Chương 5: GB - Chapter 5: Exploring the Fort

Luke turned to the door to his left, and dismissively waved at his guard.

"Open it." The Mindless Undead opened the door, then, annoyingly, stood in the open doorway.

"Move back," Luke said. Then mentally, he added, I cannot wait until I get complex commands or they understand intent. The moment the guard cleared the way, Luke felt a renewed sense of horror was over him, and he felt like he should need to vomit, but his body had no capability to do so. The walls were covered with bodies—fresh bodies—that were cut open and vivisected while still alive, judging from the vast amount of blood on the floor, running along the cracks and gathering in puddles near cracked stone.

They were bound to the wall by chains which had been pulled tight. But all were now dead. In the center of the room was a long, wooden table, covered with surgical equipment and anatomical notes. Luke ripped his gaze away from the people. He had seen intentional cruelty, had seen people branded with titles and bound in handcuffs, which were just chains of another type. He had seen crimes not match the punishment, and as he looked back up, he knew that this type of evil was just the same.

Instead of paperwork and procedure as the tools of evil deeds, this was bloodshed and torture—the result was similar enough, though: destroyed lives. He inspected the notes, hoping to glean a means to reverse the process. The Necromancer had, it seemed, been doing what Leonardo Da Vinci had done—though while the famous inventor was rumored to have used corpses in his anatomical studies, the Necromancer had used live people.

The drawings and other images showed Luke that the anatomy of these people was the same as people from Earth, minus one key detail. They had an additional lump in their brain that was squished up on the brain stem. Maybe it's a magic-enabling organ? He thought. It would explain why no one was wearing helmets. Perhaps helmets interfere with the ability to use magic? Luke looked from the papers, to the cut-open people.

He explored the rest of the room, and after gathering up the Necromancer's notes, put those back with the rest on the table. To test his theory, he went and found a bucket, put it on his head, and tried to use Pale Flame Bolt. The Art did not manifest, and so he fired the heat into himself. Looks like my hunch was right: stuff on the head interferes with magic. He went to the one Mindless Undead he had told to wait outside, and pointed at the bodies.

"Take them down." The living corpse went off to do that task, and Luke walked across the room, opening the other door. He found a series of shelves, filled with jars of mushrooms in liquid. He opened one, and the scent of salt greeted his nose. Preserved mushrooms, he thought as he shut the lid and put it back. A small hearth in the corner had a stew pot over it, and there were still-warm coals beneath it, giving the faintest of red glows. Kitchen and larder, Luke thought.

He departed that room, went back through the main chamber, and ordered the Undead guarding the farthest door to open it. Walking in, Luke found the source of the mushrooms—what once was a root cellar, with plenty of shelves, barrels, and crates, had seen the tops of every surface converted to a mushroom farm. Dirt and soil had been laid atop all of them, and he could see the subtle wisp of spores in the air. Another set of stairs in the corner led up. I think that's the whole first floor, Luke thought.

He went back to the Necromancer's room, grabbed a notebook that had open space at the back, and drew a map. Drawing a map calmed him down from the horrors of the room of flayed people: it was just like back in college, when he was learning how to use data points to make maps. Turning chaos into something understandable. Even if, ultimately, the people at the top didn't see the maps how they should have been seen. Regardless, drawing a map was soothing. Then, he had a choice to make.

Do I go up the center room stairs, or the cellar ones? He looked at the corpses in the other room, now taken from the wall. His Mindless Undead stared at him. Going to the center room, he ordered all of his undead, "Carry bodies," and pointed. They set to task, grabbed the corpses, then awaited his instructions. He walked over to the well, and then pointed to the room he had woken up in.

"Put them here." After, he then had them gather all of the corpses from the ritual chamber he had woken up in, and the skeletal bits and bones, and pile them in the same place. Waste not, want not, he thought. When my Command Limit is higher, I can raise more workers. He chose to head up these stairs, and drew his sword as he did so.

They doubled back on themselves, and he heard wood creak underfoot as he entered what must have been an entry hall, as to his left there were the remnants of a double-door, which led outside to a deep night. A set of stairs went up right across from him, and there were many doors that were closed and still intact. Luke got to the center of the room and began pointing and assigning undead to guard various spots.

Two to guard the front door leading outside, one to guard the stairs going up, and one the stairs going down. That left him with two. He chose to tackle the door closest to the stairs. Opening it, he saw an armory. Racks of weapons, long rusted over, or whose wood had rotted to nothing, were left on racks. There was no armor or weaponry. A door across from him beckoned, and opening it, he was greeted by a rush of wind and the dark, pitch-black night skies.

He couldn't see any stars or a moon: just infinite blackness above. Disconcerting. But, it establishes I'm definitely not on Earth. He pointed at the door frame, "Guard." As one of the Mindless Undead did his bidding, he went to his left, through another door, and found an armory—stacks of metal bars sat next to empty forges which had chimneys that jutted out the far wall and vented outside.

Another door to his left led to what must have once been a barracks or bunk room, as the furniture was broken and shattered, with nothing but scraps of cloth strewn about. To the right, the wall was smashed inward, toward him, and peering out of the ten-foot-wide opening, he saw a patch of weed-overgrown dirt, and then an outer wall which was also smashed in, and behind it, a forest. That forest had fog which clung to the ground and rose up to chest height, and Luke assumed it was the Everfog Forest.

Opening the door to his right, he found himself back in what he assumed was the entry hall, and ordered one of the two undead holding the front doors to the back wall with its broken entrance. Continuing his search of the first floor, he found a lavatory with a refuse chute that went down to the grate in the basement, a kitchen with the stairs down to the mushroom farm, a storage closet in the kitchen, and a mess hall which connected to the bunk room.

In the main hall, there was one other room that didn't connect to anywhere else. Opening that door, he found a pristine —aside from the dust—hospital room. Well, what he imagined was a hospital room in the medieval ages. Two beds were set with enough room for someone to walk along either side, and a shelf held what looked like bundles of herbs that had long rotted away. The same went for the bandages. Triage, perhaps? Or a very small infirmary.

Heading back to the entry hall, he recalled all the undead save for the one at the broken, forest-side wall, the front door, and the armory door. Venturing upstairs, he saw another set up stairs leading to a wooden hatch that was partially smashed in and whistled with the wind. Four doors split off from the main area of the second floor.

Moving to the one above the downstairs lavatory, he confirmed his suspicion—the two rooms were put atop one another to allow for refuse to fall down another chute and to the drainage grate in the basement. Opening the door to the left of the stairs he came up, he found a room filled with shelves, full of books and scrolls. In the center were two desks, shoved back to back, with broken chairs before them.

Luke felt excited at the prospect of having more data to work with, more information to learn, and grabbed one of the books—only for it to crumble in his hands. Electing to not try his luck and hope for a means to preserve the knowledge, he instead went to the door on his right. It led him to a dead-end, but the room was filled with eighty stone statuettes that were the size of action figures, all arrayed on a long, flat table that was knee-height. It must be a shrine, he thought.

If every deity has a Core Identity, like The Last Warden, that means we have sixteen gods. Hmm, same number as the Resistances I have. One deity per Power Type, perhaps? And then their varying interpretations? Four apiece for that. He turned back and exited the records room, then went to his right from the main chamber. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. He entered what must have been the command center of the fort, as he saw a large table with a map on top of it.

But, the map had rotted away as well, leaving nothing but smudges. Tapestries once hung from the walls, but those, too, were long gone. Another door led off of this room, and opening it, he found what he assumed was the commander's quarters: a four-poster bed, dresser, armor display, and weapon holder told him that the owner appreciated having their equipment on-hand, and didn't care much for the finer things in life.

The last few rooms were a larger infirmary, which seemed like it was for long-term care, as the beds were pushed closer together. The downstairs one is probably for emergency stabilizing, he thought, then the upstairs one here is for longer recovery. There was a storage room, filled with now-gone-bad medical supplies, and then a secondary armory. But, there were no swords and pieces of armor—just empty leather tubes that Luke figured were quivers or bolt holders, and ancient bits of metal next to scraps of wood.

Perhaps, ancient crossbows. Another set of stairs led up, and ascending, he found himself on the roof. It was a flat, stone expanse, with crenelated wall-tops along the edges. I can see where I'm at, at least. Bird's eye view. He headed to one of the four towers, and found the wooden stairs inside were long gone. Well, shit. All the towers were uncovered, with their own crenelations, so if he made a ladder or had a grappling hook, he could get up.

One of the towers, the one looking toward the forest, was fatter and wider than the rest. But, the one to what he was going to call the east was topped with a stone arch holding up a large bell. Going around the outside edge, he saw the outer walls which were probably twelve or fifteen feet tall, with crenelations on the outside edge, but no barrier to entry on the inside. To what he decided to call the east, he saw a huge patch of green and fertile ground, with tons of flowers growing in the soil.

To his south, an opening in the wall, which probably housed gates at one point in time. To the west, the remnants of fence stakes marked off an area that he assumed was for training. And then, to the wall-breach side, his made-up north, there was nothing on the flat expanse. Words filled his mind and head. A foreign voice. The god of Death's. [Title: Secure the Dead Ground.] [Trigger: Exploring Greywatch Fort.] [Objective: Secure a defensible section of the structure.] [Reward: Level 7, Command Complexity Increase, Grave Node fragment, Art unlock] Huh. Well, I mean, structure is a bit ambiguous. Would walling off a single room in the basement work? Luke went downstairs, ordering all but the three undead holding the entrances on the first floor to follow him. Going to the basement, he told his undead to guard the Necromancer's chamber door, and then went inside, and shut it. [Title: Secure the Dead ground] [Quest Completed!] ["A knight without ground is a weapon. A knight with ground is the beginning of a ruler. A Grave Node is a means to establish your territory by splitting off pieces of your soul. Undead may be controlled by this Node, rather than you."] [Reward Granted!] [Name: Marrowsteel Plate 1.] [Power Type: Marrowsteel (Death + Force).] [Duration: Instant.] [Mana: 20.] [Stamina: 15.] [Effect: The user manifests a layer of Marrowsteel. Absorbs all damage for the user (after reductions) until consumed. Overflow after breaking affects the user. Absorbs 10% of your Health worth of damage.] [You have leveled up!] [Level 7: Gain +1 Essence, +1 Acuity, +1 Free Point] [Please allocate your Free Point now...] Instinct is rather low, so let's go into that and get it a little caught up. [Confirmed. Would you like to see your full status screen?]"Not now," he said aloud. He was looking at that Grave Node fragment lore he had just received. I can split off my soul… I can offload Command Limit.

And, since my soul regenerates, that implies I can make multiple over a long period of time! He felt excited, and wanted to ask exactly how to do that, but stopped himself. No, not yet. I need to figure out… what I even want to do. Back in Chicago he had built crime models no one wanted to read until the activity that was mapped out was politically useful.

Response times, patrol gaps, underreported calls, school absence spikes—all of it had pointed to the same conclusion over and over, and Luke tried to get the higher ups to notice, but they never did. People were dying because no one knew, or worse, no one cared until it was good for them to care.

Luke gripped the table and squeezed down, feeling the wood begin to splinter under his gauntlet as the memories surrounding his death began to come back, and rage accompanied them: rage against the machine of systems that he couldn't beat. He remembered the last pattern and data map he had made back on Earth before his demise: he had seen the wrong block flagged for drug dens, and told his bosses that they needed to cancel the SWAT raid. The AI program they had brought in to try and replace him had gotten it wrong.

They ignored him. He had sent messages, pushing his data up every channel, even going so far as to call the police chief and mayor—but nothing changed. The raid was still going to hit an apartment complex full of working families because one prominent dealer used one unit as cover. Lives would be upended: doors would be broken, children would be dragged out into hallways, someone would panic, and someone would fire.

Innocent people would pay for an AI model that had been wrong before it ever had its recommendation vetted. The wood beneath his fingers snapped clean off, and he dropped the large splinter. The only way to stop what was coming was to go there himself, record what he could, talk to residents, and gather evidence. Then, he went to the place he knew violence actually was happening, because data on a screen wasn't enough to convince anyone.

He needed footage, witnesses, and something no one could bury because it wasn't convenient. That… that was where he died. He looked out the window, and saw the black sky through the caked grime. A little spot gave him sight of the walls. Here, he thought, patterns and data won't save people. I'll run into the same problem as before. … But this time— he looked down at his right hand — this time I have power. He did what he always did in times where he was at an impasse: he made a checklist.

It felt liberating, being able to use the data points he had discovered to create a plan that he could put into action. There wasn't anyone higher up the chain of command—no mayor, no committee, no police captains—he didn't have to convince anyone, and he had the power to get things done. He had the information, the evidence, and the means. The dead could do what the living shouldn't have to, and he had the means to spread that… not ideal, that was the wrong word. That concept: he could spread the concept far.

The thought of using the corpses of the slain should have horrified him more than it did. Maybe, he would feel the horror later. But at the moment? He knew he could make a difference here. He had the power. He thought as he scribbled onto some parchment. I want to really explore every room in this fort, and find every scrap of information possible to collate and dissect. Then, I want to learn more about where I am. I also want to figure out what exactly I am— he paused.

Aloud, he asked, "Hey, I have three questions, yes?" [You have seven in total accumulated.]"What exactly am I?" [You are a Gravebound Knight. Soul placed into corpse, bypassing the Stream.]"Right, but what does that make me?" [... That has been answered.] Luke sighed and shook his head.

"Right, just vague cryptic answers." He slammed his fist on the table, which is what he did when numbers didn't add up how they should, or data didn't read properly in a diagram he was making. Unlike back in Chicago, where he would bruise his hand with the simple act of frustration when things didn't work out the way they should, this fist slam cracked part of the table. And, he felt no pain from the action. OK, he thought. Well, checklist, then. What I am goes on the checklist.

Oh, what I look like should be on here, too, since there wasn't a mirror, or any glass around. He tapped his lower lip with the reservoir-fed pen. Hmm… well, if I can eventually build up these Grave Nodes, and make a network of them, then I could make… I don't know… different Undead support services? One of the biggest issues he saw back home was that people were crushed by the system: the poor were stuck in a cycle, because they were ground down by people up above them.

This world would be no different, he imagined, as a lower class would serve an upper class. Maybe… maybe if I can get Undead to do the work, the labor—I mean they are just meat and bone—I can have them do the dangerous jobs. They can do mining, farming, heck, even guard chokepoints if they can be made smart enough to discern those with ill intent from those with none. That idea clicked in his mind, and he felt assured of his path. Yeah…

I can set up a place where Undead can do basic things, to help alleviate the burden on people. With a small checklist and a goal in mind, he said, "Right. Tell me how to make a Grave Node." [You cannot yet. Five remain.]"Thanks for that… fucking useless info. Well then, I guess my next question is, how complex will I be able to get my command of the Mindless Undead up to?" [The flesh follows the intent of the one who raised it.] Luke opened the door and walked past his three guards, then turned to face them.

He headed upstairs, and said, "Follow me." They did so, and once he was on the first story, he headed to the back wall and its exposed-to-forest opening.

"Now, I want all of you—even mister guard here—to patch up the wall with what you can find." They all stared at him. Huh…maybe because they aren't builders? Luke shook his head.

"Watch and learn." He grabbed a broken chair, and put it into the breach.

"Now…patch up the wall." The Mindless Undead set weapons down and began moving through the room, carrying bits and pieces of broken furniture, and then going to other rooms and coming out with items. After a good thirty minutes of observing, Luke saw that they had barricaded the opening.

"Good. Follow me." He headed outside, and took in a deep breath. The scent of moisture hit his nostrils—he assumed from the fog that slowly crept into the walls—and then also heard a noise. A rustling noise, followed by panting. It came from around the back of the building, and he drew his sword and headed around the side. He saw a man, missing a leg, propped up on a branch as a crutch. The man froze in place.

"Who are you?" he asked.