Necromancer: Kingdom Building with My Legion of Undead Knights

The group moved steadily through the forest.

This was like the first time the archers were going hunting. Not the first time any of them had ever hunted, some had probably tracked rabbits or birds when they were younger. But this was the first time they were going hunting as a unit. As archers. As people whose job it was to shoot things for a living.

It was even the first for Seren, apart from the ones when she was a kid. And going hunting as a kid was nothing compared to the scale at which they were going hunting now. Back then, she had just gone out with sticks and string, hunting creatures as small as rabbits, sometimes squirrels if she was lucky. A successful hunt meant bringing home enough meat for one meal. A bad hunt meant going home hungry.

But now? Now they had proper bows. Proper arrows and proper training.

It wasn’t too proper in the way of really good professionals, they weren’t elite soldiers who had trained with bows since childhood.

But the archers were pretty decent. They had practiced for weeks now, shooting at targets from different distances, under different conditions.

They weren’t masters, but they were reliable. And there were good exceptions, like the bullseye lady.

She was a really good aimer, the kind of person who could put an arrow exactly where she wanted it every single time. That kind of good aiming would be invaluable in a forest like this, where targets could appear suddenly and disappear just as fast.

Plus there were the two knights. They were just there for protection, basically NPCs in this situation. Tagging along to make sure nothing killed the archers before they could do their job. They weren’t leading, weren’t hunting and weren’t making decisions. Just following and watching and being ready to step in if something went wrong.

Leaves crunched beneath boots and hooves. Birds occasionally flew overhead, startled by the sound of so many people moving through their territory. The morning air was cool beneath the canopy, the sun still low enough that shadows stretched long across the forest floor.

Several of the archers remained alert, their eyes scanning the surroundings while quietly talking amongst themselves. Seren occasionally pointed out tracks she spotted along the ground: deer prints here, rabbit tracks there, signs of animals passing through. Nothing unusual so far. Just the normal traces of forest life.

The deeper they traveled, the quieter things became.

Eventually the conversations died down. The archers grew more focused. Every snapping twig suddenly seemed louder. Every movement in the bushes drew attention. The forest had shifted from friendly to watchful, the way woods sometimes did when you walked too far into them.

Everyone became cautious now.

When they had first entered the forest, the trees had been more spacious. Sunlight had filtered down through the canopy in patches, lighting the forest floor enough to see clearly. You could walk without worrying about tripping over roots or stepping into holes. There had been room to move, room to see room to react.

But now the trees were clustered together at the top. Their branches intertwined, blocking out most of the light. The forest floor was darker here, the shadows deeper. Everywhere seemed to have less light, as if the sun had given up trying to reach this part of the woods.

The air felt different too.

More thinner than before. Not uncomfortably so: they could breathe perfectly fine, but it was noticeable. The air didn’t fill your lungs the same way it did out in the open fields.

There was something about it, a lightness that made each breath feel slightly less substantial than it should. Maybe it was because there were more trees, more branches, more leaves packed together overhead.

Seren signalled for them to reduce pace. She raised a hand, her palm open and fingers spread, the signal they had practiced. Slow down. Be alert. Something’s off.

The archers immediately adjusted. Their formation tightened. Their hands moved closer to their bows. The quiet talking stopped entirely.

Seren moved her horse carefully now, her eyes scanning the trees ahead, the bushes to the sides, the shadows that seemed to move even when nothing was there. Something was watching them. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel it, the same way you could feel someone staring at the back of your neck even before you turned around.

And then...

The knight riding at the front suddenly raised a hand.

The entire group slowed very significantly. Several archers instinctively reached for arrows, their hands moving to their quivers before their minds had fully processed what was happening. Seren narrowed her eyes.

Something was ahead.

The bushes shifted. Branches rustled. Not from wind, there was no wind this deep in the forest. Something was moving in there. Something large enough to push through the undergrowth instead of around it.

And a moment later, the first creature of the day stepped into view.

A Bogart!

The forest instantly became very quiet.

The creature was ugly in the way all Bogoarts were ugly. Looking all weird and hideous. Its eyes were fixed on the group with the kind of attention that said it had already decided they were food.

Thing is, a Bogart couldn’t see. Their eyes were mostly for show. But they were good smellers, excellent smellers, actually.

They could smell a human from far away, could track that scent through the forest even when the human had no idea they were being followed. This one had seemingly done just that for this group. It had caught their scent somewhere back along the trail and followed it, patient and silent, until it had them exactly where it wanted them.

For a second it did nothing. It just stood there, nose twitching, mouth open, breathing in their smell.

But its weight was already shifted forward. Its shoulders were already low. Its mouth was already open, revealing rows of teeth that had never been designed for chewing plants.

Then it dashed forward.

So fast and so furious.

Straight at them.

In that split second, the question wasn’t whether the creature was dangerous. Everyone already knew that. The real question was: who would react first? Had anyone already moved? In the brief moment between identifying the creature and simply staring at it, had someone’s body already acted? Because the Bogart certainly wasn’t waiting around. It was already making its move. And that move could very easily kill someone.

The creature suddenly exploded into motion.

One moment it was standing there, still as a statue, its nose twitching as it sampled their scent. The next, it was airborne. The Bogart launched itself into the air with shocking force, its powerful legs propelling it far higher than any normal beast should have been capable of jumping.

Leaves scattered from the branches above. Twigs snapped and rained down. Several archers widened their eyes, their mouths opening in surprise before any sound could come out.

The jump wasn’t random. It wasn’t a panicked reaction or a desperate attack. This was a hunting technique. A killing technique refined over generations of evolution. Bogarts were blind creatures. They couldn’t rely on sight the way humans did. They couldn’t watch their prey from a distance and plan their approach based on what they saw.

Instead, they used their other senses: smell, hearing, the vibrations of footsteps on the forest floor. And because of that, they had developed specialized ways of dealing with threats.

One of those ways was this.

When facing multiple opponents, a Bogart often leapt high into the air. It served two purposes. First, it allowed the creature to avoid attacks coming from ground level like spears, swords and arrows aimed at where it had been standing a moment ago.

Second, it positioned the Bogart for a devastating strike from above, giving it the advantage of height and momentum. By the time its prey realized what was happening, the Bogart was already descending on them.

And it worked.

Because a knight had already reacted. The knight at the front had moved the instant he recognized the danger. His spear had left his hand almost immediately, a fast throw, a good throw, the kind of throw that would have killed most creatures. He had put his full weight behind it, aiming for the center of the Bogart’s mass where the spear would do the most damage.

But not this one.

The Bogart’s jump carried it clean over the weapon. The spear shot beneath the creature, missing by inches, and disappeared into the bushes behind it with a dull thud.

The knight’s heart probably sank. Because now he was exposed. Completely exposed. His weapon was gone, thrown uselessly into the undergrowth. His sword was still at his side, still sheathed. And the Bogart was descending. Descending directly toward him.

The distance between them vanished rapidly. Too rapidly. The creature was unbelievably fast, its body cutting through the air like something thrown from a catapult. For a brief moment, the knight probably accepted what was about to happen. There simply wasn’t enough time. Not enough time to draw his sword. Not enough time to dodge to the side. Not enough time to do anything except watch the creature get closer and closer and closer.

The Bogart was already upon him.

Then —

WHIZZ!