At the man’s command, eleven more bandits jumped out of the forest and ran toward the village. They weren’t far, only two hundred feet away. The distance would evaporate in no time.

Therefore, Jerry did the only sensible thing; he ran away, dropping what he was carrying and bolting for the village center. At the same time, he mentally ordered his skeletons to assist. A bandit raid was not something he wanted to face alone.

“Bandits!” he shouted.

The villagers noticed the approaching bandits and screamed in alarm. Several men drew weapons and rushed to the edge of the village to form a wall of swords—or rather, a flimsy fence. Several others ran away or froze in terror.

Jerry himself rushed behind the village warriors. Not only was he unarmed, but also a wizard. The front line was not his place in life.

When the bandits collided with the villagers, it would not be a pleasant sight. The former were better armed, better trained, and far more seasoned than the latter. The only reason these guys ever stood up was for their families, for their wives and children.

As the bandits were about to reach the village, a mighty oink resounded, and the gates of hell opened wide. Three monsters rushed out of the forest, heading for the village faster than the bandits ever could.

One was a massive monstrosity of bones in the shape of a wild boar, charging with the strength of a horse. It was unstoppable. On its back stood a skeletal form only vaguely humanoid. Its entire torso was missing, making its shoulders rest upon its waist. Most importantly, the thing had blades for fingers and razors for teeth, and its bone jaw cackled manically as they rushed for the bandits.

The last monster ran ahead of those two, drawing far less attention. It was shaped like a fox but made of bones.

The bandits turned and stumbled, unable to process what they saw—but the skeletons’ speed was great, and before the bandits could realize what was happening, the monsters were upon them.

For all their weapons, armor, and training, the bandits were not ready to meet Boboar’s charge. The beast barreled right through them, sending two bandits flying like bowling pins. Boboar then rushed past the battle, unable to halt his sprint in time, but his back was now vacated.

Shorty had jumped off the double-boar and into the thick of the bandits. He did not know how to fight, that much was evident to Jerry, but the poor criminals couldn’t see it; all they saw was an abominable monstrosity made of blades and death. Shorty whirled in their midst, wreaking havoc but causing few casualties, while Foxy silently invaded them to spread swift death. Her claws and fangs shredded throats, chests, and limbs alike, the skeletal fox being an incarnation of fury at the ones who dared threaten her master.

The bandits screamed, but a sharp shout steadied their bodies.

“They’ve got a necromancer!” the leading bandit said, a short, wide man seemingly made of muscle. He must have been in his forties, if not older. “Don’t panic. As one!”

Jerry did his best to appear inconspicuous in the crowd that had formed. Despite that, the leading bandit stared him directly in the eye, as if he knew, or perhaps because Jerry had been the first person he saw. Jerry looked away and whistled.

Just as the leader was about to shout another order, Shorty fell on him, and the man was forced to draw his weapons and defend. He wielded twin axes, whirling them around in a hurricane that demolished Shorty. The poor skeleton was intimidating and deadly, yes, but weak in direct combat. Due to his lack of a torso, he was significantly weaker than a normal skeleton.

His only saving grace was the lack of target he presented, as he was essentially a mass of thrashing limbs.

While Foxy was fighting the still disoriented bandits, one of the leader’s axes bit into Shorty’s bone wrist, cutting it clean off. The skeleton, unable to feel pain, continued to fight ferociously, but his defeat was only a matter of time.

It was right then that the moving bone fortress—Boboar—returned for another round. He rushed straight at the bandit leader to defend his friend. The bandit was ready.

Disengaging from Shorty, the bandit leader faced Boboar’s assault, and at the last moment, jumped aside. The double-boar barreled through with a frustrated oink, unable to turn his massive body.

Boars were easy to dodge once you knew the trick.

The axe-wielder turned back to Shorty, smiling grimly. The remaining bandits, four in number, coordinated with each other and pushed Foxy away. Boboar was still struggling to turn.

Shorty lunged forth, fearless in his undeath. At the last moment, the bandit leader’s axe cleaved down, a sure strike to the skull.

It missed.

The bandit screamed and fell to the ground, holding his chest. A man walked out of the crowd, his right palm shining black.

“Leave Shorty alone, you bully.”

“What—” The bandit’s eyes were bloodshot as he turned, only to meet Shorty’s slap head-on. The result was not pretty.

“Alright.” Jerry sighed, dropping his arm. He was already sweating. This was the first time he tried Soul Severing on another person—the process of cutting the bonds between soul and body. He’d expected to fail, aiming only to distract the bandit, but it turned out he could apply debilitating pressure even if he couldn’t sever the bonds outright. Well, he knew now, and he also knew it was downright exhausting. The lack of proximity didn’t do him any favors either.

At least the rest of the bandits didn’t seem like the brightest bunch. In their shock, they had failed to acknowledge the very definition of obvious approaching them from behind.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Boboar rammed into them in all his piggy glory, once again sending two men flying. Only two bandits were left standing, one of whom had the misfortune of meeting Foxy. The other was already running away, screaming, and Shorty once again jumped on Boboar’s back as they set to the hunt.

Right before the bandit reached the tree line, an arrow dived straight into his skull, killing him instantly. Derek walked out of the woods, bow taut, as the bandit collapsed.

“Are there any left?” he asked quickly.

“Oh, hi Derek,” Jerry said, panting. “I came by earlier, but you were missing, so I left your cart with Holly. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Jerry.” Derek looked on in confusion. “What happened here?”

“A bandit attack,” the necromancer spoke as if it was the simplest thing in the world, “but we held them off.”

“I… Oh, gods.” Derek stepped past some corpses, shouting at the gathered villagers, “Is everyone okay?”

Silence came from behind Jerry, and he turned to look. What he saw was pure terror, but not for the bandits; it was directed straight at him. The necromancer almost stepped back from the beam of concentrated fear he received.

“What?” he asked. “I saved you.”

“Monsters…” came a voice from the back of the crowd, and a couple more repeated the word.

Jerry frowned.

“What are you people saying?” Derek stepped up. “Jerry just saved your asses!”

More silence met him, and a vein pulsed at the hunter’s temple.

“It’s all right, Derek.” Jerry sighed. “People are always afraid, but they will understand. I will show you”—he turned to the villagers— “that you don’t need to be afraid of me or my skeletons. We will not harm you; we will protect you and make you the loveliest of shoes.”

“As far as I’m concerned, this is stupidity at its finest.” Derek scoffed at the villagers. “Jerry protected you and your families, and you have the gall to look at him like that. Shame on you. And where the hell is Murdock? He’s supposed to protect us, too.”

“Well, I’m off,” Jerry said, picking up the goatskin, Saint Hugh’s Bones, and napron from the ground where he’d dropped them earlier. “Feel free to visit whenever, Derek, and bring anyone you want. Ashman and Holly are especially welcome.”

He then stepped closer to the hunter, whispering a few more words. “But get some booze for me, please. The old man refused to give me any.”

“Are you sure, Jerry?”

“Yeah, I asked him twice.”

“Not that. Are you sure it’s okay? You saved the village. We must repay you, somehow.”

“That’s all right. The hospitality and assistance you’ve offered me, along with these tools”—he raised the shoemaker’s toolkit—“are more than enough compensation.”

He then thought better about it and pointed at the dead bandits. “Actually, can I have them, too?”

“The bodies and anything on them belong to you.” Derek nodded. “That is only right.”

“Nice. Ah, also, can I borrow your cart again? Without the tools this time. Hope it’s not too much to ask, but I cannot carry all these bodies otherwise.” Jerry scratched his head, feeling a bit pushy.

“Of course!” the hunter replied excitedly. “In fact, it would be my pleasure to help you carry them!”

“No, that’s fine. Boboar can pull it.”

“Very well. Come, let us unload the tools. And as for all of you”—he turned to the villagers, fury simmering in his eyes as he roared out, “what the hell do you think you’re still doing here? If you cannot properly express gratitude, get out of my sight!”

Standing a head taller than everybody else, and being an experienced hunter, Derek cut an imposing figure. One man still retorted against his aggressive attitude.

“Why are you shouting at us, Derek?” he said. “I didn’t see you doing much to help either. You only shot one arrow when the battle was already over.”

“Learn to behave before you can lecture me, boy,” the hunter replied roughly, locking eyes with the younger man. “Fuck off.”

The man defiantly held Derek’s gaze for a moment, clenching his teeth. Finally, he snorted as he looked away. The crowd dispersed. Only then did Derek look away.

“I’m sorry for what you had to see,” he told Jerry. “They can be a bit…”

“That’s all right. I understand. Let’s just get the bodies.”

Derek nodded, and the two of them got to work. A few minutes later, and with the assistance of the skeletons, all twelve bodies had been loaded, eight on the cart and four on Boboar’s back. The double-boar growled as he pulled the cart, which creaked under the weight.

“I’ll make you a new one if it breaks,” Jerry said as he took off. “Take care, Derek. May the Wall hold.”

“You too, my friend. You too. May it hold forever.”

He stayed there, unmoving at the edge of the village, watching Jerry strut off. Only after he disappeared behind the tree line did Derek release a deep, sad sigh.

Jerry was a good man. He did not deserve such treatment, especially after he risked himself to save everyone. But he was dangerous and alien, and the villagers…did not take kindly to the alien. Derek was well aware of that. If only they were more open-minded, then maybe Holly’s mother would still be…

He shook his head, sending the thoughts away. What was done was done.

Derek could only hope that this warm, friendly, genuinely good man called Jerry would manage to weasel into the villagers’ hearts.

Manna knows he deserves it. Derek sighed one last time before turning to head into the village. His home and daughter awaited. His daughter, Holly, for whom he could endure everything.