Reborn In A Perverse Monster World! My System Adapts To Everything!

Chapter 142: The Summon! [FIXED!][14/07!]

The first scroll arrived in the southern swamps, delivered by a mud-caked kobold runner who nearly sank into the mire. **Graznak the Slumbering**, the massive troll councilor, lay sprawled across a bed of rotting logs, one clawed hand idly scratching his belly. Flies buzzed around the half-eaten carcass beside him.

The kobold bowed low. "Lord Graznak! Urgent from the capital! The monster Jason has been captured and imprisoned!"

Graznak cracked one bloodshot yellow eye open. He snatched the scroll without rising, unrolling it with a lazy flick. His tusks gleamed as he scanned the words.

"Captured? In the capital? Hah." A deep, rumbling chuckle shook his gut.

"The monster probably strolled in, sat down, and asked for tea. No explosions. No fun." He crumpled the scroll and tossed it into the swamp.

"Tell them I’m coming. When I wake up." The kobold backed away quickly as Graznak rolled over, already snoring again.

-

Far to the east, in the badlands workshop filled with whirring gears and half-built war machines, Zrix the Spark—a wiry ratfolk tinkerer—worked on a sparking contraption. A mechanical construct bird clattered onto his workbench, dropping the sealed message. Zrix’s beady eyes lit up like fireworks.

He ripped it open, reading aloud in a high-pitched squeal.

"Jason captured?! The Marrow-breaker himself?!" Zrix leaped onto his stool, fists pumping. "This is incredible! Think of the experiments! The mana readings! I could build a device to replicate his powers!" He spun in a frantic circle, knocking over tools.

"Prepare the lightning carriage! We leave now! I want every detail—every cuff, every rune!" His assistants scrambled as Zrix bolted for the door, still scribbling notes mid-sprint, cackling with pure delight.

-

In the silent undercrypts of the western spires, Valthor the Veiled, the aloof drow shadow-weaver, sat motionless in a pool of living shadow.

A cloaked attendant emerged from the gloom, bowing deeply.

"Master Valthor, the capital reports Jason’s capture. He is imprisoned and awaiting full council judgment."

Valthor’s crimson eyes opened slowly. His expression remained aloof, almost bored.

"Captured," he repeated, voice smooth as silk. "How utterly predictable. The council grasps at control once more." He rose in one fluid motion, shadows clinging to his dark robes like loyal pets. "I will attend. Though I suspect this changes nothing of true importance." Without another word, he stepped into the darkness and vanished, leaving the attendant bowing to empty air.

-

High in the frozen northern wastes, Thar the Ironjaw—a rage-fueled trollorc berserker—smashed through a training dummy, splintering wood and ice. His orc messenger charged through the snow, scroll held high.

"Council summons! The beast Jason captured in the capital!"

Thar snatched the scroll, tusks bared in a snarl. "Captured?! That whelp?!" He crushed it in his massive fist, veins bulging along his neck. "While I’m out here cracking skulls for the glory of battle, they bag the prize without me?!" His roar shook the glaciers.

"I’ll rip the council chamber apart if they’ve already executed him!" He slammed a fist into the ground, cracking the ice wide.

"Saddle my warbeast! Now!" The messenger fled as Thar’s laughter turned into furious bellows, already strapping on his axe.

-

In the humid southern oasis palace, Lirra the Dreamer, the lazy lamia councilor, coiled languidly around silk cushions, servants fanning her scaled form. A nervous attendant approached on his knees, offering the scroll on a golden tray.

Lirra flicked it open with her tail tip, yawning widely. "Jason captured? How utterly tiresome." She stretched languidly, iridescent scales shimmering.

"The council finally caught their big fish. Fine. Tell them I’ll slither back when the mood strikes. Perhaps after another nap." She tossed the scroll aside and closed her eyes, servants exchanging worried glances as she dozed off again.

-

Finally, in the mist-shrouded elven spires, Elyndra Silverveil—the precise, ancient elf who had met Jason personally—received her missive via a glowing spectral owl. She stood on a crystal balcony overlooking endless forests close to the sea, reading the scroll with narrowed eyes.

"Jason captured in the capital?" Her voice was cool, but a rare flicker of surprise crossed her features. She had monitored the island realm closely and felt no movement, no power surge, no battle so he should still be there.

"Impossible. I sensed nothing. There is no way he should be there unless..." Her lips thinned. "The council’s arrogance blinds them. I will return at once." She turned sharply, robes swirling, and began weaving a portal with elegant gestures.

"Prepare the conclave archives. We will need every record of the Marrow and its breaker."

-

The six councilors converged on the capital over the following hours, each reaction rippling through their domains. Graznak’s lazy delay, Zrix’s manic excitement, Valthor’s detached poise, Thar’s boiling rage, Lirra’s indifferent yawn, and Elyndra’s calculated concern all fed into the growing tension. The full council chamber would soon echo with their voices, but none yet realized how deeply Jason’s quiet surrender had already unsettled the balance of power.

The propaganda machines whirred faster. Messengers rode harder. Yet in the shadows, dark guilds stirred, drawn by the scent of opportunity the council had unwittingly created.

-

Deep beneath the fractured mountains of the Shattered Veil, Agesander’s realm pulsed with unnatural life. Vast caverns stretched endlessly, their walls veined with glowing obsidian that absorbed light rather than reflected it. Rivers of liquid shadow flowed through channels carved by ancient quakes, carrying faint whispers of trapped souls. Braziers of eternal blue flame flickered without fuel, casting long, shifting silhouettes that moved independently of their sources. The air hung heavy with the scent of smoldering ash and forgotten oaths.

Agesander sat upon a throne forged from petrified bone and blackened iron, his massive frame dominating the chamber. Broad shoulders strained against dark armor plates etched with shifting runes. Pale, ashen skin stretched over corded muscle, veins faintly glowing with inner ember-light. A thick beard framed his stern jaw, while piercing eyes burned beneath heavy brows. Chains of solidified darkness dangled from his wrists, clinking softly as he shifted.

A spectral messenger—a wraith bound by shadow threads—materialized before the throne, kneeling. "My lord Agesander, tenth-ranked guild master of the Umbral Eclipse. News from the surface. The being called Jason has been captured by the council. Imprisoned in their deepest cell."

Agesander’s fingers tightened on the throne’s armrest. The stone cracked faintly under the pressure. "Captured," he rumbled, voice like grinding bedrock laced with distant thunder. "The one who shattered the Marrow walks into their trap willingly? Interesting."

The wraith bowed lower. "Propaganda spreads rapidly. They claim victory, but our spies report minimal destruction. No grand battle. He entered the capital and allowed the cuffs."

Agesander rose slowly, towering well over eight feet. Shadows coiled around his feet like loyal hounds. "Fools. The council thinks chains can hold what broke a realm’s anchor." He extended one hand. From the river of shadow nearby, tendrils rose, forming a misty screen. Images flickered: the council chamber, Jason standing unfazed amid the runes. The shadows pulsed, feeding him fragments of distant echoes.

"Show me more," Agesander commanded. The screen sharpened. Jason’s calm smirk, the orc’s futile punch, the mana suppression humming uselessly. A low chuckle escaped Agesander’s lips. "He gets stronger. Even now, I sense it. The Marrow clings to him like a second skin."

Two lieutenants emerged from side passages. Vesper, a slender night-elf assassin with daggers dripping shadow essence, stepped forward first. "Lord, this is opportunity. The council exposed their prison’s location. We strike while they gloat."

Agesander waved a hand. A soul—a writhing, translucent figure of a long-dead traitor—ripped from the cavern wall and slammed into Vesper’s chest. The dark elf gasped as temporary power surged through her, eyes flashing black. "Feel that? One soul grants you strength for an hour. Imagine what his power could fuel."

Vesper staggered, then grinned fiercely. "Yes, my lord. The guild could rise from tenth to third overnight."

The second lieutenant, Thorne, a burly minotaur with horns wrapped in iron chains, snorted. "Or it’s a trap. This Jason felled greater threats than us. Charging in blind ends with our souls feeding your rivers."

Agesander turned, his eyes locking onto Thorne. The ground beneath the minotaur trembled. Cracks spiderwebbed outward as shadowy hands erupted, grasping Thorne’s ankles and pulling him down to his knees. Not fully submerging him—just enough to remind. "Doubt has its place, Thorne. But fear does not." The hands released. "I do not charge. I erode."

He strode to the center of the chamber. With a casual gesture, Agesander plunged his fist into the floor. The floor split. From the fissure, blue flames erupted alongside writhing shadows. A cluster of lost souls screamed upward before he clenched his fist, silencing them and drawing their essence into his palm. The energy coiled around his arm like living tattoos, pulsing with stolen vitality.

"Jason carries the Marrow’s remnants," Agesander continued, voice echoing through the cavern. "If I claim even a fraction, the Umbral Eclipse ascends. No more hiding in tenth rank. The other guilds will kneel."

Vesper knelt eagerly. "What is your command? Shall I send the shadow blades to scout the prison?"

Agesander considered, shadows swirling thicker around the throne. One brazier flared violently as he passed, flames bending toward him as if seeking approval but got no response which was an answer of its own.

Thorne pushed to his feet, rubbing his ankles. "And if he escapes before we move?"

A low, resonant laugh filled the chamber. Agesander opened his palm. A miniature realm gate formed—swirling darkness revealing glimpses of the council’s outer walls. "Then we greet him in the chaos. No soul escapes my reach forever." He closed the gate with a snap, the brief display leaving faint cracks in reality that slowly mended.

The wraith messenger hovered closer. "My lord, the dark guilds stir. Some see Jason as an ally, others as threat to consume. The seventh rank already mobilizes."

"Let them," Agesander said, returning to his throne. He sat heavily, chains rattling. "Tenth rank survives by being overlooked. But the Marrow changes everything. Prepare the soul forges. Strengthen the veil guards. When the council’s grip slips—and it will—I will be there to pull the strings from below."

Vesper’s eyes gleamed. "The Umbral Eclipse rises with you, Lord Agesander."

Thorne grunted in reluctant agreement. "As you command."

Agesander leaned back, eyes half-lidded as shadows draped over him like a mantle. The rivers of darkness flowed faster, whispering louder. In the distance, faint screams of new souls being claimed echoed through the caverns. His realm responded to his mood—flames brightened, stone groaned in anticipation.

"The council thinks they caged a monster," he murmured. "They merely delivered the key to greater depths."

Far above, the surface world continued its propaganda, unaware that the tenth-ranked guild’s master now turned his ancient gaze toward the capital. Agesander’s power simmered, shadows hungry for the chaos to come.

"After all, he did tame my herald..." Agesander thought to himself.