Necromancer: Kingdom Building with My Legion of Undead Knights

Seren surely was afraid of heights, and it was very much obvious in the way she gripped Darion tight.

Her fingers were digging into his sides, her arms wrapped around his torso like he was the only thing keeping her from plummeting to the ground below.

It was understandable that she gripped him tightly when they were climbing the tree with the wolf.

Darion had told her to hold on tight, and she had followed his instructions to the letter. But now that they were actually here, perched on a thick branch high above the clearing, she still gripped him tight. Her knuckles were white, her breath shallow, her body pressed against his back like she was trying to merge with him.

The reasons were obvious. First and most practically, she didn’t want to fall. One wrong move, one slip of her grip, and she would tumble through the branches and hit the ground with a sickening crunch.

But second, and perhaps more importantly, she was afraid of heights. The fear was written all over her face, in the way her eyes stayed fixed on the branch beneath them, in the way she refused to look down at the ground far below.

Darion felt her warmth pressed against him and couldn’t help but feel relaxed and at ease.

There was something about her touch that made his shoulders loosen, his breathing deepen, his mind quiet down from the constant churning of strategy and survival.

He wasn’t used to this kind of contact, this kind of closeness. It was foreign, unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. He found himself leaning back into her grip just slightly, letting himself enjoy the moment.

But there was work to do. So he forced himself back to the present.

They waited on the tree for about fifteen minutes, and throughout those fifteen minutes, Seren kept gripping Darion close. Her grip never loosened and never wavered. She was starting to get worried that nothing would come. She voiced her complaints as a whisper to Darion, her breath warm against his ear.

”Don’t think any will come, to be honest,” she said.

Darion nodded slightly, but he wasn’t agreeing. He told her to wait a bit, his voice low and calm. Her boredom and impatience were obvious, but he understood her restlessness.

Waiting was the hardest part of any hunt. It was the part that tested your patience, your discipline and your ability to stay still and quiet even when every part of you wanted to move.

Her boredom high on this tree made him expect the creatures he had made the bait for to come very quickly and find the bait.

But then, a bait didn’t have to be fast all the time. In fact, most baits were slow. You had to wait patiently and observe deeply until you got your prey. You had to have patience to be a good baiter.

Patience was the fundamental thing one must have if one wanted to be a good baiter. It was the difference between a successful hunt and a wasted effort.

Without patience, you would move too soon, reveal yourself too early, and scare off the very prey you were trying to catch.

Without patience, you would grow frustrated, make careless mistakes, and ruin the trap you had set so carefully.

Patience allows you to wait for the perfect moment, to let the prey come to you instead of chasing after them. It was a skill, a discipline and a way of thinking that required you to quiet your mind and trust the process.

Darion remembered the first bait he had done since arriving in this world.

It was suggesting that they use a human bait to lure the Bogoarts, who could smell so well, into that particular clearing in the middle while they stayed up in trees.

The Bogart wasn’t able to smell them because the central smell was on the ground, and the humans up in the trees had covered their scent a bit with how high they were.

It had worked perfectly. The Bogoarts had come, blind and hungry, drawn by the scent of flesh, and they had walked right into the trap.

Darion hoped it worked like this for the creatures they would meet. Creatures who wouldn’t perchance smell that there were humans on the tree, but instead focus on the life on the ground. That was, even if the creatures were good smellers, the scent of blood and meat would draw them away from the scent of the living. It was a gamble, but it was a gamble worth taking.

But then, Darion had to give it to any wild creatures in this particular part of the forest:they would be, at least, good smellers.

Everything in these woods was built for survival. The Yuimons, the Errligs, the Slitherers, all of them had evolved senses that helped them find food and avoid danger. So he waited. He stayed still. He kept his breathing slow and steady.

The forest was silent around them. The only sound was the rustle of leaves in the breeze and the distant call of birds. The errligs lay in the clearing below, their bodies still and cold, their blood soaking into the earth. The bait was all set. The trap was ready. It had been ready for over from fifteen minutes now.

All they had to do was wait.

Darion did not know how long he would keep waiting now. But all he knew was that he was starting to get tired himself. Sure, patience was good and all that.

But he had done a lot of trekking and thinking today, and his body was beginning to feel the weight of it all. His legs ached from the walking. His eyes were heavy from the constant scanning of the forest. His mind was foggy from the endless strategizing and planning. He was exhausted.

And it was afternoon now. Soon evening would arrive.

The sun was already beginning its slow descent, casting long shadows across the forest floor. They had come here with just water Seren had put in a bag she carried with her, not a proper bag, more of a cloth pouch she had slung across her shoulder.

That was it. They hadn’t drunk any water since entering the forest, and his throat was dry, his lips cracked. He decided he would drink after they are done with this bait stuff.

He was persistent, that was why he had made this bait plan to make things easier. But it seemed that wasn’t happening now. He had set the trap, laid the bait, climbed the tree, and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Fifteen minutes. Twenty. Half an hour. Nothing. He was starting to think the system had been wrong, that the pack wasn’t coming, that all of this had been a waste of time.

But five minutes later, they heard footsteps.

The sound was soft at first, barely audible over the rustle of leaves. Then it grew louder, more distinct.

The crunch of dry leaves under heavy paws. The rhythmic padding of many feet moving together. Seren looked at Darion now, her eyes wide, her grip tightening around his waist. Darion made a shush sound, his finger pressing against his lips. They needed to stay quiet. They needed to stay still.

The footsteps grew closer. Two creatures emerged from the treeline first, their heads low, their bodies tense.

Then three more followed, then four, then seven, then eleven, then fourteen creatures that looked so weird to Darion. They moved in a loose pack, their movements synchronized, their eyes scanning the clearing ahead. They had caught the scent of the errligs, and they were coming for the meat.

And you know why they looked so weird? Well, they looked like wolves. White skin with black spots scattered across their bodies, like someone had painted them with ink.

That part was normal enough, similar to creatures you’d see on Earth. But then there were the horns.

Large horns, thick and curved, but instead of pointing upward like they should, they pointed downward, curving toward the creatures’ necks like bony hooks. It looked unnatural and seemingly wrong, like something that was straight out of a horror film.

And the creatures had fangs. Long, sharp fangs that jutted out from their mouths even when they were closed.

Horned creatures weren’t supposed to have fangs. Horns were for defense, for display, for headbutting rivals. Fangs were for tearing flesh. The combination was unsettling, a mismatch of features that made Darion’s skin crawl.

Also, they had really long tails. Thick, muscular tails that lashed back and forth as they moved, sweeping through the underbrush. They looked like weapons, like something that could knock a man off his feet with a single swing.

Darion stared down at the creatures, his mind racing. Seren’s grip tightened even further, her breath hitching in her throat. Darion could feel the shock radiating from her body. He shared it.

His system identified them now:

[Creature name: ...