Demon King After the End-Chapter 37

The Furnace Guardian lay in a heap of cooling scrap metal, its chest cavity blasted open. The silence in the massive chamber was heavy, broken only by the settling of dust and the faint hiss of Mora’s vines receding from the wreckage.

"We did it," Gorran breathed, kicking a loose gear. "The forge is ours."

Leon didn’t celebrate just yet. He walked straight to the remains of the Golem’s chest. The magma core inside had been shattered, but something was still glowing amidst the debris.

A small, furious ball of orange flame flickered in the center of the crushed metal grate. It wasn’t just fire; it pulsed with a heartbeat.

"Mora," Leon called out. "What is this?"

Mora floated over, wrinkling her nose. "Ugh. It’s a primal spirit. A Fire Wisp. Very rude. Very hot. Zero out of ten for personality."

The flame flared up, hissing like an angry cat.

[System Analysis]

Target: Dormant Flame Spirit (Weakened)Utility: Can regulate extreme temperatures and fuel magical forges without fuel.

Leon grinned. A forge needed heat, and coal was scarce. This little guy was an infinite battery.

"You’re coming with us," Leon said, pulling an empty mana crystal vial from his inventory (purchased cheaply for storage). He scooped the angry flame into it. It bounced against the glass, turning from orange to blue, but couldn’t escape.

"Great," Leon muttered, pocketing the vial. "We have the fuel. We have the facility. Now... we just need someone who knows which end of the hammer to hold."

"Majesty!" Brahmir’s raspy voice echoed from the back of the chamber. "You need to see this."

Leon and Gorran walked toward the rear of the workshop, past the silent conveyor belts.

There, tucked away in a dark alcove, lay a grim sight.

Rows of skeletal remains. They were short, broad-chested frames, still draped in the tattered remains of thick leather aprons. Rusted shackles bound their ankles to the floor.

"Dwarves," Gorran whispered, his eyes widening. "They must have been the original smiths. Slaves to the old Demon Lords."

Leon crouched, inspecting the bones. They were old—decades old. But the bone structure was dense, solid.

Gorran’s mood suddenly shifted from somber to electric excitement. He grabbed Leon’s shoulder, forgetting protocol.

"Majesty! Do you know what this means? Dwarves are born with a hammer in hand! Their muscle memory is legendary! Even in death, they say a dwarf can forge steel better than a demon can in life!"

The minotaur looked like a child on glorious Winter’s Eve.

"If you raise them... we won’t just have smiths. We’ll have Master Smiths. We can forge armor that doesn’t shatter! Weapons that cut stone!"

Brahmir nodded in agreement. "Their craftsmanship is unrivaled. This... is a massive find."

Leon felt a surge of anticipation. He had the facility. He had the fuel. And now, fate had delivered the workforce.

"Stand back," Leon ordered, cracking his knuckles.

He extended both hands, channeling a massive amount of his remaining mana. The blue flames in his eyes flared brighter.

[Skill: Raise Undead]

"Awaken!"

The air temperature plummeted. Black mist poured from Leon’s hands, swirling around the skeletal piles.

Rattle... Clack.

The bones began to shake. Ribs snapped back into place. Skulls reattached to spines.

Gorran held his breath, his hands trembling with excitement. "Here they come... the masters of steel..."

One by one, twelve dwarven skeletons hauled themselves up. Their eye sockets ignited with ghostly blue fire. They stood in a row, the dust of fifty years falling from their bones.

They looked imposing. Ancient. Stoic.

"At your command," Leon whispered, waiting for them to salute or grab a hammer.

The dwarf in the center took a step forward.

Clack.

Its foot caught on its own other foot.

It stumbled forward, arms windmilling silently, and face-planted directly into a pile of scrap metal with a loud CLANG.

The other skeletons turned to look at their fallen comrade. One of them tried to scratch its head, forgot it held a rusted pair of tongs, and smacked itself in the eye socket.

Another one just started walking in a circle, bumping into a wall, backing up, and bumping into it again. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

Silence descended on the room.

Gorran’s jaw dropped. The excitement drained from his face, replaced by pure, unadulterated horror.

"What... what is wrong with them?" Gorran whispered. "Why are they... stupid?"

Leon stood there, hand suspended in the air, watching his "Master Smiths" act like toddlers learning to walk.

Ding!

[System Notification]

Target: Ancient Dwarven SkeletonStatus: Mindless HuskIntelligence: None.Proficiency: Reset to Zero.

[Warning:] Your Necromancy Mastery is Low (Level 1). You cannot preserve the memories, skills, or consciousness of targets that have been dead for decades.

Result: You have summoned Generic Skeleton Laborers (Small Variant).

Leon slowly lowered his hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"They’re blank slates," Leon groaned. "They don’t know how to smith. They don’t even know how to be dwarves. They’re just... moving bones."

Gorran looked like he was about to cry. "But... the legendary craftsmanship... the muscle memory..."

"Muscle memory?" Leon said sarcastically. "Do they even have muscles."

One of the skeletons finally managed to stand up, only for its arm to detach and fall off. It stared at the arm on the floor for a solid five seconds, seemingly confused.

Mora floated over and poked one. "Wow. Even the zombies are dumb. Is this your elite army, Boss?"

"Shut up, Mora," Leon muttered.

"So..." Brahmir rasped, sounding disappointed. "We have twelve... very short, very clumsy movers?"

"Not quite," Leon said, refusing to accept total defeat. He walked over to the skeleton that had walked into the wall and grabbed it by the shoulder, spinning it around.

It stared at him blankly.

"They can’t create," Leon said, thinking fast. "They have no creativity. No skill. But..."

He pointed to a large bellows handle near the furnace.

"You. Grab that handle. Push it down. Pull it up. Repeat."

He exerted his will through the [Command] skill.

The skeleton shambled over, grabbed the handle, and began pumping. Up. Down. Up. Down. Perfect rhythm. Tireless.

Leon turned to another. "You. Pick up that ore. Put it on the conveyor belt."

The skeleton obeyed instantly.

Leon turned back to his retainers.

"They aren’t Master Smiths," Leon admitted. "But they are the perfect factory workers. They will pump the bellows, carry the heavy ore, and pound the metal exactly where we tell them to."

Gorran sighed, a long, mournful sound. "So... we still need a real blacksmith to tell them where to pound."

"Yes," Leon said. "And they can be levelled up. Who knows what will they show up when levelled up?"

He looked at his squad of stumbling, bone-headed dwarves.

"It’s not perfect," Leon muttered. "But it’s a start. Gorran, load the cart. We’re taking the ingots... and the idiots... back home."