Wrath Of The Necromancer (EN Version)

Chapter 8

After the exhausting battle with the bear, Aiden staggered through the forest, tired, hungry, and miserable. He gnawed on a piece of stale bread, wishing he could start a fire but utterly clueless as to how. His stolen supplies were cold and tasteless, but without a fire, he was stuck with them. Even his undead, shuffling along behind him, seemed to mirror his low energy—though that was probably just wishful thinking.

"Great," he muttered to himself, glancing back at his silent entourage. "We could take down a bear twice my size, but I can't manage a little campfire?"

As he wandered, his eyes scanned the ground, spotting a few sticks scattered among the fallen leaves. He remembered scenes from survival movies, where people started fires by rubbing sticks together, creating enough friction to spark a flame. If they can do it, so can I, he told himself, crouching down and gathering two sticks that looked reasonably dry.

Gripping one stick between his hands, he pressed it against the other and began rubbing them together with hopeful determination, pushing through the ache as he tried to create heat. Minutes passed, his arms aching, and his hands growing sore, but there was no sign of smoke, let alone a flame. He gritted his teeth, focusing harder, pushing with all his remaining strength.

But his hands slipped, and one of the sticks dropped to the ground. Frustrated, he picked it up and gave it another go, only to have it fall again, barely even warm. With a defeated sigh, he tossed the sticks aside, slumping back against a nearby tree.

"So much for survival skills," he muttered. "I can raise the dead, but I can't get a single spark going?"

Finally, through the trees, he spotted something promising—smoke rising from chimneys. A village! Aiden could practically smell the food already. He picked up his pace, staggering toward the houses, his undead dutifully following, though they weren't much help in his current state.

But as he approached, he sensed something was off. He could feel eyes on him, and before he knew it, he heard shouts from the village.

"Look! There's a kid being chased by the undead!" one of the guards yelled.

Chased? Aiden blinked, glancing over his shoulder at his undead, who were plodding along at their usual speed, completely harmless. These guys?

Before he could even process the misunderstanding, the guards sprinted forward, swords drawn. Aiden froze as the guards charged right past him, shouting, "Stay back, kid! We'll take care of these monsters!"

"Oh, no, that's—" he started to protest, but the guards were already swinging at the first undead, their swords clanging against bone. His undead, obedient but clueless, stared blankly at their attackers, making no attempt to defend themselves.

"Yeah, they're really not that—" Aiden tried again, but one of the guards turned to him, eyes blazing.

"Stay back! You don't want to end up like these poor souls!" the guard insisted, misreading Aiden's blank look as shock.

"Oh, no! My precious undead!" Aiden thought, his stomach twisting as he watched his loyal minions being hacked apart, limbs and bones scattering across the ground. Each strike felt like a blow to his own efforts and survival plan. But before he could process his loss, he noticed one of the guards watching him closely, misinterpreting his devastated expression as overwhelming gratitude.

The guard's face softened, a proud smile tugging at his lips. "Aw, lad, you're so moved, aren't you? Don't worry. We'll make sure nothing like this happens again." He nodded solemnly, clearly mistaking Aiden's look for joy mixed with relief.

"Uh... right," Aiden muttered, trying to hide his frustration. "Thank you. Really."

The guard clapped him on the shoulder, the force of it nearly sending Aiden stumbling forward. "Stay clear of these woods, alright? Necromancers and their foul creatures haunt the place. We'll increase patrols from now on to keep scum like that away."