Chapter One: Old Enough!
Documentation.
It goes without saying, but documentation would never exist without stationery. Functional materials could be made from tree bark, wood, and animal hide, but the pile of documents sitting in front of Vandal was made from paper—paper from a golem factory production line that he had established himself.
Examining the prodigious pile, Vandal was starting to regret having brought such high-quality paper into this world.
“Deskwork is a part of adult life,” he said, trying to convince himself. If he became accustomed to it now, life would only be easier in the future. A man who got his work done efficiently would command the respect and admiration of others—or so he hoped. Admittedly, a muscleman who could hunt monsters would probably be a smidge more popular on Ramda.
In any case, he had to deal with these documents. He looked over them and used the official seal he had recently created to stamp his approval onto those that passed muster.
“Phew! Finally done,” he breathed.
“. . . Your Majesty.”
Vandal looked up. It was Chezale, the undead of the commander from Milg.
“Perhaps you could impart your methods for handling paperwork to me?”
In life, Chezale had surely handled reams more documents than Vandal had ever seen. Him asking Vandal to instruct him likely had something to do with Vandal increasing his number of arms and heads to do his work.
“I might be able to give you some tips,” Vandal mused, “but in your case, we’d get faster results if I physically grafted on more arms and heads. Shall I schedule a surgery for later today?”
“No, thank you. Maybe another time.” Even though he was a zombie, Chezale seemed to be resistant to body/corpse modification.
“Do you have something new for me?” Vandal asked.
“Not new, Your Majesty, but it is time to reconsider the currency issue.”
“Currency, huh?”
Chezale was currently creating all sorts of systems within Talosheim. Vandal hadn’t ordered him to do it, but Chezale was taking the initiative to come up with new systems for the young nation. They now had an eclipse-inspired flag featuring a white and black circle, and templates for filling out various types of documents.
When it came to laws, those were based on the ones used in the lands of Duke Heartner—a region in Olbaum called the Heartner Domain—with which old Talosheim had often traded. At the moment, however, new Talosheim had little use for laws.
That same Chezale was the one to suggest the introduction of a currency.
“Your Majesty. I understand that simple trade is serving due purpose at the moment. But the introduction of a currency is vital for the expansion of our nation—especially if your future desire for trade with the Electorate Kingdom comes to fruition!”
“I’ve got an idea,” Vandal countered. “If we’re going to be trading with them anyway, why don’t we just use their currency? I’m not really planning on making Talosheim an independent nation anyway.”
“What’s this?” Chezale exclaimed. “You’re already planning on selling out your nation, Your Majesty?!”
“I was thinking more an autonomous country within Olbaum, without independent diplomatic rights.”
“Your Majesty!” Chezale was only getting more worked up. “We have no intention of becoming a mere attendant nation! Please, you must rethink this!”
Vandal sighed and shook his head. His original plan had been to become an honorary noble in the Olbaum Electorate Kingdom. What happened to Talosheim after that would depend on whether human rights for undead and ghouls were approved and how things turned out with the progenitor species vampires. If everything went well, he planned for Talosheim to become an autonomous part of the Electorate Kingdom.
The possibility of everything working out wasn’t high. But if he could pull it off, that plan seemed to have the best rate of return.
If it didn’t work out, they would remain an independent nation, trading with what he presumed would be the skilled diplomats of the Electorate Kingdom while managing their own country. Just how many veteran undead politicians am I going to need for that to work?
“That’s all for the future, anyway. Let’s set it aside for now,” Vandal said. “The issue is the currency, right? I’m going to be setting out for the Heartner Domain today. Can we think about this after my trip?”
Vandal had already turned seven. Summer was in full swing. He was supposed to be well on his way to Olbaum already.
The purpose of the trip? Guild registration.
Minors could only operate as adventurers if they graduated from the adventurers’ academy. But minors could still register without attending school. Grade G adventurers who had only registered at the guild could take on quests like day-laborer work. However, those who wished to become Grade F or higher, proper adventurers, had to graduate first.
That was how it had worked at the adventurers’ guild in the Electorate Kingdom 200 years ago, at the very least.
In the future, Vandal did plan to become a full-on adventurer, making a name for himself and becoming an honorary noble. But for now, once he got his guild card, he was planning on coming back to Talosheim rather than entering the school system. The reason was simple.
“I need to register before my status gets any more . . . provocative.”
That was the entire issue. Registering with the guild provided a certificate of registration, generally called a “guild card.” Upon issuance, the staff member would see the full status of the individual registering. In Vandal’s case, that would mean his Aliases of Ghoul King, Eclipse King, and Unspoken Name, his previously unknown jobs such as Undead Tamer and Crusher of Souls, his previously unknown Death Attribute Magic, his undeniably absurd unique skill, God Smiter, and all the curses Rodocolte had left him with would be put on veritable display.
That was a bad look even at the moment. And there was nothing to say they wouldn’t keep multiplying. He needed to register before things got any worse, and then hurry back to Talosheim before there were any consequences.
Of course, he was also planning on trying to find out what happened to Lebia, the first princess of Talosheim who had fled along with Borkz’s daughter and the other giantling refugees to the Heartner Domain 200 years ago.
Like ghouls, giantlings lived for about 300 years. That meant he could probably ask around among any giantlings he found in one of the towns there and get some answers. He hoped they were doing okay—but maybe not so okay that they were campaigning to restore Talosheim. And he very much hoped they had some sympathy for undead.