Kaelen didn't waste a single second admiring his handiwork. The cloud of grey dust from the collapsed archway was still billowing outwards as he scrambled back towards the shimmering safety of his Lord's Hall.
Every instinct, honed by a lifetime of watching historical documentaries about foolish battlefield decisions, screamed at him to put distance between himself and the site of the kill. He had no idea if the thunderous crash of falling rock would attract other spirits, and he certainly wasn't about to stick around to find out.
He burst back through the invisible barrier, his lungs heaving, a triumphant, half-manic grin plastered on his face. He felt like a king who had just won his first, desperate skirmish.
The flood of System notifications replayed in his mind—the EXP gain, the glorious chime of a level up, the precious loot appearing in his inventory. It was a rush more potent and addictive than any caffeine-fueled all-night study session he'd ever pulled.
Back in the relative shelter of the ruins, he finally allowed himself a moment to breathe. He leaned against a cold stone wall, his heart still hammering against his ribs like a war drum, and greedily pulled up his inventory screen.
There they were, nestled together in the virtual slots, glowing with an otherworldly light. The [Lingering Spirit], a swirling, milky ball of ethereal energy that pulsed with a faint, cold light, like a captive nebula. And next to it, the [Echo of a Weapon (Faded)], the smaller, dimmer orb he'd extracted from the rusted spearhead.
He had the ingredients. He had the blueprint. The entire sequence of events from the night before felt less like a series of lucky discoveries and more like a guided path, a tutorial laid out just for him.
"Okay," he said to the empty ruins, his voice filled with a giddy mix of awe and trepidation that made it sound thin and reedy. "Let's see what this is all about."
He navigated with a newfound confidence to his [Blueprints] tab and selected the [Echo Lancer]. The System interface shifted, showing him the two required components, now glowing brightly to indicate they were in his possession. Below them was a large, flashing button that read:
[SUMMON]
He hesitated for only a heartbeat, a final flicker of the old Kaelen, the timid scholar who wouldn't dare to tamper with forces beyond his understanding. That Kaelen would have been terrified, convinced he was meddling with forbidden arts, desecrating souls. But that Kaelen had died somewhere between the library and this cursed field. He was Lord Kaelen now. He was a survivor. More than that, he was a researcher, and this was the grandest experiment of his life.
He jabbed the button with his thumb.
The two orbs of light in his inventory screen vanished instantly. For a moment, nothing happened. A cold knot of disappointment tightened in his stomach, a sudden, chilling fear that it had all been for nothing, that his resources were simply gone.
Then, the air in front of him grew cold.
It wasn't the ambient cold of the Ashen Fields; this was a sharp, biting frost, a supernatural cold that seemed to suck the heat from the very stones. A perfect circle of white frost spread rapidly across the floor, so cold that it spiderwebbed the ancient rock with tiny cracks. The temperature in the enclosed ruin plummeted, and his own breath plumed in front of him in a thick, white cloud.
From the absolute center of that circle of frost, a wisp of pale blue light emerged, no bigger than a candle flame. It hovered a foot off the ground, silent and still.
Then, it began to grow.
The wisp expanded upwards and outwards with a soft, humming sound that seemed to vibrate in Kaelen's bones. It elongated, thickened, and started to take on a familiar, humanoid shape. First, a pair of legs, coalescing from the mist as if being sculpted by an invisible hand. They were clad in what looked like ethereal versions of ancient greaves, the spectral armor glowing with a soft, internal luminescence.
Then came a torso, protected by a cuirass of the same ghostly light, the details of the armor sharp and impossibly intricate. Arms formed at its sides, ending in gauntleted hands. Finally, a head took shape, covered by a full-faced helmet that left no features visible, only a deep, shadowy void where a face should be.
The entire process took less than ten seconds, but Kaelen watched, utterly transfixed, as his creation solidified before him. It stood perfectly still, a life-sized statue carved from moonlight and frost. It was tall, at least six foot two, with the disciplined, unwavering posture of a professional soldier. It was translucent; Kaelen could see the ruined wall behind it, shimmering and distorted as if viewed through water.
In its right hand, a weapon began to form. The faint echo he had extracted from the rusted spearhead materialized and grew, not as a rusted relic, but as a pristine, spectral weapon. A nine-foot-long dory spear, its leaf-shaped head glowing brighter than the rest of its body, pulsed with a cold, deadly light.
The summoning was complete.
The air warmed slightly, the oppressive cold receding, but the presence of the being before him remained, a tangible weight in the atmosphere. It was a Tier 3 Echo Lancer. His first soldier.
For a long moment, it simply stood there, silent and unmoving. Kaelen stared, his mind struggling to process the reality of it. He had created life. Or... an echo of it. Was it a puppet? An automaton? Was there a soul trapped in there? His historian's mind warred with his new role as a Lord.
Then, the Echo Lancer moved.
With a motion that was unnervingly fluid and completely silent, it took a step forward. It lowered its spear until the butt rested on the stone floor with a soft, ethereal thud. Then, it dropped to one knee, bowing its helmeted head in a clear, unambiguous gesture of fealty.
It was acknowledging him as its master. Its Lord. Kaelen let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. A wave of profound emotion washed over him—not just triumph, but a heavy, sobering sense of responsibility. This was not a mindless golem. The way it knelt, the perfect discipline in its posture... it held a memory of duty. A memory of service.
He was not just its commander. He was its purpose for existing. "Stand," Kaelen said, his voice coming out stronger than he expected.
The Lancer rose to its feet in a single, smooth motion, its eyeless gaze fixed on him. He could issue commands to it mentally through the System interface, but speaking felt more... right. More real.
He pulled up its status panel, his curiosity overriding everything else.
[Echo Lancer]
Loyalty: 100 (Absolute)
Level: 10
HP: 500/500
EP: 150/150
[ATTRIBUTES]
Strength (STR): 20
Agility (AGI): 18
Endurance (END): -- (Spectral Body)
[SKILLS]
[Spectral Strike]: The Lancer's attacks deal an additional 20% ethereal damage that bypasses most physical armor.
[Phalanx Discipline]: When near other Echo units, attack and defense are increased by 10%.
[Tireless]: This unit does not consume Stamina and is immune to exhaustion.
Kaelen's jaw almost hit the floor. The stats were monstrous. A Strength of 20 was nearly three times his own. It could probably punch through a stone wall. And its skills... Phalanx Discipline was a clear sign that these units were meant to be used in formation. They were a true army, not just a collection of summoned monsters.
He had a Tier 3, Level 10 elite soldier at his command. The power dynamic of his entire world had just been irrevocably altered. He was no longer just a defenseless scholar hiding in a hole.
He was a Lord with an army. Or, at least, the beginning of one.
A new sense of confidence, cold and sharp, settled over him. The fear was still there, a low hum in the back of his mind, but it was now overshadowed by a vast, unexplored frontier of possibility.
He looked at his silent, loyal soldier, then looked out past the crumbling archway of his Lord's Hall towards the dark, screech-filled plains.
The hunt wasn't over. It had just begun.