Necromancer: Kingdom Building with My Legion of Undead Knights

Darion stirred in his small, dingy room. The sunlight barely pierced through the grimy window.

Suddenly, the heavy door slammed open with a loud bang. A burly, grim-faced servant stomped into the room, arms crossed.

”Hey! Why are you still asleep, loser? Today’s Awakening Day, don’t you want to prove you’re worth anything?”

Darion groaned, rubbing his eyes.

The servant glared down at Darion, eyes sharp as daggers.

”You have only ten minutes to get to the hall, or else...”

He didn’t complete his words. He just left, slamming the door with such great force that it shook the room.

”Can’t even get a bit of respect, even though I’m the Emperor’s son. Tsk...” Darion muttered as he stood up and walked towards the wardrobe, opening it and going through what to wear.

The thing was, Darion wasn’t originally from this world.

He was previously from Earth, and his name had been Julian.

One week ago, while he was crossing the road, he had been hit by a really fast truck and that had been the end of him. Or so he thought, until he found himself in the body of an Emperor’s bastard son, the product of a one night affair, retaining all his memories from Earth and gaining the memories of this new body he now inhabited.

As expected, the memories weren’t pleasant ones. They were truly awful. Getting bullied by literally everyone he had ever come across and treated like a servant rather than a son.

He had been eighteen back on Earth and in this new body, he was eighteen too. He assumed this was just a ’coincidence.’

Why did reincarnation have to be so cruel, by the way. He could have been reincarnated as one of the Emperor’s legitimate children, enjoying all the luxury he could ever wish for in this medieval world.

But no.... A bastard son.

At first he was angry about reincarnating into a miserable life as this, but after a few moments of venting his frustration, he forced himself to accept it.

Darion understood there was no turning back. In almost all the web novels he’d read in his previous life, he couldn’t remember a single transmigrator who’d managed to return home. He knew he’d have to adjust quickly if he wanted to survive.

With a sigh, he changed his clothes to a simple tunic, leather trousers and old brown boots.

Then he opened the door and rushed to the hall.

He realized it would have been a bad choice to take his bath before going, as he was already late.

On his way to the hall, servants of the Palace sneered at him and some murmured insults.

Darion ignored them. It wasn’t like there was any other alternative.

As he stepped into the hall, all the nobles stared at him in disdain. They were dressed lavishly, their children likewise, and they all looked at him like he was some piece of dirt.

Darion felt uncomfortable under their stares and lowered his head slightly, trying to avoid them. That made him bump into one of the nobles who happened to be standing with her back turned, chitchatting with a fellow noble.

The lady turned around with a frown and said:

”Watch where you’re going, you son of a filthy whore.”

It seemed to amuse some people nearby and they laughed at it.

Finally Darion found a place to stand. It was at the far end of the hall, away from anybody, at the corner of a wall.

Far from him was a podium made of rare stone and on it sat a glowing orb, one that emitted different colors.

Darion stared at it... scared. He should have been awed or intrigued by it, but he couldn’t. He could only be afraid.

Today was Awakening Day.

Awakening Day was an event held every three years by all noble families in the continent which the Emperor governed.

Children of noble families aged 16 - 18 would awaken a Class, an ability that determined their status and role.

The stronger the Class, the higher their status.

Some become Dukes for awakening classes that summon mythical beasts. Others rise as Commanders, hurling fireballs from their hands.

To be successful in this world as someone from a noble family, you simply had to awaken a class.

As the bastard son of the Emperor, someone who had lived with a great amount of bad luck his entire life, Darion honestly expected something really bad.

A class, but... a low one. Something that would make his father truly angry.

He was quickly drawn from his thoughts by the sound of a loud trumpet.

Then, a second trumpet followed. Longer this time.

The crowd stirred, straightening themselves, their chins lifted. Even the murmuring died.

Then four figures entered the hall.

Godric Wentworth came first, as he always did (literally, he was the first child of the Emperor).

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with his father’s sharp jaw and dark hairs that swept back.

He was clothed in a deep red cloak, trimmed with gold, a sword at his hip more for show than necessity. His eyes swept the hall with a touch of calm arrogance. Behind him walked Sylara Wentworth. She shared Godric’s dark hair but wore it in a long, loose braid threaded with silver. Her features were finer and almost delicate, though there was nothing delicate about the way she moved. She walked straight-backed, chin slightly raised, with eyes that caught everything and gave away nothing.

Then came Emmeline, the youngest of the four and somehow the most striking. She had copper-gold hair and bright, restless eyes that always seemed to be laughing at something no one else was in on. She smiled at the crowd as she walked, and the crowd smiled back, charmed without quite knowing why.

Last was Rowan Wentworth. Quieter than the rest, leaner and with a thoughtful face that made him look like he was always working something out in his head. He didn’t smile, neither did he posture. He simply walked in, glanced once across the hall, and found his place.

None of them looked toward the corner where Darion stood.

Not once...

Darion felt like some stranded ant in the midst of large stunning bees. While his half siblings were being admired by almost everyone as they walked in, he had been insulted.

The trumpet players fell silent now and then, a heavier quiet took the hall.

Then the Emperor entered.

He was a tall man with a golden robe. The crown he wore was seemingly made of Gold. His face was unreadable, his gaze passing over the assembled nobles the way a general surveys terrain, noting everything and dwelling on nothing.

Beside him walked the Empress.

She was beautiful, with dark eyes that never quite matched the soft smile she wore at formal occasions. The nobles bowed to them.

They ascended together and took their thrones.

Then, from beside the orb, a woman stepped forward. She was clothed in layered robes of white and sage green, adorned with small symbols stitched along the hem.

Her silver hair was braided over one shoulder and her expression was calm. She placed one hand gently beside the orb, the colors within it shifting slowly, and turned to face the hall.

”The awakening,” she said, her voice carrying without effort to every corner of the room, ”Begins.”