Part 17

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Momon stood on the windswept cliff, his gaze fixed on the desolate ruins of Old Mondstadt, shadows cast by the broken towers and shattered stone stretching out beneath him. The chilling wind carried the scent of decay and echoes of the recent massacre led by his subordinate, the Death Emperor. He held in his gloved hand the eye of the Ruin Guard, its smooth, mechanical surface glinting faintly as it pulsed with an inner glow.

Turning the strange artifact over in his hand, Momon contemplated its purpose. Unlike magical artifacts, this piece lacked any significant arcane properties, yet it hummed with an endless source of raw energy. The energy felt powerful enough to sustain a construct—perhaps even power a Golem indefinitely without draining precious mana. In theory, it could create an unyielding machine warrior, an eternal sentinel.

But Momon's interest in machinery had long since soured. Memories flickered back from a life he'd left behind—of a world consumed by weaponized technology, a place where lives were measured in numbers and war was mechanized and impersonal. Machines were nothing more than tools of mass destruction, weapons controlled by those with insatiable ambitions. The idea disgusted him now, even more so in this world of Teyvat, where life was bound to the arcane, to souls, to elements.

"Just a hollow shell," Momon muttered, slipping the eye of the Ruin Guard back into his inventory. For now, it was a curiosity, a remnant of human ingenuity intertwined with hubris. The thought of reanimating such a soulless thing felt meaningless. No mere machine could match the disciplined relentlessness of his undead legions, nor the terrifying power of his high-ranking undead subordinates, each of whom was imbued with purpose and loyalty beyond what any golem or automaton could hope to achieve.

The Death Emperor, silent and steadfast, waited nearby. His bone-crafted form loomed in the shadows, radiating the unmistakable aura of death itself. As Momon's gaze shifted to his subordinate, he spoke, his voice cold but resolute.

"This item may hold energy, but it's nothing more than a relic of a dead civilization. Machines... they are the same everywhere, hollow tools for hollow men," he said, a faint trace of disdain threading his words. "The soul's power—the arcane, the unknown—that's what holds true strength."

The Death Emperor nodded in silent agreement. Momon took one last look at the ruins below before he turned to his loyal subordinate.

"Death Emperor... Hmm, let's just call you Roman from now on," he said, his tone conveying both authority and finality.

Roman's skeletal form bowed deeply, his crimson eyes flickering with an almost reverent glow. "Thank you for bestowing me with a name, my Lord," he intoned, his voice a low and resonant echo.

"Roman," Momon continued, "these ruins are nothing but massive graveyards. Let's put that to use—raise the corpses scattered here, and start rebuilding this city. I know construction isn't your purpose, but I think creating some Elder Liches and Demi Liches to assist the skeleton undead could prove quite effective."

Roman tilted his skull, considering Momon's plan. "It will be done, my Lord, but... may I trouble you with a suggestion?" he asked carefully. "If you were to create a Crypt Lord, I believe it would be far more efficient. Such an undead could oversee construction and manage the lesser undead with greater coordination than an Elder or Demi Lich."

Momon considered Roman's suggestion with a nod. "You know what, Roman, you're absolutely right. A Crypt Lord would handle the scale of this operation much better." He folded his arms, surveying the decayed city around him. "Gather some hilichurl corpses for now, and we'll begin. I want this done quickly and efficiently."

"At once, my Lord," Roman replied, and with a slight gesture, he summoned several lesser undead from the shadows, sending them to scavenge the remains scattered throughout Old Mondstadt.

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