“The first order of business: sending a co-op with our hunters and some of your teleporting fox-kin to scout the undead. We’ll also have them draw out a map of their scouted areas. Old Crimson, I’m sure your village knows the area very well.”
Nodding his head and stroking his beard, Old Crimson agreed, “Indeed, we know the lay of the land and will be able to support your scouting.”
“Good, now go out and pick out some reliable youngins. Vlad, I want you to go and give the order to the hunters to prepare for the scouting mission. Also, tell Reaver to lend some wolves to squad two so they can move faster. Next, inform the mages to fortify the area. I don’t want us to be caught with our pants down. After the orders are passed out, come back.”
With Old Crimson and Vlad leaving the house to deal with Ubel’s commands, Ubel wiped the strange smile off his face, returning to his usual expressionless self.
Turning to Urist he began to talk, “You did good there, playing the goodie two shoes made it much easier to take them under command. Although if Vlad didn’t stop you, you could’ve made a mess of the negotiations.”
Urist just sneered, “That wasn’t a negotiation. You strong-armed that old man into submission.”
“It’s my job to be hated after all. I’m married to War and Death. With those pawns under my command, I could maybe turn this utter hopelessness of a campaign into something winnable.”
Urist didn’t retort and just slid back into his chair, “Agreed, this difficulty is too high. We have nothing but melee and magicians but they have legions of the undead with guns, and those undead are backed by skeleton mechas and necromancers with unknown power. That’s not even counting what other tricks they might have up their sleeves.”
Pushing his glasses up, Ubel stared at the ceiling, “Correct, if we don’t handle this well it’ll end up a total wipeout. Although we don't have to worry about dying permanently here, we can logically deduce that those who do die will remember the experience. And those who die might resent us for throwing them into the grinder. It could, in the worst-case scenario, destabilize the already fragile power balance.
“Which wouldn’t have been the worst case if those three freaks didn’t show up. At any time they could try to seize power and perhaps cause a civil war. Maybe not Snorri, but those two that reek of blood could pull something here and affect your prestige with the rest of the population.”
Leaning back in his chair he continued, “Honestly Urist, we’re walking on a tightrope here with no time to breathe. With Volt as one of our strongest and most loyal warriors in meditation, we’re fighting an uphill battle. If we make a mistake, this house of cards could be blown away in a flash.”
Wishing he could have a smoke right about now, Urist leaned forward with his hands on the table.
“So what do we do?”
Looking at his outstretched hand, Ubel began to list off a few options, “If I had the time and the resources, I’d do a few things. Assassinate the necromancers to cut the undead from their strings, holy bombardments hit and run tactics... The list of things we could plan if only we had the options. Alas, there's only one thing we can do since we’re on the clock.”
“And that is?”
“Gather info, locate VIPs, locate top targets, and aim for a one day victory by blitzkrieg.”
***
Riding on her white tiger, Rex, Reaver offhandedly shot, “So squirt, you know the area pretty well? Ubel gave us a day to scout, so we’ll be counting on you.”
The fur-clad youth held onto the seat strapped to the white tiger, fearful yet still managing to squeak out a few words, “Y-yes, my father often took me out to teach me how to hunt. Out of all of my kin, except for the elders, I’m the most knowledgeable of the lay of the land. A-Although could we ride… a l-little more smoothly?”
Scruffing up the fox-kins hair while using her other hand to hold the reins, a thing the crafters had spent some time on, Reaver laughed, “No can do, short stack. We’re on the clock! You wanna save your dad and everyone, right? Wanna be a hero of the village?”
Her words provoked the fear out of the fox-kin and caused his eyes to sharpen.
Gritting his teeth he replied, “I’ll bear it for my father and mother. I would be an unfilial son if I didn’t lay my life on the line! And I’m not called short stack, my name is Orion!”
“Yah, yah, show that grit on the battlefield. This is just a simple scouting mission. Hey Blink, how's Saera holding up?”
Wincing at his name being called, Blink gave her a death glare.
“She has only thrown up twice. Seems fine now.”
Saera didn’t respond to the mention of her name, only keeping her eyes wide, taking in the sights and mumbling about demons under her breath.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Oh come on Saera, we’re halfway done with the mapping. It isn't that bad riding a wolf, right?” Poked Reaver, trying to lighten the mood.
Saera’s mumbling stopped and her bloodshot eyes turned towards Reaver's direction.
She tilted her head and her pale lips parted, “Shut the fuck up.”
The hunters instantly grew silent.
***
Meanwhile, as the hunters explored, in a castle made out of bone-deep within enemy territory, a figure sat on his throne, alone with his thoughts.
He wore jet black heavy armor that seemed plain and unadorned. His facial features were youthful and contrasted his long ashen hair. Although he appeared to be a young man, his bedeviled yellow eyes carried a primal ancientness that hinted he had lived for countless years.
Using one of his two right hands as a rest for his chin, he tapped rhythmically with his other three hands.
Click, click, click. His fingers moved unnaturally, almost mechanically.
How has it come to this? For me, a great necromancer, to be mere fodder for the gods… No, devils are a more fitting name for them. They took away my chance at immortality and now dangle it in front of me as a false hope. How could I have fallen this far when I had everything in the world? I was supposed to be an immortal, a god that ruled over all within my reach.
Amid his thoughts, he heard a knock.
Awoken from his pondering, Malous stopped taping his chair.
"You may enter."
Given permission, a man with sunken eyes and cracked skin covered in black veins opened the door.
Seeing the man Malous smiled, “Ah Robert, my most trusted friend. What brings you to my chambers? Shouldn’t you be readying the spell so I may ascend and free us from this accursed place?”
Bowing his head, Robert replied with a wheezing voice, “My apologies milord, I wished to inform you that there seems to be some activity in the fox-kin village. Should we investigate it to make sure they’re not planning on going back on the blood oath?”
Malous frowned, “My friend, aren’t we closer than just mere lord and retainer? We’ve known each other for so long yet I’ve never heard you call me with such coldness.”
Realizing his mistake, Robert lowered his head slightly in a bow, “I’m sorry mil-- Malous, I don’t know what’s come over me.”
Seeing his good friend catch himself, Malous didn’t press further, “It’s fine as long as you remember. Don’t worry about the invaders, like those before them we’ll have no problem. Just focus on the ritual and leave defense to the undead.”
Feeling pleased with himself Malous leaned back in his chair, waiting for Robert to excuse himself.
“But, Malous… we’ve never had invaders here. In fact, I don’t remember-”
Being questioned, Malous’ previously calm expression instantly turned fiendish. His eyes filled with rage and confusion, he growled at Robert, “Did I stutter, Robert? Leave now, before you exhaust my patience.”
Scared out of his wits, Robert bowed once more, “Yes sir, right away si-”
Filled with an unknown rage Malous lashed out, forming a fist of magic that slammed into the ground right in front of Robert. The bone floor cracked and Robert rushed towards the door, closing it without a sound.
Meanwhile, Malous was breathing heavily, hands trembling as his rage gave way to more confusion.
Looking at his hands deeply, he wondered.
Why did I just lash out towards my best friend? What is wro-
Just as he began to ponder his outbreak, his bright eyes clouded over before clearing up in a mere instant.
Malous moved to use one of his two right hands as a crutch, while he began to tap rhythmically with his other three hands.
Click, click, click. His fingers moved unnaturally, almost mechanically.
How has it come to this? For me, a great necromancer, to be mere fodder for the gods…
***
Time passed, and by late afternoon Urist’s forces had finished setting up decent fortifications. It would be hard for an army of a few thousand to take this position if Ubel used all his forces inside wisely. Even Old Crimson felt amazed at the dwarven ingenuity. Still, he couldn’t feel confident that the wall would hold back the countless monsters made of bones. Ubel didn’t go assure him, as he was working hard with his wind mage subordinates to gather information from the hunter teams. They had given him much information on the lay of the land, and were currently heading back with their drawn-out maps.
Although he couldn’t make a finely detailed plan without a map before him, Ubel had already begun to form the basics of his plot.
Two hundred and forty-two children, of those one hundred and ten can hold a spear and join a combat force. Out of the elders there are only fifty of the one hundred and seven capable of any form of fighting. Old Crimson said we have about 641 adults to rescue and from the scouting information, there are thirty-two outposts making up the magic formation.
We can assume that each outpost holds at least twenty adults and that the bone castle holds Old Crimson’s daughter. Is the number a coincidence, or set by an outside force? No matter, the hunters outdid themselves in gathering information.
Using a combination of earth and wind magic they were able to sense the total number of opponents based on shape alone. Each base has four hundred and twenty or so humanoid figures, with each having at least one large humanoid figure. We can assume that each outpost holds a bone mecha, meaning that known common combatants for the outposts are about 12,800 skeletons and 32 mechas.
Unfortunately, there’s a magic barrier around the castle, preventing a passive scan from penetrating and gaining more information. So we’ll have an unknown variable of castle forces, but there shouldn't be many since they should be spread out to protect the magic formation. At most, the elite troops should be stationed as a response team.
Man.
Leaning back in his chair Ubel's mouth formed a thin smile.
What a shit scenario. But still not as bad as when I met Death. Good times. Luckily I've fought a few necromancers before. Although these ones are more advanced, they still have the same flaws. I have to treat Joy to a drink later for confirming it.
Without it, we wouldn't have such an opening.
A sudden knock on the door interrupted his musing.
"Come in."
Opening the door, a messenger slightly bowed his head, "Sir, the hunters have returned."
"Good, tell them to see me."