Welcome to NecroCorp – Where War is Always in Stock!
"Now with 15% off main battle tanks, because peace is bad for business."

Hello, traveler!
Looking for a bone-forged sword? A modular mana cannon? Perhaps... a discounted main battle tank for your next kingdom raid?

Oh wait, you're not a customer, you're a reader.
Right. This is probably where I give you my "tragic backstory." Fine.

I used to be human.
Then I died.
Now I'm a Lich with a factory in a dead dungeon, a skeleton workforce that doesn't need lunch breaks, salaries, and a magical system that rewards me for selling stuff. So, I did what any sane undead would do: I started an arms corporation.

Now I sell weapons to orcs, goblins, elves, humans, anyone with a grudge and a pile of magic stones. Need siege engines? Got 'em. Crossbows that reload themselves? Yup. Flamethrower golems? In development.

But here's the trick: you can’t sell weapons if there’s no war.
So when the world started calming down... well, I may have encouraged a few border skirmishes. For marketing purposes. Nothing personal. War drives demand, after all.

So, if you're here for drama, explosions, undead capitalism, and morally questionable business strategies wrapped in bone and steel, you’ve come to the right dungeon.

Just don’t ask about the warranty.
There isn’t one that lived to tell and ask about it.

In the middle of Spinebride Forest, the air, usually thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, was instead heavy with a sickly-sweet demonic miasma. At its heart, a gargantuan stone pillar, stained crimson with ancient rituals, rose from the ground. It was bound by thick, corroded chains that seemed to writhe with a life of their own, all converging on a demonic sword pulsating with malevolent energy at the very top. The sword's hilt hummed with a low thrum that vibrated through the very ground, a constant, low-frequency hum that unnerved even the battle-hardened orcs.


Chapter 65 - Pentademonica