Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World-Chapter 413 Discovery (Bonus - for Weekly Top 10 in GT Rankings. Thank you for voting!!!!!)

Chapter 413: Chapter 413 Discovery (Bonus Chapter for Weekly Top 10 in GT Rankings. Thank you for voting!!!!!)

Spartan reached the point where Michael’s own footprints scuffed the dew-damp cobbles—wide strides, a trail of crushed grass and splintered boards from when he’d crashed bodily through the gates.

Beyond lay the grand entrance hall, lit by lanterns.

Spartan, he projected, letting his mind sink fully into the undead’s perception, enter.

The armored figure stepped forward without pause, passing through the threshold.

He crossed the wide vestibule.

Everywhere Michael looked, people were frozen in place.

And then, one after another, five other armored figures appeared behind Spartan.

The rest of Michael’s undead had arrived—moving in perfect silence, their heavy boots leaving no mark on the immaculate marble floor.

For a moment, Michael simply let them stand there, arrayed in a loose semicircle.

He could feel the weight of their attention—an emptiness waiting to be filled with command.

Search everything, he ordered at last, his mental voice as calm as it was cold. Every room. Every corner. If there is any active spellwork, any hidden presence, I want to know.

Six silent minds accepted the order as one.

The five undead fanned out in a practiced pattern, each taking a different doorway, vanishing deeper into the building.

Michael let his awareness settle back through Spartan’s senses.

The grand vestibule stretched out before him, empty but for the frozen figures.

He studied them for a long moment.

And then, unbidden, a thought flickered through his mind—quiet, insidious.

A realization he hadn’t allowed himself to consider until just now.

Technically, he thought slowly, I’m the only one here who can move.

His gaze swept across the silent hall, the rich tapestries, the gleaming columns, the extravagant displays of wealth.

Some of the items that had been wheeled in for the auction were still arranged on their pedestals and velvet-draped tables.

Nothing stopped him from simply walking over and taking them.

And the longer he stood there, the harder it became to dismiss the thought.

The great-tier magic scroll.

An item powerful enough to match the abilities of a Rank 3 Awakener, or a King Rank cultivator.

Or the miracle fruit that could grant three hundred years of life.

And more than that: it could also strengthen the body and refine the flesh to elevate an ordinary man to something almost transcendent.

Michael exhaled slowly, feeling his pulse tick up in his throat.

He didn’t think he was a saint.

This... everything here...

...technically, it’s all accessible to me.

A dozen arguments tried to surface in his mind at once.

That it was theft.

That it was reckless.

That taking something now could bring consequences he couldn’t foresee.

But another part of him logically pointed out the truth.

Nothing was stopping him.

No one would even know unless he chose to tell them or admitted it if he was suspected.

His undead moved through the halls, searching.

On the other end, Michael stood, feeling the weight of the choice settling over him.

Would it really be theft, he thought, if every witness was trapped in a dream?

The thought refused to leave him.

It settled in the back of his mind like a seed, quietly taking root.

Michael drew in a steadying breath.

In the end, Michael decided to put the thought behind him.

This was the capital.

He might be one of the stronger individuals here, but he still wasn’t at the top. Not even close.

There were people in this city who could shatter his life with a single word if he overstepped.

If he got greedy here and it put him in serious trouble, it wouldn’t be worth it.

He could survive a lot, but crossing the wrong power in the capital could end him before he even understood what he’d done.

Michael let out a long exhale, steadying the restless spark in his chest.

No.

It wasn’t worth it.

...But even so—

If he saw something that he liked—something he truly wanted, or needed—he wouldn’t pretend he was above taking it.

That, at least, he decided he could live with.

Call it a consolation fee.

If this absurd mess had forced him to risk his life—and had given him a chance to pluck something valuable from the ruins—he wouldn’t feel guilty about accepting the compensation.

A small, wry smile ghosted across his lips.

He was many things, but naive wasn’t one of them.

His undead continued their silent search, their minds linked to his like a constellation of empty vessels.

Michael let the thought settle and then fade, replaced by a colder focus.

One thing at a time.

He shifted his focus fully into Spartan, feeling the familiar dissonance of inhabiting an unliving perspective.

Black and white clarity unfolded around him, every shadow crisp as a blade’s edge.

Spartan moved deeper into the auction hall, past the lavish displays and the unmoving crowd.

Room by room, hall by hall, Michael’s other undead pressed on—methodical, relentless.

He felt their progress like distant heartbeats in the dark.

One in the western wing had begun descending a servant’s staircase.

Another slipped through a side corridor lined with locked doors.

A third passed a tapestry.

But it was Spartan who drew his attention most.

Michael directed him toward the broad archway at the end of the main hall. Beyond it lay a descending passage.

The basement.

Every estate of this size had a vault or storage chamber, and the auction house was no exception.

Spartan soon reached the landing.

Michael guided him forward, passing row after row of crates and locked cabinets.

And then, just beyond the furthest row, he saw them.

Six figures.

They stood in a loose semicircle, robes pooling around their feet like shadows congealed into cloth.

One of the robed figures stood over a shallow copper basin that steamed faintly in the cold air.

The others were focused on the array drawn across the floor, its lines intricate as a spider’s web.

Their faces were hidden beneath hoods, and though none of them turned to look, Michael felt the conviction in his bones.

These were no victims of the illusion.

They were its architects.

The most uptodate nove𝙡s are published on fr(e)𝒆webnov(e)l.com