Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Chapter 652: Scholar Spartan

The only thing Aurora’s civilization could confidently boast about compared to them was population and technology.

Aurora’s advancement in magi-tech made it difficult to suppress, even for stronger and older races.

They might not have the same raw power or longevity as the elves, but their sheer technological progression placed them among the few civilizations that couldn’t easily be bullied.

Putting all this aside, a notable feature of the elves was that they were proud.

Very proud.

It wasn’t the kind of arrogance born from ignorance but the quiet, deeply rooted pride of a people who had long surpassed the need for validation.

Their elegance wasn’t a show. It was part of their nature.

Michael remembered his instructors’ warning.

"To converse with an elf is to dance with etiquette itself. Even silence can offend them if it lacks grace."

He had laughed back then, thinking it exaggerated, but further studies showed it was true.

It was like their obsession with beautiful things. They saw beauty as something elegant and graceful.

They also had a definition for what was not beautiful.

To them, it was a fault in the pattern of the world that ought to be corrected.

That thought alone was offensive to most races. The elves did not care.

They believed beauty was grace aligned with purpose. If a thing could not be refined into grace, it was unworthy. If a people could not be guided into grace, they were to be removed. They called it pruning.

Aurora humans were not exactly their taste, yet many could fit within elven aesthetics. That was one reason that, when Aurora first stepped into the wider universe, the elves were among their first friends.

The elven race in the universe also belonged to the neutral good category of races.

Peaceful, some called the elves, but Michael and many others thought otherwise.

Truly, they could be called peaceful compared to some races, but a truly peaceful race would not cleanse a conquered world because its natives were, in their words, hostile to elegance. The elves had done so more than once.

To the elves, this was a good deed. The world was neater afterward.

Michael had seen images of some of the cleansed races, and though he wouldn’t deny they were beautiful in their own ways, none of that beauty warranted death.

In any case, this also showed that Spartan hadn’t lied. For a race that valued elegance to the level of obsession, if Michael were to insult their ancient language with his rough accent, he might genuinely get stabbed.

Most people didn’t even dare use the Elven Incantation Speech in front of elves unless they were fluent enough to sound like one of them.

To the elves, their language wasn’t just communication. It was their heritage.

To butcher it with clumsy pronunciation was to desecrate it, and that was something they would never tolerate.

Fortunately, there were no elves around.

The ones cleaning the villa didn’t count.

Michael lowered his notes and gave Spartan a long, puzzled look. "Alright," he said slowly, tilting his head, "why exactly are you dressed like that?"

Spartan blinked, expression unreadable behind the round glasses perched on his nose. The undead sat there in full black robes, robes he had specifically asked permission to take from Michael’s wardrobe, and his long hair was neatly slicked back with a faint sheen of cream and tied into a ponytail.

The sight was something.

Michael stared for a few seconds longer, struggling to decide whether to laugh or question his own sanity. "You look like a professor," he finally said.

Spartan adjusted his glasses calmly. "Appearance shapes perception, Master. If I am to study languages, I must look the part."

"Did you learn that from the texts?"

"Yes, Master."

Michael’s mouth twitched. "You’re an undead."

"Yes," Spartan said simply, as though that explained nothing and everything at once.

Truth be told, this wasn’t even the first time Spartan had shown up dressed like that. Lately, it had become his preferred look. And while Michael had long since accepted his undead behaving more like eccentric subordinates than mindless minions, this one took a good part of the cake.

The reason Spartan had started reading in the first place was because Michael had tried to save time. Using his skill [Impart Knowledge], he had given Spartan access to study materials from the academy so the undead could learn and help him summarize them later.

He had also given Spartan a skill module called [Scouting Eye], a technique Michael used to bypass the monochrome vision that undead suffered from. It allowed them to perceive color and light, albeit faintly, like they were suffering from mild blindness.

Michael had thought everything would make Spartan a good study assistant.

What he hadn’t expected was that his undead would suddenly develop preferences.

From the moment Spartan experienced color, his behavior subtly changed. He started caring about several things, and even aesthetics. When reading, he always adjusted the lamps to cast soft golden light instead of bright white, saying something like it set the mood.

What mood? Michael didn’t know.

When moving around, Spartan also cleaned up after himself meticulously, ensuring the study always looked organized.

Now, he read for pleasure as well.

And not just any books. He seemed obsessed with languages and interspecies culture. The library of the villa had started to fill with texts from other civilizations.

Fortunately, Aurora wasn’t like some other civilizations where knowledge was restricted. A lot of things were free to access from the academy, and the ones Michael had to buy with his points, he did, as long as they were cheap.

In any case, his undead’s knowledge was his as well.

Michael sighed softly, watching his undead adjust his collar like a scholar preparing for a lecture. "You know, Spartan," he said finally, "if you start asking me for tea next, I might actually worry."

Spartan looked thoughtful. "Would that be appropriate for study sessions, Master?"

Michael blinked. "Forget I said anything."

The undead nodded solemnly and went back to reading, flipping the page with surprising gentleness.

Michael rubbed his temple, shaking his head.

It was moments like this that made him wonder if his undead were growing a little too fast.