Deus Necros

Ludwig asked softly, a smile threading his tone now, almost warm.

At the sight of the acorn, the commander’s arm dropped as if the wire had been cut. The sword clattered against the wooden planks and skittered to rest by her boot. Her expression unzipped into something like astonishment, then relief, then an answer that had to come free. “You…so it was true.” Her voice trembled with more feeling than it had before. “You met the princess…”

The sudden softness in her face was both startling and telling. She reached out with a hand that no longer trembled, palm hovering near the nut as if to confirm it was real and not an echo.

“Sure,” Ludwig answered but drew his arm away from her grasping hand, “Lorina Ulesse.” He let the syllables settle between them. “Quite the connection. She wasn’t as hard-headed as you are.”

Her jaw worked. Shock gave way to a guarded pride, a flicker of warmth that she hid as quickly as it came. The mask of command snapped back into place, but some seam had been mended; a relation had been acknowledged where none had been expected.

“So tell me, what’s going on with the elves? Why send someone like you to lead an army?” Ludwig pressed, curiosity honest now, not merely provocation. He let the small acorn rest in his palm as if it were a key to another conversation.

The commander’s reply came slow, measured, like ink settling into paper. “This is beyond your paygrade.” The phrase was both shield and blade; she used it to close the door on questions she didn’t want scattered.

“Not that I’m getting paid for this, still I need to know.” Ludwig’s voice carried an earnest edge. He was not one to be satisfied with mysteries when there were tasks to be done.

She sighed, a sound thin with the weight of impossible politics. “The elven kingdom, its interests are here, in Aspen. Among the trees and the forest.” The sentence was spare but heavy. The elf’s eyes drifted briefly to the maps like a mother checking a child’s scars.

Ludwig scoffed lightly and tapped his staff on the floor. “Huh. I fail to see any world trees here.” He let his gaze sweep the tent, the maps, the ragged horizon beyond the flaps.

“That’s because the world tree is dead.” Her words dropped with a small, bitter weight. “What have you been studying back at the academy?” The question sharpened into something like accusation.

Ludwig’s hand fell to the staff, fingers tightening briefly around the black wood before easing. “I’m pretty sure it should be alive still,” he said, uncertain for the first time as if to test the shape of his own memory. The staff’s grain under his palm felt like an anchor in an ocean that no longer promised coasts.

“You won’t understand,” she said flatly. “Regardless, I’m leading the army of your humans away from our kingdom’s borders. It would be an utter political scandal if some random soldier discovered our secret realm.” Her jaw set; lines around her mouth deepened with resolve. “We cannot afford a blunder here.”

’Figures’ Ludwig thought, the humans and elves aren’t on the best of terms. But at the same time, seems like the emperor is fully knowing of their kingdom’s presence but opted to not completely pulverize them. Reasons? Unknown for Ludwig, not that he cared. All he needed to know was, the damn emperor knew way too much of what’s going around. Scary as it may seem, it is also a testament of his power.

“I see. You can do what you want then. Fine by me. But I don’t like staying put for six months. Send me to the frontlines.” Ludwig said plainly. Being thrown in the barracks with a bunch of lazy mages was bound to get on Ludwig’s nerves eventually.

Her brow lifted at the bluntness. “That’s suicide, and the frontlines are a terrible place for a mage.” The edge was genuine concern; she did not try to dress it in hard words.

“Did you not hear?” Ludwig pointed at his chest “Hero of Tulmud. I’m pretty good with a sword.” Ludwig’s tone had a thread of whimsical challenge, and he allowed himself a small grin. The grin did not reach his eyes, which remained cool and ready.

The commander studied him for a long, appraising breath. Then her gaze snagged on a sheet curled under the map’s lip, an intelligence report with fresh marks and red-stamped notes. She reached for it and scanned quickly, eyes moving like a hawk’s over prey. Her shoulders squared, and the rightness of command settled back in.

“We’ve spotted several scouts from the Kingdom of the Sands,” she said finally. “They’ve infiltrated deep into Aspen.” Her hand tapped a circled mark near the border on the map, the point precise. “We need reports on their movement. Preferably, capture one alive for interrogation. Care to take that on?”

Ludwig peered over the paper. The ink didn’t lie: there were more tracks than returned scouts, a smear of blood here, a torn banner there. “Seems like you already sent others before,” he observed, reading the margin notes as if they whispered a history of failed attempts.

“Yes.” Her tone was flat, acceptance of the cost already calculated. “They did not return.”

The statement hung, a small mantra for the risk inherent in their needs. Ludwig felt the old pull, danger rendered into a problem with edges. He smiled, but it was wound with steel. “Right. I can do that. But one condition.”

She looked up, skeptical, the single word a raised eyebrow that demanded terms.

“I work better alone.” Ludwig kept the phrase simple. It was not arrogance; it was fact learned in trenches and on lonely and cold mountain peaks. Some tasks required no chords to bind them to others’ mistakes.

The commander frown deepened as she considered it. The tent’s light seemed to sharpen on her face as she weighed the calculus, duty versus risk, independence versus control. For the first beat, her command-eye flickered with reluctance.

“Fine.” She snapped the word like a seal. “Report back in one week. If not,” her voice went colder and smaller, “you’ll be considered dead.”

The condition landed like a bell that tolled for a time limit. Ludwig nodded once, the motion brisk and final. “Sure. I’m off then.” He slipped the acorn back into his ring, feeling its small form press like a memory. He patted the map with a courteous, small flourish, then moved to the tent flap.

Outside, the camp’s noise wrapped around him again: a living thing of sound, hammers, barking commands, training cries that were a distance away. He paused on the threshold, inhaled that heavy, honest odor of a war-dressed field, and stepped into the night with a sense of purpose tightening like a fist in his chest.

Right, after much training in the tower, it was about time for him to test out his new spells. And thankfully he has the ability to move solo. No one to report his actions, nor his dark magic use.

He felt the faint thrill of the chase under his skin and the slow, coiling drop of the risk that came with it. Salem’s silhouette merged with the scattered shadows of the tents, and together they melted into Ludwig’s own shadow. Looking toward the west, Ludwig began moving.