Academic gathering with Lich colleagues

That experimental bone segment grew in both directions. The runes on the surface of the wooden experimental platform below were broken, and the growing bone spurs had pierced a large hole all the way to the ground. If Andrei's department hadn't been a series of independent spaces, the club downstairs would have already climbed up this bone tree to beat someone up.

Lyle looked at the glass bottle in his hand. The grayish-white solution inside was still half full. It was a concentrated solution that had been activated a second time using the spirit summoning technique. His distraction had caused his bones to grow excessively.

Such wildly grown joints obviously cannot meet the customer's requirements, and the finished product is very brittle.

Lyle pressed a small section of the overturned bone fragment with his finger from the side, and the entire bone tree collapsed into a pile of bone fragments.

White Bone Architecture.

This is a new project that Lyle is working on.

Perhaps thanks to the Spinal Wheels' prominence among other races, some races began to focus on the unique culture of the lich species, and bone architecture and bone artifacts started appearing in the markets of the Wandering City.

The trend of pseudo-undead architecture began to prevail, but the spirits obviously did not want to use the relics of their ancestors to build apartments, so orders for necromancer figurines increased.

Lyle was preparing some bone artifacts; he wanted to use the bones to grow a small tree, but the rod-like structures seemed to have a grudge against him. Even with twenty times the concentration of bone collagen extract used to bind the joints, the bones seemed to have a mind of their own. Incidentally, the spine as well. The graduation project for advanced bone consecration was to create a mutated bone monster or a Black Abyss mech. Lyle could indeed create a decent skeletal behemoth using his third talent.

But the chaotic nature of the evil god seemed to affect his abilities; his creations didn't even have a spine with an angle less than thirty degrees. The promise he made to the liches about experiencing different races was also broken, unless the liches didn't mind being a hunchbacked, deformed elf or a chicken-bodied banshee (because their wings were deformed and unable to spread, which obviously didn't fit Lyle's aesthetic. Lyle was even almost driven to obsessive-compulsive disorder by his own ugly creations.

Lyle had consulted Mr. Dragon, and the answer he received was that his talent was too outstanding while his operational skills were relatively weak. Just like the previous forbidden modification experiment, if Lyle wanted to make a breakthrough in this area, he would have to receive special training to further improve his knowledge of skeletons.

Mr. Dragon was happy to share his experience, but he was unexpectedly busy with more important things, and even the classes were being taught by other teachers, although the reduction in classroom sparring was indeed an exciting thing.

But those classmates were always worried that one day Mr. Dragon would return in triumph and make up for all the beatings he owed them.

Those are just idle words.

The key now is that Lyle needs new knowledge, a way to arrange bones in an orderly manner.

Lyle discovers that Mr. Shiny is picking up the bone fragments he dropped on the ground.

"What are your plans for dealing with these bone fragments, Shiny?"

"Give him to the Spider Tailor of the City of Wanderings. You know, boss, lich-style outfits are all the rage now. Mr. Silver Thread of Ripping Silk's Wrath is designing a new fashion and needs a lot of bone pieces. And these you made, boss, are very thin, very white, and have a great reflective effect."

"But they are quite heavy. Who would want to wear a suit of clothing that is as heavy as iron armor and as defensive as... well, even bone fragments that could pierce you upon impact?"

“I don’t know,” Shiny shrugged. “Maybe the troll model they found was stupid enough.”

Manipulator walked up to Lyle and expressed his concerns about the lich craze.

"Why? Being loved is, I think, the first step for liches to make friends with friendly races."

"The biggest difference between liches and other races is... that their artifacts originate from themselves."

"Right now, those people are only interested in the bone fragments. Next, they might be interested in our finger bones, leg bones, spine, and skull. Moreover, the lich doesn't seem to care much about losing these body parts. This only fuels their arrogance."

Lyle nodded. "So your suggestion is to establish an organization similar to a lich protection association? Without buying and selling, there's no replacement? Each bone staff represents the replacement of a lich's part?"

"...As far as I know, apart from some warlike races, most of those who turn liches into handicrafts come from gang wars, selling the losers. This is a new trend that Andrei has created."

"So it was the lich's own doing that led to his downfall..."

This dead race is beyond saving, yet death itself represents the lich's rebirth. Unless the lich kills all the living, they will continue to multiply endlessly.

He pushed open the door to Lyle's lab, his face not looking good, and walked up to Lyle to report some bad news.

"Boss, our Necromancer Figurine Company has a competitor now. Sales of the Spinal Wheel figurine have dropped by 10%. A new fashion trend is quietly emerging..."

"Good job! At least we don't have to work overtime anymore doing those repetitive bone culture tasks, right?"

Lyle cheered, then regained his seriousness under the watchful eyes of the other three.

"Tell me, let's be flexible, who are we going to target this time?"

He took a breath.

"The Cult of Machines".

Lyle paused for a moment, feeling like he'd heard the term somewhere before.

What kind of organization is this?

"A group of eccentric spellcasters who study metals and lightning are taking over the market from our Necromancer Figurine Company. They call themselves Robert, the Robert Family."

Lyle scratched his head, feeling increasingly familiar with the place.

"Um, what do you know about this Cult of the Machines?"

"Yes, that's my home."

A voice came from outside the collapsed wall.

Mr. Delusional's mechanical body, dressed in a Roman-era robe, walked in, stepping over the broken bricks.

"Long time no see, Lyle."

"Enemy!" "Dead man!" "Traitor!"

"Long time no see, Mr. Delusional. What brings you to the Necromancer Figure Shop?"

"A commission."

He fantasized about bowing slightly.

“On behalf of the Cult of the Machine God, I hereby make this request to Mr. Plague Doctor personally.”

Chapter 511 Creator Code C1

"If the soul fire of your white skulls does indeed have memory storage capabilities, you can probably still recall the tragic fact that I lost a billion in the Wandering Championship. This world is too cold; profit has become a universal key to open hearts. Everyone's heart is filled with dignity or vanity built on gold coins. This world needs a warm-hearted person to help those in need. This world needs a beautiful transformation."

Shining bound delusion to the side bone spurs of the spinal wheel, and the ropes of fleshy tentacles tore the silver-tongued Mr. Delusion into a spread-eagle shape.

What is he saying?

He said the commission was worth a billion, but the difficulty of the commission was worth a billion.

He said the doctor was like a kind-hearted fool who was easy to fool, and would definitely be willing to help for free.

"As expected of the literary society."

The three quickly defined Mr. Delusional as an even more wicked being, a product of the lich's habitual thinking combined with the reputation of the literary society.

A tentacle covered in fleshy barbs has been wrapped around Mr. Delusional's neck, making his virtual projection expression flicker, possibly pressing on some conductive wire.

“The world is cold and indifferent. You have over-interpreted my meaning and made malicious slanders against me, but I forgive you with magnanimity because I am a good friend of the plague doctor.”

"He's playing the emotional card."

"That's right, he's playing the emotional card."

"Mr. Delusion is quite adept at playing the emotional card with liches."

But Lyle is human, and Mr. Delusional knows that. If we overinterpret it, then Mr. Delusional is threatening Lyle right now, but that's unlikely. While the three members of the Literary Club are morally bankrupt, their standards are on par with those of garbage-eating crystal worms, but they're not bad friends. This is the first time he's asked for help since he's known Lyle for months, and Mr. Delusional is probably not one to ask for help from friends unless he's facing a truly urgent problem. Or maybe it's just another damned prank. If it is, Lyle needs to get involved to gauge the appropriate level of retaliation.

Inside the metal box that opened like a scallop shell, an electronic expression was smiling at Lyle.

Lyle set down the corrosive acid he had prepared, spread his hands, and the writhing shadows devoured the last trace of the dangerous agent remaining on his gloves. Lyle walked up to Delusion, whose futuristic metal skeleton was reflected in his glasses.

"So what is my reward, Mr. Delusional? Is my reward worth a billion?"

"Cough cough..." Perhaps the living restraints secreted corrosive mucus that interfered with the body, or perhaps "a billion" really did become a trigger switch for delusion. Mr. Delusional seemed quite embarrassed after Lyle's straightforward reply.

"To be honest, what I can give you is definitely not worth a billion. Those things are nothing more than useless garbage to others. Every era produces corresponding knowledge and technology, and advanced materials are always bound by time. But, the evil god transcends all things, even time, isn't he?"

The pale blue light transformed into an inspiring orange-red.

"Think about it. Knowledge that doesn't belong to this era. If you integrate that into your spirit summoning technique, how high will your future rise? Those things might be priceless to you."

Lyle nodded.

"So, the value of that so-called knowledge to me is not yet certain. It may be useful, or it may not. It's all just your speculation, Mr. Delusional. Like Schrödinger's cat, you handed me the box before I even got that information. Trading with uncertain information, you're really something."

The provocative light and shadow stopped, and those deep eyes were fixed on Lyle's mask.

"Schrödinger's cat? Plague Doctor, my confidence in you has increased considerably." The halo above the delusion's head turned off, and only a simple, unadorned voice came from the speaker.

“I’m sorry, Lyle. I need your help, but I can’t guarantee that my payment will be worthwhile for you. In fact, if you accept this commission, you must complete it without fail, because the cost of failure is terrible. I can only say that you are the most suitable candidate.”

"This is a gamble, an unfair gamble for you."

"...What exactly is my compensation?"

"The core code of the Broken Creator, C1, is a complete set of biological editing instructions. It calculates and creates life forms based on stored knowledge, ensuring the uniqueness of each created individual and controlling the error rate to below 0.13%. The creation module can create a unique race, and the evolution module can controllably guide the race's advancement direction. A single cell, a nerve, a spine can all be perfectly edited."

“If you can use it, Lyle, the difficulties you are facing now should be easily resolved. Not to mention creating physical bodies for existing races, you can even create a new race.”

"Like the Creator."

"..." The overwhelming reward left Lyle in a daze. After a moment of thought, the three members of the Necromancer Figurine Company handed the decision over to Lyle, but they clearly did not believe the statements made up of technical terms. The more sophisticated the lie, the closer it was to the truth.

"You're joking, aren't you? Mr. Delusional. Are you telling me there really is a creator standing behind you, the Machine God of the Cult of Machines?"

“Lyle, isn’t there also an evil god who weaves life with flesh and blood behind you? No one has stipulated that there can only be one creator in the world, right? I thought you would be more accepting of the god of machines.”

“Then why don’t I see the achievements of this creator? If He really has the ability to create… then why are there no works of His…” Lyle’s voice gradually faded as his gaze focused on Mr. Delusional’s body.

"Mr. Delusional, who exactly are you...?"

“A mechanical lich, transferring the consciousness of the dead into a metal puppet filled with electricity and machine oil—I guess that’s what you call a lich.” Sparks flickered on the joints of those tentacles, and two seconds later, the fleshy tentacles that bound the delusions had turned into blocks of carbon.

The metal box reopened, and Mr. Delusional stretched his limbs and blinked his eyes playfully twice.

"If you still have any questions, Lyle, I extend my sincere invitation once again. You are welcome to visit the Cult of Mechanicus, where my request and your doubts can be answered."

The theatrical movements of the fully metallic Mr. Delusion, bowing and reaching out, are as light and graceful as a little bird.

Its agile movements are enough to dwarf any substance that calls itself a machine.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Delusional..."

The arm that was being pulled back was quickly grabbed, and a cawing laugh, like that of a crow, came from beneath the bird-beak mask.

"We accept your commission."

Lyle smiled beneath the mask, his black eyes like a deep abyss.

Chapter 512 Baptism

In the city of wandering, on the road ahead, Lyle, outwardly calm, is experiencing an inner turmoil.