The Kingdom of Escarbot is split from east to west by the Axel Ridge, a mountain range so large it defines the kingdom. To the west of Escarbot lie the Moonlight Kingdom, the land of merchants and wizards, and the Jewel Sea, named for the color its waters take in the summer. To the east, the Alabaster Kingdom, famed for its great explorers and mighty warriors, and especially for the famed Wyvern Riders of Nopelin.

South of the three Kingdoms lies the Narrow Sea, and beyond it, the Sea of Sands, which the people of camels, fabrics, and spices call home. Finally, to the north, beyond the Wall of the Damned and the Black Belt, stretch the Dead Lands, the vast region occupied by the wild undead of Ozborne.

In this way, the small Kingdom of Escarbot is squeezed between sea and undeath, with its paltry borders separating two larger Kingdoms. It is, in all regards, a land simple, barbaric, and untamed. Due caution is advised.

- An excerpt from the Atlas of Homerus, Second Edition, found on an unnamed corpse.

The hour-long walk was over in a blink, as always, and Jerry was once again facing his tower. He whistled. The distrust of the villagers did not get him down; it was only natural. In time, they would understand.

On the bright side, he had acquired a bunch of new bodies, soon-to-be buddies!

“Come on, Boboar,” he said happily, gesturing toward the body-filled cart. “Drop them.”

With a shrug, the double-boar skeleton tilted the cart, throwing the corpses on the dirt. Jerry had made the basement into his laboratory, but getting all these bodies down there would be messy. Stairs were the enemy of mankind. In the future, someone should definitely create magical ones that moved on their own.

Yes, that would be nice.

The necromancer bent down, staring at the pile of corpses at his disposal. Eleven of them, all in decent condition, minus some unimportant fleshy bits and broken bones from Boboar’s assaults.

Wait, eleven? Weren’t there twelve of them? One, two, three…

“Oh, Boboar, you lovable lump. You dropped one somewhere!”

Boboar lowered his massive head and snorted apologetically. Jerry laughed and petted him. “Don’t worry, you. A body up or down is no big deal. In fact, thank you for carrying them all here. You’re the best double-boar skeleton I have ever seen!”

Boboar oinked in happiness, gently pushing his head against Jerry’s hand.

“Hah, okay! Now”—he laughed, turning to the bodies and rubbing his hands—”what goodies should we make?”

“Someone with hammers for hands, Master,” Boney said. He and Headless had been building the fence, and they’d naturally noticed Jerry’s group approach. “It would save us quite some time.”

“An excellent suggestion, my dear butler!” Jerry whipped his head around. “But I have a better idea.”

Boney groaned. The necromancer reached inside the pile of bodies and, with a bit of effort, pulled out a bulky man. It was the bandit leader who had given Shorty and Boboar a lot of trouble, the one who wielded twin axes. The axes were present too.

“Oh, do I have plans for this one…” Jerry grinned, an evil glint in his eye. “It’s high time we made a double human skeleton. Isn’t that right, Boney?”

“I believe some extra working hands would be excellent, Master.”

“Fine.” Ηe rolled his eyes. “Here, have these.”

With some mental gymnastics, two skeletons tore their way out of their former bodies. They blankly stared at Jerry.

“Are any of you intelligent?” he asked. They looked on. “Alright, then, both of you follow Boney. He will tell you what to do. Work them well, Boney. Maintaining this many undead is quite taxing on my soul, so I’ll de-animate them tomorrow.”

The skeletal butler rubbed his hands evilly, as Jerry had done earlier. Jerry considered getting him some nice clothes the next time he visited Pilpen. Maybe a hat, too. “Not to worry, Master. I will work these two to the bone.”

Jerry flinched.

Cackling, Boney took off with only one of the new skeletons in tow. The other was temporarily tasked with carrying a few of the new corpses to the basement; he would join fence-building duty later. The fence would come along much faster now, and Jerry was satisfied. He turned to the corpse-carrying skeleton.

“Lead the way, Expendable Skelly. And you, Shorty, come along. I will fix that broken hand of yours.”

Filled with excitement, Shorty dragged his body to the basement, while the new skeleton hoisted the former bandit leader. That’s how it goes; the new guys get the chores.

Back in the basement, Jerry got ready for work. It was still early in the day.

The first order of business was fixing Shorty. He’d worked hard to protect him, and Jerry appreciated that. Therefore, grabbing the sliced-off hand bone, Jerry touched it to the end of Shorty’s forearm and created a soul tether that bound them together. This was the same magical application he’d used to create Boboar. Too bad it only worked on bones, or Headless would be Headful.

“There you go,” he said proudly. “Good as new.”

Shorty tried out his hand, waving it experimentally in the air. It worked as intended, and the skeleton cackled with joy before rushing upward, presumably to show Boney and Headless.

It was curious how quickly a skeleton formed the first signs of self-awareness. A day ago, Shorty had been unable to turn a doorknob. Now, he already possessed the concepts of pride, joy, and maybe even friendship?

Jerry’s wizard side told him to record everything for future study. His creative side told him to just get on with the next project, and he did just that. A double human skeleton sounded fun.

“I have plans for you. You are going to follow a noble craft, and you’re gonna be the very best like no one ever was,” he declared to the dead bandit leader, whose name he’d never gotten. Not that he particularly cared, but he was running out of bone-themed names.

“Oh, well.”

And so, Jerry got to work. Connecting two skeletons was a challenging endeavor. Creating Boboar had once taken him months of research and experimenting. Even if he now knew the gist of it, adjusting his knowledge to human skeletons would take some time.

Fortunately, like most good guys, Jerry wasn’t afraid of hard work.

The hours flew by as one attempt followed another. Jerry discovered that the bipedal nature of humans made several aspects of the project different compared to boars, but he relished the challenge. Night came and went without Jerry realizing it, and the next day found him once again bent over his workbench, connecting small bones over small bones.

Just like that time when he’d spent six months wandering the forests, time lost its meaning. It flowed freely like sand between his fingers, and he let it, relishing in the mindless, fruitful labor.

His attempts were only interrupted when Boney stepped into the basement.

“Excuse me, Master,” he said, and Jerry looked up. His eyes sported black bags underneath. He wasn’t sure, but he suspected he’d missed a night’s sleep. Maybe two.

“What is it, Boney?” he asked.

“There are some people here to see you. I thought it wise not to kill them before letting you know.”

“Kill them?” Jerry raised a brow. “We don’t kill people, Boney. We’re the good guys. If anything, perhaps we should invite them in for some milk and cookies, though we don’t have any. No matter, I’m sure we can treat them to something . ”

“I would suggest a swift and painful death, Master, but tea would be acceptable too. Foxy brought some leaves the other day. I could try brewing them.”

“Excellent suggestion, as expected of my undead butler.” Jerry straightened up, his spine cracking. “Ouch. Yeah, I guess a break will be good. How long was I working for, Boney?”

“Three and a half days, Master,” echoed the butler’s voice, already gone from the basement. Jerry followed soon after, leaving the new project as it was. He was almost there; soon, their little group would have a new addition. How nice.

As he walked toward the door, Jerry realized he was completely spent. It wasn’t just the exhaustion either; there was a deeper kind of weariness, as if something vital to him was currently strained.

Ah! I forgot the two new skeletons. Boney better have gotten some work done.

However, the moment he saw his visitors, his exhaustion was gone. It wasn’t Derek, as he expected, nor was it the mayor.

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Jerry was a villager through and through, but not all villagers were the same. He had only been to a town once or twice, and the extent of his education was learning to read, write, and count to a hundred. Despite that, he practically oozed class and elegance when compared to the people he found glaring at his undead.

There were eight of them, all wearing leather armor and well-made but badly maintained leather boots. Swords were in their hands, but that was unimportant. What was more notable was the absolute hillbilly-ism of these men.

They each lacked a couple of teeth, held their swords like shovels, and had a sense of permanent incomprehension stuck to their dirty faces. They were hunched, rough, and currently staring at Headless and his chest-level head like a particularly nasty enigma. Jerry was impressed. Had a rival village come to compete for his shoemaking services? Why the swords, though?

In front of the eight hillbillies was another person; a gruff-looking man with a clenched jaw, dressed in metal armor and wielding a spear. The nine of them were currently facing off against the fence builders, ready to dice his lovely undead apart or die trying. At least the wall itself was coming along nicely, now circling almost half of Jerry’s tower.

“Hey there,” Jerry said, drawing their attention. “I’m Jerry, and I’m not open to new orders at the moment. Is there any other way I can help you?”

“You’re a necromancer,” said the gruff, bearded man, confirming he was the leader.

“That’s only a hobby. I’m also a professional shoemaker—did you not read the sign?” He pointed to the wooden sign in front of the fence, which indicated this place as a shoemaker’s workshop. “By the way, you should probably have Billies one through eight sheathe their weapons. What they’re doing can prove to be quite unhealthy.”

“Billies one through eight?” The man looked confused. “Are you talking about my squad? None of them are called Billy. They are Rudolf, Dasher, Prancer—”

“I’m sure my master would love to memorize eight minion names,” Boney’s voice trailed over from one of the upper floor windows, where he was preparing tea. Looking up, Jerry saw the butler’s head peeking out the window.

The armored leader was taken aback. “It can talk?”

“It has a name,” Boney said, “and it can also do many other things with its mouth, which your mother is intimately familiar with.”

“Let’s not antagonize these nice gentlemen yet, Boney,” Jerry said. “I think they’re just confused. This is no way to ask for new shoes.”

“Yah a shoemaker?” One of the Billies narrowed his eyes. “You liah. We knaw your kind. What kinda necromanca make shoes?”

“I have to make a living, don’t I?”

“Can’t you devour virgins or something equally evil?” the commander interceded.

“No,” Jerry replied. “I know how this looks, but I’m actually a good guy!”

“Good guy? A necromancer?”

“To the bone!”

The men looked on blankly.

“Okay, that was my bad,” Jerry said. “I guess Boney got to me. You’ve met him already, right? My undead butler.” They stared. “The talking skeleton,” he added.

Understanding dawned on the commander. Jerry smiled as he continued. “So, care to come in? I have some nice tea. I mean, it might not be nice, it’s just some smelly leaves my pet fox found in the forest, but all tea is nice in good company.”

“I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing in this place, necromancer”—the commander leveled his sword at Jerry, which was very rude indeed—“but know that if you harm one hair of the kingdom’s people or its forests, you will be crucified.”

“I didn’t know forests had hair, but I do not intend to harm anyone, my good sir.” Jerry smiled again. “And speaking of it, who are you?”

“Captain Reymond of the Milaris Royal Guard.” The bearded man struck his chest with an armored fist. Jerry knew Milaris to be the city nearest Pilpen. “And these men are under my command. We are here to man the kingdom’s guard post—the one you have infested. ”

“What, this?” Jerry looked back. “But this is my tower.”

“It is not. It is the kingdom’s guard post.”

“Really? Well, I was given this tower by the village of Pilpen, so you might want to bring it up with their mayor. He’s a nice guy, though his wife is a bit difficult.”

“A village does not have the right to transfer ownership of Kingdom property.”

“Well, it’s mine now.”

“That is unacceptable.” Reymond leveled his stare at Jerry. Jerry stared right back. Suddenly, Reymond realized that confronting an unknown necromancer might be quite unhealthy indeed. He lowered his sword. “I apologize for any confusion caused by our absence, but I have to ask you to evacuate, sir. ”

The man’s disdain was clear by the way he spat out the last word, but Jerry did not particularly care. “Well, this is going to be a little difficult.” He scratched his head. “I mean, I don’t really want to steal your guard tower, but don’t you think you should visit your buildings a bit more frequently? This place had been left unattended for a year. It was a wreck. I’ve cleaned it, tidied it up, and built a lovely little laboratory in the basement along with a good, strong fence.”

“A laboratory?” The captain’s gaze darkened.

“That’s right. I am fine with leaving if the tower truly is yours, but I should be compensated and assisted in my relocation. Do you happen to know any other conveniently abandoned guard towers nearby?”

“What? Kingdom property is not for necromancers to occupy!” The captain fumed. “I will have to ask you to depart immediately. I will also have to ask you to unsummon all your undead minions and allow us to bury them after cleansing them with holy water.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to,” Jerry replied truthfully.

The conversation fell in a lull, for which Jerry was relieved. They weren’t very cooperative. He needed to think.

As he’d said to the man, he really didn’t want to steal another person’s tower. He’d feel pretty bad if somebody stole his tower, so why force that feeling on others? On the other hand, he really didn’t want to leave his new home. He’d already gotten cozy!

Oh, what do I do?

In any case, Jerry didn’t want to intrude. He liked this tower, but if it really belonged to someone else, staying here wasn’t right.

Fortunately, at the last moment, a savior arrived in the form of an undead butler.

“Excuse me,” Tom Boney said, stepping out of the tower with a tea tray in hand, “but I happened to overhear. As a matter of fact, this place used to belong to the Escarbot Kingdom, but it has now been conquered by a foreign Kingdom.”

“Conquered?” The captain’s eyes bulged. “What?”

“Indeed.” The skeleton nodded. “Currently, this place belongs to the newly founded Kingdom of Shoemakery and Undeathly Shenanigans. The SUS Kingdom, for short.”

“What?” said Reymond.

“What?” said Jerry.

“Indeed, indeed.” Boney nodded again. “I clearly remember the day my Master founded his glorious kingdom. We are small now, but we will certainly grow stronger in the future! If fate permits, we might even become a Kingdom with two guard towers!”

“What?” Captain Reynold spread his arms wide, sword and all. “You can’t just make your own kingdom!”

“We can and we did,” Boney stated. “In fact, you are currently intruding on our territory, gentlemen. Are you trying to instigate a war? Can you really shoulder that decision for the entire Kingdom of Escarbot?”

“What war?!” The captain pointed at the skeleton. “ You are instigating a war! You took our tower!”

“We took our tower, but that’s in the past. Let’s not reignite old rivalries.”

“What old— You skeletal clown!” the captain shouted angrily as he stomped his boot and looked around. Besides the annoying skeleton, two more were staring at him, along with an axe-wielding, headless zombie. And what was that? A child skeleton? One with oddly long limbs and sharp fingers?

A boar skeleton had also appeared from the forest at some point, ominously staring them down, and on its back was the skeleton of a fox. Both were drenched in dried blood, and the sheer enmity that radiated from this small army of undead was overwhelming. Crimson sparks burned deep in every undead’s eye sockets.

Moreover, behind everyone else stood the necromancer himself, a man that Captain Reymond couldn’t see through. Was this a battle they could win?

How many of his men would he need to sacrifice?

“Very well,” he relented. “I will call my superior here, and then you will see what the kingdom does to those who mock it. Men! We return!”

Obediently—almost too obediently, in fact—the hillbillies turned and retreated at a brisk pace. Before a minute had passed, the nine of them had already disappeared into the tree line.

“What weird people…” Jerry muttered. “Don’t you think so, Boney?”

“Indeed, Master, for them to pick a bone with us. And unfriendly, too.”

“You know, you’re quite eloquent for a former bandit.” The necromancer raised a brow. “What gives?”

“The previous Tom grew up in Milaris, Master. He was smart and educated, but his parents’ expectations weighed a bit too heavily on him. A shame he decided to become a bandit.”

Jerry nodded.

“By the way, Master, what should we do with the tea?”

“Well, it’s brewed now, and I’m frankly quite exhausted. Let’s drink it ourselves. No, wait; can you even drink tea?”

“Certainly, Master.” Boney laughed. “I so like tea. Its warmth runs bone-deep!”