“Ugh,” Julian released a long groan as he slumped into a simple wooden chair around the outside of the cozy common room of the Grimace Inn, so named almost as a way to metaphorically stick it to the terrifying smile-demons. It had turned out that Luna’s timeframe held more than enough space for him to dedicate time to building his roster of undead soldiers, so he had spent the last several days animating the corpses available to him. He had just completed two resurrection rituals in a row, finishing with the animations he currently had the carcases for; pushing to the point of total exhaustion wasn’t the brightest move on his part, but with the hamlet’s wooden walls protecting him and the Skill ensuring the ritual’s correctness, he felt the risk was minimal.
The morning after they had arrived at the inn, Julian had asked Luna over breakfast if he could spend some time building up his forces. Without hesitation she agreed, but berated him for not mentioning his needs earlier; as she put it, she was neither a mind-reader nor necromancer, and would have no idea what he needed if he never spoke up. After that breakfast, she departed deeper into the wilds, to the edge of the Wild Hunt’s true territory; there she could find beasts of sufficient power to train her own Skills, at least her weaker ones. On her way out the door she gave Julian an extra warning to take care; she wouldn’t be nearby to fix it if he got into another mess or made another silly mistake.
Of course, to Julian, being careful meant maximizing his animated dead at all times, so he had spent most of the last four days bringing them up and under his control. Two sets of two rituals in a row with only a short break between the sets for food and rest brought four undead horrors under his control, though somehow they were less frightening than their living kin. After a rushed meal of some mystery meat and potato stew, the exact contents of which he chose not to question, he stumbled to his room and collapsed in bed, fully clothed. His Status remained unchanged since his somewhat foolish march through the “smiling hills”, and with its dismissal he settled into a dreamless sleep.
Morning light washed over closed eyelids, but noonday shadows cast by his windowsill shaded blearily blinking eyes; Julian was, to his utter annoyance, awake. To be truthful, he could have used more sleep, but his time in this world had drilled into him a habit of minimal sleep, resulting in the sight of a necromancer in wrinkled leathers mumbling half-awake curses as he dragged himself out of bed, thumped briefly to the floor, then stumbled to the corner wash basin. A splash of freezing autumn well-water helped drag his mind to lucidity, and he meandered downstairs for breakfast; while he’d never liked coffee, and he wasn’t sure this world even had it, milk, eggs, and whatever meat was fresh was a perfectly good way to greet the day.
His mood briefly soured with the discovery that said meat was no longer being served, as it was now after noon, but he still was able to inhale an egg-filled breakfast washed down by cold milk, much to the stunned amusement of the waitress. The look on her face made him chuckle, but as he thought about tipping her, it occurred to him that he’d never acquired an allowance of any form from either Marge or Luna, so he was completely broke. His gait contained little confidence as he walked to the bar to speak to the innkeeper, a portly blonde woman named Sarah with who was cleaning that morning’s dishes. She looked up as he approached.
“Hey, uh…how much do I owe you for the four nights’ stay?” His right hand cupped the back of his neck as he chuckled nervously.
“Oh dontcha worry none, your master left a couple weeks’ rent in advance just in case. A kind enough woman, though I can’t say I’m sad to see ‘er off, high-tier auras being what they are.” The innkeep spoke with an accent vaguely reminiscent of Earth’s Scottish, though it probably would’ve seemed more distinct if he were more familiar with either Scottish or her native tongue.
Julian smiled his thanks, then asked, “Is there any way for an outsider like me to earn some coin around here? I might be here a little while, though the rent should hold out.”
“Newcomer, eh? Easy enough, yeah. We got a copy o’ the local bounties, and those smilin’ dogs always have good coin placed for ‘em; I make sure of it.” She rustled around behind the bar counter for a moment, before coming back out with a stack of papers, and showing them to Julian one at a time. “Yeah, most o’ these are cullin’ requests for those smilers. Just need proof o’ death, usually a head but I can take seein’ the body, since a necromancer has needs. Oh, there are a few delivery missions, but with what I’ve seen o’ you and your master, combat’s best.”
Nodding gratefully, Julian took all of the culling requests from her, and began going through them. Every single one was for one of the grinning demons, smilers, and given his intent to hunt the terrors regardless, he could turn a tidy sum while completing a task he’d already intended to. He dug a piece of paper out of his bag and wrote the mission names, number of kills required, and total reward; he had barely an inkling what different currencies were worth, but he knew the silver pieces being paid for most of the extermination missions weren’t the smallest denomination, and were usually about equal to a day’s wages for an unskilled laborer. He thanked Sarah and left the common room, notes in his pocket.
He could earn an average of two silver pieces for each slain smiler, and there were bounties available for dozens. Given he had little need for equipment, the pay, assuming he didn’t die, would keep him afloat for a long while, certainly long enough to finish out his hoard and embark out to the deeper wilds. A slight smile formed on his face as Julian headed to the stables to grab his four minions, but their grotesque visages, staring at him through their stable door, sent shivers down his spine. He released the horrors, and commanded them to follow passively as he headed toward the gatehouse. The lone guard made a face of disgust at the sight, for which Julian could hardly blame her, before she let the group through without a word.
The rolling, grassy hills, dotted with taller thickets of trees and underbrush, were just as beautiful as they were on Julian’s first trip through, but now the idyllic feeling was entirely disrupted by both his knowledge of what awaited him out there and the sight of what guarded him nearby. Walking at a casual pace, he kept an eye out for any signs of the smilers, but he wasn’t too disappointed when the first half-hour passed without an encounter; he had been warned they preferred coming out at twilight and hunting prey overnight, so it wasn’t a surprise. After the third hour Julian was regretting leaving the village so early, the afternoon heat seeming almost to mock him, but on his fourth hour patrolling in ever-expanding laps around the hamlet, he finally encountered one of the grinning beasts. More specifically, it walked out of the underbrush in a nearby copse of trees, nearly straight into his group.
Despite his boredom, Julian had continued to hold his spear ready in both hands, and his vigilance paid off as he rapidly reacted to the sudden appearance of an enemy, turning to plunge his spear toward the creature’s skull. He felt the weapon bite into its fur, but it deflected off the cranial bone, leaving only an ugly scar with little real damage. Retracting his spear, he fell back, the creature too far to attempt a counter-attack. With over ten feet between them, he watched the monster tentatively bite at the undead nearest it, leery of another wound like the first it had received. Tentative was proven only relative as its teeth tore chunks of meat from the zombie, but the undead retained most of its function, at least for now.
Almost as though in response, the zombies’ slower attacks began to fall upon the creature. The first one’s mouth yawned open, gore fresh as the day it died dripping between its teeth, and surged forward. The undead aimed to savage the creature’s meaty flank, but the smiler just barely shifted enough to move the blow to its leg instead. It screamed in rage and pain, but seemed mostly unaffected; at least, until the second zombie attacked. Undead teeth gored the chest and neck of the evil canine, leaving it weakened to the onslaught of the third zombie.
Julian’s third minion, the one previously mutilated by the monster, jumped its forepaws onto the creature’s back and tore into the flesh surrounding its spine. Bloody fur and fat flew from the savage mauling, but even with a partially-exposed spine, the smiler held steady. Then the final undead surged forward. It clumsily ducked under and around its animated fellows, then came up underneath the still-breathing foe and seized its throat in its jaws, tearing its throat wide open. A weak whisper of air could be heard through the opened pipe as the too-human eyes stared into Julian’s, begging, before it collapsed, smiling even in death.
Having gotten more used to the smilers, the necromancer only shrugged off its last look with a wave of goosebumps, then began examining the corpse. It was poor quality, heavily damaged. His minions had shredded much of its musculature, but still he tied it to one of his animated minions for hauling; until he approached his control limit, a corpse was a corpse. Next, he examined his mauled undead. It remained mostly functional, only missing organs that were useless to the dead, but it didn’t have much more extraneous meat with which to absorb blows. He and his forces probably had one more fight in them before it was best to retreat for the day, but first he wanted to examine the underbrush this smiler had emerged from.
Inside was a shocking sight far worse than anything he’d seen since coming to this world. The first thing his stunned mind processed was some kind of nest, only instead of branches, twigs, or tufts of fur, it had decaying human remains; intestines and other organs padded the center, while bones insulated with strips of muscle and skin walled the circumference. The next thing he took in was the smell; it somehow combined all the intensity of fresh blood, bile, and shit with the rot and decay of meat left in the July sun for two days and the overpowering sourness of chunky milk. Finally he registered the worst detail of all; at the far end of the nest, like a macabre ornament, sat the mostly-preserved severed head of a little girl. Stringy, patchwork, pale-blonde hair framed once-pale cheeks now bruised purple. Small lips, button nose, and wispy eyebrows frozen forever in a rictus of terrified surprise. Eyeless sockets gazed accusingly at the world, asking, “Why?”
Overcome by a surging tidal wave of nausea, Julian retched and neary spewed on the spot. Only the resistance to gore gained from the weeks of battle and working with corpses kept the bile at bay. Instead, he was overcome with a burning combination of horror, revulsion, and anger, the raw emotions pulsing through his veins faster with every beat of his pained heart. Face set in a stony grimace, he buried the eviscerated remains; a shallow grave soon to return to the food chain was a far better fate than viscera given primitive shape. Minutes passed, and the burial was complete; he then stored the child’s severed head inside a spare sack taken from his travel bag. Maybe an unfortunate person in the hamlet would recognize her, or could lead him to her family; whoever lost the girl, if alive, deserved closure if nothing else.
He returned to the unnamed hamlet on a more direct route than he had taken out; his four-hour circular patrol turned into a five-minute run, his zombies tight on his heels. Short of breath, he arrived at the entrance gate, manned by the same guard that had let him out. She looked him over before calling out, jovially teasing, “Back already, eh? They prove too tough for ya?”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“Not now, just let me in. Found a fucking dead kid, want to get what’s left of the body identified soon as I can.” Julian spoke gruffly, failing any attempt at maintaining courtesy.
But his failure didn’t bug the woman. Her face fell, and she hopped the wall-walk to reach the gate latch, quickly opened the port, and replied in a softer tone, “Found a nest, huh? I’m sorry. You’ll want to talk to the innkeep, she runs the place and will know if it’s one of the local families’.”
With a nod, Julian continued into the walled settlement, his undead commanded to hold position outside and defend themselves. In a settlement only a few hundred feet across, his journey to the inn was a short trip. The normally jovial matron, Sarah, saw the scowl on his face and frowned, prepared for a serious conversation.
Julian, before she could ask, explained, “Found a smiler. It had a nest made from the desecrated body of a child, but her head might be identifiable.” He spoke plainly and quickly, trying to get the conversation over with.
The innkeeper's frown fell into a full scowl, sadness dragged down her cheeks, and suddenly she seemed much older. She sighed, “Best ya bring ‘er out now, maybe we can at least tell ‘er family what happened.”
With a nod, Julian undid the straps of his travel pack, then settled it gently to the floor. He flipped the lid open and removed a bulging sack, the smells of death and decay invading the room soon after. He settled the package on the counter, then untied the bag’s seal and peeled the cloth away, revealing the severed head of the little girl. His jaw clenched to the maximum tension it could sustain, and as she stared at the little girl, the matron’s eyes lost all focus, before a line of water filled their lower edges. A choking sob broke from her throat, and with a single hand she reached out to cradle the child’s forehead.
“I… It’s been twenty-three years since I lost ‘er. Bloody smilers, instead of eatin’ the young ones, they kidnap ‘em and hide ‘em away somewhere, before bringin’ them back years later, still somehow fresh, to nest inside.” Her explanation came more slowly with each word, but after another choked-back sob she managed to continue. “Fuckin’ demons they are, and we’re lucky to get slayers out to kill ‘em twice per fucking year!”
She breathed heavily for a few more moments, before she took a deep breath, and, at least for now, consciously controlled herself. “Ah, but thank you for bringin’ ‘er back. Tears the wound right open again, but at least I’ll get a proper funeral this time. The rest of your stay is on the house, your master’ll get a refund next time she’s by. Long as you’re reasonable ‘bout it, free food and drink as well. Now excuse me, I’m going t’ be away a minute.”
Alone, Julian spent several minutes with only the company of his roiling emotions. Sadness and grief, for the little girl’s lost life and her mother’s suffering. Horror and disgust, for the excessively gory display. But most of all, anger and rage; every time he remembered that little girl’s scared face displayed so callously or he thought about the surprise and fear on her eternal expression, the rage built upon itself. No matter how adapted he became to the more dog-eat-dog morality of this world, kids would always be off-limits. These monsters not only killed kids, they specifically targeted them; the smilers hunted them down to torment, tear apart, and build into a fucked-up, unnecessary nest.
After stewing in the boiling pot of his emotions for near an hour, he marched back to the gate under the watchful eye of the setting sun; the smilers would emerge soon. The gate guard saw his face and almost said something, but changed her mind at the last moment; she just shook her head and opened the gate, eyes averted. Determined not to risk feeding the monsters, Julian dragged the one corpse his zombies carried back from his last walk inside the gate, and the guard just pointed to a spot a few feet away from the door while she maintained her watch out the open port. He dropped off the corpse where she indicated, then gathered his undead about him and left the village.
Now prepared for a sudden visitor from the underbrush or another hiding place, he kept his undead spread around him. One each to the front-left, front-right, back-left, and back-right to provide maximum coverage along his angle of travel, while he marched around the village to head due east, away from the Town and deeper into the wilds. Once the sun passed below the horizon and the fading light left behind ever-more shadows, it didn’t take long to find a group of the grinning grotesques. As they crested a hill, Julian spotted three of the creatures as they prowled through the grass two hills over. Three uncanny heads turned to him as one, and their horrid smiles held unnaturally still as they charged.
In the dim light and long shadows just after sunset, the creatures loped over the long grasses. Their choppy movements combined with the dim light hid them from sight, so whenever he caught sight of the creatures they were yards away from their last position. As they came closer, their approach changed from a charge to a slow, cautious zigzag, but they never stopped. To discourage them from staying at range, Julian opened fire with his crossbow, and his bolt flew true toward the lead smiler. Its maw gaped, then snapped down on the bolt, shattering the missile entirely and apparently negating its effects.. While he mumbled curses at that display, Julian reloaded, and all the while he issued movement commands to keep his undead stacked against the enemy as they circled.
Loading the crossbow would turn out to be a waste of time, because as soon as the smilers were within twenty feet, they madly dashed toward the group. Two closed with one of his zombies, their flanks exposed to his other undead, but the other charged straight at him. Caught with his crossbow only partially cranked back, Julian was unable to defend himself, and steel jaws clamped down on his shoulder. Leather armor couldn’t stop the blow, but it reduced the pressure from devastating to merely painful, though it was torn into near-uselessness around his shoulder. With adrenaline surging through his veins, he pulled his dagger and attempted to pierce it through the creature’s throat. His first stab was lost in the creature’s thick fur, so he grabbed it by the hair to pull it into his second attempt; the smiler twisted in his grasp, and instead of piercing its throat, his blade tore through the loose flesh around its neck.
While he was brawling with the lead charger, its packmates engaged his zombies. By sheer bad luck, one jaw clamped closed around his already-injured undead; its head was torn clean off by the dull, crushing teeth, and its body fell, no longer animated. The second living smiler danced around another of his zombies, before its maw yawned open and clamped shut on the ghoul’s spine, and with a heave it tore the undead’s spine out; heavily damaged but still functional, the corpse remained upright on its four limbs.
Julian directed his zombied to focus their attacks on the smiler which had decapitated their morbid companion, and they tore into it with their own deadly mandibles. The smiler met the first bite with its own; each set of teeth pumped vigorously open and closed against the other, and with every collision more molars cracked. The second undead contemptuously, or at least with as much disdain as a mindless, thoughtless undead can muster, clamped shut its jaws around the living smiler’s throat and ripped, felling the creature. Luckily for Julian his third fiend was uninterested in the fresh corpse and refocused onto the survivor, but unluckily its efforts bore no fruit.
Meanwhile, Julian’s armor had been completely shredded by the smiler he wrestled in knife range. He grit his teeth against the pain of the lacerations and bruises, and put everything he had into a final strike with his dagger. Without even the pretense of defense, he drove the weapon straight up and through the human-like chin of the creature and into its brain; it died in his arms. With heavy breath, he watched the only surviving demon’s jaw crush the entire torso of the zombie with a missing spine, de-animating the corpse. He cursed the devils even as his two still-animated zombies attacked.
The first ghoul clashed maw to maw against the survivor, like most battles between smilers as far as he could tell, but the second savaged the monster’s side, its dead smile now decorated with long and stringy chunks of gore, nearly indistinguishable from its black hair. With a grunt, Julian heaved himself to his feet, grabbed his own spear, and, relying on body mechanics more than raw strength, stepped his blade forward. He pierced the smiler, still pinned between his zombies, straight through the chest; it stopped moving.
Oxygen-starved breaths demanded custody of his lungs, but altogether he was not horrendously exhausted, so Julian took stock. Two zombies annihilated to utter uselessness, but those still animated were in good shape. More importantly, he had just acquired three new corpses. Two were in perfect condition, the only damage being to bits critical for life but not really necessary for undeath, and the other was still usable. His rage had mostly been vented through the slaughter, so he made his way back to the hamlet; faded light barely clung to the world by the time he made it back. The day-guard at the gate, close to the end of her shift and whose name he really ought to learn, let him in, and her eyes widened at his haul. Julian nodded to her before he dropped his undead and their fully-dead cargo off at the stables, then headed inside the inn to collect his bounties.
In the few hours he’d been gone, the innkeeper had returned to the front; she still didn’t look okay, but she was functional. He padded over to her, and spoke, “I’m back; got three of the fuckers. You handle bounty payout too?”
With a grim smile at the news, Sarah fiddled around underneath the counter for a moment, then came back up holding a metal safe decorated with a symbol of a tree covered by a shield. As she worked to stick a key from her belt into the lock, she replied, “Yeah, I can do payout. Glad ya made it back; Denise, the gate-guard, was worried you’d get yourself killed being stupid.”
Sarah got the safe open and started counting out some silvers from inside, and as he accepted his six coins Juilan replied, “Yeah, I about did. Won’t be quite that stupid again, but for now, at least I made it back.”
With an understanding smile on her face, Sarah put the money-box away and grabbed a lukewarm meal from the kitchen. “Eat up and recover a bit then. And remember, beyond the bounties, cullin’ those devils does real good.”
Nodding his thanks, Julian worked to devour the meal. Only a few minutes later the potato stew was gone, and he made his way to the stable. He was eager to test an idea about how to get that corpse stitching skill unlocked; he had noticed during training that both times it made progress were when he had raised a perfect corpse, and he wondered if that was the key. Well, he had two perfect corpses this time, and even if he didn’t have time to raise both before one decayed to a less-than-perfect state, progress was progress; he’d just have to miss a night’s sleep.
The resurrection ritual and subsequent binding completed without issue, but when he noticed the other perfect corpse was no longer perfect, he decided it was worth it to get some sleep before the next ritual of undeath. It was late afternoon the next day when he finally emerged from the stables, but no one judged the monster slayer as he slogged through the dining room to get to his personal room at the inn. Sleep came more quickly with every passing night, and the moment his head hit his pillow he was out like a light.
[Status]
[Name: Julian Barth]
[Race: Human]
[Attributes: 8/10 10 10 10 10 10]
[Skills: Create Zombie (10), Control Zombie (10), Corpse Stitching (3/20), Crossbow (1), Dagger (9), Spear (10), Toughness (9), Unarmed (4)]
Ugh. Unsurprisingly, it seemed leveling got much slower as Skill levels grew, but he couldn’t complain too much; he had yet to fully utilize all of his abilities at their current power. He noted his reduced strength, probably from his torn-up shoulder, but since it would likely heal over time he otherwise ignored it. Excitingly, his hypothesis seemed correct; corpse stitching had improved after he animated the perfect corpse. Happy, he dismissed the status, and went to sleep.