It was a new week, and the boy went to school full of hope, with Simon still seeing him off at the door.
With the Necromantic Motorcycle, traveling between Winterhold and the Tundra was now very convenient.
Looking at the vast ocean, Simon once again felt an urge—to build a ship.
Build a steamboat and go fishing.
This was a major project worth getting excited about, and Simon immediately put it on his agenda.
To build a steel fishing boat that could withstand wind and waves, he would need excellent metallurgy and forging capabilities. Simon planned to establish the Necromantic Furnace that he had once designed.
The advantage of Necromantic technology lay in its intelligence, which could largely compensate for the inherent flaws in the technology itself. Simon wanted to build an automated furnace, capable of designing numerous transmission structures, interlinked, to minimize the number of Sheep Undead required for the entire furnace. He could also use a large number of intelligent Sheep Undead to participate in the entire process, reducing design difficulties.
Originally, Simon intended to minimize the use of Sheep Undead, but the monitor discovered a group of bandits had crossed the mountain pass and were heading towards the ruins in the southeast.
These bandits had clearly heard about the ruins and wanted to raid tombs. Now that Simon had mostly cleared the Draugr from those ruins, they could safely obtain treasures just by entering.
Simon couldn't agree to let them come and go as they pleased. He had just been muttering about needing more Sheep Undead, and weren't these guys delivering themselves right to his doorstep? Moreover, he planned to have this group of bandits help him scour the ruins—this matter had been dragging on for too long and needed to be dealt with soon.
Today was sunny and bright. Although the sea breeze was still blowing incessantly, at least the temperature wasn't as low, making it a good day for an outing or for killing people. The Troll carried the Necromantic Monitor, got on the motorcycle, and headed southeast until the entire ruins were within monitoring range, then found a hillside to hide.
Number One dutifully squatted beside the monitor, while Simon retreated into his Pure Land to continue his day's work.
The house would be completed in another week, followed by the lengthy process of furniture manufacturing. To be honest, with Simon's personality, a simple bedroll would be enough for him to feel at home anywhere. When he actually started designing the interior style, he found it quite troublesome.
In fact, he didn't have many choices. Given his personality, the most suitable style was, of course, minimalism. The house itself was a square block of wood. Now, if it was to be minimalist, it had to emphasize emptiness. The front door had to be large, all items spray-painted in black and white. The wall opposite the door would be hollowed out for a floor-to-ceiling window, exposing the spiral staircase against a bright background. Furniture in the rooms would be minimal, just enough, leaving large open spaces. All decorations must also be complete but not excessive. Perhaps a fireplace should be placed in the center of the hall…
As Simon pondered here, Number One's mental link alerted him that targets had entered the monitoring range.
Still far, no rush.
Simon continued to trim the logs in his hand. When he estimated the time was right, he was about to go out when Number One suddenly alerted him again: new uninvited guests.
The Troll was quite surprised and personally took over the information stream from the monitor. In an instant, the world became gray and oppressive, and the outlines of objects were sharply highlighted. Living things moved, still objects trembled slightly, the world became abstract, but the perspective became concrete. Simon knew that everything he saw was not yet completely concrete, but merely a fantasy of the brain. After the real information flow was processed, some redundant details had to be discarded to ensure its accuracy.
Colors were stripped away, still objects blurred, spatial point directivity strengthened, and dynamic objects were highlighted.
For hundreds of miles around, every moving entity was under observation.
To the northwest, a group of bandits was advancing southeast, about to reach an exposed point of the ruins. To the southeast, another person was heading northwest, with a clear goal: to reach the back door of the ruins.
Simon gripped the monitor, looking around.
The pale Tundra grew increasingly desolate, shrouded in a light gray haze, like the dead silence before dawn. The shape of the distant mountains was not very clear, only rough outlines, also dim, and like burnt iron-ash, haphazardly piled. The sky above was even more despairing; dark clouds covered it, the originally clear blue sky seemed to be ruled by night, carrying a hot, thick, dark gloom, and the clouds rolled like smoke, with no color visible except for desolation.
Simon wasn't sure if the scene he saw was a projection of his inner self, but he didn't care about these things. The phantom music in his ears seemed to be overwhelmed and reassembled by the massive information flow, changing from faint, soothing chords to a chilling, unsettling tune. And, within this tune, he vaguely heard a whisper, mixed in with the fading notes of the instruments…
The Necromantic Monitor amplified Simon's perception, and he, in fact, was experiencing such a perspective for the first time. Usually, the Sheep Undead handled all the work, so he didn't know if Number One and the Sheep Undead saw the same things he did. But the Troll clearly noticed a certain gaze.
Not only was he observing others, but some other entity was also observing him.
Although Simon's mood was calm, his body trembled unconsciously, like an instinctive reaction to impending death. Such an uncontrolled situation was rare and quite displeasing to Simon.
After a brief meditation, the Troll's body calmed down.
The unknown entity spying on him might have already made a move against him, and Simon himself had not yet noticed.
This discovery did not surprise Simon's expectations. He had, of course, realized that such persistent auditory hallucinations were problematic; either he had developed a mental illness or he was being secretly harmed, and the latter possibility was greater.
The Troll remained silent. He didn't know who his opponent was yet, nor did he want to provoke them with shouts.
The weak often have few choices when facing the strong.
People go mad for the scepter of power, and violence is an instinct almost ingrained in nature. Simon was no exception; he also approved of violence and bloodshed, but in his practical actions, he still had his personal habits.
Good and bad are social standards, and good and evil are merely moral standards. What Simon cared about was order; this was his criterion for judgment.
Construction is always harder than destruction, and the fruits of construction are often exceptionally precious. Simon understood the difficulty of order and civilization, and it had always been so. He loathed those who destroyed order, yet with his aloof personality, he had no great affection for those who upheld order either. The only thing that made him cautious was innocence.
A child is the beginning of a person, and a child's heart is the beginning of a heart.
Simon knew he wouldn't be naive again, but he still hoped to become a romantic person.
And romantic people are often not so rational.
…
The bandits pried open the lock on the front door of the ruins and streamed in, while the person who went straight to the back door took Simon's letter.
Simon let the person who took the letter go.
A day later, the bandits emerged, laden with treasure chests, barrels, and cloth bags, all heavy. The ten of them set up tents on the Tundra, seemingly to rest.
One of the archers among the thieves frowned, "Did you hear that?"
His companions were immersed in the joy of their newfound wealth, almost losing their minds, and only stared blankly. A heavily armored Nord warrior asked, "What?"
"A sound!"
"What sound?"
In the distance, the Necromantic Motorcycle moved at high speed. Though silent, the ground trembled faintly.
The Troll gripped the ferocious ram's horn, slowly raising his great axe…
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