“Watch the Funny Bone, the circus of undead! Don’t be afraid, they’re friendly!”

Ten children dressed in rags darted through the streets of Edge, preparing the ground for Jerry’s circus. People turned to look, and as they heard the funny music approach, their eyes widened and they dropped everything they were doing to ogle.

When the undead showed up, most people stepped back or glared. A minority didn’t, and it was this minority that the Funny Bone set their sights on.

“I can’t believe you spent ten taels for that,” said Boney.

“Twenty, actually,” replied Marcus. “They’ll each get another tael when they’re done.”

“You what?!”

Marcus laughed. “Relax, Boney. I like money as much as the next folk, but this is an investment! This is how money is made! By the time you guys are ready to perform, everyone will know what’s happening by word of mouth—and if only ten people show up, at three taels a head, we’ve made a profit!”

“We need ten people just to cover our expenses,” replied Boney. “All those flaming rings and torches need pig fat, which isn’t cheap. We also need fabric for confetti, ropes for the Billies, bribes to ensure everything runs smoothly… Frankly, in this town, I’ll be glad if we can even break even.”

“Believe in curiosity, Boney. These people have been fighting undead all their lives—this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see the other side of it. Many will come, you’ll see.”

“I suppose the shouting children inspire good faith…” The skeleton cupped his chin. “You’re really good at exploiting people, aren’t you?”

“I would never!” Marcus smiled widely. “I told you, it’s an investment—a win-win situation. Those children will all eat well tonight because they helped us. If you were in charge, we’d already be labeled villains.”

Jerry absent-mindedly listened to the conversation from where he sat on the cart’s front, holding the reins to Boboar that he never pulled. He wasn’t really paying attention. It was the first time in his life he visited a town—they hadn’t been able to enter Milaris—and the sights had swept him.

Over the street, ropes stretched between windows, where a woman with long, dark hair hung her clothes to dry. A man sat behind a stall, selling the hot bread he cooked on a small stove. Heat poured out of a blacksmith’s shop. Doors and windows opened and closed. People talked and shouted, letting an ever-present din float lightly over the town—Jerry couldn’t hear this due to the circus music, but that’s what he imagined.

“What a lively place…” he said in awe. “Don’t you think so, Headless?”

The zombie, walking next to the cart, moved his head up and down to nod—but on the other side, Axehand suddenly grunted in surprise.

“Hmm?” Jerry turned to look.

Axehand let out another grunt, this one intrigued, drawing Jerry’s attention to a street carpet filled with wooden sculptures. They were cruder than the skeleton’s works, but sported a series of diverse shapes.

“Oh wow,” said Jerry, suddenly interested—to the terror of their owner. “Look at that. A dog, a bird, a tree, a… a… what is that?”

The street peddler—a middle-aged, slim, tanned man with bare feet—opened and closed his mouth without sound. Jerry’s object of curiosity was a ship-like sculpture with a big oblong shape placed over it, supported by small wooden columns.

“Hey, Marcus,” Jerry turned to the treasure hunter, “I saw one of these on the town’s emblem, right above the gate. What is it?”

“It’s an airship,” replied Marcus. “During the Red Week, Escarbot had one of these—the Eye of the Sky—patrol the border to make sure no one got past. After the Wall was built, the airship was stationed here, in Edge, as a reminder of the Kingdom’s abilities… though it is now only a relic.”

“Actually,” Boney chimed in, “it’s the Count’s escape plan. If the Wall falls, the town’s officials are to ride the airship back to the capital.”

“Oh?” Marcus raised a brow. “How do you know that?”

“I used to be a noble—sort of. These things are common knowledge.”

“What is an airship?” Jerry asked again, welcoming the pair of astounded gazes. Boney’s sound clacked as he chuckled, producing the distinct sound known as a ‘clackle.’

“It’s a flying ship, Master,” he responded, “but don’t worry, that’s not a dumb question at all. How could you possibly imagine what an airship does?”

“But how can a ship fly?!”

“Something about hot air and light materials…” explained Marcus. “I’m not too sure myself, but I flew one of these in the Sea of Sands. Handy little toys.”

“Oh, wow…” Jerry’s mouth was gaping. “Do you think we could buy one? I want to fly as well.”

“They’re not for sale!” The treasure hunter laughed. “Can you imagine the chaos? That said, if you had enough taels…”

“Well, how many is enough?”

“Maybe a hundred thousand.”

“Oh.” Jerry’s eyes were suddenly filled with longing. He let out a sigh, then turned to Axehand. “Anyway… What do you think, buddy? Want a sculpture for inspiration?”

The double-skeleton gazed at the wooden sculptures again, inspecting their crude makings. He then grunted disdainfully and kept walking.

“Sorry, my friend,” Jerry told the merchant, laughing. “He’s a picky one. If it’s any consolation, I liked them!”

The peddler could only let out a hiccup.

The circus continued through the city, spreading chaos and attracting all sorts of glances. Jerry himself wasn’t shy either; as this was his first time in a town, he opened his eyes wide to take in the sights and didn’t even realize they’d reached the town square until their street opened wide. He looked ahead.

A wide plaza stretched as large as the entire village of Pilpen. Houses and shops lined its sides, some of them painted in various colors, while skinny pigeons walked through the plaza, bobbing their heads as they looked for bread crumbs to eat—frankly, it was a miracle that the pigeons hadn’t been eaten themselves.

Across them, a blonde girl sold flowers before a small house full of greenery, and right next to that house was a towering temple with a golden ball—probably yellow wood—on its very top. A large clock adorned the front of the temple, with its complicated network of hands pointing at several numbers in several rings around the center, and Jerry could now see a large flock of pigeons nesting atop the temple’s roof.

The cart immediately came to a halt, as did the music, all undead sensing his sentiment.

“Wow…” Jerry spoke from his heart. “That’s beautiful…”

In that one moment, Jerry felt glad he’d left Pilpen and for every decision that had led him to the here and now. His horizons had been irreparably broadened.

“Boney, look! That’s amazing!”

“I know, Master,” replied the skeleton. “It is a temple to Manna, the God of Light, and a clock tower along with it!”

“But that’s taller than my tower! How did they make it so big?”

“By placing one stone over the other,” Marcus stepped in. “Impressive, isn’t it? There’s one of those in every town.”

“What, really? That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, the church of Manna is very particular about her worship.” Marcus laughed. “In any case, I think the center of this plaza would be a good place to set up shop?”

“That can’t be legal,” replied Boney.

“But we have bribe money and the Count’s name behind us. We can try.”

“I agree to give it a shot,” added Jerry, giggling. “I want to have a performance under that tall tower.”

“Very well, Master. Shall we get started, then?”

“Let’s.”

With quick movements, the undead started unloading the tower of colorful cloth from the cart. There were wooden stakes in there, as well as a lot of fabric, and the people around the square could only watch in shock as the undead got to work.

Slowly, a red shape began to take form. As the Billies pushed stakes inward, the tip of the fabric began to rise, and rise, and rise, until the center of the town square housed a large, multi-colored tent. The people gawked. The ends of the fabric were trapped under heavy rocks, and eventually, a short half-hour after construction had begun, the circus tent had been fully erected. A small red flag waved over its tip.

Marcus gawked too. “I didn’t know you had a tent,” he said.

“Of course we do,” replied Boney. “Only the people who pay get to watch. What are we, amateurs?”

“Alright, everyone!” Jerry clapped once. “Let’s get to work. Night will fall soon, and we need to be ready before that!”

With excited cries, the undead rushed in the tent, followed by sounds of things unfolding and clanking against each other. Only Jerry remained outside, using the cart as a foothold to stand high above the crowd and shout for customers. They’d already been a circus for a month, and by now, everyone more or less knew their job.

“Come, everyone, come! Only three taels a head, two for the children!” shouted Jerry, and indeed, people came!

Though most stared as if he’d told them to eat shit, a few curious ones approached. “What is this?” they asked.

“This, my friends, is the Funny Bone, the one and only circus of undead! Prepare to see skeletal animals perform tricks, zombies juggling their heads and balancing on each other, and skeletons lifting groups of people as if they weigh nothing!”

Soon, a small crowd had formed around Jerry, and whispers were breaking out left and right. Nobody had volunteered for a ticket yet, struck as they were by hard glares from all around the square, but they clearly considered it.

“The first ten people get a one-tael discount!” shouted Marcus, stepping up beside Jerry. A few more whispers later, two people stepped forth—one was the flower-selling girl from before, and the other a child beggar that Marcus had paid to spread the word.

“Come, come!” shouted Jerry, smiling, and accepted their taels—but secretly refused the child’s, winking and returning it. He didn’t want to take money from people who needed it.

Marcus didn’t see that, already golden-eyed from the prospective profit, and his shouts only got more and more passionate. After the ball had gotten rolling, more and more people began to join in the fun, and more and more people trickled from the square’s edges into the hesitant crowd in front of the circus entrance.

Marcus looked at them and saw walking taels.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” came a voice from a side as ten armored guards stepped forth, and Marcus, smiling, quickly walked off to meet them. A few short moments later, the guards left quietly, their pockets slightly heavier.

More and more people trickled into the circus, surpassing a few dozens now, and Jerry was beyond himself with joy. Beggars or poor-looking people were still accepted for free, of course, and not a single one of them spilled the beans. A few more guards showed up but Marcus easily took care of them, already dreaming of the torrential profit they’d make, and soon, the circus tent was so packed that Jerry had to consider taking the performance out in the open.

A quick scolding from Boney later, they simply removed the benches and had the people crowd together. A few complained, but most didn’t seem to mind.

By now, the entire Edge Town was in an uproar, and the judgmental glares increased as rapidly as the circus’s customers. Nobody tried anything, fortunately, and as the sun disappeared behind the far-off mountains, the performance was ready to begin.

Suddenly, a deep horn call came from atop the Wall, capturing people’s attention for a few seconds before they returned to glaring at the circus. Jerry looked up.

“What’s that?” he asked a person that was paying up.

“It’s the war horn,” they replied. “It means there’s a horde incoming, but don’t worry. The soldiers on the Wall will handle it.”

Jerry wasn’t worried. On the contrary, he was intrigued.

“Marcus, can you handle this?” he asked, already mentally commanding Birb to fly over the Wall.

“Hmm? Sure, why?”

“There’s something I need to do.”

Jerry entered the tent, pushing through the crowd and through the stage to reach a small part of the tent where the undead prepared their acts, separated from the main tent by a tall wall of cloth.

“I will use Birb’s senses for a while,” said Jerry. “Handle yourselves, okay?”

“We will protect your body with our lives, Master,” said Boney, eyes hinting at crimson. “And we’ll give a great show as well.”

“Great.” Jerry smiled. “I trust you completely.”

He sat on his heavenly soft chair—oh, the softness—and closed his eyes, sending his senses into Birb. A blue sky appeared before him in the next moment, and as the bird zombie looked down, a long gray line split the terrain, green on one side and black on the other.

On the Wall stood a row of soldiers, humans armed with bows and crossbows and lances and swords… Why swords? wondered Jerry, but his attention was instantly swept away as he noticed the colored feathers.

There were wizards too! Pyromancers, hydromancers, biomancers, and photomancers—besides necromancers, all schools of magic were present, and the feathers on their shoulders were anything but discreet. Through Birb’s sharp eyes, Jerry could see everything.

Which included the horde of undead stampeding towards the Wall.

They were thousands. Most were zombies or skeletons. Some were odd and misshapen, some looked like zombies but felt different—even from this distance—and a few were clusters of sewn-together corpses. With the undead animals and birds, there were even many flying enemies that the Wall itself could do nothing against.

So this is why they have swords!

And as Jerry watched, with shrieks from one side and roars from the other, the undead clashed against the Wall.