It had taken a while before Earon had gathered the courage to yoink his spear from the dead zombie's head, and a mixture of relief and disgust had followed when its head crumbled in the process.
If the encounter had proven one thing, it was the importance of keeping his new spear close.
However, a new predicament presented itself. The zombie had been the first thing besides trees he had come across since arriving in the forest; on the other hand, it had tried to kill him. Making him pause and consider his next steps.
He couldn't linger, Earon knew that much. Hunger would bite harder soon, and fatigue would follow. Plus, he kind of hated the idea of trying to camp out in a forest where zombies roamed.
Ultimately, Earon kept going in the same direction, figuring the zombie had been completely unaware of his presence until he ran right up to it. If he saw another, he could take more care with his approach. And if there were zombies, there had to have been people – once upon a time at least, which meant civilization.
The gamble had turned out correct, and only a few minutes later did the clangs of metal echo in the distance.
There was a chance it was more zombies, but something had to be fighting them, Earon figured as he ran toward the commotion, an unfamiliar sense of confidence and excitement filling him.
Gradually more and more overgrown graves dotted the ground and the trees thinned out. It appeared to be an ancient or just untended graveyard, and Earon quickly realized he had become a spectator of a small skirmish.
A zombie was split in two as a large man with flowing brown hair swung an axe, followed by an arrow whizzing past and knocking the head straight off of a walking, skeletal corpse.
About half a dozen undead, a mixture of skeletons and zombies engaged the group, with another dozen ambling toward them from across the graveyard.
The fight seemed to be going the way of the living, and almost every strike landed true on the cumbersome, undead combatants.
“Watch out!” A cloaked figure shouted, diving over a stone plaque and into a roll as streams of blackish-green fumes whizzed through the air and smashed into the plaque a second later.
"Magic," Earon mouthed. These were real adventurers battling monsters. Watching from a safe distance, he was able to appreciate the heroics, and a thin, childish grin crept across his face.
However, the spell wouldn't be dodged so easily, and a cloud of toxic-looking mist spread out from where the ribbons of dark green hit the plaque. Holding a clothed hand to his face, the cloaked figure came coughing in a stumbled retreat.
Earon's eyes widened. The man hadn't even been close to the dark green cloud itself. That spell was powerful.
Rah, the big man roared and jumped forward cutting down another zombie with a powerful swing.
“Get back, you idiot.” Shouted a hardy, feminine voice. And whilst Earon couldn’t spot its origin, it sounded familiar.
Flying across the graveyard, came another stream of foul blackish green, weaving through the air like magical snakes. The spell only barely missed the hulking man but that didn’t seem to matter. He fell to one knee, groaning as he wrapped a hand over his shoulder. It was the same toxic cloud from earlier, seeming to have a radius beyond what could be seen by the naked eye.
They weren't winning, Earon realized. Not against whoever or whatever was flinging those spells at them.
Thinning his eyes, Earon peered through the graveyard. He was a man, thin like a stick, entirely dressed in black, wearing a large, wide-brimmed hat and covered in tightly fitting robes. He carried a staff of some kind, but Earon couldn't make out the details from here.
Confliction grew within. He wanted to run and be smart like his mother had always told him. But Earon had also grown up in the Rye, and whilst ryemen weren't warriors or heroes usually, they did believe in helping where they could. Could he help, though?
Dying of starvation in the forest wasn't really a better solution, however, Earon might be able to trace the tracks left by the adventurers.
Crouching low, Earon decided to circle the graveyard. He hadn't decided what his plan of action would be, but he was drawing blanks from where he currently was.
Move around, get a closer look at that man in black, then I'll decide. Earon told himself, his inner ryeman incapable of just abandoning the strangers without a closer look.
"Look after me, Jorral," Earon whispered a prayer.
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Barely a few steps and a trig snapped loudly underfoot. He groaned at his luck.
Argghah.
Earon jumped and turned. Only a few meters from him stood a zombie that bent its head as it locked onto him. He had been so focused on the battle and forgot to consider that there might be more of the undead around.
The walking corpse lurched forward. Unfortunately, Earon didn't have the instinct nor combat wit to sit back on his spear and hope the dumb thing ran into it. Instead, he ran.
Get the hell away from that thing! Was the only thought playing in Earon’s as mind he leaped over a gravestone and dashed into the clearing.
Zombies piqued their heads and tilted toward Earon as he flashed by, some jerking into action, but they were too slow to keep up with the erratic flight that saw him skidding across the dirt and bounding over obstacles.
“Who in the rot-god's realm are you?”
Sliding to a stop, Earon turned toward the unfamiliar voice.
It was the man in black, a snarled, skeletal expression on his gaunt, goateed face as a thin dark brow rose.
"Y-you're the one, using the green magic." Earon turned to point.
"Perceptive, you are."
“Why, why are you attacking those adventurers?" The words flew out of Earon's mouth before he even had a chance to consider what he was doing.
Two zombies had caught up to Earon by now, but the bemused man waved them down and they stopped in their tracks.
"Why does anyone do anything? It's power of course. That little village nearby had no idea a weak mana vein streamed through this place. And with it, I shall strengthen my bonds and get stronger. Then, when the time is right, I shall leave this cursed kingdom and travel across the Hollow Sea and join the Dead Halls with my brethren."
Earon’s stomach sank. "Necromancer?" He shakily murmured.
The man's thin lips curved into a smile.
Bones. The man's staff was made of human remains, Earon realized.
“Nosy villagers and misguided adventurers, there's no end to the noise. And it is always helpful to add more boots to my army of the dead.”
A second later, toxic foul-green ribbons of magic flew out toward Earon.
He wasn't fast enough to dodge, barely fast enough to mentally register the attack, and Earon felt instantly sickened as the magical energy came crashing into him and released a cloud of fumes.
Air left his lungs, and soon Earon was kneedled over, coughing and dry heaving. His stomach felt hard as cement and his lungs burned as if set alight.
"Alive?" The necromancer queried with a tilt of his head. "Hardy, you are. Perhaps I shall fashion you into a flesh walker." He swung the bone staff and another ribbon of green flew forth, crashing into Earon’s already beleaguered form.
It wasn’t just pain; his head was swirling, and he was seeing doubles. It was obvious he couldn’t just keep taking these hits, and willed himself up, blindly charging forward with his spear extended.
“What?!” The necromancer screeched in disbelief.
He hadn't even time to command his zombies to continue their attack, and the few meters between them were covered in an instant.
The shock never left the necromancer's face as the spear impaled through his chest. Earon's eyes were still squeezed shut and only gasped for air once he had pushed the two of them into a giant yew a few meters behind him, halting the charge.
Befuddled, the necromancer looked down at the spear extending from his chest.
"How?" he coughed, expelling a torrent of black blood, his head shook and jerked for a moment, spattering more blood before finally limply slumping.
Earon stood in near-equal disbelief. He had killed a man. Even if he had been evil, he was human.
Sickness swelled within and Earon fell back from the body and doubled over, expelling his guts.
Wiping his face, there was a degree of excitement that filled Earon after the immediate thought of killing a man subsided. He had defeated a real caster. That was no easy feat, even for veteran adventurers, based on the songs bards sang.
The nearby walking corpses became unstable only seconds later, and soon they were lifeless tumbling to the ground, the necromancer’s magic leaving their bodies.
***
Skill upgraded – Polearms (Passive) Fighting with polearm weapons; 1 - 5.
Spell upgraded – Magic resistance (Spell) Mastery of the magic resistance spell; 3 - 5.
***
Earon could hardly believe his eyes. He had never heard of anyone gaining anywhere near this many skill points all at once. Heck, most people would be over the moon if they received even a single skill increase after an entire day of hard work. Though, he had never been in battle until recently and had heard defeating enemies increased one's skills far quicker. Still, this seemed like a lot.
***
Warlock – Level 3 achieved.
Warlock – Level 4 achieved.
***
Earon blinked in disblief. It was one thing to gain a bunch of skill points, and another thing entirely to get two level-ups at once. He had never even heard of someone gaining two levels in a single month, let alone two on the same day. His condition was special of course. Babies and toddlers would usually be gaining these levels, and learning to talk and walk didn't provide levels, or skills. So naturally, it would be considerably easier for an adult going through the same experience.
Status!
***
Warlock – Level 4
***Skills & Abilities***
Polearms (5)
Navigator (2)
Arcane knowledge (1)
Rune Crafting (Body Transmutation) (2)
Mana Sense (1)
***Spells***
Magic resistance (5)
***
It was still kind of depressing looking at his status screen, and most people would no doubt mock him if they knew he was only level 4, but it was better than 1. And if he could keep a pace like this, well, maybe it wasn't so bad.
“You," a snide voice called. "What do you think you're doing here?"
The rogue, barbarian, and the archer from the Withering Vine. Earon had thought he recognized them, but now, stepping through the glade with the filtered light piercing through the canopy above, it was clear.
The cowled rogue, Fane was chugging a vial of something blue, whilst his free hand still gripped one of his daggers.
The chimera, whom Earon remembered as Iliana notched a new arrow, and the big guy, Dordan rubbed some kind of ointment upon his shoulder.
“Don't play dumb. Ain't nobody else alive around here." Fane said, kicking the skull of a skeletal corpse as he walked.
Earon’s smile quickly faded as he saw the less-than-impressed expressions plastered across their faces.
“Me?" Earon placed a hand on his chest, then looked back down at the dead necromancer again. "I guess this requires some explaining."