Necromancer: Kingdom Building with My Legion of Undead Knights

The chase was slow, methodical even, a grinding pursuit that wore down both pursuer and pursued. The Harrowhold soldiers were exhausted, their bodies pushed to the limit.

They stumbled and fell, their legs giving out beneath them. Each time one of them fell, the Vrethka warriors were there, cutting them down without mercy.

One by one, the Harrowhold soldiers fell. The Vrethka warriors took their time, savoring the hunt. They had been fighting for days, had lost so many of their own, and now, they were finally getting their revenge.

Marrick could see his men falling, their bodies scattered across the field like discarded dolls. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

He knew he was losing. He knew he would not survive. But he kept riding, kept hoping, kept praying that somehow, he would find a way out.

But there was no way out. The Vrethka warriors were everywhere, surrounding him, closing in from all sides. He could feel their eyes on him, could feel the weight of their hatred. They wanted him dead, and they would not stop until they had him.

Finally, the chase ended. The last of the Harrowhold soldiers were cut down, their bodies crumpling to the ground. Marrick was pulled from his horse, his hands bound, his face pale with fear. He was brought before Dross and Caef, his eyes wide with terror.

Dross looked at him, his expression cold. ”You thought you could take my land?” he said, his voice flat. ”You thought you could defeat me?”

Marrick opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He was too frightened, too broken to respond.

Dross turned to Caef, a grim smile on his face. ”Let’s finish this,” he said. ”Let’s go to Harrowhold and take over their land by killing the King.”

Caef nodded, his eyes cold. ”Let’s go.”

The decision was made quickly, without hesitation. Dross looked at Marrick, the captured son of Harrowhold’s chief, and a grim smile spread across his scarred face.

The young man was trembling, his eyes wide with fear, his hands bound behind his back. He had led the assault on Vrethka, had commanded the army that had killed so many of Dross’s warriors. And now, he was at their mercy.

But Dross had no intention of giving him mercy.

”We will not kill him,” Dross said, his voice cold. ”Not yet. Death is too easy.”

The warriors around him nodded, their expressions hard and unyielding. They understood. They had seen too many of their friends fall, had watched too many families destroyed. Death was not enough. Death was an escape.

Caef looked at Dross, his eyes questioning. ”What do you mean?”

Dross turned to him, his voice low. ”Most humans believe that when they die, they go to a better place. Some good afterlife. They pray to gods, they hope for peace. They see death as a release.”

He paused, his eyes scanning the captured Marrick. ”But we do not believe in any of that. The people of Vrethka do not pray to gods like many of the people of Valvanos. We believe that once you die, that is it. Non-existence. Nothingness. You are gone, and you never return.”

Caef nodded slowly, understanding dawning on him. He had heard of such beliefs before, but he had never fully understood them. Now, he was beginning to see the logic behind them.

”So death is not a punishment,” Caef said. ”It is an escape.”

Dross nodded. ”Exactly. Death is an easy ending. After doing all the wicked things you did, you just get to not exist? Hell no! Death is even something good. A way to escape your suffering. We do not give our enemies the gift of death. We give them something far worse.”

He gestured toward Marrick, his voice hardening. ”We will not kill him. We will bring him and his father to Vrethka, and we will torture them. We will make them suffer for everything they have done. And when they have experienced enough pain, when they have begged for death and been denied, then, and only then, will we let them die.”

The warriors around him cheered, their voices rising in approval. They had been fighting for days, had lost so many of their own, and now, they had a chance to make their enemies pay.

Marrick’s face went pale, his eyes widening with terror. He tried to speak, to beg for mercy, but no words came out. He knew that his fate was sealed.

Dross turned to his warriors. ”Bundle him up. We ride for Harrowhold. And we bring his father the news that his son is alive... for now.”

The warriors moved quickly, binding Marrick’s hands and feet and securing him to a horse. The captured chief’s son was pale and trembling, his eyes wide with fear. He knew what awaited him, and he knew there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The Vrethka warriors mounted their horses, their weapons ready. The road to Harrowhold was not far, and they had a message to deliver.

—

Harrowhold was not far away now. The Vrethka warriors moved quickly, their horses galloping across the open plains, their eyes fixed on the distant settlement.

Word had not yet reached the chief of Harrowhold that they were losing. He did not know yet. The village was unaware of the defeat, unaware that their army had been crushed, unaware that their enemies were coming for them.

And that was perfect. Surprise was torture on its own. The chief would not expect them. He would be caught off guard, unprepared, helpless.

The Vrethka warriors followed a shortcut to the palace. It was a narrow path that wound through the forest, hidden from the main road. It was a route that only the locals knew, a path that would allow them to approach the palace without being seen.

Dross had chosen this route carefully, knowing that the element of surprise was their greatest weapon.

Why did they take this shortcut? Because they wanted no one informing the palace of their coming.

If they entered the village through the normal way, word would spread quickly. The people would see them coming, would run ahead to warn the chief, would give him time to prepare. But if they approached from behind, if they slipped in through the shadows, they could catch him completely off guard.