Zich, who was initially about to close his phone and get his hands busy with other things, suddenly stopped when he saw the notification pop up at the edge of his screen.

[Betting Category: If Lucien Verhart and Zich Grave Fight, the Winner Will Be — Lucien Verhart]

The wager was enormous. It was large enough to directly affect the betting odds, which made the otherwise calm chat go haywire.

"Who bet that much?"

"Someone from the Fourth Shelter?"

"Could be the Verhart family."

"Isn’t this just openly looking down on Zich?"

"Looking down on him? A Sun Sorcerer versus a Summoner is naturally a class counter."

"Zich doesn’t necessarily rely only on undead, right? Doesn’t he still have the slime?"

Zich looked at the changing odds, and there was no anger in his eyes. On the contrary, his interest grew even stronger. If more and more people bet on Lucien winning, then the payoff for his own victory would become even higher.

Of course, that was assuming they actually faced each other in the bracket. And assuming he could win without exposing too much of what he was truly capable of. Neither of those conditions was simple. But they were worth considering.

Zich opened his bookmarks and saved this betting board as well. He did not place any bets immediately. He simply watched the odds continue to change, refreshing once, then again, tracking the momentum of the numbers.

Lucien’s win rate was being pushed higher and higher. Zich’s odds rose accordingly. The picture seemed to tell everyone that the true favorite and the one being countered had already been decided. But Zich only felt that those numbers were becoming more and more pleasing to look at.

After closing the betting board, Zich did not immediately continue studying the tournament roster. He sat quietly in the study for a few seconds, leaning back in the chair and letting the silence of the room settle around him. Then he lowered his head and glanced at his stomach.

The forum, the odds, the candidates from the other shelters, all of it had been spinning in his mind for too long, and it suddenly made him feel like he should eat something. The mansion itself had an automatic meal service system, one of the perks of this era. If he wanted, he could have the kitchen array prepare an entire table of ready made food at the press of a button.

But he did not do that today because right now he wanted something simple and controllable. At the very least, cooking would not suddenly bring up forum notifications. And no one would place bets on whether he would eat his fill.

Zich stood up and walked downstairs. The mansion’s kitchen was large and almost excessively clean. Various ingredients were neatly stored in refrigerated cabinets, and the cooking utensils were arranged in perfect order. It was obvious that this house had originally been prepared for truly wealthy people.

He opened a cabinet and took out a few pieces of meat and some vegetables. Then he pulled out a small silver knife.

The knife was completely smooth, with fine patterns running along the blade. It did not look like an ordinary kitchen tool. Instead, it resembled a battle weapon that had been shrunk down.

The next second, a tiny figure of light emerged from the blade. It was Silver, his blade type weapon spirit.

Silver’s phantom crossed her arms. The moment she appeared, she saw the meat and vegetables on the cutting board, and her eyes lit up.

"Finally, vegetables!"

Zich nodded. "Yes."

Silver was visibly excited, far too excited if you asked Zich. The next moment, without even being asked what to do, the knife moved on its own.

The blade flashed across the cutting board. The meat was sliced into perfectly even pieces, and the vegetables were cut neatly and beautifully. Every movement was terrifyingly fast, and every strike was so precise that it looked like some kind of advanced combat technique.

Zich glanced at it and nodded in satisfaction. "Not bad."

Silver’s phantom lifted her chin. "Of course it’s not bad. As long as it involves vegetables, it’s impossible for me to do it poorly."

"Good job. It seems I’ll put you in charge of the kitchen from now on."

At that moment, light footsteps sounded at the kitchen entrance.

A skeleton attendant walked in. It wore a simple black and white outfit, and its frame was much slimmer than that of the combat skeletons. Although it had no flesh and no expression, its movements were light and even carried a strange sense of gentleness.

It first gave Zich a slight bow. Then it walked to the sink, skillfully washed a few dishes, straightened the seasoning bottles, and casually wiped away a tiny drop of water beside the cutting board.

Zich watched its movements, and his expression changed slightly. This was one of the low tier skeleton soldiers he had created back in the undead crypt.

At first, he had merely ordered it to handle some miscellaneous chores around the house. Yet after spending some time in the mansion, it had somehow developed behavior patterns similar to those of a butler or maid. It organized tables, wiped away dust, and adjusted the positions of utensils with an almost obsessive neatness. And before Zich sat down, it would even gently pull out the chair for him, waiting until he was seated before pushing it back in.

This kind of personality might not be useful on a battlefield, but inside the mansion, it was unexpectedly suitable.

"You’re much more useful than those combat skeletons," Zich said.

The skeleton attendant paused for a moment, then bowed slightly again, as if accepting the praise.

At that moment...

...

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