Necromancer: Kingdom Building with My Legion of Undead Knights

The interior of the castle was stunning.

The moment Darion stepped fully inside, he understood immediately that the outside had only shown part of it.

The entrance halls alone looked wealthier than entire sections of Percvale.

The walls were decorated with polished stone and dark wood worked into careful designs that stretched along the corridors in elegant patterns. Banners hung between tall windows, each carrying the crest of Thandor stitched in silver thread.

Even the lighting felt different. Instead of the dim torchlight Percvale relied on during evenings, iron lanterns with glass coverings hung neatly from the walls, giving the place a cleaner and steadier glow.

The floors beneath their boots were smooth stone, polished enough that faint reflections appeared when servants carrying trays hurried past them.

Darion found himself looking around more than he intended to.

He wasn’t openly staring like some amazed villager seeing wealth for the first time, but enough to quietly absorb everything.

This place felt lived in properly. That was the difference.

Percvale’s castle felt old and tired no matter how much cleaning Maret and Aldra did. The walls there carried cracks. The corners gathered dust too quickly. Certain parts of the castle remained empty because there simply weren’t enough people to use them anymore.

This place had activity.

Servants moved through the halls with purpose. Guards stood at intersections without looking bored. Even the air smelled cleaner somehow, mixed faintly with high quality wood, candle wax and whatever flowers had been placed in decorative bowls along the corridors.

The Thandor guard continued leading them forward.

They passed through what looked like a large lobby area first.

The room was spacious, with cushioned chairs arranged near the walls and several officials speaking quietly among themselves.

A few glanced toward Darion’s group briefly before returning to their conversations.

No one stopped them.

Eventually they reached another massive set of doors which opened into a larger chamber.

Darion’s eyes immediately landed on the throne positioned at the far end of the room.

It was impressive without looking ridiculous. Dark polished (again) wood with silver-colored metal along the edges, raised slightly above the rest of the floor on a short platform. Behind it hung the banner of Thandor itself.

Inner guards stood along sections of the room, armored and silent.

Darion noticed immediately how disciplined they looked. None were slouching or whispering to one another. They remained alert without appearing tense.

The escorting guard stopped walking then turned toward Darion.

”Wait here while I inform His Majesty,” he said respectfully.

Darion gave a short nod.

The guard walked off toward another corridor.

Silence settled briefly afterward.

Darion stood there beside Garren while the three Percvale knights remained behind them quietly.

The throne room itself was massive compared to Percvale’s own hall.

Actually... No. That wasn’t even fair.

Percvale’s wasn’t a throne room. It was just an old hall with tables and chairs placed inside it because there wasn’t anywhere else important meetings could happen.

After several minutes, the guard returned.

”The king welcomes you to the great hall,” he announced.

Darion exchanged a brief glance with Garren before nodding again.

Then they followed.

The moment the words ”great hall” were mentioned, Darion already knew exactly what his brain was going to do.

Compare it to Percvale’s.

And unfortunately, when they finally arrived there, the comparison became brutal almost immediately.

The hall was beautiful.

Long polished tables stretched across the room with chairs that actually matched each other instead of looking like they had been collected from abandoned buildings over several decades. The wood carried deep rich coloring instead of Percvale’s faded surfaces scratched by time and neglect.

The ceiling itself was high enough that Darion instinctively looked upward for a moment.

Wooden beams crossed overhead with carved designs worked into them. Chandeliers hung above the hall, their candles illuminating the room warmly.

Even the walls looked expensive, with decorations and paintings.

Meanwhile Percvale’s great hall had old wooden tables with uneven legs and chairs that creaked whenever someone sat too heavily.

And color? Percvale barely had color.

Everything there had slowly faded into variations of brown, gray and dust.

Here things actually looked alive.

At the far end of the hall sat the King of Thandor.

Several papers rested in front of him across the table while a servant carefully gathered some into neat stacks off to one side. Two guards stood behind him silently, positioned close enough to act immediately if needed.

Darion studied the king quietly.

But before he could properly examine him, something else caught his attention first.

The expression on the king’s face.

There was shock on it.

The man looked genuinely stunned to see him standing there.

This wasn’t mild surprise or curiosity but actual disbelief.

For a brief second Darion almost wondered if he had somehow done something wrong already.

The king stood up quickly.

”Welcome... Baron...?” the man said, clearly trying for Darion to help him out.

”Baron Darion,” Darion answered smoothly.

”Ah. Baron Darion.”

The king stepped forward slightly and extended his hand.

Darion shook it.

Up close, the man looked exactly like what Darion imagined a stable king should look like.

King Michul was tall, broad-shouldered and carried himself with the natural confidence of someone long accustomed to authority. He reminded Darion somewhat of Garren actually, though less stern.

There was gray beginning to appear around parts of his hair near the temples, but not enough to make him seem old.

Early forties maybe.

That matched what Garren had told him during the journey. Michul had apparently inherited the throne relatively young after his father’s death and had ruled for years now, long enough to stabilize and expand Thandor properly.

His face carried age lines around the eyes, but they looked earned through stress and leadership rather than weakness.

”Nice to meet you,” King Michul said. ”I am King Michul of Thandor.”

His eyes lingered on Darion again briefly before continuing.

”You requested an audience concerning repayment of an old loan?”

”Yes,” Darion answered calmly.

The king motioned toward the table.

”Please. Sit.”

Darion sat down first.

Garren took the seat beside him afterward without speaking.

Behind them, the three Percvale knights remained standing respectfully.

King Michul slowly sat back down as well.

But even now, Darion could still see traces of that earlier surprise lingering on the man’s face.

Like he still couldn’t fully believe who was sitting in front of him.

Darion noted the king’s name quietly in his head.

Michul.

It was strange in a way. Since arriving in this world he had heard all kinds of names that sounded completely unfamiliar to him, names that firmly reminded him he was no longer on Earth.

But this one?

Michul sounded oddly close to Michael.

It was not the same, obviously, but close enough that his brain immediately made the connection anyway.

King Michul looked at him for a few moments across the table before finally speaking again, a faint smile resting on his face.

”I never knew Percvale still had a Baron,” he admitted. ”Last I heard, the previous one died.”

Darion nodded once, confirming.

The conversation paused briefly afterward.

Darion could feel a small amount of nervousness sitting beneath his calm expression now.

It was not fear exactly, just tension.

This was his first proper conversation with an actual king since arriving in this world.

Yes, not Aldric.... With Aldric, he had gone to beg, asking that the deadline to pay their debt be cancelled and Aldric had said no.

But this? King Michul instead was an actual ruling king whose territory clearly functioned properly.

And now Darion had to sit here and sound intelligent enough not to embarrass himself or Percvale.

Could he actually pull that off?

He hoped so.

”I was appointed Baron over a month ago by the Emperor,” Darion explained carefully.

That part at least was technically true. He simply left out the important details. The fact that he was the Emperor’s bastard son.

The fact that the ”appointment” had really been exile disguised politely as opportunity.

The prison cart.... The humiliation... None of that needed to be mentioned.

And more importantly, King Michul hadn’t asked. So Darion saw absolutely no reason to volunteer the information.

”Ah,” Michul said slowly. ”That explains some things.”

Darion noticed the king studying him again afterward.

Not rudely, just curiously.

Like he was trying to understand what kind of man the Emperor would suddenly place over Percvale after years of decline.

”Managing a place like that must be difficult,” Michul said finally, the words carrying the tone of light humor rather than mockery.

Darion smiled faintly at that.

”Indeed,” he admitted. ”It has not been easy.”

That was probably the understatement of the century.

”I arrived there and found almost dilapidated buildings, starving knights, starving citizens and enough debts to bury the Barony for another decade.”

He gestured lightly with one hand.

”Even part of the reason I’m here now is because of those debts.”

Michul gave a quiet hum of understanding.

Darion continued calmly.

”The roads were poor. The farmland was nearly unusable before recent restoration efforts. Some watchtowers had been abandoned completely.” He paused briefly. ”There were sections of Percvale that honestly looked forgotten.”

The king listened carefully without interrupting.

That surprised Darion slightly.

He had half expected a king to behave more arrogantly somehow. More dismissive.

Instead Michul seemed genuinely willing to listen to him speak.