The common room in Krimlond was packed to the brim, the air thick with tension and the scent of burning torches. Merlot stood at the center of the room, his imposing figure casting long shadows across the stone walls. He was surrounded by a sea of bodies, the barons, knights, and nobles of the kingdom all crammed into the space, with Solond's sixty members adding to the chaos. Most were standing, their voices rising in a cacophony of accusations and frustrations. The room buzzed with barely restrained anger, the heated discussions threatening to boil over into violence.

On one side of the room, Lina stood with her arms crossed, her sharp eyes darting between the faces of the gathered lords. Her short stature did nothing to diminish her presence, and her twin silver short swords hung at her sides like silent threats. Nearby, Edmond, the burly leader of Solond, swayed slightly, the remnants of a hangover visible in his bloodshot eyes. The Solond members, dressed in their quartered black and yellow tabards, grumbled, casting dark looks at the Erenlond delegation. Across from them, the members of Razlond, with their more regal bearing, stood with a cold, measured silence, their faces betraying no emotion.

The kingdom's other nobles, the Dukes and Duchesses, each representing one of the four regions under the crown, were seated at a long table, their faces drawn with concern. The kingdom was divided into these regions, each governed by one of these influential figures. Beneath them, the baronies—including Solond, Razlond, Erenlond, and Krimlond had always served as the backbone of the kingdom's might. But now, in the aftermath of the recent disasters, their unity was unraveling.

Merlot raised his hands, his voice commanding and clear as he attempted to restore order. “Everyone, let's quiet down,” he said, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “I know you have questions. I promise I have answers.” His words did little to calm the room, but the respect he commanded forced a momentary lull in the clamor.

“Yes,” Merlot continued, his tone grave, “the call of the heroic souls has been reactivated. And no, we did not do it. It was Adair, the guardian of our world. And yes, this one is permanent until Adair .”

At this, the room exploded into chaos. Voices clashed and collided as accusations flew from every corner. Solond's members were the loudest, their anger directed squarely at Krimlond. “This is Krimlond's doing!” one of them shouted, their words echoed by several others. On the other side, the Erenlond members turned their ire toward Merlot, blaming him for allowing necromancers to fight alongside them in the war. The accusations only fueled the flames of discord, hurling insults and threats across the room.

Merlot's patience snapped, his voice booming over the din with a force that silenced the room. “Enough!” he roared, his fists clenched at his sides. The room fell into a tense silence, all eyes locked on the Razlond leader. “If it's anyone's fault, it's the druids,” he declared, his voice icy with anger. “Which leads to the next task at hand. Druids are not in charge of this kingdom. If you are a druid, report to me—not your High Druid or whatever tree creature controls you. They caused this earthquake.”

A murmur of shock rippled through the room, but Merlot pressed on, his gaze hardening as he looked at the Erenlond contingent. “While we already claimed Solond, Razlond, Krimlond, and defended the keeps from the lords, the Erenlond barony lost their keep and decided to go tell the High Druid what was happening. Apparently, they were told the kingdom was lost. So he caused the earthquake. Quite frankly, I don't like an individual having that much power over my kingdom.”

The Erenlond members protested, blaming Krimlond for telling Lavender those lies. Their voices rose once more, but before they could overwhelm the room again, Lina stepped forward, her voice sharp and commanding. “Flynn did that of his own free will,” she said, her words cutting through the noise. “He lost his mind during the fight and accused some of us of being undead. We had to subdue him. He later broke out.”

Merlot nodded in agreement, his expression grim. “Yes, Flynn and Lavender are in the dungeon. But that leads us to our next problem. All of the prisoners that were in the dungeon before the earthquake are missing.” A hush fell over the room as the implications of his words sank in. “The earthquake left a massive ravine where the dungeon once was,” Merlot continued, his tone heavy with the weight of the situation. “So yes, all of those necromancers who did terrible things are loose.”

The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone present. The kingdom, already battered and bruised from the war and the earthquake, now faced an even greater threat that could unravel everything they had fought to protect.

As the meeting concluded, the tension in the air lingered like a storm that had only just passed. Lina, her mind racing with thoughts, stepped out of the crowded common room and made her way toward the tents pitched just outside the keep. The weight of the day's discussions still hung heavy on her shoulders, but there was one more matter she needed to address. She had just thought of Talich’s wife, Vivian, the head of a noble house and conspicuously absent from the meeting. Her curiosity piqued, and Lina decided to seek out Talich and inquire about her.

The night was cool, with a gentle breeze rustling through the trees as Lina walked through the camp. A few soldiers and camp followers were gathered around a fire, its flickering flames casting long shadows on the ground. Among them were Runner and Alley, seated close together, their heads bent in hushed conversation. Lina couldn’t help but smile as she noticed how they looked at each other, their eyes filled with the unmistakable spark of new affection. She made a mental note to tease them later about their puppy dog eyes, but for now, her thoughts were focused on finding Talich.

Lina scanned the area, her sharp eyes taking in every detail. She spotted some of Talich’s belongings scattered near a tent on the edge of the camp, and she made her way toward it. The tent was modest, with a few personal items placed outside: a worn leather satchel, a cloak draped over a makeshift chair, and Talich’s distinctive sword resting against a stump. Satisfied that she had found the right place, Lina lifted the tent flap and stepped inside.

The dim light from a single lantern revealed a figure lying under a thick blanket. At first glance, Lina thought it was Talich, but something about the shape and size of the figure made her pause. The person beneath the blanket was much smaller than Talich. A thought crossed her mind: could it be Vivian? The petite woman, known for her diminutive stature, could easily be mistaken for a child if one wasn't paying close attention.

Lina’s heart softened as she recalled their shared history. She and Vivian had been childhood friends, bound by a deep understanding and mutual respect. Vivian had always been fascinated by the mystical arts, particularly divination and the ancient practices of necromancy. This interest, coupled with her formidable intellect, had drawn her to Talich, a man seventy years her senior but whose extended lifespan had preserved his youthful appearance. Despite the age difference, their bond was undeniable, and Lina had always admired how they complemented each other.

Stolen novel; please report.

Smiling to herself, Lina decided to surprise her old friend. She slipped under the blanket, ready to whisper a playful greeting, but the moment she did, she realized something was wrong. The body she touched wasn’t warm and soft like Vivian’s; instead, it was rough, covered in scales, and unnervingly cold. A jolt of fear shot through Lina, her voice catching in her throat as she managed to gasp, “Who?”

But before she could react further, the figure beneath the blanket moved with a speed and strength that took her completely off guard. Glowing red eyes snapped open, burning with an unnatural light that sent a chill down her spine. The next moment, powerful hands wrapped around her throat, crushing her windpipe with terrifying force. Lina struggled, her mind reeling in shock and confusion, but it was futile. The strength wasn’t human, it was something else, something dark and twisted, fueled by a power that Zavet himself had yet to understand fully.

Zavet’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening, but it was too late. The command, instilled deep within him, had taken over completely. As Lina’s life slipped away, her body went limp, and the light faded from her eyes. The moment her neck snapped, Zavet was released from the thrall, his mind clearing just in time to witness the horrific result of his actions. Horror and guilt washed over him as he saw Lina’s lifeless body crumpled beneath him. His breath caught in his throat as the weight of what he had done pressed down on him like a vice.

But the nightmare wasn’t over. Before he could process the full extent of his actions, Lina’s body began to twitch, the necromantic energy still lingering in the air. Her skin grew pale and cold, her eyes opening once more, now glazed over with the empty stare of the undead. Panic surged through Zavet, and he acted on instinct. With a swift, decisive motion, he killed her again, this time ensuring that she would not rise once more.

Zavet stumbled out of the tent, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked around frantically, his mind racing. Had anyone seen what had just happened? He had to know. Spotting Runner by the campfire, he hurried over, trying to keep his voice steady despite the terror gnawing at his insides.

“Hey, Runner,” Zavet whispered, his voice barely audible.

Runner looked up from his conversation with Alley, his brow furrowing in concern. “You okay?” he asked, noting the fear in Zavet’s eyes.

“Uh, yeah,” Zavet replied, forcing a weak smile. “Just checking to see who came into my tent a second ago.”

Runner gave him a puzzled look. “I didn’t see anyone. Maybe it was a dream?”

Zavet nodded, though the fear in his eyes betrayed his unease. “Maybe… maybe it was,” he mumbled, glancing back toward the tent. The image of Lina’s lifeless body was seared into his mind, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that clung to him like a second skin. “I’m going to put up my own tent,” he added suddenly, the need to distance himself from the scene of the crime overwhelming him. “Can you show me how to do it?”

Runner’s expression softened, though a flicker of irritation crossed his face at the prospect of setting up a tent in the dark. But his frustration melted away when he saw the terror etched on Zavet’s face in the firelight. “Sure,” Runner said, his voice gentler now. “Let’s get it done.”

The two of them worked in silence; the only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the distant murmurs of the camp. It took longer than usual, the dim firelight making the task more difficult, but eventually, they managed to set up the tent. By the time they finished, most of the camp had settled down for the night, the once-bustling camp now quiet and still.

As they stood in the dark, the reality of what had transpired weighed heavily on Zavet’s shoulders. The night had swallowed up his secret for now, but the darkness that had awakened within him was something he could not escape. The terror of what he had done and the power that had driven him to it would haunt him long after the fires died.

Zavet lay in his tent, the weight of the night’s events pressing heavily on his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Lina’s lifeless face staring back at him, her eyes devoid of the warmth they once held. Sleep eluded him, his mind too restless to find any peace. The guilt gnawed at him, a relentless force that kept him awake long into the night.

By the time the first rays of dawn began to creep over the horizon, Zavet knew there would be no sleep for him. He couldn’t afford to let his mind linger on what had happened. The only way to push the memories aside was to exhaust himself to the point where he no longer had the capacity to think, to remember, or to distinguish between nobles and commoners. If he were delirious with fatigue, perhaps the dark thoughts would leave him, if only for a while.

As the sun began to crest over the camp, painting the sky with hues of gold and pink, Zavet couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to get out and lose himself in work—any work that would keep him away from the others, especially those he knew to be nobles. The thought of being near them, seeing their faces, and remembering what he had done was too much to bear.

Quietly, he gathered his things, his movements careful not to disturb the stillness of the early morning. His heart pounded as he scribbled a crude map on a scrap of parchment, marking an X where he planned to work for the day. His mind was so clouded by exhaustion and guilt that he didn’t realize he had mistakenly marked the Razlond district, thinking it was the opposite side of the camp. He pinned the map to the outside Runner’s tent, hoping it would be found without too much scrutiny.

With that task done, Zavet began to walk in the direction he believed would take him farthest away from Lina’s resting place and the other nobles. The morning air was cool, but he hardly noticed it, his mind too consumed by the need to occupy himself. He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact with the few people already up and about, their faces blurring together in his mind.

As he made his way through the camp, Zavet’s attention was drawn to a group of Solond members hurrying away from something. Their movements were frantic, almost panicked as if they were fleeing the scene of a crime. His curiosity piqued, Zavet slowed, his eyes narrowing as he watched them disappear into the distance. Something about the way they moved sent a chill down his spine.

Cautiously, Zavet approached the area they had just vacated. His eyes scanned the ground, and soon, he spotted what they had left behind: a body lying motionless in the dirt. A knot of dread formed in his stomach as he crept closer, every step a battle against the fear that threatened to overwhelm him.

As he neared the body, Zavet’s breath caught in his throat. He recognized the signs immediately: the pallor of the skin, the unnatural stillness that preceded the inevitable. The person was turning, the necromantic energy taking hold, reanimating the dead flesh into something monstrous. Without hesitation, Zavet drew his blade and put the undead creature down with a swift and practiced motion before it could fully rise.

He stood over the body, breathing heavily as he wiped the blade clean. His mind was racing, the sight of the corpse stirring a storm of thoughts. The Solond members had fled the scene, leaving the body behind. But why? Zavet crouched down, examining the body more closely. The man’s weapons and items were missing, stripped away before he had turned. The realization hit Zavet like a punch to the gut.

“I just witnessed them kill someone,” he thought to himself, his mind reeling. “Looks like they stole his weapons and items.”

The idea made Zavet’s blood run cold. The Solond members had murdered this man and left him to become undead, scavenging what they could from his body like vultures. Anger and disgust welled inside Zavet, mingling with the guilt and fear already festering in his heart. The city was becoming a twisted reflection of the horrors outside its walls, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something far darker was lurking beneath the surface.

He pushed on, knowing he could not do anything to them in his state. He could not turn them in because he knew he would need to. Eventually, I talked to a noble. So he went to the area he marked and started to sniff out undead.