“Well, this might be where we part ways,” Rhys sighed as they both let go of the undead bird.

“What?!” Beatrice flinched, turning to him. Her already wide eyes were only widening further.

“You have to admit, an entire army chasing you down is a bit more than bargained for,” he shrugged to her visibly mounting horror. “I overlooked the assassins since Rod likes you, but something like… 500 or so soldiers goes too far beyond any reasonable boundary.”

“We are in this together now,” she scrambled. “They will not just let you go either!”

“They are clearly here for you,” Rhys shook his head. “If I bury myself deep enough into the ground, they won’t keep looking for too long. Self-exhumation is always a bit annoying, but it works.”

“I… but,” the girl stammered, almost panicky. Then her eyes sharpened, overtaken by determination. “You could beat an army if you wanted to.”

“That is rather besides the point, and don’t take that as a ‘yes’,” the necromancer shook his.

“What would it cost me?” she pressed. As if it was so simple.

“I am not some evil sage from a fairy tale,” Rhys sighed, seeing her grimly determined stare. “I have no interest in your firstborn or whatever it is you are clearly imagining. This is not a matter of price but principle.”

“Principle?!” her voice rose. “Am I to just die, without even the slightest chance. Do you care so little, to let me be snuffed out without the slightest opportunity?”

“Are you more important than every single person in that army?” Rhys calmly questioned instead. “Or even about a third of them before they would rout. Will more people grieve you than those hundreds? Emotional arguments are not the strongest if I realize what helping you would mean.”

“So all this struggle and pain and hope and despair, all for nothing?” she slumped, glancing out at the approaching torches. They still had a good while before the soldiers got to them. “Beatrice, the unimportant, stabbed in the middle of nowhere and never heard of again.”

“Everyone dies eventually,” Rhys shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, I like you enough that it will be somewhat upsetting. But I hold myself to some principles for very good reasons. Breaking an army is not a choice I am willing to make.”

“Then let me do that instead,” Roderick finally spoke, interrupting their argument.

“So you can talk,” she sighed, her dejection still tangible. “I suppose it is good to know for sure before I die.”

“You said I get a wish at the end of my service,” Rod turned towards Rhys instead of answering. “So, loosen my leash, then lead the girl to safety.”

“You would give up everything again, I see,” Rhys inclined his head. “A second death for strangers you have known a scarce few days and never really spoken to. Battered and broken, embracing oblivion with the self-satisfied smirk of a voluntary martyr.”

“I did not regret the first time,” the knight affirmed, decision already made and set in stone. Rhys could only sigh and nod.

“Does that mean you will help me?” the girl looked between them, a glimmer of hope finding its way into her gaze again. Neither answered her yet.

“I could hardly let you battle without a blade at least,” Rhys sighed again, then reached into his stomach. Flesh parted, allowing the necromancer to withdraw a fist sized cube of unblemished white bone. He also pointedly ignored the newt’s glare - it would have been preferable to not let Beatrice see it, but there was too little time for that.

The cube’s deceivingly intricate mechanism shifted, thinning as it expanded from just a simple block into a large square plate, downright shimmering with all the Change he had forced into it ages prior. Rhys then reached inside it and after a few seconds of searching slowly dragged out a giant fang. A tooth almost as long as Rhys was tall and half as thick as Roderick in all his armor.

“Is that…?” the knight stared at the piece of ivory. Both men were pointedly ignoring Beatrice’s disbelieving mutters about what she was witnessing.

“May it be as close to you in this death as the first time,” Rhys declared, then altered it. The Change coursed across the fang’s surface and beneath, shifting and condensing bit by bit as he willed it into a familiar shape. It took him only a few seconds for the piece of bone to be reforged as a somewhat plain white great sword.

“Hah!” Roderick laughed, taking the weapon in hand. “And I thought all your good jokes were stolen,” then the knight turned towards the girl. “Heads up, young lady. In no world would Roderick de Palamite leave a damsel in distress! How would I bear being myself if I had?”

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“Thank you, I… don’t know what to say,” the girl admitted, fully hopeful by then. “Just thank you.”

“A real knight doesn’t need any thanks, just a cause,” the undead nodded, then turned to leave the cave.

“Well, we should get ready to make use of the distraction,” Rhys shrugged and offered Beatrice his hand to hold.

“Will it be enough?” the girl took it, but still clearly held worries. “They will pursue.”

“The army will have other things to worry about,” the necromancer shrugged, looking out of their cave. Under the dim moonlight, the knight stood tall, unafraid. Ready to battle until his last bone shattered and further still.

Rod had spared no thought to how many children he was about to orphan. Did not count the widows and weeping parents. The likelihood that this kind of incident would ripple across nations and possibly usher into a large scale conflict was never even evaluated.

No. Good Roderick was a proper knight of stories. He saw a hapless maiden in need and would inflict any degree of suffering to perceived foes in order to fulfil his single-minded obsession. Not that Rhys actually held it against the man - he had chosen Roderick's’ company well aware of that - it was more of an observation than criticism.

“It is at least fortunate I managed to hear basically the rest of his tale before today,” the necromancer shared a thought. Thanks to the agreed upon price for teaching Beatrice he could let the knight go without regret.

“Who was he?” Beatrice asked, still holding his hand. Though it was not yet time to make use of it. “Learning that is the least I can do to repay him.”

“Well, recorded history was not particularly kind to good Roderick,” Rhys thoughtfully nodded, considering how to best relay the tale in what little time they had. “Perhaps the knightly order of Pale Roses would have a record of someone by that name. A squire so near graduation had vanished and was presumed dead in the same battle that had claimed the lad’s master. Not that anyone cared too much for the orphan, just a note about the former page in casualty reports.”

“He used a knightly title just before,” the girl observed. “Those usually denote nobility, however meager.”

“Palamite, a joke among the other knights in training,” Rhys nodded. “It is a kind of disliked rose from the area. It doesn’t bloom properly, as unlike most such flowers, it will shed its petals not long before other similar blossoms grow into their characteristic beauty. In other words, someone who couldn’t quite make it all the way to an official knighthood - though Roderick wore that choice proudly.”

“And no one ever wrote down anything more?” she asked. There was definitely still nervousness in her, though she clearly no longer believed that death was certain - or even likely. The torches were visibly getting close by then.

“Not by name, just a few hints in places,” Rhys nodded. “Knight errant proving small help where he could is remembered fondly but not often written about. You might at most find one scornful letter from a Baron, talking about a nameless scoundrel who had kidnapped his arranged bride-to-be. And lastly, hear a strange legend from a small village. Of a strange beast that would steal cattle under moon’s light, terrorizing the poor farmers for months. Until one day a knight arrived, promising to solve the community’s plight, only to never return. The problem did really stop, though nobody ever found any corpses.”

“You have mentioned that you found him in a collapsed cave, 20 years after death,” Beatrice remembered. The soldiers had shot a barrage of arrows while he had been speaking and were quickly realizing that even the few that passed through the armor had no effect on the lone foe they could see.

“Yes. Still stuck in the beast’s limp mouth, a fang piercing most of his torso just below the lungs,” Rhys nodded. The soldiers had formed proper ranks and were approaching in the dim light of torches. Not too wary, for what was there to fear from a single man? “His armor had half melted into flesh and still, with single-minded determination, the lone knight had pushed through agony and death’s brink to fell his foe in turn. With a remaining arm, he had pierced his blade through the roof of the beast’s mouth.”

The first rank of soldiers was cleaved in half with a single swing, so fast it seemed as thought the movement had been instant. Shield nor armor could slow it down. After all, what was mortal steel before the knight's peerless Deed?

“So hear, of Ser Roderick de Palamite,” Rhys spoke into the shocked silence as every other person froze in surprise. “Deserter of pointless wars, champion of any meek he beheld, gallant of a half-moon night; and - as far as I know - this era’s first and only dragonslayer.”

The soldiers began to regroup, caught completely off guard but not fully panicking. The fear was almost tangible from the few that saw what had just happened, but they remained disciplined. Officers snapped orders as they reassessed the sheer threat they would be dealing with.

“Let’s go,” Rhys said, and let the Change surge between him and the newt. He willed for the world to become wholly unaware of their duo. It naturally strained against that restriction but futilely. The necromancer held unto the spell with ironclad will and made the struggling counterforce abide.

Beatrice tried to scream questions at him, but no sound actually left her mouth. The only reason they could even see each other was because they still held hands. To everyone else, they might as well not have been there. No steps to track would be left to follow as the very world forget their passing as he dragged her along. Out of the cave and into a gap among the soldiers as they regrouped to fight their unexpectedly dangerous foe.

Rhys spared back a few glances as they went. At his companion’s last stand. The whole army was fully focused on the lone knight, and the outcome was becoming clearer by the moment. Roderick had been cleaving through them at first, but the commanders weren’t stupid and quickly refocused on containment and range. His armor was already damaged as more arrows and rocks impacted on it. Rod would take a chunk out of them, but even the greatest warrior could be eventually surmounted by sheer numbers and attrition. Yet Roderick would struggle until the very bones of his body were ground to dust. Unyielding as long as he had a single limb to move, dauntlessly battling till the very last moment, all for a desperate maiden he barely even knew.

And the necromancer was almost sure that was exactly the kind of death his good knight had always wanted.