Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Chapter 800: Test (Last Day of the month!!! Requesting for Golden Tickets!!!)

The first thought that came to Michael when he heard the traits of the breathing metal was simple.

Damn. This would make an excellent material to evolve his undead, or even merge directly with them.

Almost immediately, his mind went to Lily.

The similarities were impossible to ignore. The way the breathing metal could grow and strengthen itself reminded him strongly of her. If such a material were used in her next evolution, the results would likely be terrifying.

The breathing metal was like something that had been made for her from the start.

That realization made his thoughts drift in a dangerous direction.

Michael caught himself before they went too far, but not before a few questionable ideas surfaced. If the metal could grow, then why not divide it? If it could devour and consume other materials to strengthen itself, as Rynne had said, then perhaps it could be cultivated in part rather than by a single person. Maybe it was even possible to feed it resources and let multiple portions develop independently.

The thought lingered for a brief moment.

In the end, he did not ask.

Michael still had a sense of pride, and more importantly, he did not want Rei to glimpse the calculations running behind his eyes. Some thoughts were better left unspoken, especially ones that bordered on exploitation rather than cooperation. He forced himself to stop dwelling on the breathing metal and redirected his focus.

Besides, none of it mattered yet.

They had not even found the metal.

It was far too early to speculate on outcomes that might never come to pass. There was no reason to complicate the situation or disturb the atmosphere with the only person present who could potentially pull him out of his current predicament.

For now, restraint was the wiser choice.

Michael shifted his attention back to the present and looked at her.

"So," he asked, "what do we need to do now?"

"For now," she said simply, "you only need to stand still."

Michael did exactly that, watching as she stepped away from him. She crouched and placed one hand on the ground. A faint glow spread beneath her palm, and lines of light began to form, careful and deliberate. Symbols followed, then circles, layered one after another in a complex pattern that spread across the stone floor.

As she worked, she spoke without pausing.

"The reason the treasure of this civilization could have survived until now is because of how they treated what they valued most," she said. "They had a habit of keeping their closest treasures in places governed by strict rules."

Michael listened quietly.

"They believed that anything truly precious should not be easy to reclaim," she continued. "To them, value had to be proven."

Her fingers moved faster as she spoke, symbols interlocking, circles tightening into a larger formation.

"That belief came from their understanding of alchemy," Rynne said. "True alchemists never saw materials as dead things. Everything had weight, memory, and intent. Metal, stone, even liquid substances. They all responded differently depending on how they were treated."

Michael’s gaze followed the forming array.

"In their philosophy," she went on, "a treasure that could be taken without cost was not a treasure. It was excess. Something unworthy of protection. If you wanted something back, you had to show that your will, your understanding, and your resolve were still equal to the moment you sealed it away."

She glanced up briefly, then went back to drawing.

"For example, they had a tradition involving something like a treasure box. When they wanted to store something important, they would seal it inside. But when the owner later tried to retrieve it, the box would ask a question."

"A question," Michael repeated.

She nodded. "If the owner answered correctly, within the rules set when the box was created, it would open. If they failed, the treasure inside would be destroyed."

Michael frowned slightly.

"To them," she said calmly, "that destruction meant the person did not care about the item deeply enough. If you could not remember why you sealed it, or what mattered about it, then you had no right to reclaim it."

She straightened slowly.

"It was a tradition among them. Not something tied to their race, but something personal. Cultural. Only someone familiar with their history would recognize it for what it was."

Michael absorbed her words in silence.

Michael was silent for a few seconds, then spoke.

"For you to be explaining all this to me," he said slowly, "that means whatever we are about to do follows the same logic."

Rynne glanced back at him and nodded.

"Yes," she said. "It does."

She hesitated for a brief moment, her expression tightening slightly.

"I just hope it’s a technical task," she added. "Something mechanical."

"And if it isn’t?" Michael asked.

Rynne exhaled quietly. "Then it’s a question."

She did not sound afraid when she said it, but there was caution there.

"If it’s a question I don’t know," she continued, "I’ll have to risk something."

As she finished speaking, the last symbol clicked into place. The magic circle hummed softly, light flowing through the carved lines like liquid. Then the glow surged upward, condensing into a floating sphere of pale light above the formation.

A projection.

Inside the sphere, faint shapes began to appear. Fragmented at first, then clearer. Symbols. Layers. A structure forming piece by piece.

The floating sphere pulsed once.

Then twice.

Light condensed within it, the shifting symbols inside snapping into alignment. A clear, emotionless voice echoed outward, neither male nor female.

"Authentication protocol initialized."

Michael’s posture stiffened slightly.

"Four questions will be presented," the voice continued. "Answer a minimum of three correctly to proceed."

The sphere brightened.

"Failure to meet the threshold will result in termination of access."

Rynne’s fingers twitched at her side, but she remained still.

The sphere rotated slowly, symbols rearranging themselves into a new configuration.

"Question one."

*

A/N; Last day of the month! Thank you all for the journey again! And please cast those last votes to make a poor author happy!!!!