Necromancer: Kingdom Building with My Legion of Undead Knights

Chief Dross agreed to give Caef sixty of his men for the first phase of the plan.

It was a significant number, but not so large that it would leave Vrethka defenseless. Sixty experienced fighters, men who had grown up in the harsh borderlands and knew how to move through the wilderness without leaving a trace.

They were not soldiers in the formal sense, they didn’t wear armors or follow a rigid chain of command, but they were warriors. They had fought before. They had killed before. And they were loyal to Dross.

Sure, they acted like they wanted vengeance. And they truly did want it.

The destruction of Gonnb had been brutal and the people of Vrethka had seen the survivors, had heard their stories, and kinda felt what had happened.

But that wouldn’t make them dumb. They wouldn’t just decide to boom, attack Percvale quickly. That was the kind of thinking that got people killed.

They wouldn’t even attack the farmlands at night for now. That was the obvious choice, strike under cover of darkness, hit the fields, burn the crops, scatter the livestock.

But the Baron of Percvale was a Necromancer with undead. They didn’t know how many undead he had, and they didn’t know if he kept them to watch the farmlands while he was gone.

If they attacked at night and ran into a patrol of undead soldiers, they would be slaughtered before they even knew what was happening.

So they would not be taking that risk. If they attacked in the day, they would easily be caught even though it was just a selected attack and not everywhere.

The farmlands were open, exposed, and any attack would be visible from a distance. The knights of Percvale would respond quickly, and sixty men would not be enough to hold their ground against a prepared defense.

If they attacked at night, that was actually better. The darkness would cover their approach. The confusion would work in their favor.

But the question was: how would they know what they were going to face? Would they meet undeads on the fields? Would the Baron have set traps? Would there be patrols that they couldn’t see?

So they had to spy first. They had to somehow check how things were now in Percvale, how they would attack, if it would be safe, and if they had even a slim chance of winning.

Because this wasn’t some video game where they could always play again and stuff like that. This was instead a one-time thing.

If they failed, they ceased to exist. There would be no second chances, no respawns, no do-overs. The men who died would stay dead, and the survivors would be hunted down and killed.

So they had to be as cautious as they wanted vengeance. The anger was there, burning hot in Caef’s chest, but he had learned to control it. He had learned that rage without planning was just a faster way to die.

Caef sat with Dross and the head warrior now, eating large chunks of meat that had just been roasted over an open fire.

The meat was thick and juicy, seasoned with herbs that filled the air with a rich, savory smell. It was the kind of meal that warriors ate before battle, large things.

The dining table was long and made of dark, heavy wood.

The hall was large, with high ceilings and walls adorned with trophies of past victories. Animal hides hung from the rafters, their patterns faded but still visible. Weapons were mounted on the walls, their edges still sharp, their handles worn from use.

And on the walls were heads. Human heads. They had been preserved somehow, treated with something that kept them from rotting or smelling.

They hung in neat rows, their eyes closed, their faces frozen in expressions of fear or defiance. Some were old, their features reduced by time. Others were newer, their skin still relatively fresh.

Caef had seen similar displays before, in other tribes, but never on this scale. Vrethka had been fighting for a long time, and Dross had been winning for most of it.

Caef looked at the heads as he ate, his eyes moving from one to the next. They were all warriors, he assumed. Men who had challenged Dross and lost.

”I added these three not long ago,” Chief Dross said, gesturing toward a cluster of heads near the center of the display. ”Neighboring tribe leaders who tried to act stubborn. Thought they could refuse my terms and get away with it.”

Caef nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the heads. ”What did they do?”

Dross shrugged, taking a bite of his meat. ”They tried to expand into my territory. Thought I wouldn’t notice. Thought they could take a few lands before I responded.” He chewed thoughtfully. ”They were wrong.”

Caef didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say. Dross had made his point. He just nodded and mumbled.

”Hmm.”

”Now,” Dross said, setting down his meat and leaning forward. ”Let’s talk about how to hit Percvale.”

The planning began. Dross and the head warrior, a scarred man named Korr, laid out the situation. They knew about Percvale’s location, its layout, its defenses. They knew about the farmland, the castle, the knights. But they didn’t know about the undead.

”We need information,” Korr said. ”Before we do anything, we need to know what we’re walking into.”

Caef agreed. ”How do we get it?”

Korr leaned back in his chair. ”We send scouts. Two or three men, experienced in moving through enemy territory. They approach Percvale at night, observe the farmlands, note any patrols. They don’t engage. They don’t get close enough to be seen. They just watch.”

Dross nodded. ”And if they’re caught?”

Korr shrugged. ”Then they lie. They say they were looking for where something is sold, maybe grain, maybe tools, maybe livestock, and the Percvale men could redirect them to where it is sold. It’s a simple story, and it’s believable. Travelers get lost all the time. Merchants wander into unfamiliar territory looking for trade. As long as they stick to the story and don’t act suspicious, they should be fine.”

The men at the table nodded. It was a smart plan, something that could actually work if the scouts kept their heads and didn’t panic.

Caef considered this. ”How long will it take?”

”Two days,” Korr said. ”Maybe three. The scouts need time to observe, to make sure they’re seeing the real pattern and not just a random patrol. A single night of watching isn’t enough. They need to see the routine, the gaps and the moments when the guards are tired or distracted.”

Caef nodded. ”And then?”

”Then we decide,” Dross said. ”If the farmlands are lightly defended, we strike. If they’re heavily guarded, we wait.”

The men at the table agreed with the plan with loud voices and hitting of their meats together.

The room filled with the sound of approval.

They seemed to already have a plan and could execute it without hesitation.

That was... until Caef suddenly paused. He stopped eating his meat and was now thinking. His fork hovered in the air, his eyes distant.

From his facial expression, there were so many thoughts on his mind. The others noticed. The noise at the table began to die down as they watched him, waiting for him to speak.

”But what will attacking the farmlands profit us?” he suddenly said.

Dross and Korr looked up from their meat, straight into his eyes. They were definitely wondering what he was on about. The plan had been clear. The objective had been clear. But Caef was questioning it.

Korr spoke first. ”It weakens Percvale. The farmlands are their source of food. Hit the crops, kill the livestock, and they’ll struggle to feed themselves. Without food, their knights will grow weak, their people will lose hope, and their Baron will be forced to focus on survival instead of expansion.”

Dross nodded in agreement. ”It’s how you break a territory. You don’t need to destroy their army. You just need to destroy their ability to feed that army.”

Caef listened, but he wasn’t convinced. ”They will definitely recover from whatever we do to the farmlands,” he said slowly. ”And after we hit them, he will be on guard. Very on guard. He’ll be watching for the culprit, and he might eventually find out that it’s us. He’ll send his undead to Vrethka, and we won’t be able to stop them.”

The table was quiet. The men exchanged glances. No one had thought that far ahead.

”Then what are you suggesting?” Dross asked, his voice low.

Korr looked very interested too, his eyes fixed on Caef.

”We only have one chance in my opinion,” Caef said. ”One chance to attack. If we strike the farmlands and fail to cripple them, we’ve wasted our only opportunity. They’ll be ready for us next time. They’ll be waiting.”

Dross and Korr dropped their meats now, the food forgotten. They exchanged glances and looked at Caef very deeply, waiting for him to continue.

”What if instead of attacking the farmlands,” Caef continued, his voice steady, ”We kill the Baron of Percvale.”

Dross and Korr started shaking their heads immediately, their expressions shifting to disbelief. It was too risky. Too dangerous. Too many unknowns.

”To accomplish it,” Caef continued, ”We have to attack him while he is asleep. Kill him while he’s sleeping. He’s a Necromancer, but he’s still human. He still sleeps. He still bleeds. If we can get to him before he can summon his undead, he’s just a man.”

He paused, letting the words sink in. ”I mean, look at it from my view. Killing him means he cannot call forth any undeads. And with no undeads, we have a chance because Vrethka’s manpower is definitely bigger than theirs. Without his army of the dead, he’s just a Baron with a few knights. We can handle the knights.”

The table was silent. Dross and Korr stared at him.