We’re standing guard with the boys, watching over our “great” necromancer-summoner.

  …Though—are these skeletons even boys? It’s impossible to tell gender from them. Most of us wear no clothes, and we grabbed our weapons from dead humans or just off the ground.

  Now I wonder: do female and male skeletons differ in strength? But then, we have no muscles, no skin—nothing physical to affect power. So it must all come down to magic again.

  Does that mean every skeleton can lift and move the exact same weight? Unfortunately, I can’t test it.

  Meanwhile, our beloved necromancer sits by the fire, whispering into his little pouch of ashes. Seems his mind’s unraveling faster by the day. He’s clearly got no interest in comparing skeletal strength across genders.

  I just hope he won’t send us charging straight into a massive army just because some local baron or count insulted him back in childhood. That’d be… genuinely sad. After all, I’ve only just begun my existence as a skeleton.

  …Wait. I’m dead. So is this even existence—or just some hollow imitation? I can think, yes—but I can’t act on my own without his command. That is rather depressing.

  —Clack. Clack-clack.

  Oh! Some of the skeletons are turning toward the forest. Someone’s coming.

  Alive.

  I feel it—they’re alive! Ha-ha! My jaw’s started chattering uncontrollably. Maybe I can override the necromancer’s control… if a stronger instinct kicks in. Like this searing hatred for the living. I’ll chew on that thought later.

  “Who’s there?” the necromancer called out, his voice trembling slightly into the dark treeline. “I command an army of skeletal warriors. I suggest you turn back.”

  “And will they really help you?” came a faintly mocking voice from the shadows.

  A figure stepped onto the forest’s edge, barely lit by the firelight—a man wrapped head to toe in black leather straps. Daggers and knives of all shapes and sizes hung from every strap. His face was mostly hidden, only one eye exposed.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Was it you,” he asked, “who wiped out that small settlement south of here?”

  “They mocked me!” the necromancer suddenly shrieked. “Every day: ‘Bald Karl! Bald Karl! Was your father really a rooster? Because with that head, you look like a perfect egg!’”

  His voice cracked.

  “We lived quietly—Zoe, Grandma Tripper, and me. We never bothered anyone. We only came to trade herbs for Grandma’s medicine. But then… the Count’s son saw Zoe. And he… did that to her. He even sent soldiers disguised as bandits—but they killed Grandma and Zoe! They killed them!”

  His fists clenched around the ash pouch.

  “I’ll make them pay. I’ll make everyone pay! I’ll hunt down every living thing and erase them all! For Zoe! For Grandma Tripper! Yes—that’s how it will be!”

  Wait… his grandma’s name was Tripper? Seriously?!

  HAHAHAHA.

  Oh, that’s rich. And he’s bald, too. Pffft. I’d bet my ribcage there was something odd about that girl as well. What a family of weirdos. And this guy commands over thirty armed skeletons? We’re definitely walking into disaster.

  The thought rattled through my bony skull—but I still couldn’t move an inch.

  “Unfortunately, my friend,” said the stranger in straps, “you hit Baron Stonk’s village. They’ll send someone after you for sure.” He tilted his head. “How’d you even get the power to raise skeletons?”

  Yeah, go on—explain it to all of us!

  “I found an old chest in the woods,” Bald Karl said, “while gathering herbs with Grandma Tripper. Inside was a scroll covered in strange symbols. I heard in the village such things were rare—I wanted to sell it. But after they killed her…” His voice dropped. “I tore the scroll that day. It burned in my hands… and afterward, I just knew I had this power. And I’ll grow stronger—strong enough to make them all suffer.”

  “So… it was just chance. Got it.” The stranger shifted. “Then how about my offer? You send your skeletons to assault the Count’s manor—I’ll help. Your bone boys draw their attention while I slip in and kill your enemies quietly. How many can you control?”

  “This is my limit. Thirty.” Karl swallowed. “But are you sure we can pull it off? They say the Count’s guard even has knights.”

  “Heh-heh.” The stranger’s exposed eye glinted. “That’s exactly why you’ll attack head-on. With my strength, I can handle a knight—no doubt. Deal?”

  The necromancer stared into the darkness, where the stranger’s form was almost swallowed whole. He gripped his ash pouch, eyes darting nervously across his skeletal ranks.

  “Fine,” he said at last. “But I kill the Count’s son myself.”

  “Agreed,” came the reply.

  Yep. Told you. Trouble.