Chương 6: GB - Chapter 6: Aiding The Living

"I'd ask you the same," Luke replied evenly.

"You look injured, though. Need help?" The man nodded.

"Sorry, it's dark, I lost my lantern." He sounded afraid, but desperate.

"This fort was abandoned, last I heard. I need somewhere to rest."

"Well, it was abandoned," Luke replied. He sheathed his sword.

"A Necromancer had taken up refuge here, but I dealt with him." The man's voice became smaller.

"You…you killed a—""Guy who raises the dead, yes. Full transparency, I'm not quite sure what I am. I promise, I'll try to help you, but don't freak out and attack me when you see me. I have no idea what my face looks like."

"I swear, if you shelter me, I won't attack you." [Title: Shelter the Living.] [Trigger: A Living Creature has sought refuge in your domain.] [Objective: Preserve the life entrusted to your protection.] [Reward: Level 8, Rank increase (Art), Resistance increase, Domain Doctrine fragment.] Luke walked forward a few steps, still completely shrouded in the darkness.

"Let me help you inside. I have a lantern downstairs, in a secure place, with food provisions and a bed. Hope you like mushrooms."

"A hot meal would be welcome." The man let Luke put his arm around his shoulder, and Luke felt just how light the man was. He lifted him fully into a carry, and the man didn't protest. Walking past his Mindless Undead guards, he said, "Secure the first floor."

"Sorry?"

"Ah, my…companions."

"They're a quiet bunch." Luke grimaced.

"You'll see why." He took the man inside the fort, down the stairs, and into the Necromancer's bedroom. Shutting the door, he set the man down on the bed, and rummaged around for the lantern he had seen before. He grabbed it, turned a wheel on the side, and the flint ignited just like a lighter. The oil caught, and he turned around. Garran sucked in a sharp breath as the room lit up. He had to blink a few times, but still saw the glimpse of the man—the thing that had saved him. The thing walked closer and crouched.

"I can make some food, if you like." Gods above, Garran thought.

"Formal introductions, I'm Luke Rivers." The Undead—and he was quite clearly undead—held out his hands. His skin was pale, an unnatural grey like steel, with blue eyes that shone with an inner flame. Garran figured that in his life, this person was quite the ladies man. But now? He was a freak, a monster, and his pallid appearance kept Garran on the edge of flight.

Not only that, but just being near the Undead gave him horrid chills that shook him to his core: the presence of Death as a Power in and of itself, permeating the man. It spread like an aura. An invisible miasma.

"Garran Holt," he replied, wincing as he felt his leg throb, and looked down to confirm yet again the left leg from below the knee was gone.

"Luke…do you know medicine?" Luke looked down, and Garran heard him suck in a huge lungful of breath, but then he did not speak. Instead he seemed to hold his breath. Of course, Garran thought, he's not alive. He doesn't need to breathe.

"I'll have to scrounge about a bit," Luke said.

"Most of the medicine and supplies looked ancient. But, maybe there's some good stuff hidden around? Or something that was stored better." He stood up.

"Give me a few minutes to scavenge." The man turned, went to the door, and departed. Garran felt fear and relief in equal measure. He was alive—for now—and in a safe location. Well, as safe as one could be with an Undead in it. He knew of the creatures and their danger: some people claimed to be able to control them, but inevitably they would go wild, rampant, and attack anything on sight.

Such a thing didn't even require a practitioner to be the source—some places were naturally imbued with Death, and any corpse that entered would, inevitably, rise once more. My… my Sybil. Garran lay back on the bed and wept. All of the emotions he had shoved down while in his flight returned. The Fog Creepers had turned on her once they had taken her down. He was barely able to make it out alive—he lost his crossbow, the trap they had gone out to check, and his lover—all in one night.

The woman had been a constant companion to him in the past few weeks. They were always together, doing the same things: they ate the same food, drank the same drinks, and shared the same bed. She was his reason for living… and now she was gone. He didn't even hear when the door opened, but felt the presence enter the room. Looking up, he recoiled and let out a scream of horror, backing up to the wall as he pushed backward.

One of the Dawnbringer who had been in town not too long ago was standing in front of him, and part of her face, her skull, was missing—as if an axe had cleaved off a third of it. They were holding a bundle of cloth, and Luke walked in behind them.

"Sorry about that. Don't worry, they're under my control."

"Y-you're a Necromancer?"

"Nope. Something called a Gravebound Knight." Luke grabbed the bundle from the Undead and unpacked it on the table, then came over with a bowl, a jar of water that sloshed gently, and what Garran recognized as an herbal poultice.

"I'll be honest, I don't know anything about medicine here. Does this look like it'll help?"

"Yes," Garran replied as he caught his breath and pushed down his terror. Curiosity made that easier, as he asked, "What do you mean here?" Luke's mouth opened into what would be an appropriate expression for a laugh, but nothing came out. He then sucked in breath.

"Right, I still need to breathe to get words out." He began unfurling the bandage which looked like it had been cut clean of some bits, as it was not symmetrical.

"I am from a place far, far away. None of the herbs look familiar." Garren nodded slowly and gestured for the poultice.

"Give me that." Luke did so, and Garran began unfolding it as he explained, "This is called trelleaf. It's mushed up, mixed with oil, then baked. After, it can be soaked to make it malleable, then applied." He looked around.

"Got a pot?" Luke went to another room and came back empty-handed.

"There's one in there with some fuel."

"Heat it up—lukewarm—and then put some in a bowl with the trelleaf." Luke moved off again, and when he came back a few moments later, he had a bowl and some warm water. Garran took the bowl, poured some out onto the floor, and then pushed the herbal remedy into it. He looked down at his leg.

"I…a favor, Luke…do you mind…I need you to cut off the infected flesh." Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

"I think I can do one better." Luke's hand illuminated with a pale, white fire that had a blue heart. He kept it in his palm, and grabbed Garran's knee gently, then pushed down to pin it to the bed.

"This will burn a little. Ready?" Garran nodded, and then when the flame touched his flesh he braced for harm…but felt none. What is going on? he thought. Luke pulled his hand away.

"Oh, neat. I was able to focus on the infected and decaying or dead flesh, and harm that alone, without damaging the living flesh. Selective targeting. Nice." He looked up at Garran.

"Mind if I try something? Just on the stump."

"Uhm…sure?" Luke's hand flared white again, and he pushed it to Garran's still-cut-off stump. But, the pain faded as a dull heat spread from the spot, and then Luke pulled his hand back.

"Ah, well, I can will the Art to not harm living creatures, despite that being one of its core functions. No friendly fire." Garran shook his head.

"I don't know what friendly fire means. You mean shooting allies in the back? Betrayal?" Luke looked up and Garran saw into those blue eyes, and the smirk that flicked across the face gave the Undead a near-human appearance.

"I could be in a fight, and throw Pale Flame Bolts around, and not worry about hurting living allies—only foes." He frowned.

"Now I need to test it on my Undead." He looked down at the stump.

"Ah, but this first. What next?" Garran took the bowl and cupped the bottom of it, then placed it in front of his knee.

"Push." Luke put his gauntleted hand on the back of Garran's, and he could feel the cold chill of the metal, as the articulated fingers dug into skin ever-so-slightly. Garran hissed in pain as he felt the herb compound touch his injured flesh, and then let out a yelp as Luke kept pushing.

"Keep going," Garran growled.

"Mush it all into the wound." Luke pushed harder, and then held it there for a few seconds, before pulling away.

"Bandage?" Garran nodded, and Luke set to binding the injury.

"Thank you," Garran said as the herb began to work, letting loose its numbing effect.

"I…can I rest here?"

"As long as you need," Luke replied.

"But, when you wake up, after you eat, I'll have some questions. Like I said, I'm new here." Garran nodded numbly, and felt the exhaustion his body had been pushing off finally sink in as he was in a safe place. Luke watched as the man nodded off, and grinned. Perfect, he thought as he left the room and shut the door. He said to one of the undead accompanying him, "Notify me when he wakes up." The Undead moved in front of the door and gave a curt nod of understanding.

Luke was quite pleased at that development—his powers of Command had seemingly expanded enough to allow his minions to nod or shake their head to affirm or convey they could not complete an order. Well, Garran here is going to give me information about where I am and the world in general. I should use this time to investigate the fort, get all the information together. He looked down at the bodies. Move these somewhere else, too. He pointed at another undead.

"Move the corpses to the place I woke up." The Undead went to work, and Luke headed upstairs. He only needed three Undead at a time to guard—one at the armory, one at the breach in the bunkroom, and one at the front doors. The other two were busy downstairs with their task, which left him one. To that one, he turned, and said, "Clean debris from the building and put it outside along the broken, forest-side wall." The Undead shook its head. Too complex, I suppose.

"Clean the debris from the building then." The figure went to task, and Luke headed upstairs to the records room. Moving to the desk, he took off his gauntlet. He saw his skin: a pale white, but otherwise it looked normal and unblemished. Oh, that reminds me — He went out to the stairs, descended, and aimed a Pale Flame Bolt at the back of his guard standing watch. Right, when I used the Art last time, I was able to get it to kill living, diseased flesh, but not burn the living, healthy stuff.

Thankfully, none of the flesh was dead—no clue what that would've done. But now, to test this. He fired off the Art, and willed it to not heal the Mindless Undead. The projectile splashed over the Undead, seeming to do nothing. Then, he tried to harm the Undead with it. But, it once more did nothing. Good. I can avoid all friendly fire. But… this also means that I can't use the Art against hostile Undead. Luke went back upstairs and with his unarmored hand, delicately tried to grab one of the tomes.

It fell to bits as he grabbed it. Well… damn… OK, trial and error. After an hour he had been able to recover a number of books, but easily ninety percent of the collection was dust and unusable refuse. He looked through that surviving collection, and began putting the pieces together as to what happened in Greywatch Fort, given all of the reports, supply logs, and to his surprise, a journal of some events toward the end. The fort had stood as a bastion against the foggy wood for almost a hundred years.

The forest itself was great for logging and trapping, but a prominent monster type existed within, and they were called Fog Creepers. From the journal's last entry—the first Jorday of Caldris, in the year 1542 P. E. F.:"The last of the men came down with the illness. It is… vile. My lord has ordered the execution of everyone to prevent the risk of spread. All who are sick, to be killed. It is gut-wrenching, but there is no other way.

Even the forest people have been unable to help with their herbalist Arts and natural remedies. We cannot risk the spread to Mistbrook, or worse, Woundmere. Let it die here, with all of us, so that our friends and families may be safe. Gods accept our souls." Luke had most of the picture, and also knew he could figure out how long ago that happened by asking Garran when he woke. Well then. Time to keep exploring. [Title: Shelter the Living.] [Quest Completed! ["The dead may bear the burden. The living must remain the reason. Areas where you lay claim with a Grave Node may instill commands in the Undead assigned to them, so they serve the living while you are absent."] [Reward Granted!] Oh, does that mean he's in the clear? Good. But that phrase… the dead may bear the burden, for the living? I mean, that lines up with my idea earlier. Undead Outposts with labor forces to help people. He looked down at the journal. This tragedy here at the fort seems like it could have been avoided with undead. My idea has merit, and The Last Warden seems to agree. [You have leveled up!] [Rank increase: Pale Flame Bolt 2 - Increase range to 40-feet.] [Level 8: Gain +1 Tenacity, +1 Essence, +1 Free Point.] [Please allocate your Free Point now...] Acuity, to increase my Command. [Confirmed. Would you like to see your full status screen?]"Yes, please." Name: Luke Rivers. Class: Gravebound Knight 8 (Tier 0). Vigor: 18 Instinct: 9 Tenacity: 21 Acuity: 19 Essence: 19 Health: 115 Mana: 114 Stamina: 109 Initiative: 28 Focus: 38 Burden: 28. 5 Command: 39 Arts: Corpse Retainer 2, Black Guard 2, Pale Flame Bolt 2, Marrowsteel Plate 1. Aspects: Enduring Soul 3, Undead Creature, Melee Familiarity (Blade) 1, Armor Familiarity 1. Resistances: Blunt (0%), Pierce (0%), Slash (0%), Heat (0%), Cold (25%), Spark (0%), Caustic (0%), Toxin (100%), Force (0%), Holy (-50%), Life (-25%), Death (100%), Soul (10%), Mind (10%), Curse (25%), Void (0%). Equipment: Damaged Scale Mail Armor (fine), Ritual-Scarred Bastard Sword (crude). XP / Threshold: 0 / NA.