Uno

I had mixed feelings.

While I had screwed the pooch - as I got a bit too much into observing Charles and his little army shenanigans than it was healthy aaaaand, in the process, I completely forgot about my brilliant plan, the situation as a whole wasn’t unsalvageable.

Above my dungeon, the Geinard Kingdom forces were preparing to stop another undead attack, which gave me a chance to finish up transferring the dwarven prisoners. The few I had moved with Non’s help were of “trimmable” kind. The rest were to be moved in an ordinary fashion. This time I would ignore the humans and instead focus on doing what needed to be done.

And if - and only if - I was quick enough there should be enough time left to observe the latter part of the battle. That was under the assumption that the humans weren’t going to get utterly crushed.

As for the reason why? I just couldn’t help myself. Observing the outpost workings was an addicting activity, like watching a popular series on TV. In my past life, I tended to binge on these things. Except here all the actors were real people, there was way too much drama for my taste, and you couldn’t change the channel at all. So… it was nothing like the television I remembered.

I blame the lack of meaningful entertainment in my underground hellhole.

That problem aside I had something even more terrifying to worry about. This… unconscious resonance in response to Charles’ chanting. I had lent him my power - but the process and consent to do so were outside my control. This made me wary - especially since my current “condition” could be connected to any unexplainable phenomena.

Worse still - the sickly green flame flickering in his eyes was hauntingly similar to the color of the Anima… my first reaction was to kill the redhaired mage and nip the problem in the bud. And I would’ve done so if he wasn’t the outpost’s leader. The consequences of eliminating him weren’t something I was ready to face. Yet.

Scary human warriors like Lord Hawk were much too fresh in my memory. I needed a contingency to counter them, yet my lack of power made most of the attempts to defend myself meaningless. And what was worse a dungeon core cannot run. An endless loop.

There was nothing more I could do about it at the moment but wait. So instead of agonizing again and again over the things I had no control over, I focused on finishing preparations while doing what could be done.

My invisible form soundlessly floated down to the second floor. The rats were already waiting, small, burly figures of dwarven prisoners safely tied to the wooden boards. Each of them was carried by two dozens of Ratlings, creating a comical sight of a plank levitating just above the ground.

Close to the Central Pond Room teams of Lebirs were led by Ratling Black Mages, poised to strike. Their haphazardly armored bodies stood as still as only the dead could, a flicker of magic burning steadily in their eyes. Each was armed with a shield and electrified mace.

Non and her kobold ninja were also ready. In this battle, their role would be a crucial one - to stop enemies from calling an alarm. Surprisingly, I couldn’t sense any tension from the revenant’s back. She was touching her pitch-black daggers, caressing their sharp blades. A calm and solemn figure - as always. Now, that I thought about it discerning anything from Non’s wooden expression wasn’t easily done - unless she was showing her blind hate for the Geinard Kingdom or its citizens.

While humans had rescinded much of their presence on the second floor, there was one obstacle we had to get rid of in order to retain control. A sole runner traveled between the first and second floor every fifteen or so minutes. It was a young lad, with a stubble of a beard, wearing a mismatched set of militia armor.

He had to be killed or otherwise incapacitated to give me a chance to succeed.

This act, coupled with the elimination of the soldiers based on the second floor, would buy me enough time to transport our prisoners into the waiting claws of the Butchers. Even if the outpost forces prematurely discovered the attack they would still have their hands full with the undead invasion, thus delaying their response.

It was a fool-proof plan.

I hummed under my nose, a half-forgotten melody hauntingly twisting in the nothingness.

It was time.

One last look at the surface showed two armies poised to strike, and a small group of Geinard Kingdom soldiers barely making it into Charles’ defensive formation before the clash. Amongst them, a few figures seemed hurt, or maybe just unconscious - it was hard to tell.

My curiosity peaked, yet I forced myself to retreat. It wouldn’t be wise to repeat my last mistake. I’ll slowly get to the bottom of it afterward. If they were still alive, that is.

The human soldiers on the second floor were a small group, about a dozen of militia and a grumpy veteran serving as their leader. They huddled against a small fire and gazed into the black from behind temporary barricades, their tired eyes scanning the surroundings with fear.

Electrical Chandeliers were still hanging from the ceiling here and there but most of these had been destroyed by the half-elven princess rampage. I hadn’t restored them - true to the ruse I was trying to propagate - and the darkness worked in my favor as Lebirs and Ratlings slowly crept closer and closer, their figures impossible to discern.

It was only when the runner arrived, his youthful face reddened by the sprint, that I had given the order to attack.

[Kill them all.] My disembodied voice echoed in the skulls of the surrounding creatures.

And darkness moved, responding to my words.

Their charge began silently, gaining momentum before a single scream cut through the air.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

One of the militias glanced around at just the right moment, noticing the advancing monsters.

“E-enemy attack!” He quickly reached for his weapon, bracing the spear against the ground. Just like how they were taught at the drilling ground I observed too many times to count. All around the soldier other panicked voices and yells echoed as humans scrambled to defend themselves.

The runner’s reaction was different.

After a second of confusion and terror, he turned on his heels, intending to climb up and warn the first-floor team.

It was a noble action, one that was cut short by the Non’s appearance from the nearby shadows. She stood before the young man and the staircase, her half-metallic face sporting a rare ugly grin.

“A-an undead!” The youth screamed, drawing the attention of the commanding soldier.

“Gods curse you, demon.” The scarred warrior spat on the ground, before shooting out a series of commands.

“Jarn and Solden, with me! The rest hold your ground for as long as possible!”

“Sir!”

“Sir!”

“We’re dead men walking anyway, so spare no blood or sweat! We’ve gotta give this lad a chance to warn the others.”

““Understood!”” His bodyguards answered in unison.

“Now lads! Charge! For the Geinard Kingdom!” His words were calm and collected, yet a strange conviction was burning in his eyes.

This only made Non more livid, as her grin widened into a full-fledged deranged smile.

With a casual swipe, she left a cut on the boy’s leg. Cursing, he tumbled to the ground, clutching the wound. It was an artful stroke - deep enough to impair mobility yet shallow enough to not let him bleed out.

A torturer’s cut.

“Shit!” The veteran cursed bitterly as the humans charged the undead girl. His subordinates called their gods, full of hatred instead of admiration for professional work.

Barbarians.

Non’s lithe form twirled between incoming spears, her daggers smashing into them with strength measured just enough to change their trajectory. She dodged the attacks perfectly only to get assaulted by the veteran soldier.

“Shield bash!” He shouted and the scrappy shield responded, the skill reinforcing the metal’s endurance and enhancing his forward momentum.

Non’s head turned unnaturally, her wide smile still showing hauntingly white teeth.

With a light *hup* she extended her hand… and jumped.

I could hear her flesh and iron body protesting when the revenant’s palm landed on the incoming wall. Using the momentum she flew above the charging enemy and gracefully landed on the ground.

The human soldier stopped his attack. He gasped for air, sweat trickling on his scarred face. He then turned heavily - it was a painfully slow movement, yet not a single attack had landed on his defenseless back.

He spat on the ground “The bitch’s toying with us, lads!”

His subordinates only panted in response, their wary eyes and trembling hands grasping for respite.

“To me! Defensive formation!”

Heeding the command two soldiers returned to the veteran’s side. Unlike the rest, he wore not simple leather armor, but one enhanced with pieces of iron. Under his metal helmet, I could see calculating eyes and clenched jaw. His rugged physique might’ve been considered handsome in some barbaric way.

Non had ignored their preparations, instead glancing at the battle between Lebirs and the rest of the militia. The undead had already arrived at the defensive positions and were slugging it out with the remaining soldiers.

Their fight was uninspired and boring, maces impacting shields, spears sometimes finding purchase in the armor or flesh of the attackers. Due to makeshift barricades, the defenders were currently in the lead, blackish blood being spilled much more often than its red counterpart. A few of the Ratling Black Mages sent their spells into the midst of battle, the bolts of green energy more often hitting their allies than enemies.

Yet while the Lebirs simply shrugged off the magic humans weren’t so resilient. Their leather armor sizzled with every stopped shot, an acrid smell spreading in the air. I could see their exhaustion, their rising despair as the first wave of skills managed to take down only a few of my creatures, the rest swarming their positions.

Our victory was only a question of time now.

Non understood that too, as she turned knowingly to her three opponents. A mocking grin remained on her face, taunting the soldiers.

The veteran leading them cursed under his nose. His black eyes hardened even more as he surveyed the battlefield. Cries for help and screams were coming from behind the revenant’s back and he could do nothing.

He spat on the ground, before making up his mind.

“Solden… Jarn.”

“Sir!”

“Run. I’ll hold her off for as long as I can. Get the message out, even if it’s the last thing you’ll do.”

Both soldiers blinked in confusion. “B-but… sir…”

“No backtalking! I said run, and you will RUN, soldier!” He roared the last few words while dashing towards the undead. Non’s reaction was lax - a predator meeting her prey - as she strolled to meet the human’s charge.

Behind the veteran’s back, I could see shock and confusion mixing on the young faces before they were replaced by a cold conviction. With a sharp nod, the humans turned and ran, still clutching their weapons in hand.

I grumbled.

It was the revenant’s role to stop any stragglers… and she was already going off the script.

[Non… catch them for me, please.]

She nodded, grinning even wider. It was uncanny. [Know.]

Her steps gained momentum before turning into a run. It took seconds for the distance to disappear completely.

The human soldier stepped forward with his left feet. His left hand kept the shield up, while a great deal of strength was focused into a piercing strike targetting Non’s head. The attack was swift and merciless, nearly piercing her eye… yet the undead girl simply slid onto her knees, before disappearing within the warrior’s shadow.

The veteran blinked a few times, before sheepishly looking around.

Then his face lighted up with a terrible understanding as he turned back and shouted at the top of his lungs.

“Dodge! She’s coming for you! Dodge… oh… Brighton have mercy!”

His warning came too late.

The two soldiers in question were currently climbing the stairs, one of them kicking away the bleeding runner. While the shout startled them, they never saw Non coming.

From the ceiling, a patch of shadow darkened momentarily, before spewing the revenant out, face-first. She laughed soundlessly, before plunging her daggers in her victims’ necks, spilling an ungodly amount of blood on the floor.

After an acrobatic landing, she tilted her head in mute wonder.

One of the humans was still breathing, his earlier stumble saving him from certain death. The dagger instead of severing the throat and the spine left a deep wound on his chest, nearly cutting through his ribs. The human - Jarn, was it? - touched the injury with a trembling hand, his eyes looking pitifully towards the black-clothed undead.

“P-please…” Jarn stuttered only to fall on his back after Non’s sudden kick.

“Aarrrrrgh!” He screamed in pain, before turning silent as the dagger found purchase in his eye.

“You monster!” Rumbled the only surviving human, the veteran’s eyes now red with rage and sorrow. “You’ll pay for that!” He uttered, before charging once again.

I shook my head.

It didn’t work the first time, why should it play out differently now?

The revenant worked on retrieving her dagger, a disgusting noise accompanying her attempts to dislodge it from the dead flesh. At last, with a wet sound, she managed to wiggle it free, before she turned towards the approaching enemy.

This time Non didn’t sneak into shadows to avoid him but took the attack in stride. Metal screeched as her dagger blocked the incoming spearhead, the force of momentum sending it flying. A jab from her other dagger was blocked by the shield, small indentations appearing on its surface.

My dungeon’s craftsmanship was clearly superior to whatever humans had access to on the surface.

Clang after clang sounded in the air, as Non went ham on the shield, the veteran crying out in pain when his defense simply… broke. The metal shield cracked under the abuse and the revenant’s dagger tasted blood once again. It slipped under the defender’s hand and bit deep into his stomach.

As a final act of defiance, the veteran swung his spear shaft wide, smacking right into Non’s face, bruising it, and forcing her away. A moment later he crumbled down, pain and exhaustion forcing him to his knees. The revenant touched her jaw, a small dribble of blackish blood trickled down on her chin. She rubbed it between her fingers as she closed on the defeated man.

“Do it!” He shouted, full of defiance, and nearly out of breath. “Do it, you monster! My fate is meaningless! More will come! And with time our Kingdom will prevail!”

Non actually stopped for a moment, before lowering her weapons. There was a moment of respite, the terrified silence broken only by the sound of labored breathing. Non closed her eyes, momentarily calming down. A second later her glare colder than ice landed on the angry soldier.

“Geinard. Kingdom. DIES!” She spelled out as her two daggers were stabbed through the enemy’s eyes, directly piercing his brain. The veteran’s death was quick and painless, his body tensing up before slumping down weakly.

With a loud *clang* both spear and shield fell on the ground.

Behind Non’s back, the sole surviving human was slowly dragging his body away from the embodiment of death while pathetically whimpering. A trail of blood and urine marked his passage.

Seeing this I broke free from my reverie. There was always something cathartic in seeing my creatures fight. And win, preferably. A shot of dopamine felt good, after all. Even if I lacked the body to produce it and intensely observing the actions of others was the only way to experience the thrill of a battle and exhaustion that came afterward.

Was that a reaction of a phantom organ? Or was I just turning crazy?

In these few seconds, Non’s attention turned back to the wounded runner.

[No! Stop!] I quickly chided her. [Just knock him out! The Butchers require more bodies for their experiments.]

The undead girl seemed to consider something for a brief moment before continuing her menacing stride.

“No… nho… no… please! P-phlease!”

The young man was scared out of his mind, gibbering something about mercy. His face covered in snot and tears, with patches of his companion’s blood filling in the rest presented a pathetic sight.

Non came closer and lifted him up by the hair. The runner screamed, half from pain, half in fear, and stared at the pale face of the revenant.

She too glanced at her victim, before grabbing a dagger from her waist and slowly slicing his throat. The boy gurgled, his eyes growing wider at the perceived wrong before his taut muscles turned weak.

After making sure of his demise Non threw the body on the ground like a sack of potatoes, splattering the red blood all around her.

At the same moment, I recovered from the shock.

[What the hell, Non?] I yelled, still not believing her insubordination. [That was valuable research material! What did you kill him for?]

The undead glared at the unmoving corpse before uttering few words in the ether.

“Kingdom.”

“Revenge.”

She spoke haughtily, not using the mental link, and after a small pause she finished with… “Death.”

Then her form slowly disappeared in the nearby shadows - much different from how she was moving during the battle. Instead of violent jumps and twists, there was a feeling of serenity attached to the darkness surrounding her. The little kobold ninja followed, after shaking his head at the remaining carnage.

I cringed at my stupidity.

This was certainly a blind spot.

Non was a contracted monster. In some ways she and Guardian were similar - an outside force repurposed to do my bidding. Yet, even for a moment, I shouldn’t forget that they had their own motivations and opinions.

The revenant’s sole purpose remained a desire to wipe out the Geinard Kingdom for her perceived wrongs. Whenever it was true or not didn’t matter at this point. Her reason d'être was destruction. She had nothing else left. I had hoped her new pet might turn out to be a port in the storm, alas…

It seemed like Guardian’s bonding with the tribe was just a fluke. An oddity.

Not to mention she had been rescued and left in my care by the mad goddess Gangria… Her creepy twin form still sometimes floats up in my memory, no matter how much I avoid thinking about her.

Anyway…

This could turn out badly.

A precise tool was a blessing, a tool with free will… not so much.

It seemed like some of the orders given to the Butchers had to be changed. And that meant that fresh bodies should arrive down there as soon as it was possible.

[What are you waiting for?] I shouted mentally, as rats and Lebirs were standing still, helpless and unsure what to do. [Get a move on! Hurry! Transport the prisoners… now!]

[Somebody take care of the bodies.] The dungeon should rather quickly devour the already dead soldiers, yet I wasn’t sure if it would be quick enough. Non’s dagger wounds were hard to mistake for Lebir maces or Ratling spearthrowers. There was no need to leave anything to chance.

My words created a storm of activity, floating boards dragged here and there - both with bodies and scavenged items. A few minutes later rat caravan had already left the second floor and continued even deeper.

And that meant… that I had a chance to watch what was going on the surface!

Grinning, my form ascended, slowly floating upwards toward the battle I knew that was taking place out there.

And oh boy… things were already in a full swing.

It took me a few minutes, but I managed to get a good look at the battlefield.

The human forces were holding. Their flanks filled with militia adopted a roman-like shield wall formation and were currently doing two things: poking their enemies with spears and desperately trying to hold on.

All around the human outpost was a large moat with sharpened spikes every meter or two. Instead of water, some strange alchemical solution shimmered inside, its purpose unknown. What I did understand was the fact that undead were actively avoiding the thing, even the dumb, basic ones.

Holy water then? Or something more sinister? Something to consider if the humans ever used it underground. It didn’t matter right now, though, as a large part of the outpost lacked this defense - and it was there that humans decided to make their stand.

Bashing against the defenders was a veritable sea of skeletons and zombies trying to use their sheer mass to overwhelm the living. For now, the battle here seemed at a standstill. The random attacks were destroying some undead but more and more were coming to fill in the gaps.

I was disturbed by a lack of more advanced variants, but soon I saw where they concentrated - in the center, where Geinard Kingdom elite heavy troops were fighting back. These soldiers rarely appeared in my dungeon, probably because most halls and stairways were simply too small to contain them.

Clad in iron armor and wielding devastating two-handed weapons they stood near each other, swinging away against the tide. Like farmers during harvest. Most of the enemies died instantly, a rare zombie or skeleton crawling forward, only to get crushed by an armored boot a moment later.

Even the advanced variants in the army of the dead - undead knights, wights, or grotesque zombies stood no chance, their uncoordinated attacks simply breaking on the unyielding will humans were demonstrating. Even so, I could see a glance of tiredness, a moment of hesitation, here and there. Despite their training, despite their equipment, they were only human. And with time they would falter and die.

From behind these living walls, a few mages and a whole bunch of archers rained hell on the incoming enemies. While arrows rarely did more than incapacitate or inconvenience the dead, surging magical energies seemed much more destructive. Colorful elements shaved off forces of the advancing undead, yet I didn’t see my favorite red-haired mage amongst the casters.

My search was interrupted by a few abominations that appeared from behind the nearby hills, their large, bloated forms easily sticking out against the enemy mass. Each of them carried a twisted, haphazardly made iron-encrusted club. If the earlier enemies were considered cannon fodder, these giants’ purpose was only to hit and hit hard.

The humans reacted with increased activity and soon a runner, not dissimilar to the one killed by Non, was sent into the outpost.

In the meantime mages redoubled their efforts, this time focusing on the larger threats, yet their attacks managed only to slow them down. The faces of the robed individuals turned pale when defensive shields blinked into the existence above the undead army.

“Liches!” Somebody yelled. “They have damn liches in their ranks!”

“Where are they? Can anyone give visual confirmation?” Another asked.

“Our scouts saw nothing!”

“Mana search also comes up as negative!”

“Then they’re either hidden somewhere away, or they’re using visibility obscuring spells…”

“What can we do?”

“At least they’re not bombarding us… yet.”

“Commander, your orders?” One of the robed mages turned his head towards the heavily decorated soldier standing nearby.

“T-that’s… I have no experience in magical warfare.” He stammered out. “What can you suggest?”

“Well…” The mage mused before falling silent. They both twitched when the outpost’s doors nearly exploded under a powerful swing.

*BAM*

With an angry swagger, a familiar figure emerged, his red eyes and hair easily recognizable from any distance. Charles was speaking to somebody, his voice raised in annoyance.

“No! You’re not allowed to leave. And don’t give me this shit about important business! You’re carrying my unconscious fiancėe and I’m not letting you simply take her away!”

“Will all due respect.” Another figure emerged, this one wearing black robes, with brown hair and eyes. A familiar face. “It is in a Geinard Kingdom’s best interest to deliver Princess to the capital, unharmed and untouched.”

“And why is that?”

“Like I said before, sir. A me--... An outpost overseer is not privy to such information.” The black-robed mage said, while covertly summoning a wisp of darkness in his hand.

An annoying tone, annoying magic… It took me a moment, but face aligned with a name. The haughty mage’s name was Peter. A common-born earth and shadow mage serving Princess Agnes as bodyguard cum advisor.

“You! I will deal with you in a moment.” Charles turned towards the other leaders. “How’s the situation?”

“We have big ones coming for our defensive line.” The soldier spoke in a gruff tone.

“And enemy mages are making it difficult to snipe them down.” Added the wizard.

“In this scenario, there is only one answer.” Charles’ red eyes glared at the battlefield. “Overwhelming firepower.”

“Sir!”

“Sir?”

“With all due respect… these undead mages aren’t common weaklings.” Peter’s sour voice came out from behind. “A powerful magus would be needed to overwhelm their defenses.”

“I am well aware of it.” Charles grinned.

“Arrogance…” Peter whispered, before throwing the black dart conjured in his hand. It flew true and exploded right in the face of the red-haired mage.

“Wha!”

“Traitor!”

The voices around Peter screamed in shock but the black-robed mage simply stared, before starting his speech.

“As Charles - the outpost overseer - was interrupting the proceedings needed to save the Geinard Kingdom, I Peter took it upon myself to depose of his tyrannical rule. As the first order of business--”

The rest of his words broke away when Charles’ unharmed figure appeared from the darkness. Not waiting for a counterattack Peter started chanting again.

“STOP!” A furious roar from Charles interrupted his spell, and then... lifted him in the air, and threw the man on the ground.

“Argh!” He landed heavily and yelled in pain, before forcing his screams down, and staring at the glowering former noble. “H-how can you control elements directly! Y-you! What level are you?!” The mage screamed hysterically.

Instead of answering red-haired mage pushed his arms forward, before gathering mana into them, a small, volatile flame responding to his call. He breathed in and out, focusing on enlarging the fire dancing on his palms. At the same time, I felt a familiar pulling and the pure red had been tainted with a foul green color.

Yet the magic kept increasing its volume, sucking mana out of me and Charles both. Its greedy growth only stopped when a human-sized orb floated above the former noble’s head.

“W-wha… w-what is that!” Peter screamed once again, this time the other mages joining the chorus and scrambling out of the way.

“It’s unstable!”

“R-run!”

“H-how is he controlling that thing?”

A crazy grin appeared on Charles’ face. “Now, what were you saying earlier about leaving the outpost behind and hiding in Shieldstar?” His level words turning accusatory, as he spoke to Peter.

“N-n-n…”

“What were you saying about it being a noble affair, huh? YOU COMMONER SCUM?”

“A-aaaaaah!”

“I want him in chains when I’ll come back. Move Agnes into a better chamber and get the healers to look after her. I want to know what is ailing her.”

“Yes, sir!” The surrounding soldiers saluted, their gazes still following the oversized fireball. The people scrambled out of the way, the fiery inferno dancing on Charles’ palms.

From my perspective, he looked kinda funny - a red-haired guy with his arms stretched forward, pushing the levitating ball of death. Nobody in the human army laughed though. I guess the temperature made it hard to do so.

Even now I could see Charles’ lips turning dry and cracked. I also turned out to be the only witness of his rambling monologue.

“There he comes, to my house, to my refuge and tells me - me! - that Agnes’ business is not my business! That it’s a noble affair and I am no longer a noble. The gall of this dimwitted cretin is… Arrrrrgh!”

“I am, for better or worse, her fiancėe. She’s the only one that didn’t abandon me to the wolves. The only one who sees Charles, not a son of Blueflame. Or a breeding horse.” His jaw clenched angrily. “I will not let her out of my reach anymore. Kingdom be damned!”

“Focus, focus, focus. One thing after another. Little steps. The first order of business is to send this Firebomb into enemy ranks.” He chuckled darkly. “Shouldn’t it be called Greater Firebomb, or something, considering the amount of mana I pumped inside?”

The said spell wobbled and was beginning to tear at the seams, small wisps of flame breaking free from the overall oval shape. These actively tried to attack anyone coming close, their desire to burn clear even over the distance.

Yet somehow they avoided the caster, not that it made any difference. Charles’ clothes and skin were signed by the virtue of simply stranding close to the inferno.

“Now how should I do it?” The mage mused, ignoring the eye-drying heat.

“I should probably push it through the ranks…”

[Or lob it like a grenade.] I added unconsciously.

“Or lob it like… a bomb.” He repeated after me.

We both blinked in confusion before Charles grinned again. “Yes. Yes! That works!”

The earlier comical posture had been replaced by another one, not much better. This time he kneeled, before changing his hands into claws and moving them behind his head. The ball of death followed his motions. And then he jumped up and I had experienced the coolest overhead throw of my life.

With a gracious inevitability, the Firebomb traveled up in the sky before landing in the middle of the undead army.

What followed was a large explosion, deafening and blinding anyone stupid enough to gaze upon it. It didn’t have the “nuclear mushroom” shape, instead, the flames spread circularly, burning and melting everything along the way. My hazy memory likened it to a “jumping betty” explosion, only magnified a hundredfold. Except shrapnel had been replaced with fire wisps which exploded on contact.

The liches shields only made the attack worse - rather than letting it land on the ground and then exploding, the damage radius had been enlarged because the burst happened in the air. It had swept both magical defenses and enemy soldiers under it in a grandiose fashion.

The battlefield grew silent, a large crater remaining where abominations had been spotted. The earth melted, turning into a glassed ring, where the temperature was still hellishly high. Human forces stared with fanatical eyes at heavily breathing Charles, their murmurs of awe and fear combining into a background hum.

The dead didn’t care. After a moment of respite, they funneled through remaining “safe” passages. Their hunger and hatred knew no bounds. No simple fiery destruction would be enough to stop them. The intelligence behind them maybe could be intimidated but these simple creatures knew not of such things.

“That felt good.” Charles mumbled under his nose. “Nothing works out the frustration better than wanton destruction.”

After noticing the gazes he raised his voice. “Focus on the chokepoints. The magic should hold for at least an hour. If the situation turns for the worse send another runner.”

“Sir!”

“Dismissed.” The mage shook his hand weakly before stumbling back to the outpost.

The human army concentrated their efforts on stopping the undead, the heavy weapon users mingling with shield and spear-bearing infantry. The ranged forces redoubled their efforts, defenders’ attacks doing some real damage now, that enemy magicians kept their head down. Even the brainless horde attack turned out a bit languid, masses of bodies being thrown against the humans now seeming like an afterthought.

In the meanwhile, Charles’ steps grew heavier and steadier the closer he came to his home. His strained gaze turned into a glare as he transformed into a much more intimidating and authoritative figure.

He threw open the doors inside with a loud bang.

“Grab that worm Peter and move him to the interrogation room!”

“Master, is that wise?” His silver-haired butler, Adam, interjected.

“There are things in life I refuse to let go of, old man.” He smiled bitterly. “It is time to take a stand.” Charles continued in the quieter voice. “It’s not only for myself but for people around me. The Geinard Kingdom is falling apart. Now we must decide - will we throw our lives away for the nation that treats us like tools, or are we going to forge our own path?”

“Are you sure it is the only way?”

“Sure? Gangria’s sweaty ass, no! But the change is coming whether we’re ready or not. I can feel it in the air.”

Adam’s eyes widened. “M-master… what level are you now?” He whispered questioningly.

“It’s strange, you know.” Charles stopped near the entrance, staring at the ground.

“These days my level simply… rises by itself. It did so about 30 minutes ago too.”

Seeing the confused face of his servant the red-eyed mage sighed.

“I’m level 21.”

“Oh… ooooh. And the class?”

“Tainted Fire User.”