The forest air on the morning of July 24, 1300, hangs thick and oppressive under a low, leaden sky. A fine, persistent drizzle needle-pricks the canopy, dripping through the broad leaves in lazy, rhythmic taps. Down on the forest floor, the ground is soft, churning into a dark, slick slurry beneath the frantic pace of iron-shod hooves.
The horses are forced to run at an unusually punishing speed. Their nostrils flare wide, venting thick blooms of white steam into the cool air, their flanks dark with lather and rain. Beside them, the conscripts—men whose faces still carry the sunken, bewildered paleness of peasants dragged away from tavern tables after signing recruitment papers in a booze-fogged haze—stumble and strain to match the pace. They work alongside the seasoned slave-soldiers like Onaga and Hano, divided strictly into teams of four. Each quad maintains a white-knuckle grip on the heavy, iron-strapped wooden crates, their knuckles raw and white against the wet timber. Slung across their backs and shoulders are long wooden spears, heavy iron-framed hunting knives, and dark-finished flintlock muskets, each man carrying a heavy leather pouch packed with a hundred lead bullets and dry paper cartridges.
Riding in a tight, protective flank are Comtois and his eight-man security element. Mounted on sturdy warhorses that snort and stomp through the mud, they are clad in heavy plate armor over dull, rain-slicked chainmail. The iron plates clack and clatter with every stride. Their hands rest firmly on the leather wraps of their broadaxes and lance-tipped longswords, their loaded flintlocks resting across their saddlebows, hammers pulled back to half-cock.
At the absolute front of the line, standing erect on the lead wagon's frame, is Aldo. His eyes, sharp and unblinking, sweep the dense green wall of pine needles and brambles on either side of the narrow trail. His body shifts effortlessly with the sudden jolts of the cart, his face completely devoid of emotion.
Hano pushes his shoulder against a crate, wiping a mix of sweat and drizzle from his eyes with his sleeve. He looks up at Aldo, his jaw tight. His usual expressive frown is gone, replaced by a rigid, hollow stillness. His gaze shifts across the formation. Normally, Aldo concentrates every single man into the back of the last carriage to secure the rear. Today, he has scattered them, mixing the conscripts with the veterans, placing armed guards at every corner of every wagon. Hano knows something is deeply wrong.
No one speaks. The heavy silence of the woods is broken only by the low, mournful whistling of the wind through the high canopy, the soft rustle of wet fern fronds, the hollow clatter of iron horseshoes, and the rhythmic, wooden clicking of wheels rolling over the rough corduroy log road.
The peaceful, solemn rhythm of the woodland is shattered as the horses are pushed into a sharp turn. The convoy veers off the main path, plunging onto a hidden, unpaved trail completely buried beneath thick layers of rotting pine needles and undisturbed mud. The branches here hang low, clawing at armor and wooden crates as the carriages bump wildly over exposed roots.
After several hundred yards of blind navigation through the thickets, Aldo raises a flat palm. The entire convoy grinds to a halt. The drivers haul back on the leather reins, the horses snorting and stamping their hooves into the wet earth.
Without a single word spoken, everyone climbs out of the vehicles. Aldo leaps down from the lead carriage, his boots sinking an inch into the soft soil. Instantly, every man—conscript, slave-soldier, and heavy security guard alike—begins unloading the heavy wooden crates. The work is fast, silent, and diligent. Arms strain under forty-kilogram boxes; timber grinds against timber; leather straps creak under tension.
Hano walks past Onaga, his eyes flicking down to the brass watch strapped to Onaga's wrist. He stares at the slowly ticking hands, his brow knitting together tightly. They are two full hours ahead of schedule.
Once the crates are stashed beneath thick oilskin tarps hidden within a hollow grove of ancient oaks, four driver conscripts jump back onto the empty carriages, crack their whips, and drive the horses away in the opposite direction, their wheels churning deep tracks to draw off any watching eyes.
The rest of the unit turns, moving deeper into the virgin forest on foot.
Comtois and a senior guard move ahead, acting as forward scouts. They advance in a low crouch, moving from trunk to trunk, their eyes continuously sweeping the dense undergrowth to maintain a wide, clear view of the forward path. Behind the main body, two rearguard soldiers walk backward every dozen paces, their flintlocks raised, securing the back trail. Up front, two forward trail-breakers use long wooden poles to sweep away hidden snare wires and test the ground for pit traps.
Suddenly, Comtois freezes. He raises his right hand, making a tight fist, then drops flat against the mossy root of a giant beech tree.
The entire line vanishes into the underbrush instantly. Every soldier drops to his knees, pressing his chest against the damp leaf litter. The forest falls dead quiet. The only sound is the soft, faint hiss of breath held tightly behind clenched teeth.
Through the tall ferns ahead, a staggering shape emerges.
It is a hobgoblin, but its once-fearsome form is completely ruined. Its crude iron breastplate is cracked and shattered, caked in dried black gore. Numerous gaping, infected wounds cover its grey-green skin. Its lower jaw hangs loose, dripping thick, ropes of clear slime onto its chest as it stumbles forward, its dull, milk-white eyes rolling aimlessly in their sockets. It sways like a dead branch in a gale, smelling overpoweringly of turned earth and rotten meat.
Aldo slowly raises two fingers, gesturing toward the shadows.
A sharp, coordinated crack of gunshots erupts from the bushes. Plumes of acrid grey gunpowder smoke blossom into the damp air. Two tight volleys of lead balls slam directly into the hobgoblin's torso and throat. The massive creature jerks violently, its heavy legs buckling as it crashes face-first into the mud, lifeless.
Onaga and two conscripts creep forward, their flintlocks aimed at the fallen form. Onaga uses the tip of his spear to roll the heavy head over. He stares at the cloudy, pupil-less eyes, the black veins spiderwebbing across its pale throat, and the absolute absence of fresh red blood from the gunshot wounds.
Onaga turns his head back toward Aldo, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "It's been zombieized."
Aldo steps up, looking down at the creature with a cold, calculating gaze. "Be on high alert," Aldo says softly, his eyes scanning the surrounding treeline. "Light a fire. Burn the corpse completely. Leave nothing for them to reanimate."
Hano and the conscripts quickly heap dry pine boughs and brush over the hobgoblin, striking a flint to set it ablaze. Black, greasy smoke swirls up through the rain, carrying the sickening reek of burning flesh. Without waiting for the ashes to cool, the unit pushes forward once more.
They cover another quarter-mile before the forward scout violently waves his arms, dropping instantly behind a mossy boulder. "Cover! Find cover now!" the scout hisses.
Every man dives into the hollows of the terrain, pressing themselves flat into the muddy hollows.
A shadow falls across the trail as a towering, unnatural horror sweeps past their position. It is a skeletal construct, standing fully three times the height of a grown man. Its massive, yellowed ribcage is stripped clean of flesh, bound together by dark, magical tendrils. In its right hand, it grips a thick, jagged thighbone harvested from some long-extinct behemoth, swinging it like a club as it strides silently through the trees, its empty eye sockets glowing with faint, pale blue light.
Comtois peers out from behind a thick oak, his mouth agape, his knuckles white around his sword hilt. "Oh damn, none of these can withstand flintlock."
Aldo crouches beside him, his face stoic, his eyes measuring the distance between the monster's stride and the trees. "Now we'll have to bring a cannon to take it down."
Aldo shifts his weight back, looking at his squad. "Retreat. Slowly. Back to the turn."
The men slide backward like snakes through the grass, staying below the line of sight until they reach a sharp, blind corner where two granite ledges flank the trail.
Aldo's hand movements become rapid and precise. "Dig. Now. Deep hole, right in the center."
Conscripts furiously hack at the soft earth with small entrenching spades, tossing wet dirt aside until a two-foot pit is hollowed out. They fill it with brittle twigs, dried leaves, and hidden loops of strong hemp cordage. Aldo hands heavy axes and iron hammers to four conscripts, positioning them behind the stone ledges. He then turns to Hano, pressing a bronze flintlock lighter and two heavy, leather-bound explosive charges into his hands.
"Bury them under the brush," Aldo orders Hano in a low, firm tone. "Find cover. Hold your torches and lighters until I draw it in."
Every man scatters into the surrounding shadows, holding their breath, match-cord smoking softly in their gloved hands.
Aldo, flanked by two veteran guards, unbuckles his heavy supply pack and drops it into the dirt. They unslung their flintlocks, step out into the middle of the trail, and take aim at the towering skeletal giant in the distance.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The gunshots ring out like thunderclaps. The lead balls slam squarely into the creature's massive spine, chipping off small shards of white bone, but doing no actual damage. The giant skeleton stops instantly. Its massive head snaps around 180 degrees, the blue light in its eye sockets flaring brilliantly. With a horrifying, dry click of its jaw, it lunges toward them like a released arrow, its massive bone club raised high.
"Turn left! Now!" Aldo barks, dropping his empty musket and sprinting around the granite corner.
The three men round the sharp bend. The giant skeletal monster comes careening around the corner right behind them, its tremendous momentum driving it straight into the hanging branches of a low pine. The heavy limbs whip across its chest, slowing its advance for a split second. As it spreads its massive, bony arms to clear the branches, its heavy right foot steps directly into the concealed pit trap.
The thin twigs snap. The loop of hemp cordage catches its ankle, snapping taut against an anchored tree trunk. The giant skeleton violently loses its balance, its massive ribcage tilting sideways.
"Now, Hano!" Aldo roars.
Hano leaps out from behind a rock, throwing a burning pitch torch straight into the buried pit.
BOOM!
A violent, orange explosion erupts from the ground. The blast of the leather-bound charges shreds the creature's lower leg into a cloud of splintered bone dust and flying dirt. The giant horror emits a silent, jarring shockwave of kinetic energy as it loses its footing entirely, crashing heavily onto its side across the narrow trail.
"Attack!" Aldo yells.
The entire unit surges out from the treeline like a wave. Conscripts and slave-soldiers hurl lit explosive packs straight onto the creature's exposed spine and ribs, while others toss burning torches directly into its open torso.
BOOM! BOOM!
Secondary blasts shatter its ribcage into hundreds of flying fragments. Flames lick across the dark magical tendrils holding the bones together. Before the creature can even attempt to raise its massive arm, the four conscripts armed with axes and heavy hammers rush in, screaming as they bring their weapons down with ferocious, repeated blows. Iron axe-heads crunch through thick vertebrae; heavy sledges shatter skull plates into fine powder.
Within seconds, the giant skeletal construct lies completely motionless, reduced to a harmless heap of charred, splintered bones smoldering in the damp mud.
The men stumble back, chest heaving, covered in soot, dirt, and bone dust. They retreat around the stone corner, sinking down against the wet granite ledge to catch their breath.
Hano rests his hands on his knees, his chest expanding violently as he pants for air. He looks over at Aldo, a rare, genuine grin breaking through his exhaustion. "Aldo... your tactical skills... setting that trap, luring that nightmare right into the bottleneck... that was incredible."
Onaga is already on his feet, walking carefully through the smoking rubble of the destroyed skeleton. He uses a small iron rod to turn over pieces of the shattered skull and limb joints, taking notes in a small leather pocketbook. He scribbles down the density of the bone, the residue of dark magic clinging to the joints, and the markings carved into the vertebrae.
Finished, Onaga walks over to Aldo, handing him the parchment.
Aldo takes the paper, his sharp eyes scanning the notes in seconds. His brow darkens slightly. He rolls the parchment tightly and looks up at the gathered men.
"This isn't a random stray," Aldo announces, his voice dead serious. "The bone density and binding runes indicate a Necromancer. A Mortal Necromancer using local corpses and ancient bones. What remains unclear is whether they possess Astral abilities—the power to summon spirits directly from the void. If so, we are dealing with a Dual Necromancer. That will cause immense difficulties."
Aldo looks down the trail, his jaw setting hard. "Watkins' battalion is up ahead. They need reinforcements, and they need a clear supply path. We move now."
The men pull themselves up, re-checking their weapons, and push onward through the wilderness.
An hour later, the thick smell of pine gives way to a sickening, heavy stench. They reach a wide, sluggish stream cutting through a ravine. The water is a dark, oily brown, covered in a film of grey scum, emitting a foul, nauseating odor of stagnant blood and rot.
Several conscripts instantly clamp their hands over their noses, gagging and coughing. "Gods above, it smells like a mass grave!" one mutters.
Before the complaint even finishes echoing through the trees, Aldo and Comtois' eyes snap toward a tall mass of reeds on the far bank. Their hands move in absolute unison—flintlocks raised, stocks pressed into their shoulders.
BANG! BANG!
Two gunshots ring out simultaneously. A dark, robed figure standing among the reeds jerks backward, splashing heavily into the foul stream.
Without waiting to see if it moves, Aldo and Comtois instantly re-cock their dual-barrel secondary pieces and fire again.
BANG! BANG!
"Fire! Focus fire!" Hano screams, bringing his musket up.
Onaga, Hano, and the conscripts open up a chaotic, devastating volley into the reeds. Lead balls tear through the water, spraying mud and shredded cattails across the far bank.
Aldo pulls a round leather explosive charge from his pouch, strikes the fuse against his lighter, and hurls it across the stream.
BOOM!
A geyser of black water and mud shoots twenty feet into the air.
Comtois, his eyes wild with adrenaline, pulls another explosive from his belt, lights it with a trembling hand, and frantically hurls it right after Aldo's.
BOOM!
The secondary blast tears the far reed bed apart. Silence returns, punctuated only by the soft, oily splashing of ripples settling back down.
Aldo wades straight through the foul, knee-deep water, his knife drawn. Comtois and Onaga follow right at his heels. They reach the far bank and pull the shattered, mud-soaked body out of the reeds.
It is a man clad in ragged, dark velvet robes embroidered with silver occult runes. Beside his limp hand rests a thick, leather-bound grimoire. The book is completely intact, sealed with an iron clasp, its pages packed with dense diagrams of human anatomy, spirit circles, and necromantic incantations.
Aldo picks up the book, flipping through two pages before snapping it shut. He hands it directly to Onaga. "Keep this safe in the oilskin bag. Store it away."
Onaga nods, slipping the heavy grimoire into his waterproof pack and pulling the leather straps tight.
Aldo wipes his hands on a clump of moss, his face grim as he looks deeper into the dark wood ahead. "I suspect there might be more than one necromancer operating in this sector. Everyone be careful."
Comtois wipes a streak of black mud off his cheek, letting out a dry, nervous laugh as he reloads his flintlock. "Your over-caution is acting up again, Aldo. We just blew him into three pieces!"
"Move," Aldo says coldly, ignoring the comment.
They press forward through a dense thicket of dead, thorn-filled bushes until the trees suddenly yield to a small, eerie clearing. Sitting in the center of the clearing is a strange, windowless house built entirely of rough, black stone. Its heavy wooden door is reinforced with iron bars, and no smoke rises from its crooked chimney.
Aldo stops at the edge of the clearing, turning to Comtois. "Give me the explosives. Just light them, and make sure the fuse is long enough so I can prepare."
He turns to the conscripts. "Comtois, get the axe."
Comtois rolls his shoulders, grips a heavy double-bitted battleaxe with both hands, and strides up to the heavy door. He raises the axe high and brings it down with devastating force directly onto the iron lock mechanism.
CRACK!
The iron latch shatters into splinters. Aldo instantly lunges forward, bringing his heavy boot down against the center of the wood.
THWACK!
The heavy door flies open, crashing inward against the stone wall.
Before the door even finishes swinging, Hano steps up, striking two fuses and hurling two heavy explosive charges straight into the dark corners of the windowless room.
"Suppressing fire!" Aldo roars.
The conscripts step up to the doorway, thrusting their musket barrels into the dark interior and firing blindly into the room.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
A blinding flash of gunpowder lights up the pitch-black space, followed immediately by the roaring double detonation of Hano's explosives inside the enclosed stone walls.
BOOM! BOOM!
Shockwaves blow dust and black smoke pouring out of the doorway.
Aldo and Comtois, having already loaded their secondary flintlocks during the blast, quickly step up to the threshold, spinning around the doorframe to cover the interior from blind corners.
The corner Comtois covers is completely empty—just shattered stone furniture and charred rags.
Aldo spins into his corner, his musket raised—and freezes.
Directly above him, clinging to the stone ceiling like a massive, pale spider, is a slender, hairless humanoid creature. Its skin is a ghastly, translucent white, entirely devoid of blood. As Aldo looks up, the creature's neck twists with a sickening, wet crunch, turning its head a full 180 degrees to stare down at Aldo with wide, milky-red eyes and elongated, needle-sharp fangs.
Aldo's instincts react before his mind can even register terror. He lets go of his musket, draws his hand-axe from his belt, and hurls it straight up with all his strength.
THWACK!
The axe-head buries itself deep into the creature's chest. The monster lets out a high, ear-splitting shriek, losing its grip on the stone ceiling and crashing heavily onto the flagstone floor right at Aldo's feet.
Aldo unholsters his heavy flintlock pistol, steps over the writhing creature, and fires three lead balls directly into its skull at point-blank range.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The creature twitches violently, then goes completely limp, dark, sludge-like fluid oozing from the wounds.
Aldo takes a step back, wiping a drop of sweat from his temple, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "You startled me."
Comtois walks over from his corner, fanning away the thick clouds of black gunpowder smoke with his hat. He looks down at the scorched floor, where five dark, burnt corpses lay scattered amidst the debris of the explosive blast.
"Uh, Aldo..." Comtois says, his eyes wide as he looks around the room. "It looks like we eliminated five necromancers here. They're all charred black. What was that pale thing you killed just now?"
Aldo nudges the hairless, bloodless corpse with the toe of his boot, inspecting the elongated fangs and pale, rubbery skin. "A low-level zombie or Lich... pale white, as if there was no blood on its face. Uh, I think it was a vampire."
Before anyone can respond, a faint moan echoes from a rocky ridge just beyond the back of the stone house.
Aldo gestures for quiet. The squad moves around the building, following a hidden stone path that leads directly into the gaping mouth of a massive, dark hillside cave.
As they step inside, the faint smell of rubbing alcohol, blood, and burning torches hits their nostrils. Stretched out along the cavern walls are dozens of wounded soldiers wearing the insignia of Officer Watkins' battalion. Bandaged men lie on stretchers, while field medics work frantically under the dim torchlight.
Officer Watkins himself sits against a wooden crate near the center of the cavern, his arm wrapped tightly in bloody bandages, his face pale and drawn.
Watkins looks up, his eyes widening in relief as he recognizes Aldo and his squad. "Aldo..." Watkins rasps, pointing a trembling finger toward a dark, inner tunnel of the cave. "There's an Elder Vampire in there... you should—"
Before Watkins can finish his sentence, Comtois, reaching into his supply pouch to grab a bandage, accidentally pulls out a large, fresh slab of salted meat he had saved for dinner.
The scent of fresh blood hits the dark cavern.
A terrifying, pitch-black shadow explodes from the dark inner tunnel with blinding speed. It crashes straight into Comtois, knocking him flat on his back against the hard cavern floor.
"Argh!" Comtois screams as a towering, monstrous figure pins his shoulders to the ground.
It is an Elder Vampire—its face a nightmare of stretched, grey skin, glowing crimson eyes, and massive, exposed fangs dripping with saliva.
"It's an Elder Vampire! Be careful!" Watkins yells from his crate, reaching for his sword.
Comtois, thrashing wildly beneath the beast's crushing weight, pulls his knee up and delivers a ferocious, full-force kick straight into the Elder Vampire's groin.
The monster doesn't even flinch. It doesn't drop its gaze; it simply snarls louder, its talons sinking deeper into Comtois' shoulder armor.
Seeing the beast unfazed, Aldo moves with blinding speed. He grabs a burning wooden torch from a wall bracket and thrusts the flaming head directly against the Elder Vampire's bare back.
HISSSSSSS!
The creature lets out a deafening, unnatural shriek as its flesh scorches and sizzles. It instantly releases Comtois, spinning around to lunge savagely at Aldo.
Aldo doesn't step back. He steps forward, keeping the blazing torch thrust straight out in front of him, creating an unbreakable wall of fire. The Elder Vampire recoils violently, shielding its glowing eyes with its clawed arms, hissing and snarling as it backs away from the bright heat.
Slowly, deliberately, Aldo advances on the trapped monster. With his free hand concealed behind his back, he quickly pulls three leather explosive charges from his coat, twisting their fuses together into a single cluster.
Aldo swats the burning torch wildly at the Elder Vampire's face. The beast ducks sideways—and as it does, Aldo tosses the lit explosive cluster directly beneath its feet.
BOOM!
A blinding flash and a massive cloud of thick, white smoke billow out, filling the cave entrance. The Elder Vampire screams in agony as the concussion tears through its legs.
Desperate to escape, the monster's body distorts, shrinking rapidly as it transforms into a massive, leathery-winged bat. It rises frantically into the air, flapping wildly to fly over the smoke toward the cave mouth.
"Don't let it escape!" Watkins roars.
Watkins pulls a heavily engraved, glowing magic gun from his holster. He raises it with one hand, tracks the bat's swift motion through the air, and pulls the trigger.
STREAM OF LIGHT!
A bright bolt of magical energy erupts from the barrel, striking the giant bat squarely in its wing. The creature shrieks, tumbling out of the air and crashing heavily onto the dirt floor of the cave.
"Surge! Secure it now!" Hano screams.
All ten free soldiers—conscripts, slave-soldiers, and guards alike—charge forward in a massive wave. They leap onto the thrashing, wounded Elder Vampire, pinning its clawed wings and thrashing limbs against the ground. They pull heavy bundles of thick, oiled hemp rope from their packs, wrapping the cord tightly around its torso, neck, and fangs, binding it until it is completely immobile.
Watkins slowly sits up straight against his crate, breathing heavily, his hand still holding the smoking magic gun. He looks over at the bound, glaring monster, then turns his gaze to Aldo.
"Interrogate it," Watkins commands, his voice cold and raspy.
Outside the cave mouth, the long shadows of the forest lengthen as the bright sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting a deep, orange-red glow across the high canopy.
Watkins looks out at the darkening woods, then turns back to his weary, battered men.
"Everyone," Watkins says quietly, "quickly set camp."
...
Conscript #1 steps through the lingering grey smoke of the doorway, his eyes darting frantically between the charred wizard corpses and the pale monster on the floor. He nudges Conscript #2 with a sharp elbow.
"And then... did we breach-and-clear a dark sorcerer's house using two pipe bombs and a hand-axe?" Conscript #1 whispers, his voice cracking with sheer bewilderment.
Conscript #2 clutches his empty musket to his chest, his eyes round as saucers as he stares at the bloodless, white face of the dead vampire.
"Janko, I don't know magic," Conscript #2 whimpers under his breath, his voice trembling violently. "My dad taught me how to grow turnips! Why am I dogpiling an 800-year-old Vampire in a dark cave right now?!"