Arcanist In Another World-Chapter 26: The Chief

Valens watched as hundreds of men filed into the opening, the undead ranks closing in and stretching in a line like a true army preparing for a battle. Scores of them choked the space around Oarfang, the air reeking of blood, sweat, and piss.

Meanwhile, Nomad gazed deep somewhere toward the undead lines. Celme was busy staring at her own hands, her blonde hair streaked with crimson blood, eyes blank as if her mind was somewhere else.

Then the undead army parted, and one man trudged out of their ranks.

Nomad tensed back.

Valens blinked. He had seen plenty of undead fighting around the cave, all favoring different weapons, clad in plates wreathed in greenish fog and their Resonance filled with a surprisingly peaceful rhythm. Scarcely he felt any spikes in their frequencies, as if the act of brutal combat was something like an everyday occurrence to them.

Not this man, though.

[Undead Chief - Lvl ???]

He was a mountain of steel lumbering toward them, that spiked mace glinting painfully sharp. The tip of it dented the ground when the undead stopped and leaned over the weapon, the thorns cracking the soil and plunging halfway in, kicking up a wave of dust as if the earth was somehow offended by the act.

“Lost your way, have you?” he said, voice raspy and tinged with a hint of fury. His emerald eyes glanced over Valens and Celme before fixing Nomad with a stare. Even with the helmet covering most of his face, Valens could feel the undead’s frown by how the light shifted in his eyes. He was pissed, through and through.

“Can’t say much. It’s a bastard of a cave, eh, chief?” Nomad gave him a dead look, then cracked a laugh as his grip on the sword loosened. He jerked a thump back to the holes across the cave, sounding greatly disappointed. “Must’ve hit a soft patch. When I came to myself I was deep in a maze. Had to rely on these old bones of mine to dig my way out.”

“Uh,” the Undead Chief grunted, raising one hand over his head and clasping it into a fist. A score of undead parted out of the green tide to the side, and trudged over them, all eyes down at their feet.

Valens arched an eyebrow when he felt their frequencies. There was a lull, a lazy cadence that barely sounded alive, disturbingly similar to that of a comatose patient. Unlike how Nomad and the chief’s Heartstones pounded in spiking waves across the Resonance, these undead were just like Necromancer’s Skeletons, save for a hint of consciousness around their stones.

“Ain’t that a struggle? Though it's mighty generous of you to bring your worthless scalp back to where it belonged. Want a reward for that heroic effort? Reckon I’ll have the boys clap you on the back once we’re back in the den,” the chief said, eyes narrowing down. “Or you can spare the bullshit, and spit out the reason why you tailed out. Can’t be that you’re afraid of the fog, eh? A chief has to know what his men go through, you know that.”

Tension crawled up Valens’s spine, slithered about his head, and lingered there, a rope stretched tight around his neck. He gazed at Nomad and saw him tap a finger over the pommel of his sword. Tap. Tap. Tap. His eyes remained still, but the Heartstone thumped in hesitation, scattering the rhythm of his Resonance for just a moment.

His chief didn’t seem to feel it. But then, he didn’t look the part that’d care a lot about how Nomad would feel either way. He was waiting to hear the excuse, then he’d be giving him the prize. One that’d be dangerous in nature. Valens knew that look well.

“I was in need of assistance,” he said when the silence stretched for too long. Nomad’s gaze snapped at him, to which Valens gave a grateful smile. “He wanted to get back, but I’d dragged him around the maze. He saved me from the Necromancer’s horde as well. Now I see where he got his manners. You seem one hell of a chief, sir.”

“Oh?” the chief’s eyes widened slightly. That was a good sign. “Did you just call me sir?”

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“Er… Yes, I think I did.”

“Reckon you can do that again?”

“Eh… Sir?”

“One more.”

“Sir!”

“Not bad!” the chief leaned in and clapped Valens on the back, a boulder of a hand nearly crushing him down. He barely corrected himself and sent a Lifeward around his back to feel the strain. Nothing wrong, but it’d be bruising soon. “The name’s Hook. I appreciate the enthusiasm, but that ain’t going to cut it round here. When you’re buttering some ass you have to do it with the zest. Gotta say those words with your chest!”

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“I speak the truth,” Valens said as he straightened his back, the fingers of his right-hand tingling as he reached for his mana pool. He could dump all his unused stats to Intelligence and Wisdom and get some mana back. The undead was strong, stronger than Nomad no doubt, but his bulk made him clunky, and he hadn’t the speed to match Valens’s quick feet. And that armor… Nothing an Inferno couldn’t melt.

What in the hell am I thinking about?

“The truth of it don’t matter,” Hook said, slowly picking the mace up. Shadowy tendrils wriggled over the cave and waves of magic clashed into them, lines of undead and armored men getting ready, shuffling their feet, checking their weapons, trying anything other than to look at the Necromancer’s horde that stood against them. Hook banged a fist on Nomad’s chest piece. “You’ll explain yourself to Lord Zahul when this is over. Until then, you’ll keep your bare ass in my sight, or I’ll see to it that your Hearstone’s fixed tight in your skull. Understood?”

“Aye, Chief,” Nomad said.

“Good,” Hook said and turned to Valens. “It's not often you see a human being precious against us. I like it. Now get back to your flock, young man, if you want that little head to stay over your shoulders. Things are about to get dangerous here.”

Valens’s mouth twitched at the words, and he felt the warmth of a Fireball before Apathy fixed his mind back. Then, for perhaps the first time in his life, he sneered. “I’ll try to not get In your way, Chief. You have my word.”

“Alas.” Hook shook his head. “There’s a reason why most humans die young. Too thick of head, your folk. Too stubborn for their own good. Do what you must, lad. Do it a good deal away from us, though. I don’t have it in my stone to see how you’ll get mangled in the din. Be safe.” He gave him a tired nod before gazing at Nomad. “Say your farewells. The Legion’s waiting.”

He then left them alone, merging back into the undead lines, his men trailing after him. Valens shifted to the side and glanced at Nomad, and saw in his eyes a terrified look.

“You—“

“I’ve made a choice,” Nomad cut him off, hauling the sword back over his shoulder. He gave a long look at the stirring skeleton lines, the creatures, and the beasts, and breathed out a heavy sigh. “A wise man once told me that once you’ve made a choice, you have to carry on with it. No point in thinking. No point in lingering in the past. Reckon I’ll do that.”

“That’s indeed wise,” Celme said as she rubbed her neck tiredly. Blood had seemed to return to her face, painting her cheeks with a healthy pink. She looked stronger than she was, too, her frequencies sturdy in the Resonance. “But you’re not very wise, are you, Nomad? So you do that but don’t forget who you are. That’s important.”

“Says the mad Berserker who couldn’t contain her fury to save her life,” Nomad scoffed at her, but there was something different in his eyes, something that made Valens smile. “But I’ll try. You keep our precious healer safe, alright? Show him the places around when you’re out of here, and keep him away from your guild.”

“I think he’d shown us all that he could keep himself safe enough,” Celme said, shrugging. “But I’ll be his guide. Now go on, your Chief is waiting.”

Valens tensed when it looked like Nomad was about to give him a speech as well. “Do know that I’d be glad to fix your bones if there’s ever a need for it. Tell it to your chief as well. I won’t ask for much coin, I promise.”

“You’ve never struck me as a greedy bastard, anyway. Try to stay safe, Val. It’s been a good while, but good things always end, I should know,” Nomad said, then thumped his fist against Valens’s chest, and left the two there to join his squad.

Valens watched him slump back, his shoulders feeling heavy, breath sticking tight to his throat. He clawed at his sinews and scratched the itch, but it wouldn’t go away. His heart felt still in his chest. Felt too still that it started bothering him.

For a second he thought of lifting the web of Apathy off his mind. But then he’d be dealing with all his troubles, the thoughts, and the lingering emotions. That wouldn’t be very wise of him when he was about to be caught in a heated battle.

A Resonant Healer needed a strong will to deal with the sick, and a Warmagus clear of mind to not get too lost in the zest. Even a needle’s hole could be dangerous.

But then, it was good to feel things. There was little color to it when he watched the world pass by, things happened around him and people cried and laughed and screamed, all shaded by a delicately woven web. It protected him, sure, but it also dampened everything of value about what made life worth living.

Could it be that Nomad felt the same? That fog would take his mind away. Valens felt it in the others. That how blank their gazes were, that how lifeless their stones thumped even when filled with all the mana in the world. What difference did they have from the mindless horde of the Necromancer? Just some tools designed by a Master’s hand to be used in case of any minor inconvenience.

Just like how the Inquisition wanted the Empire’s Magus to behave.

“Wait!” Valens called out to him.

Nomad paused in mid-step, giving a hesitant look back over his shoulder. Ahead, Hook narrowed his eyes at him.

“You don’t belong in a cage,” Valens said. He understood. He knew it like the palm of his hand, and he wouldn’t stay silent against it. “Come here. I have an idea.”

Why did I say that? I have nothing.

Nomad’s gaze strayed to Celme as if waiting for the woman to give him an answer, but she just shrugged and tipped her head. “Best listen to the healer. That’s what I’ve learned, anyway.”

In the end, he dragged himself unwillingly back over them and stared down at Valens with questions in his eyes. Valens didn’t blame him. He wasn’t even half sure what he would do, after all.

“I’ll tell you when to let the fog in,” Valens said, raising his right hand to Nomad’s skull. He had to stand on his tiptoes to reach that far, but before that, he motioned to Celme. “Stay close to him. I don’t want Hook and any of the other undead to see this.”

“What are you planning?” Nomad asked, taking a hesitant knee on the ground.

“Just let me get a clear sense of this,” Valens urged him.

The horde was stirring.

…….