Roger's Inheritance!

Silence fell for a beat, heavy and strained. Leonard watched from the shadows, his fireball ready but hesitating.

Roger's voice, weaker now, came out like a cracked whisper. "I thought… I thought I could use you. A perfect tool. You were supposed to fight for me… die for me. But you're nothing but a reminder."

The Stitched Monster's stitched lips quivered, the voices now soft and uncertain. "Protect… you."

Roger turned, his gaze meeting Leonard's. For a moment, the fire in his eye sockets blazed brighter, a desperate determination taking hold. "Take my life if you want it," he rasped. "But spare it; spare the creature. It's weak. Useless. It'll pose no threat to you."

Leonard raised an eyebrow, considering the offer.

Roger continued, his voice shaking. "As payment… I'll give you everything; my inheritance. All the knowledge I possess. Only I can pass it on. If I die here, you'll get nothing but burnt scraps and broken bones."

The dungeon fell silent again, save for the quiet crackling of flames. Leonard's sharp gaze narrowed as he weighed the risks. Finally, he spoke.

"Fine. But show me the inheritance first."

Roger nodded slowly, defeat clear in his posture. He raised one skeletal hand, trembling, and reached toward his burning eye socket.

"Master, you're incredible! You took them both down by yourself!" David's booming voice echoed from the darkness as he jogged toward Leonard, his oversized frame moving with surprising agility. His grin stretched wide, a mix of admiration and awe.

Leonard didn't respond immediately, his expression calm but distant.

David, noticing the silence, scratched his head nervously. "Uh… I didn't mean to slack off. I circled around to attack from behind, but… well, the enemy surrendered before I could even swing!" He let out a sheepish laugh. "Who would've thought they'd be so spineless?"

Leonard glanced at him and waved a hand dismissively. "It's fine."

The truth was, the scene he had just witnessed; the stitched monster's final moments, its confused loyalty and quiet despair, left Leonard feeling heavier than he expected. He bent down and picked up the 'gray soul bead' from the scattered remains, holding it delicately between his fingers.

Leonard turned it over thoughtfully, the bead faintly warm in his hand. Roger's creation, the stitched monster, had shown flickers of its former life; perhaps fragments of a memory or a deep-rooted obsession. A tragic echo.

"But it's over now," Leonard murmured to himself. "Everything's gone."

Soul beads were precious things, crystallized fragments of memory and spirit. Whoever possessed it could "read" the memories inside, replaying them like scenes from a distant dream. But memories were fragile—each recall chipped away at their clarity, leaving them incomplete and tattered over time.

Leonard tucked the soul bead into his pouch and moved toward the workbench Roger had left behind. The desk was cluttered but orderly, with glass vials, porcelain containers, and carefully labeled jars holding various ground ingredients. His gaze caught a particular vial of 'Blue King Flower powder' the very material he needed.

He lifted it and inspected the contents closely. The powder had been ground to near perfection; fine, consistent, and pure. Leonard's lips quirked into a rare smile.

"At least Roger had skill," he muttered. "This will save me some time."

David, now leaning against the doorway, eyed him curiously. "Master? What's all this junk? Looks like someone's kitchen exploded in here."

Leonard ignored the comment, carefully gathering up the materials he would need. The 'Blue King Flower' powder alone was enough to make twenty bottles of 'Mutant Mental Power Recovery Potion'.

"With this," Leonard murmured, inspecting a bone-handled grinder left on the table, "I'll have blue potions ready. No more running out of mental energy mid-battle."

He glanced back at David, who seemed moments away from dozing off. "Keep watch. Don't let anyone sneak up on us."

David straightened immediately, thumping his chest. "You got it, Master! I'm on it."

Leonard sat down, the soul bead glinting faintly as he pressed it gently between his eyebrows. A strange, prickling sensation spread across his forehead. Then, as if a door had opened in his mind, 'images flooded in' scenes flashing one after another like a reel of film unraveling before his eyes.

---

The visions were fragmented but vivid. Leonard saw Roger's life play out in chaotic bursts of memory; pain, loss, and twisted determination. The earlier scenes passed like shadows: a 'young boy clinging to his mother's hand', following her through bustling markets. Then tragedy struck.

A marquis's men; greedy, cruel, and ruthless, descended upon them. His mother, who had ventured north to purchase medicinal herbs, was killed protecting her wealth. Her bloodied form crumpled to the ground while Roger, barely alive, was discarded alongside her body in a nameless grave.

Leonard's chest tightened as the memories continued. 'The grave' dark, cold, filled with corpses. Roger, broken and dying, stumbled upon an ancient relic buried beneath the dirt: the 'inheritance of a necromancer'. Desperation pushed him to embrace it. Necromancy rebuilt his shattered body, stitching his bones and soul back together in grotesque form.

Driven by vengeance, Roger had unleashed his newfound power upon the marquis's lands. He 'created the plague', brewing the deadly 'Rotten Rat Plague Powder' with meticulous care. Diseased rats; mutated through dark rituals; spread toxins that cascaded like a wave of death over the marquis's territories.

But the marquis never fell.

Leonard saw Roger's fury and frustration as he realized the truth, beings with 'extraordinary power' guarded the noble's strongholds. The plague claimed countless innocent lives but could not reach the marquis himself.

In his desperation, Roger turned to creating 'undead creatures' stitching together corpses, merging flesh and bone, building monstrosities capable of wreaking havoc. But they, too, failed to breach the marquis's defenses.

Roger's memories turned bitter. His stitched creations; monsters meant to be tools, became painful reminders of his past. The stitched monster he had crafted using his mother's corpse was the most damning of all. It called to him in her voice, confused and loyal, and it 'haunted him'.

Later, through a string of clues, 'a rival nobleman', long at odds with the marquis, found Roger in secret and offered him a deal. The man claimed to share Roger's hatred and provided him with detailed information about the marquis's operations and weaknesses.

Leonard frowned as he recalled the fragmented memories. "What an idiot," he muttered, shaking his head. "He thought he was partnering with someone who shared his goals, but it's obvious he was being used."

Roger's story was a tragic one. A man consumed by revenge, he had poured everything, his time, his energy, his very soul; into a single cause. Yet despite his efforts, he had achieved little. Years of study and experimentation had yielded no victory, only more suffering. The nobleman Roger had trusted had likely used his plague and undead experiments for 'some other purpose entirely'. Whether the feud with the marquis had even been real was now questionable.

---

Leonard let out a slow breath as the visions faded. The memories had been sparse, with only fleeting glimpses of Roger's life, but they told a story of 'grief, vengeance, and obsession'.

David looked over, concerned. "Master? You good?"

Leonard nodded slowly, scribbling down notes on parchment as the memories crystalized in his mind.

Roger's inheritance was no small prize '17 alchemical recipes', extensive knowledge of necromantic rituals, the crafting of undead creatures, and a list of '11 spells'. The plague itself, the Rotten Rat Plague, was a horrifying testament to the power hidden in those recipes.

Leonard set down the quill, staring at the words he had copied.

"Roger's vengeance started a plague that killed thousands. But in the end, he never got what he wanted."

David frowned. "So… what happens now? Are we done here?"

Leonard stood, his expression unreadable. "Almost."

Leonard sighed. "Blind obsession always ends the same way."

Roger's memories had revealed a few scraps of information about his abilities. Despite years of effort, he had learned only 'three spells': 'Dark Energy Ray', 'Dark Light', and 'Organ Preservation'. His mental power was so weak that it could only support the casting of 'five spells' in a short span of time. After struggling for nearly a month to learn a single spell, Roger had abandoned further study. For him, a simple 'Dark Energy Ray' capable of killing an ordinary person outright, had been enough.

Leonard couldn't help but find the man pitiful. He had nothing of real value beyond his inheritance, a few scattered plague powders, and the stitched monster that now lay lifeless in the dungeon.