The Undead found them again, only a short distance from the first battle. Once again, Syr Katherine kept them moving forward, ignoring the groups of monsters that trailed in their wake or shadowed them from the sides. She didn’t stop until they were once again surrounded, and once again, they only paused long enough to annihilate the enemy before moving on.
It seemed like his companions were even faster the second time. Even with the Refrain, Clay only managed to kill a group of corporals, and a pair of the riders. The third time he got three of the archers, and almost nothing else. The others smashed and crushed their way through the Undead as if they were barely even there.
As their march continued, however, the land around them only grew worse in its corruption. More and more of the too-smooth trees were present, along with patches of brown grass. Snarls of bone-white undergrowth appeared as well, a kind of twisted, pale thornbush that stood out against the grey soil and black trees in a way that unsettled him. There was something else, too, a hint of a kind of howling wind that brushed against Clay’s ethereal senses, always coming from the south.
It was a short while after the thornbushes began to appear when Clay began sensing another group of Undead chasing them. This group felt different, however. There didn’t seem to be as many of them, but they were hesitating less, as if their lack of numbers didn’t matter.
When he informed Syr Katherine, she simply nodded. “Lesson four, the closer one gets to the entrance of a Dungeon, the higher the level of monsters you will encounter, just like with a Lair. Anticipate greater resistance as you get closer, especially just in front of the entrance.”
Clay nodded, feeling a bit of foreboding hang in the air afterwards. A few moments later, Syr Katherine once again called for a circle and waited for the Undead to launch their assault.
The enemy did not disappoint her.
He watched as the Undead arrived out of the forest, stepping around the thornbushes and trees as they gathered. This time, their weapons and armor were different. Usually, the levies had an eclectic mix of farm tools and improvised weapons, with only rags to serve as protection. Now, they all wielded halberds and wore the same helmet and gambeson combination that the corporals used.
Clay’s eyes narrowed. “These aren’t corporals.”
Taylor chuckled behind him. “A good catch, Sir Clay. Likely these are the next rank of monsters.”
A dim realization washed over him as he searched the enemy ranks. “Where are the ones in charge? I don’t see them.”
The others paused, and Clay shook his head as a pack of hounds gathered at the Undead host’s feet. There were a few more than there had been before, and he couldn’t see any of the archers, either. Worse, when he looked back and forth along the road, all he saw was a wave of dark fog that concealed anything inside it. If the riders were there, they were completely invisible.
Taylor responded a moment later. “Looks like they get a bit more clever about hiding within their ranks. Seems inconvenient.”
Orn shrugged. “As long as they are still corporeal, we should be fine. Just keep steady.”
Syr Katherine nodded. “Prepare your [Chants]. We need to finish this one quickly and move ahead.”
The adventurers began to mutter to themselves. Clay’s mind was racing. Each time he’d faced a higher-level monster, he’d needed to adapt his tactics. Simply continuing to do the same thing had almost never worked, and even with his companions’ stunning level of power, he didn’t think it would make that much more of a difference here.
Clearly, the Undead had a weakness before. Killing the leader made their hordes fall to pieces. Now they had covered it by concealing the leaders somehow, which meant they needed to adapt in order to buy themselves time to find the real targets.
He knew the riders could see through the fog just fine. These creatures most likely could see heat, the same way the corporals and levies could in the Sarlwood, so a little obscuring mist wasn’t going to change anything. The archers weren’t using mist, though. Had they simply stayed back and sent the hounds ahead?
Then a shadow passed over his head. He looked up, confused.
High up in the sky, there were half a dozen birds circling them. Buzzards, maybe, looking to scavenge a corpse.
Except he hadn’t seen a single hint of wildlife in hours. When he narrowed his eyes, staring upwards, the wings seemed thin and skeletal. As if the birds were already dead.
Realization burst over him, and Clay grimaced. He spoke quietly. “As soon as they charge, we have to move. Don’t stay in one place. Charge them if you have to!”
There was no answer as they continued their [Chants]. Clay crouched down a little lower and began a [Chant] of his own. Instead of the Refrain to call on the Canticle of Ice again, this time he chose the Ballad of Air.
He’d just about completed it when the Undead moved. The fog rolled forward, and the hounds leaped. A rattling chorus followed them all as the rest of the Undead charged towards the adventurers caught between them.
Clay reacted instantly. He charged the nearest group of levies, his feet pounding across the lifeless dirt of the road. Out of the corners of his eyes, he was gratified to see Orn and Syr Katherine sprint forward as well, though he couldn’t see what Taylor was doing.
He crossed the distance between him and the enemy in moments. The hounds reached him first, and his spear lashed out in a quick succession of blows.
{Corpse Hound slain!}
{Corpse Hound slain!}
{Corpse Hound slain!}
As the shattered hounds tumbled away, he saw the halberds come down, presenting him with a wall of spearpoints. He swung and hacked at them, but only really managed to keep the levies at bay.
Behind him, falling from an otherwise clear sky, a rain of bone-white arrows pattered into the dirt of the road, right where he and his companions had been standing. Clay allowed himself a grunt as he realized he’d been right. The archers were using the dead birds as scouts of a sort, and firing from a distance. If they lost those, however…
The Ballad of Air completed, and Clay lashed out with tendrils of wind. He divided them immediately, sending some along the road in both directions, and reaching up with the rest. He saw the fog roll back from the Undead riders as they charged; Clay imagined he could see the shock in their faces as their clouds of concealment were dispelled.
Then Syr Katherine’s [Chant] completed, and a rain of ice took all four of the ones on the south end of the road. Orn slammed into the other four coming in the opposite direction, his hammer lashing out in quick succession.
As the riders died, Clay backed up and strained himself, wrapping thin tendrils around each Undead bird. They tumbled from the sky, crashing into the unnatural forest a moment later.
{Corpse Bird slain!}
{Corpse Bird slain!}
{Corpse Bird slain!}
{Corpse Bird slain!}
{Corpse Bird slain!}
{Corpse Bird slain!}
With the archers blinded, Clay switched [Chants]. This time he called on the Flame-Tongued Song, hoping he’d be able to complete it before the wall of halberds closed in on him.
As he backpedaled, lances of ice crashed into the line of levies, disrupting their formation. Orn laughed as a handful of the Undead dropped, and then Clay knocked aside one halberd, slipped past another two, and was inside their formation in heartbeats.
The smell of the Undead—the dry, rotten smell of corpse-dust—assaulted his nostrils as he pressed in close. He felt the first flickerings of the paralyzing gaze the corporals had used, but his [Will] was too high for them to overcome as he tore through their ranks. Clay lashed out and struck, stabbing here, smashing with the counterweight there, and always pressing in closer so that their too-long weapons couldn’t stop him.
{Rotted Levy slain!}
{Rotted Levy slain!}
{Wretched Sargent slain! Soul increases by 40}
{Rotted Levy slain!}
{Rotted Levy slain!}
{Rotted Levy slain!}
Clay grimaced as he confirmed another of his suspicions. The leaders were hiding among their minions now, and the only way to wipe them out would be to kill the whole lot. Unfortunately, the Undead were already giving up on their nice, tidy formation and spreading out so that he couldn’t keep ripping them apart at close range.
It was too later, though. He’d finally finished the Flame-Tongued Song. Clay opened his mouth and spewed fire across the remaining levies, sweeping the incredible heat across them even as they tried to flee. Corpse soldiers burst into flame, their armor failing to save them as the heat and fire consumed their rotten flesh. Undead monsters fell to the grey soil, their forms burning as they died.
{Rotted Levy slain!}
{Rotted Levy slain!}
{Wretched Sargent slain! Soul increases by 40}
{Rotted Levy slain!}
{Rotted Levy slain!}
{Rotted Levy slain!}
{Rotted Levy slain!}
{Rotted Levy slain!}
{Rotted Levy slain!}
The last two of the Undead were staggering away, halberds pointed in his direction. They were still doing so when Orn arrived and smashed the both of them out of existence.
“Well done, young hero! Shall we go take care of the archers, then? I believe that Syr Katherine and Syr Taylor are already after the ones on their side.”
A glance backwards told him that Orn was right. The levies on the far side of the road were already down, and the riders on the road were nothing more than collapsed bodies. Syr Katherine and Taylor were both gone; he thought he saw a flicker of motion in the trees.
He nodded, and they both ran into the forest. Orn forged ahead, occasionally smashing aside smaller thornbushes as they went. The pale things crackled and snapped like they were made of glass or some delicate stone, making Clay wince as he thought of accidentally getting snarled in them. Clay tried to put aside those painful thoughts and focused on the [Chant] for the Cycle of Return.
His senses directed him to a small patch of the paper-grass a short distance from the road. Orn had been about to charge in, when Clay came to a stop. The [Fighter] continued forward a few steps, and then turned, his expression perplexed beneath his helmet visor. “Sir Clay?”
As if they shared the same mind, three archers rose from the grass, arrows already nocked on their bowstrings. Clay saw them start to draw and immediately hurled his spear at the closest one. It took the Undead thing in the chest, knocking it backwards and into the grass.
{Condemned Hunter slain! Soul increases by 40}
{Corpse Bird slain!}
{Corpse Hound slain!}
{Corpse Hound slain!}
Even as Clay continued the [Chant], he dove to the side. One of the archers tracked him, while the other aimed at Orn. The [Fighter]’s eyes had gone wide as Clay’s spear had gone past him. He started to turn back to face the field, his hammer in his fist.
The archers loosed. Clay flinched as the arrow came at him, and it rang off the brim of his helmet. He smelled a hint of corpse dust as it ricocheted off into the forest. Then he hit the ground and rolled, already finishing the [Chant] and recalling his spear to him.
Orn had caught the arrow in the neck. The gorget of his armor deflected it out and away from his throat; he heard the [Fighter] grunt in apparent surprise, but he seemed otherwise unharmed.
As the archers realized their targets were not hurt, they turned to run. Whistles split the air, and Clay could hear the rattling of the corpse dogs behind them. He came back to his feet, his boots crunching in the grass, and caught his spear out of the air.
He threw it again and caught a second archer in the back. It flopped over, and Clay ran to finish it. The thing had taken the spearpoint in the shoulder, and was still struggling to rise when he sank his Pell knife into the back of its neck.
{Condemned Hunter slain! Soul increases by 40}
{Corpse Bird slain!}
{Corpse Hound slain!}
{Corpse Hound slain!}
Then he looked up. The third archer had stopped. An arrow was on its bowstring, and it was already drawing it back to fire. He felt a burst of panic as he recognized its target and knew it would hit him this time.
Orn’s hammer arrived a half-second later, smashing the Undead aside as if it had been hit by a falling boulder. One moment it was there, the next it was spread across half the clearing.
Clay stared at where it had been for another moment, and then let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He looked back at Orn, who grinned at him. “Mind your surroundings, young hero! Not one of Syr Katherine’s lessons, I imagine, but a good one nonetheless.”
He nodded easily and then retrieved his spear. The other presences that he had sensed were gone as well, which meant that Syr Katherine and Taylor were probably finished. Clay turned to head back to the road, and quietly hoped that the Undead had no more surprises for them today.
They hit another ambush from the mid-ranked Undead another distance down the road. The fight went much the same, with the adventurers clearing out the enemy with surprising effectiveness. Clay had recited the Ballad of Air long before they reached the ambush, however, and had used the Refrain to clear out the birds and the fog almost immediately. It allowed Orn to get to work far more quickly and prevented the first rain of arrows.
Clay had darted in to face the levies again, but by the time Orn appeared, he’d only managed to kill one sergeant. The [Fighter] had cleared the others out, and Clay had turned to see one of the riders rising from the ground. Its mount had collapsed, having taken the brunt of Syr Katherine’s attack.
Clay had backed away from the carnage of Orn’s attack and taken aim. A moment later, his spear caught the rider in the head, and it fell.
{Skeletal Scout slain! Soul increases by 40}
{Weary Horse slain!}
Katherine and Orn were already gone, sprinting out into the woods in pursuit of the archers. Taylor was still there, deflecting the stabs and strikes of a pair of levies.
Clay started towards her, but she glanced in his direction and shook her head. One of the Undead stepped forward and swung at her. She caught the polearm with her staff, snapping the head off of it. Then she spun and broke the corpse’s knee, nearly knocking it to the ground.
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The other Undead lunged towards her, attempting to skewer her, but the [Artifactor] turned the thrust aside and shoved it back. It attacked again, only to be pushed back a second time. Taylor looked from the still armed Undead to the one that was on the ground behind her.
Then she shook her head, sighed, and smashed her staff back into the downed Undead’s skull. Both corpses dropped immediately. Taylor spent another moment studying them and then looked up at Clay. “Your pardon, Sir Clay. I was just trying to see if there were any discernable differences between the sergeants and the minions, but…”
She shrugged, and Clay nodded. “I haven’t been able to tell, either. At least, not this quickly.” He felt one of the archers vanish, and turned to look in the direction where it had been. “Should we go after them?”
Taylor shook her head. “Better to rest when we can. I trust that they will be able to finish things. Go collect your spear, and then be ready to advance.” The scholar grinned. “I believe we are nearly to the hard part of the mission, after all.”
Her smile forced a shiver through Clay’s spine, but he did as she asked. Another of the archers vanished as he did, followed by another two in quick succession—and he wondered what exactly adventurers like these would consider difficult.
The forest grew thicker as they forged ahead, and the ethereal wind strengthened. It was howling in his mind as Syr Katherine called for a brief halt. Clay could no longer sense the monsters that had been hunting them, but there was something up ahead…
He shook his head to clear it as Syr Katherine spoke. “Lesson five, Sir Clay. The entrance to a Dungeon is always guarded by the highest-level monsters available. If you would expect them to be near the center of a Lair, expect them here as well.” She paused and shook her head. “The entrance of the Dungeon is more like a border, the place between our world and the world of the Dungeon. Your senses may have picked up on it already.”
Clay grimaced. “So that’s what that is? It seems… foul.”
“It is only going to get worse.” Syr Katherine shook her head. “Despite the increase in difficulty, we will still attempt to conserve our abilities. Do not utilize anything that you cannot replace later on, and once we have destroyed the monsters between us and the entrance, we will immediately enter the Dungeon. Staying outside will only attract more… attention than we need.”
They all nodded, and Syr Katherine smiled. “Good. Let’s begin.”
A few minutes later, with the unreal wind whispering constantly in his mind, Clay approached the entrance to the Dungeon with the others.
The Undead were waiting for them.
Clay couldn’t see any of them, but his senses were clamoring for attention as he examined the unbroken wall of fog that lay across the forest and the road between him and the source of the wind. Above the fog, there were about two dozen birds slowly circling. He didn’t know how many archers that meant were inside the wall, but he knew it was more than he’d like. The fog wasn’t a normal color either. It looked almost green or yellow as it swirled around its hosts, and he doubted that meant anything good either.
As they stood before that wall of fog, Taylor coughed into her hand. “The mist looks poisonous, does it not?”
Orn grinned at her. “Afraid of a little toxic air, Master Taylor?”
She sniffed and turned away. “Of course not, though I am concerned about those of us with more delicate constitutions.”
Syr Katherine raised an eyebrow at her. “I believe I will be fine, Syr Taylor.” She looked at Clay. “Sir Clay?”
He looked back at the cloud. The obvious response would be to use Ballad of Air to push back the mist and then let the others attack. It would leave him without as much to defend himself, but at the very least, it would allow them to break through the enemy that much faster.
Then he paused. The last time they had faced the enemy, the monsters had come up with a way to defend themselves. Was there any guarantee that they hadn’t done the same kind of thing now?
When Clay finally answered, he spoke cautiously. “Is there any way we can force them to come out towards us? I feel like if we rush in there, they’ll be ready for us.”
Syr Katherine tilted her head slightly. “We cannot afford to delay much, Sir Clay. We’ll just have to risk it.”
He nodded and tried to swallow a growing feeling of dread. They’d just have to make the most of it.
“If it helps, young hero, I volunteer to cast the Ballad.” Orn smiled. “That should free the rest of you up to do what needs to be done.”
Clay nodded in agreement and made a decision. He was tired of running in without any idea of what they were facing. As the others made the preparations for the charge, he started to whisper the words for the Orison of Soul. Maybe when the mist rolled back, he’d be able to catch sight of the enemy after all.
Moments later, as the Ballad swept out and drove the clouds of poison back, Clay rushed forward with the others. Syr Katherine was already saying the words for the Canticle of Ice, while Taylor was using whatever strange earth-based [Chant] she had been using.
Clay, on the other hand, was using the Refrain to cast the Orison. He’d rob himself of an immediate strike, but at least he’d have the chance to spot any weaknesses in their foe.
As they approached, the wind drove the fog back. Arrows shot out of the mist, but Orn managed to nudge them off course easily enough. He saw one arrow bounce off of Orn’s plate, and another nearly strike Syr Katherine, but by and large they weathered the first contact with the hidden Undead.
Packs of corpse dogs suddenly shot out of the mist, howling and snapping as they charged. Clay and Orn stepped forward to meet them, smashing and crushing them as they came. He heard screeching in the sky as the circling corpse birds dove towards them, only to be met by Syr Katherine’s ice; impaled Undead avians rained from the sky and crashed into the barren soil.
Behind the dogs, more figures stepped forward out of the mist. Clay felt his breath catch as he caught sight of their thicker armor and visored helmets. Each one carried a halberd, except for a single member of each group that carried a massive axe and shield. The bigger one stood nearly a head taller than the others, and Clay immediately targeted it with the Orison.
[Wretched Marshal]
[Rank: 8, Type: Undead, Status: Vassal of The Legion of the Unliving]
[Type Kills: 0, Deaths Caused: 23]
[Instincts: Reviver, Terrifier, Master, Possessor]
Something told him that whatever Possessor meant, he was not going to enjoy finding out. When the thing’s gaze swept across him, he felt his heart seize for a moment. Its fearful gaze was obviously much, much stronger than the lower ranked versions he’d already fought.
Clay gritted his teeth and charged forwards, willing himself to reach the foe. They made a small spear wall, obviously hoping to catch him as he ran. Another group moved to flank him and Orn, only to have the ground tremble beneath them. He heard Taylor’s birdlike laugh echo through the air as the dirt suddenly rose up and swallowed one of the groups, grinding the Undead to dust.
He was reciting the Refrain as he ran, fully aware that the rest of the Undead weren’t going to allow him to attack without any interference. Sure enough, more arrows sprouted from within the fog, though Orn’s wind still sent them spinning away from him.
When he reached the formation of levies, Clay jerked to a stop and hurled his spear as hard as he could. The marshal ducked down behind its shield, but he hadn’t been aiming for it. Instead, the spear took one of the levies square in the chest. It punched through the armor and toppled it over backwards. Its halberd tangled with the others that had been standing shoulder to shoulder with it, opening a brief hole in their formation.
{Rotted Levy slain!}
Even as the levy fell, the marshal’s eyes glowed. Clay didn’t focus on it, and forced himself to duck past the lethal axe heads and spearpoints of the halberds, drawing his Pell knife as he closed the distance. One of the levies reached for him, and he grabbed it by the wrist and yanked. His knife took it in the throat a moment later.
{Rotted Levy slain!}
As the second one fell, the first was already standing back up. Clay ducked a swipe from a third and stabbed it in the face. He grabbed the spear haft with his other hand and shoved the still-impaled levy back into its master. As it rebounded off the marshal’s shield, Clay reached past its clutching fingers and buried the Pell knife in its half-rotten neck.
{Rotted Levy slain!}
{Rotted Levy slain!}
They were already standing back up, and the final levy was backing away to gain space, but Clay had an opening to strike at the marshal itself now. He threw his knife, and it ducked back behind its shield, protecting its face.
For that moment, it couldn’t see what he was doing. Clay grinned.
He ducked right, knocking the levy’s halberd away, and then pivoted. The weighted end of his spear swept in low, smashing into the marshal’s armored shin with a resounding crack. Impact alone caved in the marshal’s armor, and its leg went out from underneath it.
As it went down on one knee, Clay stepped in close and choked up on his spear. Its shield came down, and Clay slipped the point of his spear past it. A single brutal thrust caught the marshal between the bottom of its helmet and the top of its chestplate, crunching its way through the bone and rotted sinew beneath. Clay wrenched the spear back and forth for good measure. There was no way the thing could survive the hit.
The marshal went limp and began decaying to dust. Clay jerked his spear free—and twitched in surprise as a crackle of power snapped from the decaying marshal to the last standing levy. It shivered as the bolt of magic took it in the chest.
Then it began to grow taller. The halberd in its hands shrank, and a shield formed out of its off-hand. Clay looked from it to the ones still rising from the ground. He snarled and swung a blow that knocked those three levies back down and then stepped forward to strike out at the newly forming marshal in front of him.
It blocked his first thrust with a jerk of the shield, and before Clay could strike a second time, he heard a rumble of hooves behind him. A quick glance behind him told him that figures were emerging from the mist, trailing poisonous fog behind it.
He finished the Refrain and caught one of them as they charged straight towards him. Both it and its mount were heavily armored; the helmet glowed with the light of its eyes, and it carried a lance far longer than the other riders he’d encountered so far. The Orison didn’t carry much more encouraging news, either.
[Skeletal Lancer]
[Rank: 8, Type: Undead, Status: Vassal of The Legion of the Unliving]
[Type Kills: 0, Deaths Caused: 17]
[Instincts: Reviver, Unmoored, Concealer, Poisoner]
Instead of staying near the reborn marshal and its levies, Clay ran towards the oncoming lancer. He heard the levies charging in his wake, obviously hoping to trap him between threats. The lancer lowered its lance, aiming straight for his head.
In that moment, Clay abandoned the Orison and spoke a new [Chant]. The Pursuing Leap seemed like an odd choice, but he’d seen the glimmer of his knife in the dirt nearby, and he needed to change the tide of battle quickly.
He just barely managed to finish the [Chant] before the distance closed. It yanked him sharply to the side, faster than the lancer could react. It tried to pivot, but Clay let go of the [Chant] almost immediately, letting him pass by the lethal point of the lance. Then he swung his spear as hard as he could in a flat arc meant to catch the mount’s legs.
There was a sound like shattering branches, and the Undead horse abruptly pitched forward. The lancer on its back was hurtled into the air, flying like a boulder into the ranks of the levies. It tumbled through their ranks in a tangle of snapping bones and tearing fabric, with its lance jerking away from its fingers.
Clay pivoted hard, heading straight for the piled Undead. He could see the marshal barging forward to support its fallen comrades, but Clay didn’t give them the time to recover. The lancer was still regaining its feet, mist hissing from the rents in its armor, when Clay struck it from behind. His spear slammed it back into the dirt, and Clay delivered another two quick blows before he jumped back.
{Skeletal Lancer slain! Soul increases by 80}
{Weary Mount slain!}
The marshal was there moments later, with a pack of snarling hounds at his sides. Clay smashed the dogs to pieces and then ducked a vicious slash from the marshal. He smashed it in the side with the weighted end of his spear, sending it staggering across its own fallen levies. While it was still struggling to balance, Clay slashed it across the forearm, knocking its axe away. Then he jumped and brought the spearpoint down on its head, punching through the visor.
Once again, the marshal went limp and crumpled. As it started to turn to dust, Clay snarled and launched himself at the fallen levies around it. As the magic leapt from one levy to the next, he stabbed and thrust into them, killing them each in turn as the marshal sought to take their bodies for itself.
When he had raised the spear over the last one, however, a plummeting hawk struck him in the face. Clay shouted and swept it away from him as it tried to claw at his eyes. He got enough distance to smash it aside with his spear haft, sending it spiraling away from him.
{Corpse Bird slain!}
Clay backed away as a second bird dove in at him. He batted it aside and then saw the hounds rising again. Beyond them was the marshal, fully formed and rising from the dust of its fallen brethren. Past that, Clay could see Orn tearing his way through another horde of levies, smashing them to pieces. There was a dead pair of lancers partway to where Syr Katherine and Taylor were standing, riddled with spears of ice; a third one was attempting to strike at the [Calculator] now, while Taylor prepared another [Chant].
It suddenly occurred to him that with the lancers down, Orn might not see the reason to continue the Ballad. At exactly the same moment, he realized that the only wind he heard now was howling in his ethereal senses.
Clay dove to the side, already starting the Orison. Arrows shot through the space where he’d been standing; the marshal had to pause and lift its shield to prevent itself from being struck. Clay glanced back in the other direction and saw the poisonous mist beginning to fade, no longer being fed by the lancers that had given it off.
In the middle of that fading mist stood four figures. Even as the air cleared, they remained indistinct, as if they were slightly out of focus. He saw them lift their bows again, and once again tried to dodge. Bone-white arrows filled the air, spraying in all directions as the archers tried to pick off the heroes attacking them.
Clay was hit at least twice this time. One arrow shattered itself on his armor, striking a plate right over his heart. The other caught in the fabric near his throat, punching through the thick linen like a needle through cloth. He felt cold seeping from where the shaft touched his skin through the shirt.
He grunted and then spun as another hound launched itself at his back. Clay smashed it aside and impaled a second one as it jumped at him. As the hounds fell, he could already see the life start to return to their twitching bones.
Then the marshal was there, slashing away at him with its axe. Clay backed up, dodging and twisting to avoid the cuts. He glanced away as the Orison finally finished catching sight of one of the archers.
[Condemned Marksman]
[Rank: 8, Type: Undead, Status: Vassal of The Legion of the Unliving]
[Type Kills: 0, Deaths Caused: 21]
[Instincts: Linked Unlife, Archer, Master, Vanisher]
It explained the blur to their forms, at least. They didn’t seem to be able to disappear completely, to his relief, though it seemed like they were hard to keep track of.
The marshal stepped forward again, slashing at him. Clay countered with a thrust, and the Undead blocked with its shield. He caught sight of the dogs rising again, together with the birds he’d killed, and grimaced.
His knife was still glittering in the dirt. Clay narrowed his eyes… and then smiled.
He began the Cycle of Return, the common [Chant] taking form in a blur of speed. Arrows whistled behind him, and Clay jerked to the side to avoid most of them; another arrow glanced off a plate on the back of his shoulder, but at least it didn’t penetrate. The marshal continued to wade in, its eyes alight with malice. Fear tried to clutch at Clay’s heart, but he shoved it aside and focused.
When the marshal tried to use its shield as a battering ram, Clay slammed the butt of his spear into the surface of the shield. He rode the impact and launched himself up and to the side, dodging another flurry of arrows that kept the marshal’s head down. At the same time, his [Chant] finished, and he pulled his knife towards him.
The broad, heavy blade of the Pell knife slammed straight into the marshal’s back. It staggered forward as the knife burrowed its way into the thing, carving its way through armor, decayed muscle, and crumbling bone. As Clay landed, he pivoted and hurled his spear. It shot through the air towards one of the archers, catching it as it had glanced down to pull an arrow from its quiver.
Clay saw the point of it slam home, right between the glowing pits that marked its eyes. The archer’s head snapped back, presenting the haft of the spear to the sky like some bare banner pole. Then it crumpled to the ground, the bow falling from its once-again lifeless hands.
{Condemned Marksman slain! Soul increases by 80}
{Corpse Bird slain!}
{Corpse Bird slain!}
{Corpse Hound slain!}
{Corpse Hound slain!}
Half the remaining dogs and birds collapsed into piles of nothing. Those that remained snarled and started for them. The marshal, however, only took one more staggering step before the point of Clay’s knife punctured the front of its breastplate.
Then it fell to its knees, the light fading from its eyes. Its flesh turned to dust and ran out from every gap in its armor.
{Wretched Marshal slain! Soul increases by 80}
Clay let the [Chant] lapse and turned to where his spear was fixed in the fallen archer’s skull. He started the Refrain, only to realize, belatedly, that the remaining three archers had turned their attention to him. Their forms became nearly impossible to see, blurring in and out of his vision as they began to draw back their next shots. He tensed, hoping to be ready to jump away before they managed it.
Then Orn was there, smashing one of them to pieces with a swing of his hammer. The other two jerked in surprise, bringing their attention back to the Armsman, only for the ground beneath their feet to open up and swallow them whole. Both of them vanished into the grinding depths created by Taylor’s [Chant], and their remaining minions fell to pieces a heartbeat later.
Clay completed the [Chant] and called his spear to him, but when he turned around, the last of the Undead had been destroyed already. Taylor and Syr Katherine were walking down the road towards him and Orn, the last of the lancers already crumpled in their wake. He looked around, seeing the final traces of the poisonous fog beginning to dissipate, and heaved a sigh of relief.
Then he looked past the spot where the Undead had been waiting.
There, in the middle of the road, was an archway. It seemed like a normal arch made of stone, but the world around it seemed to shimmer and twist. The air writhed in time to the howl of the wind in his ethereal senses, and when he blinked, Clay felt the horrifying conviction that the arch was somehow closer than it had been before.
Within the archway was a hallway made of stone. There was no sun that he could see, just darkness and a corridor that whispered doom. He shivered and nearly took a step back.
Then Syr Katherine stepped up beside him. She plucked the arrow from his armor and snapped it casually. “You will want to retrieve your knife, Sir Clay.” Her gaze turned to the archway, and she paused. “You will need it. Soon.”
“Lesson six.” Syr Katherine was studying Clay with a sharp-eyed gaze, apparently looking for signs of weakness. “Every Dungeon contains a Curse, one far more powerful than any Lair. It does not just bring monsters into the world. It twists the world to allow the invasion of an outside realm, an infringement on our reality—and when we invade it in response, it inflicts a Malus on us.”
The others were all studying the archway, and for the first time, Clay could see hesitation and reluctance on their faces. Orn looked like he was trying to distract himself, while Taylor stared at the gateway as if it had disappointed her somehow.
Clay looked back at Syr Katherine. “What does a Malus do?”
Syr Katherine grimaced. “It… varies by the Dungeon. The only thing that is consistent is that a Malus is a severe disadvantage to adventurers inside a Dungeon, it increases the longer an adventurer remains inside the Dungeon, and it persists for a time when we leave it. Our assault today will likely only last a handful of hours, but we will need to take an entire day to recover from it, at the very least.”
It sounded like an incredibly unpleasant experience, even if he was ignoring the howl coming from the arch. Clay nodded slowly. “What are we going to do while we are in there?”
For a moment, Syr Katherine continued to study him. Then she gave him a small smile. “Our goal is to reduce the strength of the Dungeon. We can do so by either attempting to assault the Curse itself, or by destroying the Guardians that it uses to produce monsters. We’ll be doing the latter rather than the former.”
Clay frowned. “Why?”
Taylor gave a bark of laughter and shook her head. “Because this Dungeon is an extremely well-developed place, unfortunately, and we lack the power to even get close to the Curse at its heart. If we tried, I’m sure the people in Pellsglade would write a lot of very sad songs about us when we failed to come back.”
Orn sighed. “Taylor, don’t chide the young hero. He didn’t know.”
“Well, he should.” The [Artifactor] sighed. “We’re doing the bare minimum, Sir Clay, because anything else will likely get us killed. We’ll be looking for Guardians inside the Dungeon and killing as many as possible.”
Syr Katherine nodded. “Each Guardian we kill will take the Dungeon time to regenerate. Perhaps as much as a year for each of them.”
“So fewer Guardians means fewer monsters.” Clay looked back at the arch. “How many will we kill?”
“The more the merrier, young hero.” Orn grinned, though some of his humor seemed to have drained away.
Taylor nodded, though she remained silent. Syr Katherine waited for a moment, as if seeing if the others had anything else to offer. When no one else spoke, she nodded. “Then let’s move forward. Our mission is here.”
She stepped forward, and the others hefted their weapons and followed. The Dungeon was waiting.