The Kingdom of Escarbot is split from east to west by the Elden Ridge, a mountain range so large it defines the Kingdom. To the west of Escarbot lay the Moonlight Kingdom, the land of wizards and merchants, and the Jewel Sea, named for the color its waters take in the summer. To the east, the Alabaster Kingdom, famed for its great explorers and mighty warriors, and especially for the famed Wyvern Riders of Nopelin.

South of the three Kingdoms lies the Narrow Sea, and beyond it, the Sea of Sands, where the people of camels, fabrics, and spices make their homes. Finally, to the north, beyond the Wall of the Damned and the Black Belt, stretch the Dead Lands, the wide region occupied by the Wild Undead of Ozborne—further mention of these is given in the relevant chapter.

In this way, the small Kingdom of Escarbot is sandwiched between sea and undeath, with its paltry borders dividing two larger Kingdoms. It is, in all regards, a land simple, barbaric, and untamed. Due caution is advised.

- An excerpt from the Atlas of Homerus, Second Edition, found on an unnamed corpse.

The hour-long walk was over in a blink, as always, and Jerry was once again facing his tower. He whistled. The distrust of the villagers did not get him down; it was only natural. In time, they would understand.

On the bright side, he had acquired a bunch of new bodies, soon-to-be buddies!

“Come, Boboar,” he said happily, gesturing towards the body-filled cart. “Drop them.”

With a shrug, the double-boar skeleton tilted the cart, throwing the corpses on the dirt. Jerry had indeed said that the basement would be his laboratory, but getting all these bodies down there would be messy. Stairs were the enemy of mankind. In the future, someone should definitely create stairs that moved on their own.

Yes, that would be nice.

The necromancer bent down, staring at the pile of corpses at his disposal. Eleven of them, all in pretty good condition, minus some unimportant fleshy bits and some cracked bones from Boboar’s assaults.

Wait, eleven? Weren’t there twelve of them? One, two, three…

“Oh, Boboar, you lovable lump. You dropped one somewhere!”

The skeleton lowered its massive head and snorted apologetically. Jerry laughed and petted him. “Don’t worry, you. A body up or down is no big deal. In fact, thank you for carrying them all here. You’re the best double-boar skeleton I have ever seen!”

Boboar oinked in happiness, gently pushing his head against Jerry’s hand.

“Hah, okay! Now—” he laughed, turning to the bodies and rubbing his hands— “what goodies should we make?”

“Someone with hammers for hands, master,” offered Boney. He and Headless had been building the fence, and they had naturally noticed Jerry’s group approach. “It would save us quite some time.”

“An excellent suggestion, my dear butler!” Jerry whipped his head around, laughing. “But I do have a better idea.”

Boney groaned. The necromancer reached inside the pile of bodies and, with a bit of effort, pulled out a bulky man. It was the bandit leader who had given Shorty and Boboar a lot of trouble, the one who wielded twin axes.

“Oh, do I have plans for this one…” Jerry grinned with an evil glint in his eye. “It is high time we made a double human skeleton. Don’t you think so, Boney?”

“I think some extra working hands would be excellent, master.”

“Fine.” Ηe rolled his eyes. “Here, have these.”

With some easy mental gymnastics, two skeletons tore their way out of their former bodies. They blankly stared at Jerry.

“Are any of you intelligent?” he asked. They looked on. “Alright then, both of you follow Boney. He will tell you what to do. Work them well, Boney. Maintaining this many undead is quite taxing for my soul.”

“Not to worry, master.” The skeletal butler rubbed his hands evilly, as Jerry had done earlier. Jerry considered getting him some nice clothes the next time he visited Pilpen. Maybe a hat too. “I will work these two to the bone.”

“Gah.” Jerry grabbed his heart. “You’re going to kill me!”

Cackling with his bone jaw, Boney took off with only one of the new skeletons in tow. The other was temporarily tasked with carrying a few of the new corpses to the basement; he would join fence-building duty later. The fence would come along that much faster now, and Jerry was satisfied. He turned to the corpse-carrying skeleton.

“Lead the way, Expendable Skelly. And you, Shorty, come along. I will fix that broken hand of yours.”

Filled with excitement, Shorty dragged his body to the basement, while the new skeleton hoisted the former bandit leader. That’s how it goes; the new guys get the chores.

Back in the basement, Jerry got ready for work. The sun was still high, after all.

The first order of business was fixing Shorty. While he was a terrifying killing machine, he had worked hard to protect his master, and Jerry appreciated that. Therefore, grabbing the sliced-off hand bone, Jerry touched it to the end of Shorty’s forearm and bonded them together.

“There you go,” he said proudly. “Good as new.”

Shorty tried his new hand out, waving it experimentally in the air. It worked as intended, and the skeleton cackled with joy before rushing upwards, presumably to show Boney and Headless.

It was curious how quickly a skeleton formed the first signs of sentience. A day ago, Shorty had been unable to turn a doorknob. Now, he already possessed the concepts of pride, joy, and maybe even friendship?

Jerry’s wizard side told him to record everything for future study. His creative side told him to just get on with the next project, which is exactly what he did. A double human skeleton sounded fun.

“I have plans for you. You are going to follow a noble craft, and you’re gonna be the very best like no one ever was,” he declared to the dead bandit leader, whose name he had never gotten. Not that he particularly cared, but he was running out of bone-themed names.

“Oh well.”

He got to work. Connecting two skeletons was a challenging endeavor. Creating Boboar had once taken him months of research and experiments. Even if he now knew the gist of it, adjusting his knowledge to human skeletons would take some time.

Fortunately, like most good guys, Jerry wasn’t afraid of hard work.

The hours flew by as one attempt followed another. Jerry discovered that the bipedal nature of humans made several aspects of the project different compared to boars, but he relished in the challenge. Night came and went, with some sleep on Jerry’s part, and the next day found him once again bent over his workbench, connecting small bones over small bones.

Just like that time when he’d spent five months in a forest, and then another two simply walking around, time began to lose its meaning. It flowed freely, like sand between his fingers, and he let it, relishing in the mindless, fruitful labor.

His attempts were only interrupted when Boney stepped into the basement.

“Excuse me, master,” he said, and Jerry looked up. His eyes sported black bags underneath. He wasn’t sure, but he suspected he’d missed one night’s sleep. Maybe two.

“What is it, Boney?” he asked.

“There are some people here to see you, master,” replied the butler. “I thought it wise not to kill them before letting you know.”

“Kill them?” Jerry raised a brow. “We don’t kill people, Boney. We’re the good guys. If anything, perhaps we should invite them in for some milk and cookies—though we don’t have any. No matter, I’m sure we can treat them to something.”

“I would suggest treating them to a swift and painful death, master, but some tea would be acceptable too. Foxy brought some leaves the other day. I can try brewing them.”

“Excellent suggestion, as expected of my undead butler.” Jerry straightened up, his spine cracking. “Ouch. Yeah, I guess a break will be good. How long was I working for, Boney?”

“Three and a half days, master,” echoed the butler’s voice, already gone from the basement. Jerry followed soon after, abandoning the new project as it was. He was almost there; soon, their little group would have a new addition. How nice.

As he walked towards the door, Jerry realized he was completely spent. It wasn’t just the exhaustion either; there was a deeper kind of weariness, as if something vital to him was currently strained.

Ah, I did forget the two new skeletons. Boney better have gotten some work done.

However, the moment he saw his visitors, his exhaustion was gone. It wasn’t Derek, as he expected, nor was it the mayor.

Jerry was a villager through and through, but not all villagers were the same. He had only been to a town once or twice, and the extent of his education was learning to read, write, and count to a hundred. Despite that, he practically oozed class and elegance when compared to the people he found glaring at his undead.

There were eight of them, all wearing leather armor and well-made but badly-maintained leather boots. Swords were in their hands, but that was unimportant. What was more notable was the absolute hillbilly-ism of these men.

They each lacked a couple of teeth, held their swords like shovels, and had a permanent lack of incomprehension stuck to their dirty faces. They were hunched, rough, and currently staring at Headless and his chest-level head like a particularly nasty enigma. Jerry was impressed. Had a rival village come to compete for his shoemaking services? Why the swords though?

In front of the eight hillbillies was another person, a gruff-looking man with a clenched jaw, dressed in metal armor and wielding a spear. The nine of them were currently facing off against the fence builders, ready to dice his lovely undead apart or die trying.

“Hello there, friends,” said Jerry, drawing their attention. “I’m Jerry. How can I help you?”

“You are a necromancer,” said the gruff, bearded man, confirming he was the leader here.

“That’s only a hobby. Actually, I’m a shoemaker! Did you not read the sign?” He pointed to the wooden sign in front of the fence, which did indeed indicate this place to be a shoemaker’s residence. “By the way, you should probably have Billies one through eight sheathe their weapons. What they’re doing can prove to be quite unhealthy.”

“Billies one to eight?” The man looked confused. “Are you talking about my squad? None of them is called Billy. They are Rudolf, Dasher, Prancer—”

“Ah, that is so interesting!” exclaimed Jerry.

It was not.

“Yah a shoemaker?” One of the Billies narrowed his eyes. “You liah. We knaw your kind. What kinda necromanca make shoes?”

“I got to make a living somehow, don’t I?”

“Can’t you trade living souls to the devils or something?” The commander interceded, his gaze glinting. Jerry could tell that the man thought him insane. The thing is, he did not particularly care.

“Nonsense,” he replied. “I know how this looks, but I’m actually a good guy!”

“Good guy? A necromancer?”

“To the bone!”

The men looked on blankly.

“Okay, okay, my bad,” said Jerry. “I guess Boney got to me. You’ve met him already, right? My undead butler.” They looked on blankly. “The talking skeleton,” he added helpfully.

Understanding dawned on the commander. Jerry smiled as he continued. “So, care to come in? I have some really nice tea. I mean, it might not be really nice, it’s just some smelly leaves my pet fox found in the forest, but all tea is good in good company.”

“I do not know who you are or what you are doing in this place, necromancer—” the commander leveled his spear at Jerry, which was very rude indeed— “but know that if you harm one hair of the kingdom’s people or its forests, you will be crucified.”

“I didn’t know forests had hair, but I do not intend to harm anyone, my good sir.” Jerry smiled again. “And speaking of it, who are you?”

“I am Captain Reymond of Milaris’s Royal Guard!” The bearded man struck his chest with an armored palm. Jerry knew Milaris to be the city nearest Pilpen. “And these men are under my command. We are here to man the kingdom’s guard post—the one you have infested.”

“What, this?” Jerry looked backward. “But this is my tower.”

“It is not. It is the kingdom’s guard post.”

“Really? Well, I was given this tower by the village of Pilpen, so you might want to bring it up with their mayor. He’s a nice guy, though his wife is a bit more ugh.”

“A village does not have the right to transfer ownership of Kingdom property.”

“Well, it’s mine now.”

“That is impossible.” Reymond leveled his stare at Jerry. Jerry stared right back. Suddenly, Reymond realized that confronting an unknown necromancer might be quite unhealthy indeed. He lowered his spear. “I apologize for any confusion caused by our absence, but I have to ask you to evacuate, sir.”

The man’s disdain was clear by the way he spat the last word, but Jerry did not particularly care. “Well, that is going to be a bit difficult.” He scratched his head. “I mean, I don’t really want to steal your guard tower, but don’t you think you should visit your buildings a bit more frequently? This place had been left unattended for a year. Now I’ve cleaned it, tidied up, and built a lovely little laboratory in the basement along with a good, strong fence.”

“A laboratory?” The commander’s gaze darkened.

“Precisely! I am fine with leaving if the tower truly is yours, but shouldn’t I be, you know, compensated? Do you happen to have any other conveniently abandoned guard towers nearby?”

“What? Kingdom property is not for necromancers to occupy!” The commander fumed. “I will have to ask you to depart immediately. I will also have to ask you to unsummon all your undead minions and allow us to bury them after cleansing them with holy water.”

“Ah, but you see, I really cannot do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to,” Jerry replied truthfully.

The conversation fell in a lull, for which Jerry was relieved. They weren’t very cooperative. He needed to think.

As he’d said to the man, he really didn’t want to steal another person’s tower. If somebody stole his tower he’d feel pretty bad, so why force that feeling on others? But on the other hand, he really didn’t want to leave his new home. He’d already gotten cozy!

Oh, what do I do...

In any case, Jerry didn’t want to intrude. He liked this tower, but if it really belonged to someone else, staying here wasn’t right.

Fortunately, at the last moment, a savior arrived in the form of an undead butler.

“Excuse me,” said Tom Boney, stepping out of the tower with a tea tray in hand, “but I happened to overhear. As a matter of fact, this place used to belong to the Escarbot Kingdom, but it has now been conquered by a foreign Kingdom.”

“Conquered?” The commander’s eyes bulged. “What?”

“Indeed.” The skeleton nodded. “Currently, this place belongs to the newly founded Kingdom of Shoemakery and Undeath Shenanigans. The SUS Kingdom, for short.”

“What?” said Reymond.

“What?” said Jerry.

“Indeed, indeed.” Boney nodded again. “I clearly remember the day my master founded his glorious kingdom. We are small now, but we will certainly grow stronger in the future! If fate permits, we might even become a Kingdom with two guard towers!”

“What?” Commander Reynold spread his arms wide, spear and all. “You can’t just found your own Kingdom!”

“We can and we did,” Boney said matter-of-factly. “In fact, you are currently intruding on our territory, gentlemen. Are you trying to instigate a war? Can you really shoulder that decision for your entire Kingdom of Escarbot?”

“What war?” The commander pointed at the skeleton. “You are instigating a war! You took our tower!”

“We took our tower,” the skeleton corrected him. “But that’s in the past. Let’s not reignite old rivalries.”

“What old—You skeletal imbecile!” the commander shouted angrily as he stomped his boot and looked around. Besides the annoying skeleton, two more were staring at him, along with an axe-wielding, headless zombie. And what was that? A child skeleton? One with really long limbs and sharp fingers?

A boar skeleton had also appeared from the forest, at some point, ominously staring them down, and on its back was the skeleton of a fox. Both were drenched in dried blood, and the sheer enmity that radiated from this small army of undead was overwhelming. Crimson sparks burned deep in every undead’s eye sockets.

Moreover, behind everyone else stood the necromancer himself, a man that commander Reynolds couldn’t see through. Was this a battle they could win?

He gulped.

“Very well,” he relented. “I will call my superior here, and then you will see what the Kingdom does to those who mock it. Men! We return!”

Obediently—almost too obediently, in fact—the men turned and retreated at a fast pace. Before a minute had passed, the nine of them had already disappeared into the treeline.

“What weird men…” muttered Jerry. “Don’t you think so, Boney?”

“Indeed, master, for them to pick a bone with us. And unfriendly too.”

“You know, you’re quite eloquent for a former bandit.” The necromancer raised a brow. “What gives?”

“Tom grew up in Milaris, master. He was smart and educated. A shame he decided to become a bandit.”

Jerry nodded.

“By the way, master, what should we do with the tea?”

“Well, it’s brewed now, and I’m frankly quite exhausted. Let’s drink it ourselves. Actually, can you drink tea?”

“Oh, certainly, master.” Boney laughed. “I so like tea. Its warmth runs bone-deep!”