A panting Eric found himself standing in a final circle of bodies, his blade held in tierce, the tip dripping rivulets of sticky black blood as he glared out at the world.

His lips were twisted in a fierce rictus of a grin, not quite sure whether what he felt was terror, fury, or furious exultation, settling at last for a triumphant roar as he shouted the words that would bind the fallen to him til the end of time.

“Surge, centuria! Imperator imperat tibi!”

The smoke-filled battlefield comprised of torn up earth and countless splayed bodies began to twitch and shudder. Rivers of black ichor defied the natural order as shattered bodies drank deep of death’s bitter nectar. Drank deep and grew strong, shattered bones resealing themselves with crackling snaps while flesh twisted and roped around gaping wounds before pulling itself tight, leaving nothing save black scars twisted in knots eerily similar to the runes of Resilience and Dominion.

On some level, Eric was well aware of how horrifying the sight of the battlefield’s transformation would be to countless others. Himself too, had he glimpsed any necromancer performing this right, just a year ago. Yet all he felt as that moment was exultation and sweetest triumph as first one, then another, then hundreds of former enemies stood upright and whole, fully intact once more. And every single one of them, including the ones he had risen in battle, including the former shaman himself, gazed Eric’s way with absolute rigid discipline, slamming fists to chests with inhuman precision.

“Ave Imperator Abediomus!”

“Damn right you do!” Eric gave a satisfied nod, cracking his neck, more grateful than he’d like to admit that he’d managed to survive both traps, and knowing all too well that his ordeal had just begun.

“Alright boys, you’re marching to Queensland! No way in hell you’re catching up to me in time. But if five hundred troops suddenly flash on my enemy’s interface in the near future, that’s one more distraction for them to think long and hard about.”

Eric frowned, feeling a chill of apprehension he couldn’t quite suppress, forcing himself to face facts before he went charging off into madness once more.

As much as he wanted to be the hero… he had nearly gotten killed facing a single level 50 Classer and his troops. Nearly gotten killed twice over, taking on a pair of level fifties who were the last thing from being pushovers, even if his daring, or at least his survival, had earned him levels in turn. Yet his narrow victories didn’t change the fact that he didn’t have a chance in hell of facing down 3 shamans and 4 stone throwing giants. In addition to another two thousand troops who were probably the farthest thing from classless musketeers that could only be said to be equivalent to a level 10 Conscript on a good day. They would probably all be Berserkers and Spearmen, kitted like their classless counterparts to throw the surviving elves off just like his present crop of revenants had been, and all of them would be at least level 20, the Berserkers in particular closer to an absurd level 30, the absolute Council-sanctioned limit, he was almost certain.

Even Eric trying to face all that head on was a sure recipe for an early grave. Especially if any of them possessed gravity magics like the spells that had come so close to killing him, less than an hour ago.

He broke out in a cold sweat as memory’s claws sunk into his psyche, trying desperately not to think about how it had felt when the earth had started slanting at a steeper and steeper angle… so steep he could hardly keep his feet… until finally, it had toppled over, and he had been forced to fight for his life while dangling from the neck of an orc that had wanted him dead. And he had come so close to being just as dead as the five hundred plus revenants saluting him even now.

Just thinking about it made him sick to his stomach.

He gazed down at his own trembling claw of a hand.

“Stop it,” he hissed, glaring at his arm showing such weakness until it straightened as it should, and the shudders lessened even if they didn’t stop completely. He then reflexively clawed at the ground, all too easily able to imagine the entire world abruptly tipping over again. A fear he dreaded would turn into a phobia of wide-open spaces if he didn’t put a stop to it now.

He took a slow, steadying breath, making full use of his 22 Scholarship to flow back into the memory of those moments, to understand how he felt. To come to terms with it.

To master it.

Yet when he closed his eyes, walking back through memory, all he could see was blackness. All he could hear were the shaman’s words, whispering through his skull.

For just a moment his was flooded with a lurching panic…

before realizing just how fundamental those words were.

Each with their own truth.

Their own ability to shape reality.

Each a word of power.

Words of power that he would claim as his own.

Eric’s eyes snapped open. He lurched upright and pointed his finger at his closest revenant.

“Incurvo gravitas unus attentio!”

The revenant lurched off its feet and began tumbling back until it stopped and picked itself up, as Eric ordered it to do, now looking as if it was struggling to climb a cliff as it approached Eric again.

Eric flashed a smile of fierce satisfaction even as he felt his Mana and Qi pools both slowly trickle down as he poured his focus into this attention duration chant.

But he wasn’t quite done yet.

“Inverto gravitas unus attentio!”

He couldn’t help but yell in triumph as his revenant began tumbling up into the heavens. Then he ceased concentrating on the chant and the revenant’s arc slowed, as if at the apex of a magnificent leap, before plummeting back to the ground.

Eric winced at the sound it made when it collapsed in a heap. Unduly graceful, his revenants were not. But 24 Bonus levels and Mark of Resilience meant that falling on a grassy field would result in minimal damage, even from fifty feet. Perhaps even from several hundred.

Eric was somewhat curious as to just how far he could have pushed it, but even a couple seconds had revealed the sweet, sweet potential of that particular chant, the runes now clearly solidified in his mind.

Congratulations! You have successfully incorporated four additional runes into your lexicon!

Runic Lore is now Rank 13!

One of your revenants requests release!

Eric blinked, furrowing his brow as his eyes darted for the stoic-looking shaman who, if anything, radiated a supernatural vitality far beyond what his body had possessed in life. But the pain Eric sensed in its ancient eyes as it continued chanting aloud the deepest secrets of its soul moved him more than he cared to admit.

He jerked a quick nod. “You are released from service. May your next incarnation on the great wheel of life be a peaceful one.”

And for just a second, Eric saw a relieved smile filled with the warmth and good cheer. Struck by the image of a much younger orc. A happy-go-lucky adventurer, a hard drinker, a boon companion Eric could almost picture himself having enjoyed many wild hair-raising adventures with...countless lifetimes ago.

Then Eric blinked and the vision was gone. As was the shaman, nothing but a pile of rich looking topsoil where the revenant had once stood.

Eric shivered, frowning down at his own goose-bump covered arms, before turning to peer consideringly at his otherwise content-enough looking revenants, his eyes just a little less ruthless than they had been, moments before.

“If anyone else wishes to leave, you are free to do so. The rest of you may savor the joys of life whenever you are summoned, so long as you always obey my commands. Just as you are all free to savor the halcyon dreams of your favorite memories when you rest between battles. This is the boon that I offer to all of my men after death. No matter how at-odds we were in life.”

Much to Eric’s relief, the closest berserkers standing at parade ground readiness merely saluted him, fist to chest, the air ringing with their cry.

“Ave Imperator Abedimus!”

Though the sudden reduction of about 5% of his Spearmen made it clear that his words had not gone unheeded. Which had implications he wasn’t entirely comfortable thinking too long and hard about, right then. But for a dark lord of the dead, Eric judged himself firmly in the B+ category of those one would want for a boss.

He frowned thoughtfully, now gazing at his troops with an appraising eye.

Even if he was going to dash ahead, his ring temporarily worthless, so it would be of minimal use for his troops… still, he had one unspent Master Neromancer Perk, and he’d be an idiot not to invest it in his build before what could well be a life and death battle. And considering that some of those perks branched into Blood magic, which could potentially be of great use to Eric whether or not he fought with undead by his side… it was definitely worth considering where best to place it.

Even if he allowed himself no more than five minutes for a quick perusal as he scrolled down and made quick note of the handful of perks he had been considering since he had achieved his latest level up.

Unified Orb (Necromantic tree/Blood Magic tree) This perk will allow all potency stored in your Soul Orb to be used for Blood magic rituals in addition to necromantic ones!

Definitely one he had been eyeing, planning on using just such an infusion of power to allow him to bind his 500 pounds of mithril mail and helm when he finally, hopefully, got access to his equipment once more, refusing to let himself be so casually separated from what could well be the greatest piece of defensive equipment he might own before he eventually ascended to Bronze, assuming he lived long enough to do so. And mithril armor, especially if further enhanced and strengthened with blood magics and resilience runes, might just be his ticket to doing so. Without it, he could only hope that a full Master Class level would be enough before he burned through his life force like it was going out of style. And with over 30 years of his future already burned away to nothing as a result of desperation, ignorance, and being an absolute novice at such a perilous craft, that was one series of mistakes he was resolved to never repeating again. He was beyond lucky that the Divine Tier Spirit Fruit now blazing like miniature cores in all of his meridians might have brought him time. How much, he might never now. He knew only that he could never count on such a fortuitous encounter again.

Even better, he could just make out in the crimson mists of possibility that once he chose that perk, additional ones would soon open up to him that would prove incalculably useful for surviving future fights, including a Vampiric Restoration variant that would automatically heal a portion of the melee damage he himself inflicted in combat, though it would slowly deplete his Soul Orb, at least at Rank 1.

Eric clenched his fists with a growing sense of excitement. This was it! That path that would shore up his personal defenses in ways he desperately needed! Personal Vampiric Restoration, along with his class-based Unified Restoration just might open a synergistic path that would allow him to overcome whatever obstacles the future threw his way.

Willpower check: successful!

And how hard it was, not to immediately slam his finger on the metaphoric shiny blue perk button in his mind’s eye and claim his prize. But he would hold back. Exercise at least a measure of discipline and review, one last time, the other options he had to choose from. Because even if they were locked tightly out of his reach right now, he would free his army one way or another, and boosts to them would have a devastating impact on future territory battles to come.

He took a calming breath, forced to admit that the perks available to him would be powerful enhancements indeed.

Mark of Resilience II

Requirements: Essence of Resilience or Dominion. Access to the Rune of Resilience (Or similar Elite tier Ritual Magics / any Bronze Tier Ritual Spell) 10+ Necromancer Legion boosting perks. - Requirements met! Each tier 2 mark will boost the Vitality and durability of your revenants by 20% for every necromancer perk that enhances your revenants! At your current power level, this would = an additional 120% bonus to the Vitality and durability of your revenants!

Eric gave a low whistle. The resilience of his revenants was already beyond the pale, seeing as musket balls and pretty much any piercing attack would do superficial damage at best, as their internal organs were completely unnecessary, and physical damage to bones, muscles, and ligaments caused no pain or blood loss, merely steady damage to the automaton like structure as a whole Damage that his Vampiric Restoration perk would naturally heal with every injury or kill his troops made in battle. Add to that the 24 levels his troops got just for being under his command and the total bonus Resilience Mark 1&2 would give him would be a cumulative 240%. His troops could serve as immovable bulwarks. He’d have an army of damage sponge tanks under his command.

He chuckled softly, realizing that the choice of the ideal perk wasn’t as quite as clear cut as he had first thought, especially since any path that would lead to him vampirically feeding on his kills in the heat of combat were at least 2 perks and one massive deadly encounter distant.

He frowned in thought, quickly going over and discarding the other perks he had been eyeballing.

Frenzied Power would give his revenants a massive boost to strength, allowing them to blow through enemy parries and counters even more savagely than before with a 33% increase to damage, multiplicative of all other factors, and Frenzied Speed was at least as useful, allowing them to attack and dodge 33% faster than they otherwise would, making them true terrors on the battlefield.

The only one he wasn’t really impressed by was Death March. Because as cute as it might be to have troops that marched in lockstep with him, slow moving revenants were only a temporary concern that would last only as long as it took him to free his ring of curse shaman restrictions. Then troop speed wouldn’t be any issue at all. He would be able to effortlessly retrieve and redeploy his troops in the blink of an eye. Best of all, no one would have a clue as to his true revenant strength when he crossed enemy boarders if it was just him slipping between enemy lines. Not until it was time for the killing blow.

Eric kissed his serpentine ring, truly in love with a piece of jewelry for the first time in his life. “I’ll bet whoever’s in charge of Dominion Map Interface synergisms absolutely hates me having you, and never had to deal with necromancers who can store their troops before they cross boarders before. No wonder all the System leaching bureaucrats despises wildcards like us! We can throw a wrench in their steamrolling native populations like those people less than nothing. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s why the System specifically allows for cultural preservation of native magics in the first place.”

But the System sure as shit didn’t come with training wheels. If he was stupid enough to play the fool, then his Interface would do absolutely nothing to protect him. It sure as heck wasn’t going to help him pick the best Necromancy level-up perk. But save for the troop movement one, all his other choices had significant benefits that would continue to be relevant pretty much forever. Further, he sensed that each and every path forward would continue to evolve as he put points into them, and would no doubt allow for even sweeter boons down the line. Even if, at this point in time, Mark of Resilience II with its multiple synergistic boons was clearly head and shoulders above the others.

Then he froze, realizing that he was being a complete idiot.

He paused to take a second look at the perk he had been so ready to dismiss out of hand.

Death March! This Master Necromancer perk assures that all your troops will be able to match your pace at all times!

His heart began to race with something close to wonder. Such a basic sounding perk, it’s only requirement being 5 other perks along the necromancer tree.

He shook his head before gazing at his troops, wondering how he could have been such a fool as to not immediately appreciate just how awesome a perk this could potentially be.

It would allow his 480 or so revenants to match his pace. Stride for stride. Six hundred pound beasts wielding bayoneted muskets. It only took a couple minutes careful inspection for Eric to spot the unmistakable quality of the armaments, noting how each musket stock had been reinforced with steel bands and forge-welded 18-inch bayonets made of top quality sword steel.

Clearly the level 50 mercenaries he was being forced to face had not been stinting on troop gear. Not even when they kitted Berserker and Spearmen Classers as if they were but classless musketeers. Their guns were razor sharp armor piercing spears first, muskets second. For all Eric knew, a single volley was all they needed to crack Sylvan resistance and then flood their fortifications with almost two thousand troops comprised of level 20 Spearmen and Berserkers near level 30. A force that would make mincemeat mincemeat of a lesser number of elves, so many of them women and children and only a fraction of them leveled up in any meaningful way at all. Of the entire Sylvan force, led only by a handful anywhere near level 30. And how ironic it was that Redtooth and his fellows had been so eager for verisimilitude and troop flexibility that they had given all their men not one but two powder horns. An observation which immediately elicited a bitter chuckle at just how thorough and savage that level 50 bastard had been. Eric chuckled bitterly, wondering just how deep the rabbit hole of corruption and hidden aces went, wondering if he’d find that the so-called muskets were actually breach loading rifles if he took a closer look.

So he did, bemused smirk turning to wide-eyed alarm when words said almost as a charm against did, in fact, state nothing but the truth. Because not only were the bores both rifled and breach loading, the weapons came damn close to lever action, using an odd combination of paper cartridges, lever, and flash pan that implied a damn scary rate of fire indeed. If anything, it looked several generations beyond even the most sophisticated black powder weapons Eric had ever seen in a museum or read about online. It was as if black powder rifles had continued to evolve in a world where the primers humans used to take for granted would never become a thing.

His sense of foreboding only grew when the closest revenant surrendered a full box of premade rifle cartridges, all of them made of a hardened papyrus-like paper that kept its shape quite well. He also found full packs of papyrus squares in back pouches all his revenants wore.

Eric stepped back, shaking his head with dismay when he saw what else they were carrying.

“Fuck it all. You guys even have molds for a different-shaped slug than the typical musket ball. I’ll bet you all had standing orders to melt down all the lead used by the orc losers who came before you. Because your powder horns were a long term investment. You’d be putting together fresh papyrus cartridges after every battle, I fucking bet. Which would also explain how three of you actually managed to hit me with shot when I first sprinted past you, well out a musket’s range. I should have figured it out what was going on right then. Fuck!”

Eric broke out in a cold sweat at the thought of Elonia having to face not just a massive swarm of classless musket-wielding orcs, but over 2,000 Berserkers and Spearmen, each and every one of them trained to snipe with actual rifles that they might be able to fire at least as fast as trained English soldiers had once fired their smooth bore muskets.

Eric didn’t need any tactician to explain to him how quickly those riflemen could take out just a fraction as many bowmen, perhaps only a couple hundred decently leveled Sylvan Classer, no matter how good their archer perks, or much cover the elves thought their repaired wall and keep brought them. Especially if the Classers were only counting on one volley to snipe any bowmen before charging in unison to absolutely deadly effect.

Eric couldn’t help cursing under his breath. “Fuck. There’s no way this operation was a last minute thing! The orcs and goblins… hell, the entire Bloodtear Syndicate, and I’ll bet the entire fucking corrupt council, had this in the wings from the very fucking start! Backup fucking contingency if the pig-faced steeds they were backing stumbled at any time during the race!”

Eric flashed a bitters smile, shaking his head. Because he had absolutely no doubt that the orcs would be paying zero penalty fees at all. The goblins had had this entire farce of a contest rigged from the very beginning, in every way conceivable. Because even if they held on to only a tiny handful of territories and Freetowns, they still had their claws locked tight on the financial lifeblood of Earth’s future, their collars around far too many necks, and the entire orc faction that now included several thousand level 20 or higher Spearmen and Berserkers armed with bayoneted rifles now acting as their muscle, with the entire Terran Council firmly in their back pocket.

Their early game win seemed like a sure fucking thing.

Eric eased his clenched fists, ignoring the furious pounding of his heart, focusing on what mattered. Picking the perk that would break his enemies’ lock on this world for all time.

Because his troops, his men, his revenants, had no vital organs at all. They didn’t give a fuck how many armor piercing slugs were shot into their Resilience-enhanced flesh, and they were all about to get a significant upgrade.

Instead of shambling forward, his men would soon be moving at a speed that he suspected would put the fear of god into almost any opponent.

They’d soon be more impressive than a full regiment of cavalry, banners flapping in the wind.

Because his revenants wouldn’t just be moving at the pace of a charging knight in full plate, leaning over with a couched lance as they braced for impact.

They would be moving at nearly five times that speed.

One hundred and twenty miles an hour, which Eric could keep up for literal hours with no problem at all.

Eric’s heart raced as he made his choice, gazing at his still saluting troops with a fierce surge of pride as he quickly raced for the keep that had come so close to being overrun.