"Tame a spirit?" Aaran mumbled. "Let's try it."
"Even though I said that..." Dread shook his head. "You can't do it."
"Why not?" Aaran asked, tilting his head.
A tamed spirit was akin to an invisible soldier unbound by the laws of the living world. However, controlling a spirit was much more difficult than controlling an undead.
Undead usually lost their will when they died, making them easier to command. But it wasn't the case for the spirits. Only those with strong wills became spirits after death, making them difficult to tame.
Because of this, taming a spirit was a challenge that only necromancers ranked five stars or higher would dare attempt. It was risky. If the spirit resisted, it could take over the necromancer's body, throwing out its rightful owner.
How was that possible?
Because the first step of taming a spirit required the necromancer to drag the said spirit into their core. Once inside, the necromancer's spiritual form would combat the spirit to defeat and tame it while the spirit would try to oust the necromancer's spirit and take over the body itself.
Dread would never suggest such a thing to a beginner. It was far too dangerous. But Aaran was different. He might look like a child, but his spirit was far older—even older than Dread himself.
He had a feeling Aaran could tame all the spirits in the graveyard and enhance the strength of the non-existent legion he owned.
The problem wasn't talent, but resources.
"Pulling a spirit into a core takes a lot of mana," Dread explained. "You… don't have any left to spare."
After contracting Dread, Aaran had burned through the tiny bit of mana he had just to maintain his physical form. As such, he did not have any mana left to force even the weakest spirit into his core.
"That's it?"
Aaran raised an eyebrow.
In all his incarnations, he had no mana. That's why he'd always chosen the path of a martial artist or a weapon master—except in his fifth incarnation, where he had access to the Experience Store.
Back then, he could buy mana for his exp. Just like that, he could exchange some of his charm for mana in the charm store. Obviously, Dread didn't know that and suggested they drop spirit taming for now.
But Aaran had other plans.
[Exchange 500 mana for 25,000 charm points?]
Fifty charm points for one mana? Who the hell set these prices!?
As expensive as it was, Aaran didn't have a choice. As absurd as the cost was, he needed the mana.
"Mana won't be an issue." Aaran cleared his throat. "Just guide me through the process."
Dread crossed his arms, wondering what was the little commander up to. Finally, he sighed, agreeing to let Aaran fight a spirit.
"However, I'll be there with you," he said. "And not a word about this to anyone."
"As you wish."
Aaran readily agreed to the terms and stood up.
"Pull your mana together in your hand," Dread instructed. "Visualize your core and bend your mana to manifest an artificial core in your palm."
Dread explained the process in the simplest terms he could. However, it wasn't as easy. Aaran had spent fourteen lifetimes with nothing to do with magic. Hence, his control was rusty at best.
Eventually, Dread had to support Aaran in manifesting the core through his darkness. A black orb of darkness emerged in Aaran's hand, surrounded by two blue dots orbiting the orb like satellites.
Dread stared at the stars, stunned. The blue dots symbolized the stars of a necromancer—markers of their power. Normally, forming a single star took years of training. Yet here was Aaran, not even four years old, already bearing two stars.
It was nothing short of extraordinary.
Even Lucien only formed the second star when he was eight years old. Your son is a different beast, backstabber.
But once the core appeared, the world around them plunged into darkness.
"Don't pay attention to them," Dread called out. "The spirits have taken notice of your core and their greedy asses want it for themselves."
Aaran nodded, keeping his eyes shut to concentrate on stabilizing the core. Even with his focus, he could sense multiple strange presences circling him.
These were the spirits of the Aurelian aristocracy.
Former kings, queens, and legendary defenders of the kingdom who were honored to be laid to rest with the nobles. Everyone was interested in the little child with a two-star core.
In their eyes, Aaran was an easy target. If they could overpower a toddler, they would not only gain a body, but also a valuable two-star core. One could only imagine how powerful someone with such a foundation would grow into.
"Boy, be quick about it," Dread whispered. "Revealing your core for too long will attract unwanted attention."
However, Aaran couldn't hear Dread's voice in the chaos. There were too many voices around him. The spirits were trying to rattle him through words.
[Filthy half-blood.]
[You're no successor of ours.]
[How dare someone bring a half-blood into this sacred ground?]
Half-blood. A derogatory term used for someone born with royal blood from only one parent. Though Amara had only one child, they considered Aaran an illegitimate child in their ghostly eyes because she hadn't married another noble.
These bitter old fossils. Well, at least I won't feel guilty about what's coming next.
That thought awoke something in Aaran as a tendril shot out of his core, wrapping itself tightly around the spirit that had dared to call him a filthy half-blood.
Aaran opened his eyes, and the ghosts dispersed, all except the one bound by the tendril.
"Now pull the spirit into the core!" Dread exclaimed.
Aaran clenched his fist, dragging the spirit inside the core. However, while the other spirits were on edge, the old man's spirit laughed as he got dragged within.
[I'll see you soon, half-blood.]
Aaran collapsed when the spirit disappeared. Dread caught him, but he couldn't make it inside the core in time, leaving Aaran trapped alongside the vicious spirit on his own.
"Damnit!" Dread cursed.