The bushes along the road rustled, the snouts of undead wargs and wolves pressing through the underbrush. Their maws dripped with greenish liquid, each undead eye trained on Darian.
“More in the trees!” Jorg yelled.
Arrows came from above, their tips glistening with strange fluid. Darian sidestepped the first volley, Jorg raising his shield and Gorm backing away. Then more came, their shafts almost too dark to see in the night, even for Darian.
Carver returned fire as Darian rushed to cut off the undead on the road. While he was poison immune, those standing behind him weren’t so lucky. And wanting to test his new abilities, he activated his unique skill [Summon Giant Bat].
It appeared first as an expanding wisp of solid shadow. Then it stretched and twisted, fading to reveal a giant bat that flapped above Darian. It was huge, the size of a fully grown man. Reaching out with his mind, Darian commanded the bat to take to the trees and eliminate the archers. After it screeched into the darkness above, Darian then activated [Summon Wolf Pack].
His wolves appeared before him, already in full sprint. The only indication they were summons rather than normal wolves was their glowing, crimson eyes. They collided with the undead, their jaws snapping, blood spilling onto the ground. Darian used the blood to create mist above them, blocking the archer’s line of sight.
The summoned wolves were significantly weaker than their undead counterparts, but Jorg and Gorm came rushing in, mace and axe cutting down the monsters. And even with Darian’s injured shoulder, his new strength and speed allowed him to carry his fire enchanted blade into the horde without trouble. He hacked at rotting faces, chopped away at limbs, and painted the ground with rotten blood.
“Back!” Jorg commanded, an orb of light swirling within the horde.
Darian and Gorm retreated, the magical ball exploding, killing two of the undead wolves, leaving the warg to fend for itself alone.
An arrow from Carver thudded into the warg’s head, Gorm’s axe cutting it down a moment later. Darian rounded the warg and brought his blade down on an undead wolf further up the road. Its jaws were clamped around one of Darian’s summons, but the monster released as Darian’s sword crunched into its head.
His summoned bat screeched, two skeletons falling down from the branches above. Commanding his two surviving wolves to tie up the other undead, Darian rushed the downed archers. Using a [Dash Strike] to speed his steps, the first died after only a single blow. The second crawled on the ground, its bony fingers digging at the stones.
Jorg’s mace crashed down on its head, his shield coming up to block an arrow. Raising his arm, another orb of light materialized in the trees. It exploded, sending bones and charred bits of wood to scatter across the ground.
Gorm grunted, an arrow lodged in his upper arm. With a snarl, he tore it free and advanced, his axe carving a bloody ruin through the wolves. Darian followed him, their weapons rising and falling with a rhythmic, brutal efficiency.
Then the forest fell into a deep stillness, the heavy breathing of Darian’s party the only sound to break the silence.
----------------------------------------
Enemies Defeated
[Skeleton Lv. 2] x6
[Flesh Hound Lv. 6] x4
[Flesh Hound Lv. 9] x3
Class XP Gained: 116
Progress to Class Lv. 9 (176/450)
----------------------------------------
Guess the ones my summoned creatures kill count as me killing them. Good. Darian turned as he heard something metal strike the road.
Gorm hit the ground, the veins around the arrow wound turning purple.
“Here,” Jorg laid his mace down and pressed his palm to the gash. “I will cleanse you.”
Gorm smirked, his face dripping with sweat. “A Justicar tending to a filthy half-breed like me? What would your precious Argus think of you?”
Light flashed from Jorg’s hand, the poison fading. “Argus would know I only do so out of necessity. We will need you for the battle to come.”
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“Keep your eyes open,” Darian said to Carver. “Could be more waiting in the trees.”
“Perhaps this was only meant to slow us down?” Jorg said, picking up his mace.
“Or to take as many of us out as possible before the big showdown.” Gorm winced, his wound trickling blood.
“Can you still fight?” Darian asked the half-orc as the group advanced.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed, but my skin is tough.” He nodded at the puncture in his arm. “Another gift from my father. Arrow didn’t bite too deep. It’ll need tending to sooner rather than later, but I can fight for now.”
“Good,” Darian said, pausing before the rotting structure.
Its walls were slanted, the ground around it churned by dozens of bony feet. And from the great open door came the scent of rot.
“Certainly smells like the right place,” Gorm said, inching toward the inviting darkness.
“Be sure to watch your aim,” Jorg said, nudging Carver on the arm.
“I will.” The young huntsman leaned forward, his eyes squinting at the blackness. “Can’t see a thing in there.”
Jorg’s mace lit up like a torch, golden light spilling from the metal. “I’ll lead.”
Darian could see perfectly fine, but the place could be trapped. If someone was going to be skewered by a spike, he preferred if it was Jorg.
The floor was made of loose fitting and cracked stone, the interior walls supported by wooden beams.
“Looks like they’ve been renovating,” Gorm said before he stopped and pointed. “There’s a hole ahead.”
The central room of the mansion had a winding staircase on both sides and a balcony teetering above. But the floor had been carved out, a tunnel dug into the ground.
“Looks like there are candles down there,” Jorg said, peering into the hole. “Her lair must be below.”
Darian overheard Gorm mutter a curse and Carver take in a sharp breath. The scent of rot and decay wafted up from the hole. But beyond that was a sensation, a form of solid dread that worked its way across Darian’s skin, chilling him despite his resistance to the cold.
“May Argus guide our steps,” Jorg said as he entered the tunnel.
***
Oliver inched further and further toward the back door. Victoria was still standing in the center of the room, but she was now surrounded by a small army of skeletons and zombies. Some came from her various summoning skills, but most were reserves pulled from the mansion above and the crypt. Oliver figured she meant to wear down the attackers with sheer numbers, but he wasn’t going to stick around long enough to find out.
Victoria had been cracking for a while, but now she seemed to have lost her mind completely. Her face was blank once second, then rage filled, then solemn. And her orders and tactics didn’t make any sense. She sent their poison equipped squad out solo. If she wanted to have her glorious last stand, then wouldn’t they have better served here? And she’d used the skill [Flesh to Dust] on herself. A few moments after her death, a horde of the undead would appear. Maybe she meant it as a way to kill her enemies in the event she died, but Oliver could see the desperation in her eyes. She didn’t think she was going to make it out of this alive.
Her refusal to retreat still baffled him, but maybe the Justicar’s torture had done more harm than he realized. She was a broken mess as far as he was concerned. Perhaps she wanted revenge for Valmier, or perhaps her last shred of sanity had slipped and now she wished to meet her end in the crypt she planned to build an empire from.
Oliver’s back pressed into the door. It was barred from his side. All he needed was a distraction, and he would be gone before Victoria realized.
He still wasn’t sure what would happen to him after she died, but staying could guarantee his death. Maybe if Victoria was acting rationally, they could win, but she was grief stricken. Mad. And Oliver had dueled with the other Aspirant. Even with the physical buffs Yulia provided, he was still forced onto the back foot. This Darian fellow was strong. Not as strong as Victoria, but Oliver knew the pale man had allies.
He smiled. At the very least, Victoria never realized who he worked for. He knew she had suspicions. His saving her in her hour of need was no coincidence, and she knew it. Yet she kept him around. Probably just to keep an eye on him, but still. At least with her gone, he could go back to doing what he truly loved.
And so he waited for the intruders. As soon as they appeared, he would open the door at his back and flee into the night. Then he would track down her lost little undead and kill them for good. The Soul of Damnation would be his to deliver to the Lich Cult. And he knew Calhaven would pay him well.
He grinned. Perhaps things in this forest would have a happy ending after all.
***
Darian now walked at the front of the group, Jorg pressed in behind him. But there were no traps, no pitfalls, and no undead. The crypt itself was an excavated ruin. Dozens of tunnels led off from the main one, ending in dead ends or sparse rooms.
“She has fled,” Jorge whispered. “Cowardly creature.”
But Darian could feel something tugging at him. A pull on his flesh that grew stronger the deeper the tunnel took them. It was as if a loose thread of fate was growing tighter, the strand ready to snap.
He stopped before a set of thick double doors, the sound of dozens of shuffling feet beyond.
“I think she’s just past here,” Darian said, his fingers pushing against the wood.
“Then my holy mission can finally reach its end.” Jorg raised his shield and mace.
“I’ll do my best to cover you,” Carver said, taking a back step.
Gorm turned to Darian. He said nothing, but the two exchanged nods.
With tension filling the air, Darian opened the door.