The three of them sat in a rough circle, perched on tree logs Mr. Bones had dragged over. In the center, a small fire crackled, its orange embers flickering as it burned through the dry mulch and twigs Pell had gathered. He knew how to start a fire—it was a skill every traveling merchant needed to master.

Pell sat on his own log, while Enya shared hers with Mr. Bones, both of them opposite him. Enya, with a stick of roasted boar in hand, was tearing into the meat as if it would disappear if she didn’t eat it all.

“Woah, thish ish rwehlly gud,” Enya mumbled, her words muffled by the mouthful of boar meat. It was the first real food she’d had in what felt like ages—certainly a step up from the bland, preserved cans of rabbit meat she had been surviving on in the dungeon.

Pell grimaced. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, brat. It’s rude,” he said, keeping his gaze on the fire. Food didn’t matter much to him or Mr. Bones. Both he and Mr. Bones were undead, and didn’t have working stomachs. Food was simply unnecessary for them. The only thing they did need was rest every so often.

His eyes flicked to Mr. Bones. I’ve seen him sit down and take a break, but… I’ve never seen him sleep, Pell mused to himself.

“Hey, Mr. Bones,” Pell called out, breaking the quiet air, aside from Enya’s munching. The skeleton, who had been watching the flames dance, turned his head slightly toward Pell.

“What exactly should we call you? Your name’s Kidirge, apparently. But I gave you the nickname Mr. Bones back when I met you in the dungeon. Which one do you prefer?” Pell asked, his curiosity genuine. It would be easier if he knew what to call the skeleton, instead of switching between names without a clue which one fit better.

With a simple raise of his bony index finger, Mr. Bones indicated his preference.

“So, Kidirge then. Good enough for me,” Pell said with a shrug.

“Chan I shtill call you Mr. Bonsh?” Enya mumbled, her mouth still packed with food.

Pell groaned and slapped his skull with his palm. The skeleton beside her merely shrugged, seemingly indifferent to the name Mr. Bones, though he clearly preferred Kidirge.

image [https://i.imgur.com/ZiLMGqb.png]

After finishing their late dinner, the three of them settled in for the night. There was no point in traveling until morning when they had the light to guide them.

Enya was busy fluffing up her makeshift pillow—a bunch of leaves she'd gathered to cushion her head. It wasn’t much, but it would keep her somewhat comfortable against the hard ground.

Mr. Bones, or Kidirge, positioned himself against a large tree, his ever-watchful eye sockets aimed at Enya. To his left sat his bone buckler, and his right hand loosely gripped his oversized calcified sword, ready to react if any unexpected guests or wild animals decided to disturb them during the night.

Meanwhile, Pell knelt by the dying embers of the fire, tossing in a few more sticks in hopes it would last through the night. Satisfied, he stood up and made his way over to the tree Enya was sleeping by. She was already curled up on her side, her head resting on the bundle of leaves.

"You... don’t have to give me an answer right now, kid. But, I will need it once we get to a town. You’ve gotta decide if you wanna keep traveling with me, or if we should try to find a way to contact your family, if we even can," Pell said.

He glanced at the girl, noticing that the night air had begun to grow chilly. The campfire wouldn’t be enough to fend off the cold for long, and her thin dress barely covered her shoulders. He could see the slight tremor of shivers running through her.

Without a second thought, Pell unwrapped his black cloak—the one he’d looted from the reward room. He bent down and gently draped it over her small frame. She was probably still awake; he wasn’t kidding when he said she snored while sleeping. She really did.

Satisfied, Pell moved over to a nearby tree and sat down, pressing his back against the rough bark. His soul flames dimmed to a soft glow as he settled into a state of rest. It wasn’t exactly sleep, but more of a passive, inactive awareness. He could still sense his surroundings, unlike those who slept deeply.

After a quiet minute, Enya’s voice broke the stillness.

"I think... I want to see where my family is. I want to see them. But... maybe I can do that after helping you, Pell. But don’t get me wrong, Pell, it’s not like I like you or anything. Humph! I just want to help Mara or something. And after that, I can go see my family," she murmured softly.

One of Pell’s soul flames flickered slightly, as if raising an eyebrow in a quizzical, skeptical expression. After a brief pause, he chuckled. The little brat was quoting a line straight out of one of his novels. She probably didn’t even realize what kind of cliché she was mimicking.

"Her name’s Elara. Not Mara," Pell corrected. His soul flames dimmed again, content with the answer he’d gotten. There wasn’t much left to say about the subject. If she truly wanted to stick around, so be it. Dungeon exploring was the most dangerous thing he’d ever done—his usual life was nothing more than trading and selling, a perfectly boring existence. Well, except for those shady black-market deals. At least she didn’t want to join the Paragon of War or become an adventurer.

image [https://i.imgur.com/ZiLMGqb.png]

Morning crept in, and Pell snuffed out the dying embers by kicking away the remaining sticks. The sound stirred Enya awake, and she stretched with a groan. The food outside the dungeon may have been better, but sleeping on hard ground still left her with stiff muscles and an aching body.

She rubbed her eyes, and stood up, clutching at the large cloak Pell had given her. Her eyes looked forward, and she noticed that he was already up, and was just finishing extinguishing the fire. She walked over to him.

Turning around, Pell noticed that Enya had just woken up.

“Uh… good morning,” she said. “Here’s your cloak back. Thank you.”

Pell reached forward and grabbed the cloak from her hands. She walked back to her leaf bundle and began dispersing the leaves, all while still yawning. Pell shrugged. He spun the cloak around his shoulders and wore it once again until he noticed something off.

Argh… she fucking drooled all over it, he thought.

image [https://i.imgur.com/ZiLMGqb.png]

The three of them marched through the forest, the morning just as peaceful as the day before. Even during the night, no creatures or animals had disturbed them—not that it would have mattered with their towering skeleton companion on watch. And no, that wasn’t Pell.

After an hour of walking, it felt like more of the same. Enya darted around, curiosity unrelenting, asking about everything she saw. Pell, groaning at every new question, but still answering her despite his visible annoyance.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

They paused at a small creek running through the woods. Enya knelt down and took a few gulps of water. Pell squinted at it—it looked clean enough. Besides, better to risk a little sickness than let the brat die of thirst.

“Hey, Pell, what’s that bird?” Enya asked, pointing upward.

“Goddamnit, I already told you, I can’t tell the difference between birds! There’s like a billion species!” Pell snapped.

“But that bird is all black. Is it a common one?”

Pell’s soul flames flickered with frustration. “What do you mean, all—" His words stopped short as he looked up, his gaze catching something in the sky ahead.

Black specks. A flock of entirely black birds, circling chaotically above the forest. Even from a distance, their dark, swarming shapes stood out against the blue sky, unmistakable in their eerie movement.

Suddenly, a faint echo reached their ears—the sound of clashing metal and raised voices. It was unmistakably a battle, one involving people, or at least, humanoid creatures.

“The road should be right around where those ravens are flying…” Pell muttered, rubbing his bony chin thoughtfully.

“Ravens? Those birds are ravens? And what’s with the shouting?” Enya asked, stepping closer to him.

Pell glanced down at her. A thought crossed his mind. “Don’t you have a skill that lets you spy on people from, like, 500 meters away?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Enya looked up, locking eyes with his soul flames. “Oh.” She blinked a couple of times, then added after a beat, “I do.”

Without further hesitation, she turned her attention to the distant clashing sounds, her focus sharpening. Closing her eyes briefly, she concentrated, then flicked them open again, revealing a bright yellow glow.

A spherical sensory field formed around her, an invisible bubble of awareness that only she could see and feel. With a mental nudge, the sphere morphed into a streamlined pillar, like a bone spear shooting forward. It sped through the trees in a zigzagging pattern, cutting through branches and the underbrush. Within seconds, her senses reached a clearing.

Before her, in this sensory projection, was a paved path, a single, long narrow strip of packed earth, worn but firm. Soft green grasses grew along its edges, while the center had been worn by the frequent steps of animals or travelers, smoothing out the grass into coarse dirt. The trail, though noticeably different in color from the grassy ground, blended into the forest as if it was a natural extension of its surroundings.

Clang! Clang!

The unmistakable sounds of metal clashing rang through Enya’s senses. As her vision expanded, the chaotic scene unfolded in the middle of the road. A large, wooden box with wheels—a carriage—lay broken. One of its sides had collapsed, and a wheel had rolled a few meters away. Bodies in white clothing, now stained with blood, were scattered around the wreckage. Five of them lay lifeless, their crimson blood pooling beneath them, spreading across the dirt like ink blotting paper.

Clang!

“Just give up already!” a deep, gravelly voice boomed through her projection. There was an air of impatience and arrogance in the tone, a voice confident that the battle’s outcome was already decided.

Clang!

Near the broken carriage, a group of figures in black, tight-fitted attire faced off against two men. The group had their mouths and jaws concealed by black masks, leaving only the rest of their face visible. The group was a stark contrast to the man leading them—a hulking figure with no mask upon his head. He faced forward, armed with a simple iron sword—one more pristine and intact than any Enya had seen before—and was locked into battle with another.

Opposite of him and the bandits, were two men. The first, larger and wearing leather wraps, was locked in fierce sword combat with the burly leader of the black-cladded group. Though strong and muscular, he was no match in size to his opponent. He moved with urgency, not only to survive, but also protect the man behind him.

The one being ‘protected,’ was a broad-shouldered man, with a thicker build, but not necessarily large. His brown tunic, finely stitched, was simple, and clean. A small beard graced his chin, with subtle hints of white intermingled throughout. He was standing by himself, weak and wry, with a determined but obviously scared expression upon his face. He desperately tried to maintain an air of strength and confidence, but the horrifying sight before him made it nearly impossible to do so.

What Enya could only assume was the leader of what she assumed to be bandits—had swung his sword down, only to be blocked by the guard’s sword. However, the instant their swords made contact, the bandit leader charged forward, and shoulder-slammed the man backwards, knocking him off balance, and felled him to the ground. Before the man could stand back up, the bandit leader stabbed his sword straight down into the man’s chest. An inaudible gurgle-laden scream filled the air, and soon, Enya’s senses retracted, having seen enough.

“So? What’s going on?” Pell asked, noticing her skill had ended.

Enya frowned, her thoughts racing as she turned to Pell. "I think… there are bandits. They’re wearing black clothes and attacking someone. He looks like a merchant? It’s kind of like those scenes in the books, where people ambush merchants on the road, right?" Her curiosity crept into her tone as she tried to make sense of what she saw.

“A bandit attack? Out this far in the forest?” Pell repeated, sounding dumbfounded. He glanced ahead, eyeing the thick trees and underbrush as he began to think.

The forest they were in was vast but isolated, nestled on the outskirts of a country called Karemere. There was a road cutting through it, though rarely traveled due to the remoteness of the area.

Pell, having been trapped inside a dungeon for four of the last six years since ascending to the second layer, knew little about this region. He was aware that they were somewhere between the city of Talo and a small town—Baredin or Bardine, he couldn't quite remember the name. In any case, it was unusual for merchants to venture out this far, especially when they could opt for faster travel methods like flying services or teleport crystals. The journey by carriage would take nearly a month if he guessed right.

Pell rubbed the side of his skull as he pondered the situation. “What’s happening then? Are they still fighting?” he asked.

Enya shook her head. “No, I think the bandits are winning, or maybe they just won. There’s a lot of dead people on the ground, and an old guy that, I don’t think can fight.”

Pell thought it over. If the bandits had just won, they were likely looting the bodies right now. Given time, maybe thirty minutes or so, they’d probably be gone. Still, there was a risk—they could either wait it out or try to approach the road from a different angle. But if they guessed wrong and the bandits chose the same direction, they’d risk being caught off guard.

“Are we going to help them?” Enya asked suddenly, pulling Pell from his thoughts.

He turned to her, his soul flames flickering in surprise. “What?”

She tilted her head, her finger pointing between herself and the direction of the sounds. “Help? Us,” she clarified, “Them?”

“What the hell should we help them for?” Pell replied, mildly perplexed.

“Uh… It’s… the right thing to do?” she suggested, a slight blush creeping onto her cheeks.

Pell stared at her, utterly bemused. What was this brat going on about? They were supposed to rush in and help a merchant’s caravan that was probably already dead, given her description of the chaos?

“Why do you want to help them? Yesterday, you wanted to stab a bird because it looked ugly. You don’t seem like the ‘helping the innocent’ type,” Pell pointed out. This whole situation felt a bit cliché, too, but he couldn’t quite place why. Maybe he’d read too many garbage adventure novels.

“Well…” Enya murmured, embarrassment creeping in as she struggled to articulate her thoughts. After a moment of hesitation, she just let it out. “Well, my soul energy is a bit low now… I was hoping to get some more from them. Maybe a skeleton… or four?”

Pell sighed. That… made more sense. Though it was a bit unsettling—her train of thought, that is. “So, instead of ‘helping’ them, you rather just loot some energy from them and raise them as skeletons?” he asked.

Enya winced but nodded her head all the same.

“Just… to be sure. Who… are you talking about—harvesting… ugh,” Pell shuddered at the word. It felt awfully wrong for some reason. “The bandits, or the merchant caravan?”

“Well, there were already a lot of dead bodies on the ground, so them, I guess? We can kill the bandits too, I think,” she replied. “Maybe the merchant, too?”

Pell facepalmed himself. So instead of helping some innocent folk attacked by bandits, she wanted to loot their remains and might even join the bandits in offing the merchants. What the hell happened to her common sense?

“Why the hell do you want to kill the merchant? Shouldn’t you be saying something like, ‘We should help the innocent merchant by killing the bandits’ or something?” Pell inquired, incredulous.

“But I don’t know him,” she said, her brow furrowing as if it were the most logical answer in the world.

“Oh, well that makes sense. You don’t know him, so you might as well kill him since you get something from it.”

“Mhmm!” Enya preened, pleased that Pell understood.

Pell wore a defeated expression, like he was the only sane person left in the world, and glanced over at Kidirge for his opinion. Surprisingly, but somehow unsurprisingly, he simply shrugged and tapped his bone sword with his index finger, seemingly in agreement with Enya’s idea.

He could see himself suggesting such an idea—especially if the merchant was practically dead anyways, but somehow, even the little brat was now suggesting the idea. Either he fucked up somewhere, or she had vastly changed during her time alone in the dungeon. Surely, he hadn’t done that much to influence her. Did surviving by yourself really change someone that much?

Of course it did. He knew it first hand.

Pell sighed, both internally and externally. I think I know why people consider necromancers evil, he thought. I certainly didn't help either...