The massive trunks of the pine trees reached high into the sky, as if to support it. The moonlight softly illuminated the forest edge, in the middle of which Vikurad sat. The body of the machine did not need sleep, but the soul still needed rest. So he laid on the ground, gazing up into the night sky, which seemed to be scattered with shining gems. Not far away was a wooden box, on the sides of which hung rope handles woven by a talented machine.

For months now, he had been wandering from village to village, looking for talented craftsmen who could help him. Now, he was just waiting out the night so that he could set out again at dawn. Crickets chirped around him, fireflies flickered between the branches as if pretending to be small, blazing stars. Life went on as usual, oblivious to the stranger.

On the horizon, the sky was brightening, signaling the approach of sunrise. The first rays of the sun began to break through the thick crowns of trees, lighting up the edge of the forest. Vikur slowly got to his feet, startling a passing hedgehog. The Warforged took a few steps to the side, stretching his imaginary joints and shaking off the dirt.

An elegant blade slipped from his wrist, covered in ornate patterns of lines occupying its entire surface. Near the beginning of the blade, the remnants of dried, ingrained blood once spilled onto the metal were visible. Vikur bent toward the tree trunk, slicing off a mushroom that grew between the thick roots.

The blade of the sword returned to its place, hiding again in the copper forearm of the machine. He approached the hedgehog that curled into a tight ball of needles, offering it the mushroom. However, the animal only snorted from beneath the protection of its thin spines, not accepting the food. Realizing that the hedgehog would not eat it, Vikur threw the mushroom into his mouth. A few moments later, a sizzling sound erupted from its body.

Finished with his snack, Warforged walked over to the box, threading his hands through the ropes on its sides. He slung it onto his back as he continued on his way, leaving deep footprints under his feet. According to the map, the Machine should reach the village by the next day.

The sun was at its highest, while the forest was left behind. Vikur walked across the steppe, spreading the tall grass with his hands. The pines were behind him, and ahead he could see the river stretching across the horizon. Insects flew around him, all of them living their own lives. Bees were gathering nectar from a variety of flowers, dragonflies sliced through the air on their light wings. A good place for a rest, but Warforged did not stop, continuing on his way. By the river, he could collect clean water to clean his parts, enjoying the view at the same time.

Vikur carefully placed the box on the grass, throwing off its ropes. The wide river passed before him, glistening faintly in the evening sunlight. The days were getting shorter and the nights longer, marking the approach of fall. The machine was rinsing the joints on his legs, brushing stuck stalks out of his body. When he was done, Warforged walked over to the box, opening it and removing a leather pouch from the inside of the lid. The water murmured quietly, frogs croaked all around. There was harmony in nature.

Putting the wineskin away in the box, locking it again, Vikur sat down on the ground, looking into the distance. Beyond that shore was a village, the lights of which could already be seen in the dusk. Suddenly a cry was heard from afar, which was cut short as quickly as it had begun. Warforged rose from the ground and picked up the box, securing it on his back.

It was going to be a sleepless night.

The fire raged through the village, devouring the wooden houses. In the tongues of flame flickered beastly shadows, those similar to bulls, on which riders sat. Their long horns bore banners whose patterns Vikur was unable to see from this distance. He made his way through the bushes, ducking to the ground, trying to blend in with the terrain. The closer he got to the village, the more distinct were the cries of the villagers whose homes were being destroyed by the pillagers.

Vikur had seen it before, though only the results. Devastated settlements, with sparse charred bodies lying in the ruins. It was unclear where the inhabitants disappeared to, but the number of corpses was always less than the number of destroyed houses. Roads that had huge hoof prints deeply imprinted in them. That was the most recognizable detail in these ruins. And today, Vikur would see those who had left them.

The box lowered gently to the ground. The clanking of metal could be heard nearby, accompanied by the menacing howl of battle pipes. Vikur unsheathed his blades, sneaking into the village under the cover of night. Tongues of flame danced on his hull, as if purposely giving away his position, aiding the arsonists. Slipping out from around a corner, one of the marauders appeared before him. His body wore armor of thick, dark leather, with additional metal and wood inserts for strength.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Dante's tools, however, were always known for their quality. The blade of the sword sliced through the skin with ease, striking the heart of the enemy. Vikur pushed the dying body away from him, rushing forward. The huge iron golem, long since overgrown with moss due to lack of business, was back in the fight. His next blow came down on the slow rascal, knocking him into the ground. Behind him, the villagers hid, hoping for the protection of their ancient guardian.

The Warforged rushed into the combat, striking his enemies from the rear. Soon, his blades were once again covered in blood. His eyes flashed over the field covered with bodies, the screams of dozens of peasants, the volleys of cannons... Shaking his head, Vikur looked around. The villagers were rushing from the well to the houses, trying to put out the fire. Suddenly, a roar sounded from the right. A hideous creature, made only for fighting, was charging towards the golem. Its gray skin was covered in scars, and on top of it sat a man in a robe, moving his arms in the air. Wooden roots sprang out of the ground, wrapping around the iron guardian's legs. The beast roared again, ramming the iron guardian with its horns.

The villagers watched in horror as their protector was mangled, destroyed by this spawn of chaos. The rider swung his arms, sending a wave of flying stakes toward the peasants. Vikur leapt out in front of the crowd, displaying the shield of one of the marauders in front of him. As he kicked the stakes away, he lunged forward. The beast roared, carrying its bulky carcass towards the Warforged, whose body was many times smaller than the ruined golem lying on the ground.

However, this gave him an advantage. At the last moment, Vikur leapt to the side, grabbing the behemoth's horn. The blade of his sword on the right hand slammed into the thick hide of the beast, causing it to howl in pain. It flung off its rider, but Warforged held tightly to the chains wrapped around the creature's neck. A click sounded inside the metal body, and the monster fell on its side, roaring loudly. Smoke billowed from the wound where the blade had been.

Taking advantage of the moment, Vikur plunged the second blade into the beast's neck to the hilt, then leapt away from the writhing body on the ground. His hands, elbow-deep in blood, glistened brightly in the fire that coated his blade. The rider behind him slowly crawled aside, holding onto his broken leg. His dark robes were covered in golden patterns going behind his back. From the looks of it, he was one of the leaders.

The Warforged slowly approached the wounded man, stepping on his sore leg. The man cried out in pain and tried to pull his weapon from its sheath, but was stopped by the flaming blade Vikur brought before the pillager. With difficulty, the man began to speak.

-P...Please don't do this...I can give you anything you want...Gold, weapons...Just name it...Please

Vikur's metal sole pressed harder on the wounded man's leg, sending a wave of pain throughout his body.

-The weapons didn't help your men, so what's in it for me?

Seeing that the Machine was swinging for a blow, the man began to shout.

-STOP, PLEASE! I...I KNOW MAGIC! PLEASE...please...

Vikur froze silently over the wounded man, still holding his weapon threateningly.

-...what about soul magic?

-Certainly, of course...I'll do whatever you say, please...don't.....

The flame of the sword extinguished. The blades went into his wrists with a click, hiding in his forearm again. Vikur glanced at the village once more. A man in white robes was waving his arms, giving instructions to the other villagers. Some of the houses had already been extinguished. The village would be recovered.

The Warforged lifted the man off the ground, grabbing him by his clothes. A pathetic semblance of a leader who whimpered at danger, hiding behind the backs of others in battle. However, he could still be of use....

-We're here.

Vikur pushed the marauder toward a wooden box lying on the ground, then began to open it. The wounded man watched, panicking as he wondered what might be inside. When the lid opened, a strong odor of herbs, charcoal, and various oils hit his nostrils.

Warforged stepped away from the box, allowing the pillager to see what laid inside... or rather who. At the bottom, there was a cloth-wrapped body, secured by metal bindings to the boards. The bandages were coated with various compounds that masked the odor and helped delay the decomposition process.

-...what do you want from me...? I-

-Resurrect this body.

-I-I can't do that, it takes-

There was a click behind the bandit, accompanied by the sound of metal sliding.

-STOP! I CANNOT RESURRECT IT, BUT- but-... I CAN SUPPORT IT! These bandages... these bandages could be removed....

The fires of the village had long since gone out. The first rays of the sun were appearing on the horizon. Vikur sat still, watching the marauder at work. The air nearby sparkled, shimmering with different colors. Suddenly, everything stopped.

-D...Done... May I go now?

Warforged stood up from the ground, approaching the coffin. Dante, still the same gray-haired master, laid inside. His skin was pale and his eyes remained closed. Vikur nodded silently, not turning to look at the marauder.

-Thank you...than-.

The blade of the sword pierced his neck, passing through. Just as quickly, it traveled back into the Warfoged's body. The pillager clutched at his throat, coughing, trying to breathe. Pitiful croaks came out of his throat, but Vikur paid no attention to them, wrapping the coffin with ropes again. The man collapsed heavily to the ground, bleeding. Securing the load behind his back, the Machine set off again for the village, leaving the sorcerer's body behind.