Etzel discovered the idea while checking his shoulder. That alone should probably have warned him.
The wound was better—not healed, better. Saeva’s Verdant Mend had reduced the worst of the bleeding and helped stabilize the damage, but movement still pulled unpleasantly at the torn tissue. Etzel rolled his shoulder once, regretted it, and then looked at DK, who was checking his sword near the edge of the room.
Etzel looked at the regional map, then back at DK, then at the map again.
Something clicked.
“What?” DK asked.
Etzel smiled. “I’ve had an idea.”
DK stopped checking his sword. “That sentence has preceded several injuries.”
“This one involves me doing less.”
DK’s expression somehow became more suspicious.
Etzel opened the map wider. He had spent enough time thinking about the limits of the Soul Link to understand the important part: DK was A-Rank, meaning his stable range was enormous compared to Saeva’s—ten kilometers. Within that distance, the bond remained stable. DK could operate independently, fight independently, kill independently. And because he was Etzel’s summon—Etzel could receive a Necromancer share of the progression generated through those kills.
Etzel’s smile slowly widened. “I think I found employment for you.”
“I already have employment.”
“Additional employment.”
DK stared at him.
Etzel tapped the map. “Consider it a field promotion.”
“That is not what promotion means.”
“It is under my management.”
“You have no management.”
“Exactly. Very efficient.”
They chose the area deliberately: not near a settlement, not close to a commonly used road, and not inside one of the heavily monitored zones surrounding the convergence event. The forest had a moderate monster population according to public reports, with most sightings estimated around Level Eight or Nine—too weak to be ideal progression for Etzel now, and far too weak to represent a serious challenge for DK.
But there were many of them. That was the point.
Etzel selected a raised rocky area near the approximate center of the hunting region. A shallow stream ran nearby, and the elevation gave him decent visibility while the rock formation provided enough cover that he would not be standing in the middle of an open field if something unexpected arrived.
DK examined the area. Etzel sat down.
DK turned. “What are you doing?”
“My part.”
“You are sitting.”
“Exactly.”
Saeva sat on DK’s shoulder. Etzel opened the map. “Ten kilometers.”
DK looked toward the forest. “And?”
“Apparently I’ve become management.”
“You were already giving orders.”
“Yes, but now I can do it while sitting.”
A flicker of amusement came through the Soul Link. Etzel looked at Saeva. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
She remained on DK’s shoulder. Etzel paused. “Actually, never mind.”
The experiment began slowly. DK walked into the forest, and Etzel watched until the trees swallowed him. Then he stopped watching with his eyes and started paying attention to the bond.
One hundred meters: Saeva reacted first, her stable range being nothing like DK’s, shifting uneasily on his shoulder. Etzel held out a hand: “Come back.”
Saeva looked toward DK, then toward Etzel. Her reluctance was obvious, and DK stopped until Saeva finally left his shoulder and flew back, landing beside Etzel instead of on him. Apparently that distinction mattered.
DK continued. Five hundred meters. One kilometer—Etzel could no longer see him, could not hear him, could not look through his eyes, but the bond remained: presence, direction, awareness.
Three kilometers: still stable. Five: still there.
Etzel became quieter. He had understood the mechanic before, intellectually, but that was different from sitting on a rock while his summon moved kilometers away from him. DK did not need to stand beside him, did not need Etzel physically present to function. Limited Necromancer was not simply an Ability that gave Etzel someone to fight beside; it could become something much larger.
Etzel looked at Saeva. She was watching a beetle crawl across the rock. “Don’t get ambitious.”
Saeva looked at him. The bond carried confusion.
“Not you.” He looked toward the forest. “Me.”
The first message arrived several minutes later:
[Bound Summon Combat Detected.]
Etzel immediately sat straighter. Saeva looked up. They waited.
Then—
[Hostile Creature Defeated by Bound Summon.]
[Necromancer Contribution Share Evaluated.]
[Level Progression gained.]
Etzel felt it—a tiny movement, very tiny. He waited. Nothing else happened.
“That’s it?”
Saeva looked at him. Etzel frowned at the System message, then thought about it: DK was A-Rank. Whatever he had just killed was probably Level Eight or Nine. There had been almost no danger, almost no challenge, and DK’s actual progression from the kill would already be poor; Etzel was only receiving a derived Necromancer share.
He leaned back. “The System thought of this.”
Saeva stared at him. A feeling came through the bond: Obvious.
Etzel slowly turned toward her. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t mean that personally.”
The second kill arrived six minutes later, then the third, and the fourth came less than two minutes after that. Etzel began to understand the actual advantage: each individual reward was terrible, but DK was fast—much faster than Etzel could be while personally searching for targets, fighting them, recovering, processing materials, then moving again.
DK did not need Etzel’s protection. He did not need Etzel’s instructions for every encounter. He could hunt, independently.
Another notification appeared, then another. Etzel stared at the forest. One summon was an ally; ten might become infrastructure.
The thought was—interesting, also mildly terrifying. Etzel imagined several summons operating in different directions: hunting, scouting, collecting, maybe eventually leading others. His Level progression would not scale perfectly with them—the System clearly prevented that—but XP was only one resource. Materials, information, territory, threat removal, dungeon scouting... the Ability had implications Etzel had barely begun to understand.
Another kill notification appeared. Etzel smiled, then opened the news. If he was going to become management—he might as well embrace the worst part: reading.
The convergence event dominated everything. Official reports were still cautious: nineteen confirmed dungeon structures, unusual energy movement, restricted access around several approaches, Hunter Authority observation teams deployed, and direct approach toward the suspected convergence center remaining discouraged.
Etzel scrolled farther. The public forums were less cautious:
WORLD BOSS SPAWN? (No evidence.)
NINETEEN DUNGEONS MERGING INTO ONE MEGA-DUNGEON (Possible. Terrible.)
NEW SYSTEM EVENT (Also possible. Also terrible.)
SECRET HUNTER ABILITY CAUSING DUNGEON MUTATIONS
Etzel stared at that one. “That would be an extremely unfortunate Ability.”
Saeva looked at him. “Trust me.”
She returned to examining the beetle.
Etzel kept reading. No one publicly seemed to understand the central signature. Some Hunters claimed to have felt pressure near the outer dungeons; others reported nothing unusual. Several anonymous accounts insisted creatures were behaving differently near the affected sectors—nothing consistent enough to trust.
Etzel opened his notes:
Nineteen dungeons.
Energy movement.
Humanoid.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
Still open.
Saeva.
Wrong. Not dead. Not alive. Contained.
He added another line:
Question: What is being contained?
Then paused and added:
Better question: what is doing the containing?
That was worse. He closed the note.
Another notification. Another tiny piece of progression. Etzel sighed. “DK is going to kill half the forest before this becomes impressive.”
Saeva made a small sound. Etzel looked at her. “I know. Exaggeration.”
He opened another search: Renn.
That name had become increasingly irritating—not because Renn had done anything openly hostile, but because his questions were too specific. Can your summon sense the central signature? Then: Does it feel dead?
People guessing did not usually ask questions like that; they asked what something was. Renn was eliminating possibilities.
Etzel searched public references: not much, fragments, mentions connected to anomaly observation, a few older Hunter discussions. Nothing that explained enough, but enough to reinforce Etzel’s suspicion: Renn was not throwing random theories at the wall. He knew something, or—he had seen something similar.
Etzel leaned back. “That’s comforting.”
Saeva looked over. “It wasn’t.”
The next subject was less mysterious, and somehow more annoying: Hunter registration. Etzel opened the official requirements again:
Identity verification.
Ability declaration.
Evaluation.
Registration status.
Access permissions.
Legal sale channels.
Approved markets.
Dungeon participation systems.
Insurance structures.
Material verification.
Etzel stared at the words legal sale channels for longer than necessary. He had loot, a growing amount of loot, and now he had Saeva—which meant, statistically, the quality of that loot should improve over time. And he still could not properly monetize most of it without creating questions he did not want asked.
Registration would solve several problems. It would also create new ones: ability declaration, Limited Necromancer, DK, and now Saeva.
Etzel rubbed his forehead. “At some point, hiding this is going to become more difficult than explaining it.”
Saeva looked at him. “You are not helping.”
She had done nothing. “That’s fair.”
His communicator vibrated with another System notification: DK again. Etzel barely looked this time.
Then the Soul Link changed. Etzel straightened immediately—not pain, exactly, but intensity. DK was far away. Seven kilometers? Maybe eight. The bond remained stable, but something had shifted: combat focus.
Etzel stood. “DK?”
A brief pause, then a short mental message arrived: Three.
Etzel frowned. “Three what?”
Silence, then: Level Nine.
Etzel stared toward the forest. “You made that sound significantly worse.”
Another short response: Busy. Then nothing—not because the connection had failed, but because DK was fighting.
Etzel remained standing. Saeva flew upward. Thirty seconds later, a System message appeared:
[Hostile Creature Defeated by Bound Summon.]
Then another:
[Hostile Creature Defeated by Bound Summon.]
Etzel waited several seconds. Third:
[Hostile Creature Defeated by Bound Summon.]
Etzel sat down again. “Show-off.”
Saeva descended. The Soul Link carried amusement. “Do not encourage him.”
The forest answered a few minutes later. Branches shifted behind Etzel, and Saeva snapped around as Etzel heard the low scrape of something moving through undergrowth.
He stood, slowly. The System appeared:
[Hostile Creature Detected.]
[Mirejaw Stalker]
[Level: 9]
Etzel looked toward the direction DK had disappeared. Too far; he could call him back, but there was no reason to. Etzel picked up his spear. “Looks like management has field work.”
Saeva rose into the air.
The Mirejaw emerged from the brush: long forelimbs, low body, a mouth that opened slightly too far, and dark mud-colored plates covering its shoulders and spine. It moved sideways first, testing.
Etzel adjusted his stance. The green light appeared:
[Sylvan Ward Activated.]
“Thank you.”
Saeva climbed higher. The Mirejaw lunged. Etzel moved—not backward, sideways. The claws scraped across the barrier, green light flashed, held. Etzel thrust; the creature twisted away, fast. Good. He reset.
The Mirejaw circled. Etzel watched its front limbs, its weight, the way its right shoulder dipped before acceleration. He could use Witness, but didn't need to; not every opponent needed to become a puzzle. Sometimes—you simply fought better.
The creature lunged again. Etzel started the thrust too early; the Mirejaw reacted, shifted away from the line—exactly as Etzel wanted.
False Line.
Etzel changed direction. The spearhead cut across the creature’s ribs, and it screamed. The barrier around Etzel flickered.
The Mirejaw turned immediately—faster than expected. A claw came toward his injured shoulder. Etzel dropped, the claw passed over him, and he drove the butt of the spear into the creature’s foreleg. It stumbled.
Etzel rose with the motion, thrust: the spear entered beneath the jaw, deep. The Mirejaw convulsed. Etzel twisted, pulled free, and the creature collapsed.
[Mirejaw Stalker Defeated.]
Etzel breathed once, twice. Then the progression arrived. He felt the difference immediately—much more. Still not enormous, but compared to the tiny fragments arriving from DK’s distant kills? Significant.
Etzel looked at the corpse. “Interesting.”
Saeva descended:
[Support Contribution Registered.]
She looked pleased. Etzel pointed toward the dead Mirejaw. “That gave me more than several of DK’s kills combined.”
Saeva did not understand the sentence, but she caught the idea: direct fight, more growth. Etzel looked toward the distant forest; the experiment had just become more informative.
Hours passed. DK hunted, Etzel researched, Saeva practiced words (occasionally badly) while Etzel practiced hers (more badly). The System continued delivering notifications: Level Eight, Level Nine, another Eight, occasionally something slightly stronger. DK moved through the region like a distant machine Etzel could not see but could always feel.
Meanwhile, Etzel built notes:
Convergence reports.
Registration requirements.
Material sale restrictions.
Renn.
Dungeon activity.
Family.
That last one remained open longer than the others. He stared at it: How much did he tell them? When? Limited Necromancer was becoming increasingly difficult to describe as a harmless bad choice.
He closed the note without answering. Not today.
A familiar green light appeared near his arm. Etzel looked up; Saeva was practicing Sylvan Ward.
“Careful.”
She glared.
“I’m serious.”
More glaring.
“Fine. Develop independence. Very healthy.”
The barrier stabilized. Then a System notification appeared—not for Etzel:
[Sylvan Wispkin — Level Increased.]
[Level 2]
Etzel blinked. Saeva froze, then looked around as though something in the forest had personally congratulated her.
Etzel smiled. “Level Two.”
Pride flooded the bond—a lot of pride. Etzel nodded solemnly. “Still F-Rank.”
The pride vanished. Saeva slowly turned toward him.
Etzel raised both hands. “Motivation.”
She flew at his face. Etzel leaned away, laughing. “Healthy motivation!”
Her abilities had not suddenly changed: Verdant Mend remained at five percent, Sylvan Ward at five percent, Verdant Fortune at eight percent. Level was not Rank. Good distinction. Saeva had grown, but she had not crossed the threshold required for her core abilities to improve. Etzel liked that; it meant progression had layers. His own did too, and DK’s certainly did.
And DK—Etzel checked the bond. Still hunting, still killing, still barely gaining anything meaningful for himself. That was another lesson: for Etzel, these monsters were inefficient; for DK? They were almost worthless. An A-Rank summon could destroy Level Eight and Nine creatures all day; that did not mean an A-Rank summon could grow by doing it. Real advancement demanded real opposition.
Etzel looked down at his hands. Apparently that rule applied to everyone.
Sunset came slowly through the trees, orange light cutting between the trunks. Etzel had lost count of DK’s kills somewhere after twenty. His own progression had accumulated steadily—tiny piece, tiny piece, tiny piece—and the Mirejaw had helped considerably.
Then—another notification:
[Bound Summon Combat Detected.]
Etzel barely reacted.
[Hostile Creature Defeated by Bound Summon.]
[Necromancer Contribution Share Evaluated.]
The progression entered. Something shifted. Etzel’s eyes widened.
The System appeared:
Etzel stared for several seconds—nothing. Then he smiled. “That worked.”
Saeva flew up, excitement coming through the bond. Etzel laughed. “Yeah.”
Level Eleven. He had actually done it—most of the day sitting on a rock, reading, researching, occasionally complaining, while DK killed monsters kilometers away.
Etzel leaned back on his hands. “This Ability is ridiculous.”
Saeva landed beside him. For a moment, Etzel simply enjoyed it. A Level was a Level; progression was progression. He had discovered another way to use Limited Necromancer—a real one, a powerful one, and maybe someday, a frightening one.
DK returned near dusk. Etzel sensed him before he saw him, the presence drawing closer: five kilometers, three, one. Then branches moved, and DK stepped from the forest.
There was blood on his armor—not his, mostly. “How many?”
DK continued walking. “Thirty-one.”
Etzel stared. “I killed one.”
“I know.”
“I feel judged.”
“You were sitting.”
“Researching.”
Saeva made a small amused sound. Etzel pointed at her. “No one respects intellectual labor.”
DK stopped near him. “You gained a Level?”
Etzel looked at the System display again: Level Eleven. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
Etzel smiled. Then the smile slowly faded. DK noticed.
Etzel closed the display. “I’m not doing this again tomorrow.”
DK looked at him. “Why?”
Etzel was quiet, then: “Because I gained a Level.”
DK waited. Etzel looked at his hands. “But I learned almost nothing.”
Silence. The sentence felt stranger after he said it aloud.
Etzel continued. “I barely practiced False Line.” He lifted the spear. “My technique didn’t improve much.” He tapped his temple. “I didn’t solve a Flaw.” Then his chest. “I wasn’t pushed.” He looked toward the forest. “You killed thirty-one creatures.”
“Correct.”
“I killed one.”
“Yes.”
“I got stronger.” Etzel shook his head. “No.”
He looked at the Level again. “My number got bigger.”
That was different. The Mirejaw had taught him something small, real. The rest? Numbers arriving while he read reports—useful, absolutely useful, but not the same.
Etzel looked at DK. “It works.”
DK waited.
“And someday, if I have enough summons…” Etzel imagined it again, not one distant presence, but five, ten, teams, different regions, different objectives. “…it might work frighteningly well.”
DK nodded once.
“But if I let you do everything…” Etzel looked down at his hands. “…my Level grows faster than I do.”
“Yes.”
Etzel looked up. “You could have mentioned that this morning.”
“You needed evidence.”
Etzel stared at him. “Maerin has definitely infected you.”
DK ignored that. Etzel stood. “Useful sometimes.”
“Yes.”
“Not a path.”
“Good.”
Etzel narrowed his eyes. “There’s that word again.”
They began packing. The experiment had succeeded—that was the dangerous part. Etzel would use it again for materials, for clearing weaker threats, for scouting, and for situations where efficiency mattered more than personal training, maybe eventually to help lower-Level summons grow.
But he would not sit safely in the center of a forest while everyone else became better at surviving it. Level Eleven felt good; he intended to deserve Level Twelve.
Etzel picked up his communicator. A notification waited—not Maerin, not Sivenne, not Tessa, but a public Authority update:
┌────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ [CONVERGENCE ZONE — AUTHORITY NOTICE]│
│ Confirmed Dungeon Signatures: 19 │
│ Currently Active Signatures: 18 │
└────────────────────────────────────────┘
Etzel opened it. Most of the report repeated information he already knew: access restrictions, observation teams, nineteen confirmed dungeon structures.
“Yes, yes.” He scrolled, then stopped.
[Confirmed Dungeon Signatures: 19]
Etzel frowned. “We knew that.”
DK stepped closer. Etzel continued. There was another line:
[Currently Active Signatures: 18]
His finger stopped. He read it again. Nineteen structures remained. No confirmed collapse, no reported destruction, no dungeon had physically disappeared.
But one signature—had gone silent.
Etzel looked at DK. “Nineteen.”
“Yes.”
“Eighteen active.”
DK read the notice. Neither spoke.
Then Saeva moved. She had already turned toward the convergence region, her wings trembling.
Etzel felt something through the Soul Link—not the violent wrongness from before, but something subtler, a difference, a reduction, less.
Etzel’s expression changed. “One stopped.”
DK looked toward the darkening forest. “Or finished.”
Etzel turned toward him. Silence.
He opened the regional map: nineteen doors, eighteen active signatures, one central point, and something that might be contained there.
Etzel stared at the numbers. His smile disappeared.
“What happens when the number reaches zero?”
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