Necromancer: Kingdom Building with My Legion of Undead Knights

The second undead stepped forward, its sword raised. Darion moved through the second sequence.

A quick back placement, then forward, then backward, then a strike. The golden ball of energy shot forward, striking the undead in the chest. It staggered, its body crumbling, and then it collapsed.

The third undead came at him, fast and aggressive. Darion moved through the third sequence.

A jump, a wave to the right, a wave to the left, then a swerve forward. The curved golden light slashed through the air, cutting the undead in half. It collapsed, its body falling to the ground in two pieces.

The fourth undead lunged, its blade aimed at his throat. Darion dropped to the ground, his body rolling, then shot upward, the sword aimed at the sky.

The golden hole of energy erupted, piercing through the undead’s chest. It collapsed, its body crumbling.

The fifth undead came at him, faster than the others. Darion moved through the fifth sequence. A bend, a roll, a swerve left, a swerve right, then upward. The large golden ball emerged, striking the undead in the chest. It staggered, its body cracking, and then it collapsed.

The sixth undead lunged, its blade aimed at his heart. Darion moved through the final sequence. Five waves of golden light shot forward, each one more powerful than the last. They struck the undead in rapid succession, overwhelming it, and it collapsed into a pile of bones.

Darion stood in the center of the courtyard, his breathing heavy, his sword held at his side. Six undead. Six moves. All of them obliterated.

He smiled. It had worked. The training was a success.

Garren and Seren clapped for him. The sound of their applause echoed through the courtyard, sharp and clear against the morning air.

It was a simple gesture, but it carried weight, a recognition of what he had just accomplished. Darion stood in the center of the courtyard, his sword still in his hand, his breathing heavy, his body aching.

The pile of bones lay scattered around him, the remains of the six undead knights he had just destroyed.

”That was impressive, Baron,” Garren said, his voice carrying a note of genuine respect. He had seen many things in his years of service, had witnessed battles and skirmishes and moments of triumph and defeat.

But this was different. This was something new, something that spoke of growth and potential.

A Baron who shouldn’t even be learning how to use a sword, who shouldn’t be learning sword practice because he had powerful undead knights and wild animals do it for him. Actually learn these seemingly hard, stressful and sometimes complex moves and actually execute properly.

Seren nodded in agreement, her eyes bright with approval. ”Very impressive. You took them all down without breaking a sweat.”

Darion nodded, a small smile forming on his face. He shook both of them, his grip firm, his gratitude evident in the gesture. It had been a good session, a productive one.

He had faced six opponents, one after another, and he had emerged victorious. The moves had worked, the golden light had flowed, and he had survived.

Truly it was impressive. He thought about it, about how he hadn’t gotten the hits, about how with the pressure he hadn’t succumbed.

The undeads had come at him with speed and aggression, their weapons aimed at his vital spots, their movements relentless. But he had held his ground, had executed the sequences perfectly, and had emerged unscathed. It was a testament to his training, his discipline, his determination.

He thought about the nature of his power, the balance between his undead army and his own abilities. It was nice to have undeads fight for you, yes. They were powerful, relentless, and expendable. But it was even better if you could fight yourself with the undead power.

To be able to command an army of undeads while also being a capable fighter in your own right was a combination that few could match.

Imagine someone who could actually fight commanding an army of undeads. They would be unstoppable, a force of nature that could not be contained.

They could lead from the front, inspiring their troops with their own bravery and skill. They could adapt to any situation, responding to threats with speed and precision. They would be a true leader, a warrior-king who fought alongside their soldiers.

So he hadn’t wasted his time. This wasn’t pointless. This was actually beneficial. Beneficial to his growth as a human in this world. From Baron’s weak bastard son who was disowned and couldn’t fight to this: someone who could actually fight! It was great. It was growth.

He had come a long way from the day he had first arrived in Percvale, a rejected son of the Emperor sent to die in a dying barony. He had been weak, helpless, and alone. But now he was strong, capable, and surrounded by allies. He had built something from nothing, had created a future for himself and his people.

Now he looked at the ashes of the undeads. He had lost six undead knights in the training session, their bodies reduced to piles of bone and dust. But eh, he could replace them.

The graveyard was full of potential, waiting to be unearthed. Losing six undeads definitely wasn’t a reason to go. He would visit the graveyard whenever his inventory had lost many, when the numbers were significant enough to justify the trip.

He turned to Garren and Seren, his smile widening. ”Thank you,” he said. ”Both of you. I couldn’t have done this without your help.”

Garren nodded. ”You did the work. We just pointed you in the right direction.”

Seren smiled. ”You’re welcome. And if you ever need more help, you know where to find us.”

’...you know where to find us’

That was a good joke and it made Darion smile.

He looked at the sky now, the sun climbing higher, the day stretching out before him. He had work to do, a barony to run, a people to protect. But for now, in this moment, he allowed himself to feel proud of what he had accomplished. He had come a long way, and he was only getting started.