Necromancer: Kingdom Building with My Legion of Undead Knights

Darion woke early, the castle still quiet around him. The first pale light of dawn was just beginning to filter through the window, casting long shadows across the walls.

He lay in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence. The workers wouldn’t be up for another hour or so. The knights were still asleep. The castle was his.

He swung his legs out of bed and stood. The floor was cool beneath his feet. He dressed quickly, pulling on a simple tunic and trousers, then reached for the sword and the manual.

They sat on the table where he had left them the night before. He picked them up and walked out of his room, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.

He made his way to the courtyard, moving carefully to avoid making too much noise. The workers’ tents were set up at a side of the compound, close to the castle but far enough to give them some privacy.

He walked to the opposite corner, further from where they were, to a spot where they would not see him. He didn’t want anyone watching him fumble around with a sword and a book.

It would definitely look weird, seeing the Baron of Percvale with a sword and a book, doing some strange moves in the early morning light. They would think he was a lunatic or something.

So here was good. Quiet. Private. Hidden from prying eyes.

He set the manual down on a low stone wall and opened it to the first page. The sketches were still there, the figure in various stances, the sword held at different angles, the feet positioned in specific ways. He studied the first diagram, trying to understand the movement.

And why was he even out here with the book in the first place? Wasn’t Garren supposed to teach him?

Well, Garren would actually teach him later. Darion just wanted to see what he could do himself. He didn’t want to show up for his first lesson completely clueless. He wanted to have at least some understanding of what he was supposed to do.

The morning air was cool, the sky just beginning to lighten. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees nearby, carrying the scent of dew and earth. It was peaceful, the kind of quiet that made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

Darion attempted the first stance from the manual. He positioned his feet as shown in the diagram, his back straight, his shoulders relaxed.

He raised the sword, holding it at the angle indicated. It felt awkward. The sword was heavier than he expected, and his arms began to ache almost immediately.

He tried to move through the sequence, but his footwork was wrong. His back wasn’t straight enough. The sword felt clumsy in his hands, like it was fighting him instead of flowing with him. He tried again, adjusting his grip, shifting his weight. Still wrong.

He tried again. Failed again.

He was so focused on his failures that he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching until Garren’s voice cut through the silence.

”Thought you said I’d teach you.”

Darion turned, a sheepish smile spreading across his face. Garren stood at the edge of the courtyard, his arms crossed, his expression a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

He was dressed in his usual practical clothes, his sword strapped to his belt.

”Well, decided to try out something myself before you arrived,” Darion said. ”Didn’t want to show up completely clueless.”

Garren walked over, his footsteps quiet on the stone. He studied Darion’s stance, his posture, the way he held the sword. Then he stepped forward and began to correct things. He pushed Darion’s shoulders back, straightened his spine, and adjusted his grip on the sword.

”Your footwork is off,” Garren said. ”You’re placing too much weight on your front foot. It’s throwing off your balance. You need to distribute your weight evenly, so you can move in any direction without having to shift your entire body first.”

Darion adjusted his stance, feeling the difference immediately. His body felt more stable, more grounded. The sword felt lighter in his hands.

”Good,” Garren said. ”Now, the first movement. Bring the sword up, then across, then down. Smoothly. Don’t rush.”

Darion moved through the sequence, his arms aching, his legs trembling. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. The sword began to feel more natural in his hands, more like an extension of his body.

”Again,” Garren said. ”Faster this time.”

Darion moved through the sequence again, his movements more fluid, more confident. He could feel the rhythm of it, the way each movement flowed into the next. It was starting to make sense.

They practiced for over an hour. Darion’s arms ached, his legs trembled, and sweat dripped down his face. But slowly, he began to understand the flow of the movement. The sequence was like a dance, each step building on the last, each motion flowing into the next.

Finally, he performed the sequence correctly. His footwork was precise, his back straight, his grip firm. The sword moved through the air with a grace that surprised him. And then... the sword responded.

A golden light streaked forward from the blade, cutting through the air before dissipating in a shower of sparks. It was brief, barely a second, but it was unmistakable.

Garren and Darion stared at the spot where the light had faded. Then at each other. ”Woah,” Darion breathed.

So the magic was actually real. This was actually for real. All he needed to do was act a certain way, move his body in a specific sequence, and boom... magic!

The sword wasn’t just a sword. It was a tool, a weapon, a key to something greater.

He went through the possibilities of how useful this would be. He could use it in battle, against creatures that his undeads couldn’t handle.

He could use it to protect himself if he was ever caught without his army. He could use it to surprise his enemies, to catch them off guard with a power they didn’t expect.

This changed everything.

Darion grinned, exhausted but exhilarated. He could do this. He just needed more practice.