Fenric's smirk stayed as he shut the tome, the last traces of dark energy fading into the night.
"Even Laxin's skeleton tricks," he said flatly, "are nothing more than scraps. Real necromancy—the kind that bends death itself—comes only from Rahcmis' Grimoire. When we get it, it won't just be Laxin to use."
His eyes shifted to Aria. "Your Death Soul Lord class is built for this. Necromancy will answer you just as easily as it will be for Laxin."
Aria crossed her arms. "And while I'm gone chasing this… who's going to protect you?"
Fenric let out a low laugh and turned toward Laxin, who stood just outside the fire's glow, silent and stiff.
"My new butler," Fenric said. "Laxin."
Laxin stiffened, his brows furrowing. "A butler?"
"Yes," Fenric answered without a pause. "You'll be the blade I trust and the shield I use—until you're strong enough to stand beside me. Do you accept?"
