favorite for the penning of inviolable contracts and yet similar to it, perhaps a dialect.

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But why would a priest of The Shepherd know such an obscure dialect from the lower planes?

Such a mystery was of course not what the mage had come so far to unearth.

The concepts discussed in the writings were mainly related to the use of negative energy and its effect on corpses and on the life force of the living.

The channeling of the undiluted forces that governed life and death were the purview of the divine brand of magic; outside of a wizard’s skill except through imperfect mockery.

Thankfully, while still easier for divine spellcasters, the creation of undead was possible for the students of the arcane, if a little more complex.

Bereft of any distraction save for a couple of quick tasteless meals, the mage continued with his studies for many hours; daylight slowly turning from midday to dusk and finally midnight.

The newly acquired knowledge was exactly what he was looking for and an additional proof that his theories had been correct. The path he had chosen for himself at such a high cost became clearer, if slightly.

The wizard carefully bound the pages in a large piece of cloth and tucked them away in his bag before rising from the chair; his joints cracked as he stretched for the first time in hours.

He had grasped most of the contents of the scrolls and further delving into the arcane lore would have to wait.

The mage made his way out of the crypt without hurry. The undead wolves were still guarding the entrance while the half rotten crow was perched atop the highest point of the mostly crumbled walls of the church, keeping a vigil watch on the surrounding forest.

The sky was dark, the clouds completely obscuring the stars and both of the moons.

Traveling by night in the middle of the woods would be unwise, even with the protection of the three zombies safety was not guaranteed.

Most beasts would hesitate to approach the unnatural creatures but traveling by daylight would be better.

Returning to the city would have to wait.

With a gentle voice the wizard ordered two of the wolves to surround the trapdoor and to lay in wait while the crow served as a sentinel; the long-term spell cast upon the avian would allow its master to share his senses and alert him from afar for at least 3 more days.

The mage retreated into the crypt once more and adorned a corner of the room with a pillow and sat down with his back on the wall, facing the entrance. With a small gesture and a word the lantern, still on the table, gently started floating toward himself, too lazy at the moment to get up.

Resting against the hard stone wall would certainly a sore back in the morning but a rested mind was vital for the daily meditation that arcane magic required.

A complex arcane utterance accompanied the conjuration of a field of force in the shape of a [Mage Armor], the translucent blue energy becoming mostly invisible upon the mage’s frame before he enveloped his form with his cloak.

At his current mastery the spell should have lasted 5 hours at most, but the wizard had given up many of the benefits of the other fields of arcane studies for a few peculiar and rare abilities; one of which happened to be boosting the effects of a spell each day and, in this case, extending the duration of the spell all the way to 9 hours.

Long enough to last trough all the night and giving him additional protection in case of an attack.

Many of his colleagues would have disagreed with his lack of specialization that the he had chosen to take, then again many would have just attacked him at the sight of the undead wolf laying at the bottom of the stairs.

The mage stopped himself from lingering on the thought and gently lowered the cloth of the lantern plunging the room into darkness.

While the warmth of his cloak embraced his lonely frame the deathly silence of the crypt slowly lulled him into a dreamless sleep.