He slammed into the rotting bodies with a disgusting crunch, then started swinging the dagger around. The sizzling of flesh erupted around him, but then the swarm pressed inward toward the easy prey.

He cut and punched to make some space, then in a brief moment of inspiration he pushed forward following the wagons. The zombies were crushed as he punched them with his chain covered fist, the chains themselves seeming to sear into them like a cattle prod. He struggled to move but as he elbowed a zombie he noticed that his plan worked. The horde had followed and surrounded him, leaving a thin herd of undead around where the others started to jump down.

[This is hardly attempting to live]

The feminine voice returned, its soothing sound calming Raylas’ mind. He smiled as he continued to slash away limbs trying to grab his already destroyed armor.

“You gave me power to destroy these creatures, so I’m going to use them.” He punched a particularly ugly zombie who fell back, knocking two others down. The horde swarmed over them as they rushed Raylas.

[You have been given power, but you are not using it effectively]

The voice sighed.

“I think I am being pretty effective,” Raylas coughed as a bit of blood seeped into his mouth. He gagged, the taste being worse than he imagined. He prayed that the taste wouldn’t be permanent.

[You flail, but are not efficient. Visualize and do, Master]

A number of visions popped into Raylas’s head. The chain and dagger being used as one, cutting and tangling opponents while keeping them at bay. Being used to choke and break limbs when they got close. They flowed through his head in just a few moments.

Then he felt his limbs move on their own. His body started to mimic the visions, the dagger no longer being just held in his hand but being swung around, cutting into the Zombie’s faces. The weight at the end of the chain untangled from his hand and cracked into the feet and shins of the creatures.

Around him a space started to grow as the creatures were hit by dagger and weight, fist and elbow. Raylas felt as if he was dancing as he spun and rolled away from the groups as they gathered together.

The searing flesh built up and soon started to smoke as the weapon struck the same spots over and over again. The creatures were also slowing as their limbs were getting weakened by fractures and cracks. Soon a number started to collapse under their own weight, getting pounded into the ground by the others as they followed Raylas in his dance of death.

Time passed and the smoking increased until one of them burst into flames. It quickly started to spread to the others until a majority of the horde was on fire.

Raylas stopped and the chain slowed. He wrapped it around his arm as he started off away from the destroyed caravan, following the markers left by his companions.

The groans of the creatures faded and he glanced behind to make sure they were not following. He could see the glow of the fire fade as the distance grew.

Then, as if it was waiting for an opportunity, he was hit with a wave of exhaustion. Raylas stumbled and fell onto the grass, his legs suddenly too weak to hold him. His breath came in gasps and his heart felt as if it was trying to tear itself out of his chest.

A cool breeze blew across him and he shivered. His body was soaked in sweat. It finally clicked in his head as he recalled what he just did.

He single handedly fought against a horde of almost a hundred undead and lived to tell the tale. Not only that but he fought against them for who knows how long.

He looked into the sky and saw the yellowish glow of dawn approaching.

Hours? He fought them for hours without a break? That is inhuman.

Raylas sat on the road for a while to regain his composure and strength. His muscles twitched and ached from the strain of the night. He did recover his breath, but his head throbbed from whatever torment occurred the night before.

The floating flame. The female voice. What in the hells happened? What happened to him?

He looked at the chained weapon. He was tempted to throw it away, but currently it was the only weapon he had. The staff blade didn’t have a good grip to be of use, so without this he was stuck with just his bare fists. And one of his gauntlets was missing for that to be useful.

Which meant he had to keep moving. Being along in the wild was a stupid idea, especially one was mostly unarmed. The numbers should keep most monsters at bay, but an injured lone person was just praying to become a snack.

He grunted as he pushed himself back to his feet. He stumbled forward, slowly getting his legs under him again. Soon he was walking at a brisk pace despite the protesting muscles. The trail continued forward and Raylas noticed the occasional marker left behind by one of the scouts to help him.

An hour must have passed before he smelled smoke. He quickened his pace as best as he could and soon a small plume of smoke was seen. Raylas smiled as a small burst of hopeful energy spread through him as he rushed forward to the camp.

Soon a familiar figure noticed him. Arnold, one of the scouts, noticed him and placed two fingers in his mouth. Two shrill whistles signaled that an ally was spotted and the camp became alive. Captain stood up, and Sigmund attempted to follow but Captain shooed him to remain down. Sigmund collapsed back down and sighed in exhaustion, his eyes seeming sunken deep into his skull.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

The captain started toward Raylas, Goodwill joyfully hopping up nearby. The other members of the group stirred, giving them their attention but not leaving the spot they collapsed the night before.

Most of the mercenaries had been treated for their injuries by now, but most of the bandages were still wet with blackened blood. Sigmund appeared to have had the worst injury as his torso and shoulder were wrapped up with what appeared to be pitch black fabric, but the hints of white at the edges showed that it was originally white.

Almost everyone had been tainted during the fight, though Raylas didn’t feel the nauseous, oily curse flowing through his blood. Perhaps he lucked out and didn’t get tainted?

He shook his head with a snort. The more likely reason was because he was so tired and injured that he couldn’t feel it yet. Once he got some proper rest the nausea would start up.

“Welcome back,” Captain greeted. “We feared you fell and became food by now with how you took the horde on yourself. Did any follow you?”

Raylas gave a tired salute and shook his head.

“Good,” Captain sighed in relief.

“I got almost an entire silver from betting that you lived,” Goodwill called out. Sigmund rolled his eyes, but he flipped a coin toward the halfing who caught it with glee.

Raylas watched the exchange and smiled. The halfwit bet on him to live, eh? Maybe he wasn’t as dumb as he pretended to be after all.

“Now, my second question,” Captain announced. “What happened to you?”

Raylas gave the Captain a confused look. “Besides surviving somehow, I have no idea what you mean.”

“You’ve changed, Raylas,” the Captain crossed his arms and glared at him. He pulled out a piece of polished metal and tossed it to him. “Your hair, your eyes, and even the aura around you is different.”

Raylas caught the metal and gasped as he looked into it.

His face had changed. Not much in shape but in tone. His hair was pure white now instead of the brown he was born with, and his eyes were now a piercing blue. His skin, which before was riddled with scars from acne and injuries, was clear and smooth. It was as if he was looking at a version of himself who was raised as a noble instead of the gutter rat he was.

“What the hell happened to me?” Raylas breathed.

“Raylas,” Captain called to break his attention away from the reflection. He pointed at the chain in his other hand. “What exactly are you holding?”

Raylas looked down at the sparkling chain and dropped it to the ground. He looked up at the Captain and tried to talk but nothing came out.

What was happening to him?

“Where did you find that, Raylas?” The Captain insisted.

“He found it after the wolves yesterday,” Rolft answered as he strode up. “Said it was from an old skeleton.”

“You fought undead yesterday before the attack?” Captain hissed.

“No,” Raylas whispered. “Long dead, half buried in the dirt.” He took off his glove and dumped the treasures he found in front of the Captain. “I found these. Only these.”

“Damnable artifacts,” Captain cursed and combed his hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you inform me about those?”

Raylas sighed and explained he didn’t want to give them up to the Merchant. Captain released a stream of curses and kicked the dirt in frustration.

“Patron is dead and we failed our mission, and now we are all blight-tainted…” he calmed down and thought for a minute or two. “We need to get to a church and get ourselves cured before heading to Gloomcrest. Injuries we can work with after getting some healing broth, but if anyone dies I don’t want to kill you bastards again.”

Raylas sighed in relief. The Captain was taking charge so they had a plan again. He gathered up the treasures and started toward the camp, but the hand of the Captain slammed into his chest stopping him.

“No,” Captain deadpanned. “You go separate.”

“Hold up, Captain,” Sigmund called out. “We need every hand, or fist, we can get right now. The men are about to drop dead from exhaustion. We can’t afford to lose another body until we get somewhere civilized..”

“No,” Rolft jumped in. “Boss is right.”

“Whatever you found,” Captain pointed to the treasures, “They are magic. I can’t prove it, but once it was brought to camp the Undead appeared.”

“I’m cursed?” Raylas asked.

“I don’t know,” Captain sighed. “But either you are cursed by that blasted artifact which brought the undead to us, or we just got extremely unlucky last night. But to be safe you need to go by yourself. If you are cursed there is no need to kill the rest of us along with you.”

Raylas looked around the camp, but in the faces of the other mercenaries were either mild hostility or pity. He sighed and clutched the artifact.

“Are curses lifted by abandoning the artifacts?” Goodwill inquired. He walked up and stood in front of the captain with his hands on his hips, surprisingly serious. “We can heap that junk into the woods and hi-tail it out of here.”

“If only it was that easy,” Rolft said. “The curse remains forever once it is on a person.”

“Or unless you know of a local Archpriest willing to work on scum like us,” Captain added. “He is cursed, or we were unlucky.” He turned back to Raylas. “You need to go separate. Take another trail or blaze your own, but if you arrive alive then we’ll know it was just our luck.” Captain sadly patted Raylas’ shoulder. “I wish you luck, Raylas. And I hope you do live. Good luck.”

He turned and went back to the campsite, followed by Roflt. Goodwill glanced between Raylas and the campsite, seeming conflicted.

Raylas himself stood stunned. He had been abandoned by the company. His mind raced in what to do, how to survive. He took in a breath and calmly walked toward the Captain who sat down by the fire. Captain, seeing him come closer, gripped his hand on his hammer which was lying next to him. His eyes pleaded for Raylas to not do what he was planning.

Rolft stepped in front of Captain, whose hand firmly held his two handed sword. Even Sigmund pulled a dagger and tried to jump in front but he stumbled, clearly exhausted.

Raylas reached into his belt pack and took out a silver coin and tossed it to the Captain. It landed in the dirt in front of him, reflecting brightly in the morning light.

“There is a fee for leaving the Company, Captain. During these hard times I assume you must have forgotten that rule.”

Captain looked down at the coin then back at Raylas. Sorrow filled his eyes as he let go of his hammer.

“Indeed.” He fell silent and only stared at the coin.

Raylas, his loose end tied, turned and left camp. The men watched him leave, but none tried to follow or stop him. Raylas felt an ache grow as the distance grew.

Years fighting next to them and traveling together, and this is how it ended. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. He spit into a bush but the taste didn’t go away.