The Extra's Rise
Chapter 582 - 582: Ebony Tower (2)

Humans liked building towers.

A lot.

It was something woven into the DNA of civilization—when faced with power, knowledge, or the great unknown, someone would eventually look up and say, "Let's build something tall to poke it." And so, naturally, the world had a few of them.

There was the Tower of Magic on the Central Continent, where spellcraft was dissected and reimagined in lecture halls ringed with runes. The Dragon Tower in the South, pulsing with bloodline experimentation and dangerous pride. The Constellation Tower up North, cold and gleaming, built for studying Purelight.

And finally, there was the Ebony Tower.

In the West.

The tower was a monument in black. It rose over a kilometer tall, shaped from seamless obsidian that seemed to drink in light rather than reflect it. A dark needle stabbing into the grey skies above, its surface so perfectly smooth it appeared almost liquid. No banners, no ornamentation, no pretense of warmth. Just sharp lines and silent authority. The kind of structure that didn't try to impress you with grandeur—it didn't need to.

Dark energy pulsed through its walls like a heartbeat, visible as faint veins of deeper shadow that spiraled up its length. This wasn't just architecture; it was a declaration of purpose.

"It looks much more ominous than it should," I said as our self-driving car curved up the long road toward the base. Even the air here felt heavier—filtered by perpetual clouds and the weight of a thousand years of necromantic research.

Jin barely reacted, his gaze fixed on the approaching tower with something like reverence. "Function over form. The Ebony Tower doesn't waste energy on aesthetics."

He looked completely at home here. Of course he did. The Western Continent suited him—its sharp architectural lines, muted color palette, and subtle undercurrents of barely restrained power. His posture, his tone, even the way he carried himself—it all seemed more refined here, more precise. He fit into this backdrop as naturally as obsidian into shadow.

Everything here was black. Not metaphorically. Literally. The buildings rose like monoliths of dark stone. The roads were paved with black granite that gleamed wetly under the overcast sky. The vehicles moved like sleek shadows. Even the fashion—everyone wore variations of dark coats, deep greys, and midnight blues, as if they had all quietly agreed on a theme decades ago and never looked back.

'It wasn't this monotone before,' Luna muttered in my mind, static crackling at the edges of her voice. 'What happened to color in this place?'

I didn't answer immediately. Maybe it was cultural evolution. Maybe it was practical—dark colors hid the residue of necromantic experiments better. Maybe people here just liked the way black made them feel important. Or maybe, after generations of studying death magic, the aesthetic had simply grown on them.

"Did you finalize the paper?" Jin asked, breaking the contemplative silence as the tower's shadow engulfed our vehicle entirely.

"Naturally," I replied, eyes still fixed on the imposing structure. "Though I should clarify—the method I've developed doesn't eliminate the inherent difficulty of creating Ancient Undead. It shifts the challenge, makes it more accessible, but it's still far from trivial."

Jin nodded thoughtfully. "So it's not democratizing necromancy."

"No," I agreed. "It's creating a second path for the truly capable. Talented necromancers without a Gift of Deepdark will now have a viable route forward. But those with the Gift will still find their innate approach more intuitive. My method is mechanical rather than instinctual—it requires more resources, takes longer, and has a higher margin for error. But it's reliable and, most importantly, reproducible."

"A second gate," Jin murmured, "to a destination that's had only one entrance for over a millennium."

He glanced at me with something between respect and wariness, though he would never voice either sentiment directly.

"Creating Ancient Undead was never meant to be simple," he added.

"It still isn't," I said quietly as we approached the tower's base. "But now, it's possible for more than just the Gifted."

And sometimes, possibility was enough to reshape entire civilizations.

The car glided to a stop before the Ebony Tower's entrance—a massive archway that seemed to swallow light itself. No doors were visible; instead, a wall of controlled darkness rippled like liquid shadow, scanning us as we approached.

"Arthur Nightingale and Prince Jin Ashbluff," I announced to the shifting barrier. "We have an appointment with Deputy Tower Master Paul Lucrian."

The darkness pulsed once, then dissolved like morning mist, revealing a cavernous entrance hall beyond. The interior was even more impressive than the exterior—polished black stone that reflected distorted images, ceiling so high it disappeared into shadow, and the subtle but unmistakable presence of immense magical power humming through every surface.

Robed figures moved through the space with purpose, their dark garments making them appear as mobile shadows. Some paused to nod respectfully to Jin, recognition flickering in their eyes. Others simply continued their business, too absorbed in their research or too important to acknowledge mere visitors.

An attendant approached—a middle-aged woman whose pale skin contrasted sharply with her midnight robes. "Prince Jin, Mr. Nightingale, welcome to the Ebony Tower. Deputy Tower Master Lucrian is expecting you on the 195th floor."

She gestured toward a series of crystalline platforms that rose through the center of the tower like floating islands of black glass. No visible support, no mechanical apparatus—pure magical levitation sustained by the tower's ambient energy.

"The ascension platforms will take you directly to your destination," she explained. "Please step aboard the central lift."

We moved onto the nearest platform, and I felt the subtle shift as we began to rise. The sensation was remarkably smooth—like standing on solid ground while the world simply fell away beneath us. Through gaps in the tower's interior structure, I caught glimpses of laboratories, libraries, and research facilities that grew more sophisticated the higher we climbed.

"Floor 100," Jin noted as we passed a particular level. "That's where they conduct the really dangerous experiments. Anything above floor 150 is restricted to high Immortal-rank researchers and above."

"And floor 195?"

"Deputy Tower Master territory. Paul Lucrian has been there for over thirty years."

The platform continued its ascent, carrying us past levels that hummed with increasingly potent magical energies. By the time we reached the upper floors, the very air felt dense with power—the accumulated result of centuries of high-level necromantic research.

"Floor 195," the platform announced in a voice like whispered silk.

We stepped off into a corridor that was notably different from the lower levels. Here, the black stone was inlaid with silver runes that pulsed with gentle light, and the oppressive atmosphere gave way to something more refined, more controlled. The walls were lined with portraits of previous Deputy Tower Masters and displays of significant necromantic artifacts.

At the end of the corridor stood a set of double doors crafted from what appeared to be fossilized dragonbone, their surface etched with protective wards so complex they made my eyes water to look at directly.

The doors swung open silently as we approached.

Beyond lay an office that managed to be both scholarly and intimidating. Bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with tomes that radiated knowledge and danger in equal measure. Artifacts of incredible power sat casually on pedestals, as if they were mere paperweights. The far wall was entirely transparent, offering a view of the Western Continent that stretched to the horizon.

And behind a desk carved from a single piece of midnight-black stone sat Paul Lucrian.

He looked exactly as I remembered from our brief meeting years ago, though perhaps with a few more lines around his eyes. Still tall and lean, with silver-streaked dark hair and the kind of presence that suggested immense power held under careful control. His robes were simpler than those of the other researchers I'd seen, but the quality of the material and the subtle magical enhancements woven into the fabric marked him as someone of exceptional status.

"Arthur Nightingale," he said, rising from his chair with a slight smile. "You've grown considerably since our last meeting."

"Deputy Tower Master Lucrian," I replied with a respectful nod. "Thank you for agreeing to see me."

"Please, Paul is sufficient. And Prince Jin," he added, turning to acknowledge my companion. "Your father sends his regards, I trust?"

"He does," Jin confirmed. "Along with his continued support for mutually beneficial research initiatives."

Paul's smile widened slightly. "Excellent. Now then, Arthur, I believe you have something for me. The paper you promised regarding Ancient Undead formation without Deepdark Gifts?"

"I do," I said, reaching into my spatial storage to withdraw a bound manuscript. "Though before I hand this over, I should confirm our agreement. You'll assist with my second necromantic summon project and facilitate a partnership between my organization and the Tower's research network?"

"Assuming your paper lives up to its claims," Paul replied, "those terms are acceptable. The Tower is always interested in advancing necromantic theory, and if you've truly found a way to circumvent the Gift requirement..."

He left the sentence hanging, but the implication was clear. Such a discovery would revolutionize the field.

I extended the manuscript toward him. "One way to find out."

Paul accepted the paper with the reverence of someone handling a potentially world-changing document. He settled back into his chair and began to read, his expression neutral but intent.

The silence stretched as he worked through the theoretical framework I'd developed. I watched his eyebrows rise incrementally as he progressed through the more complex sections, saw him pause to reread certain passages, noticed the way his breathing grew more controlled as the implications became clear.

Jin and I waited, neither speaking. This was the moment of truth—would my theoretical understanding of what I'd accidentally accomplished years ago hold up to expert scrutiny?

Paul's hands began to tremble slightly as he reached the final sections. The paper fell from nerveless fingers as he completed the last page, his face pale with what looked like a mixture of awe and terror.

And then, to my complete shock, Paul Lucrian—Deputy Tower Master of the Ebony Tower, high Immortal-rank necromancer, one of the most powerful and respected magical researchers in the world—slowly rose from his chair and dropped to his knees.

Why can't anything in my life happen normally?