I became a god through archaeology in the Wizarding World.

The second basement level of the Necromancer's Tower is a dedicated passageway for transporting large waste materials.

The temperature here remains around zero degrees Celsius year-round. The walls are covered with a thick layer of white frost, and every ten meters there is a fluorite that emits a ghastly green light, making the passage look like a ghostly realm.

The smell in the air, a mixture of formaldehyde, the stench of corpses, and some kind of sweet, cloying incense, was ten times stronger than the smell in the previous layers.

"Hurry up! You slowpoke!"

Tom, covering his nose, stood at the ventilation shaft of the corridor, urging with a look of disgust, "Professor Mortimer is in a bad mood tonight. If we don't clean up this mess before he starts his evening prayers, we'll all have to feed the ghouls!"

Rhodes, head bowed, pushed the heavy cart: "Understood, Mr. Tom."

Four corpses were piled on the cart, all wrapped in black cloth soaked in grease.

This is the third batch tonight.

Ever since Rhodes saved Tom from the undead, this lazy intermediate apprentice has completely turned Rhodes into his personal laborer, even dumping the pre-processing work that originally belonged to the apprentices onto Rhodes.

The so-called pre-treatment is to check whether there are any remaining magical materials on the corpse, such as implanted magic stone fragments or alchemical metals.

This was an opportunity that Rhodes had been longing for.

He pushed the cart onto the stone platform in the processing room and began moving the items one by one.

The first three bodies were quite ordinary. Judging from their physical characteristics, they were likely homeless people captured from the slums or death row inmates. The cause of death was mostly exhaustion of vitality.

That was a byproduct of the most common soul extraction experiments in necromancy.

Until Rhodes's hand touched the fourth corpse.

The body was located at the bottom and was somewhat deformed from being crushed.

But the moment Rod lifted the body by the back, his professional instincts as a surgeon made him pause slightly.

The feel is off.

The body had extremely high muscle density; even after rigor mortis set in, one could still feel the tightness that could only be achieved through long-term, high-intensity training.

This is not the kind of body that a poor person suffering from chronic malnutrition could have.

Rod subtly adjusted his position, blocking Tom's view with his body, then pretended to adjust the black cloth and quickly lifted a corner of it.

Bathed in the pale green glow of the fluorite, a pale but ruggedly sculpted male face was revealed.

He was about thirty years old, with a neatly trimmed short beard on his chin. Although he looked ashen due to death, it was still clear that he had taken good care of himself in life.

Rhodes's gaze quickly moved down and landed on the corpse's right hand.

He gently pinched the corpse's palm, his thumb skillfully gliding across the base of the thumb and index finger.

Very thick calluses.

"The callus on the base of the thumb is more than 3 millimeters thick, and there are friction marks on the outer side of the second joint of the index finger..."

Rhodes quickly analyzed in his mind: "These aren't from farm work; calluses from farm work are distributed on the palms and base of the fingers. These are marks left by long-term use of a one-handed sword and the habit of using the unique thrusting movements of the Royal Blade of the Golden Plant."

Rhodes' heart clenched, and he quickly looked at the corpse's left hand.

There is a distinct, pale white ring-shaped mark at the base of the ring finger of the left hand.

The skin there was more sunken than the surrounding area, and the edges showed an unnatural purplish-red bruise.

"The injuries were caused by wearing a wide-faced ring for a long time and having it forcibly removed shortly after death."

A picture instantly flashed into Rhodes' mind.

The man wore a family crest ring that symbolized his identity until he died on the operating table, at which point the ring was forcibly taken away by a greedy apprentice or mentor.

In the Plantagenet dynasty, only nobles with titles, or... officers of the royal guard directly under the royal family, were qualified to wear such a seal ring.

This is a royal guard!

Rhodes felt a chill run down his spine and up to the top of his head.

Has the Necromancers gone mad?

Although the Wizarding Council is above the mortal kingship, the two sides have always maintained a superficial peace and unspoken rules.

Using death row inmates for experiments is a gray area, and people tend to turn a blind eye.

But kidnapping and murdering a royal guard completely changes the nature of the crime.

This is not only a provocation against the monarchy, but also a violation of the red line clauses in the Human Protection Act passed by Parliament.

If this matter is exposed, the entire Necromancer system will face a joint purge by the Lightforged family and the Mage Guild.

"What are you dawdling about?!"

Tom's sharp voice suddenly rang out from behind.

Rhode's neck hairs stood on end instantly, and his [Danger Perception] felt a slight sting.

He didn't turn around, nor did he frantically cover the body with a black cloth. Instead, he casually reached his hand into the corpse's mouth, as if searching for something.

"Mr. Tom..."

Rhodes turned around, holding a gold tooth, smeared with saliva, that he had pulled from the corpse's mouth.

That was something he had just transferred from the mouth of another homeless man's corpse in an instant using the micro-management of [Mage's Hand].

A greedy, obsequious smile spread across his face as he held up the gold tooth: "This piece of trash actually had something good hidden in its mouth! I'm wondering if this could be considered my tip?"

Tom's initially suspicious gaze instantly turned into disdain.

"Disgusting mortals."

Tom waved his hand dismissively, clearly disgusted by this act of sipping gold from a dead man's mouth: "Get the hell out of here with your saliva-covered gold! Don't let me see this filth in my records!"

"Yes, yes, thank you for your generosity."

Rod quickly tucked the gold tooth into his pocket and covered the body of the royal guard with the black cloth again.

"Hurry up and move it! Throw it into the crematorium deepest part of the mass grave, burn it clean!"

Tom turned away impatiently and continued to breathe fresh air through the vent.

"Yes, ma'am."

Rod pushed the cart, and the wheels rolled.

Tom, that idiot, has no idea what he just threw away.

He thought it was just a pile of garbage.

But in Rhodes' eyes, this corpse was a bombshell capable of devastating the entire Necromancer Department and even ruining the reputation of the high and mighty Mortimer mentor.

"Royal guards..." Rhodes murmured to himself.

Since the person died here, the ring that was taken off must still be somewhere in the necromancy system, or... it might be inside the corpse's stomach?

Many loyal guards, before their deaths, would choose to swallow the family crest to prevent it from falling into enemy hands.

If we can find that ring...

Rod pushed the cart out of the cold underground passage, the night wind blowing on his face with a slight chill.

He gripped the handle of the cart tightly.

This is not just a crisis, but also a huge bargaining chip.

A bargaining chip that would allow him not only to survive the impending storm, but also to take a big bite out of it.