Loremaster of the Amaranthine lands

As the sound of the horn faded, Regis saw the pale green flame in the undead horde’s eyes turn into a blood-red hue.

“What the hell?” He asked just before the shambling corpses began to speed up, breaking into a steady jog in just a few seconds.

“Brace yourselves!” Grego roared, waking many of the refugees and mercenaries from their stupor.

“I agree with Cruz,” Amanda yelled. “We’re definitely fucked!”

The tall woman barely finished speaking before she swung her fire-coated two-handed hammer towards the chest of a fallen warrior that ran towards her. A loud crashing sound filled the air as the defenders and the rotting horde clashed. Regis stabbed forward with his bladestaff, piercing his opponent’s head with uncanny precision, but he couldn’t even yank the weapon back when a fire bolt struck his arcana shield.

He stumbled backwards as the blue shield shattered, small flicks of fire singeing his hand. The source of the spell was an undead wizard that held a broken staff. What made the young dark elf shudder was that, for the first time, he felt his own staff vibrate while it emitted a sense of dismay. ‘Are you scared of that thing?’

He looked at his staff with raised eyebrows for a moment, but a second fire bolt made him duck to the side before he answered with a runic arcana bolt of his own. The fallen spell weaver held its staff in front of itself and a deep blue arcana shield appeared in the air, taking the brunt of the runic spell. It only showed a few cracks from Regis’ strongest spell, which made him understand why his staff felt scared. That thing was strong, very strong.

“I think that one was a true wizard before being reanimated!” Osmond yelled from the side as he swung his shadow-covered cane at an undead swordsman.

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Tire it out,” the pale youth said. “It should only have about two hundred points worth of arcana reserves. Those fire bolts should cost fifteen or so.”

“That still leaves it with another dozen shots at least!” Regis screamed as he dodged the third incoming spell.

With no better idea in mind, he shot another runic arcana bolt to keep its attention on defence as he ran towards it with his bladestaff stabbing forward. His spell further cracked the opponent’s arcana shield before the tip of the bladestaff pierced it through. Regis’ plan however backfired as the arcana shield stopped from cracking apart and trapped the weapon in place as the undead mage cast a close-range spell. Stone spikes broke free from the ground, trying to skewer the youth with one spike piercing his thighs.

He let out a pained scream as he tried to move backwards. The fallen wizard swung its staff and a wave of fire rushed forth, only to break apart on the earth wall the youth hastily erected to duck behind. This wall was barely a foot tall, forcing the dark elf to drop to the ground as the flames washed over right above him. His lungs hurt as he breathed in the hot air and his leg was still bleeding.

When the flames stopped, Regis chanced a look at his opponent and he rolled aside as soon as he caught sight of the next fire bolt that was aimed at him. Another stab was aimed at the fallen spell weaver, finally shattering its arcana shield before a second stab struck it in the shoulder. The young dark elf made use of the undead stumbling back for a moment as he tackled the abomination before sinking his iron dagger into its skull and twisting it.

He finally breathed up when the wizard’s hands dropped back to the ground. The fallen spell weaver lay in the dirt with the dagger in its head when flames sparked all over its body, converging in a single spot. Its chest glowed with a thumb-sized crystal forming above it. Regis reached out to touch it, but his face showed dejection.

{Fire bolt}

{Spell crystal}

{Item rarity: uncommon}

{The flames of battle are hard to control, but they can be tamed with the right words. By absorbing this spell crystal, you will learn the ‘Firebolt’ spell.}

{Requirement: 10 erudition and intellect.}

‘Figures I’d get this when I’ve already created a runic variant.’ The dark elf scoffed as he shoved the crystal into his side pouch. He yanked the dagger out of the corpse and got back on his feet.

“We need to retreat!” One of the guards yelled, but Grego ordered him to stay.

“If any of you have an idea to hold up these bastards, now would be the time to share it.” Norma looked at the young outlanders, after beheading another fallen infantryman.

“Osmond!” Cruz called out to the pale-skinned youth, earning a loud teeth-grinding sound.

“Fine, but if I get burned at the stake, you’re going to get it!”

The young man said as he finished off his opponent before pulling out several bone pieces from his inner pocket.

“Erhebt euch, meine Haustiere!” He said as he threw the bones on the ground.

The others watched as the bones fell on the dry soil, sinking into it as if someone had thrown a rock into a lake. A moment later the ground cracked as four oversized rat skeletons climbed out of the soil.

“A bone puppeteer?” Valerie mumbled before swinging her whip at the head of a rotting soldier.

Osmond just waved his hands and the skeletons ran over to the fallen swordsmen that threatened to swarm the guards.

“Everyone, get moving! We’re not staying here any longer, no matter what the city lord said.” Grego yelled as he saw another refugee getting killed not far to his left.

“You’ve heard the captain, get moving! You can come back for your loot in the morning.” Norma said.

The guards and the outlanders agreed as one, making their way back to the ramparts when a second horn sound made them break out in cold sweat. Dozens of fully armoured undead appeared from the roiling darkness, striding towards them with heavy, but fast steps.

“What the hell are those things?” A refugee asked with a shaky voice before everyone saw one of the armoured fallen raise their two-handed swords in front of them.

A moment later the undead warrior broke into a rush and closed fifteen meters worth of distance in barely three seconds, slashing towards a mercenary that couldn’t react in time. The man was split in two, falling on the ground with blood and innards spewing around him.

“Run!” The terrified commoners screamed as they tried to retreat towards the gate, but it was still closed.

Regis followed his fellow outlanders to retreat, but the ragtag group could only get halfway towards the gate when several armoured abominations caught up with them. The young dark elf ducked under a slashing attack that would have split him at the waist. He stabbed upwards with his bladestaff using piercing strike, but it only caused a small dent in the undead opponent’s thick breastplate.

It swung the giant two-handed sword at him again, pushing him back several feet as Regis deflected the attack with the middle part of his staff. The sword left a deep mark on the bronze-infused staff and it was followed by many others as it kept attacking relentlessly. The young dark elf’s only achievement was to hit the abomination’s already damaged helmet off with one of his counterattacks.

He heard a scream from his side that forced him to glance sideways, only to see Cruz collapse on the ground with her head rolling on the ground beside her destroyed staff. Most of Osmond’s skeleton puppets were already destroyed and the final rat was on its last leg as well, trying to keep a brute from finishing off the pale youth who kneeled on the ground while holding onto his chest. His enemy held a large morning star and still had shattered bone pieces scattered around it.

Regis cast a runic arcana bolt, aiming it at the brute’s head to distract it and help Osmond escape, the youth falling into the arms of a nearby guard due to his fading strength. The others dragged the puppeteer back towards the gate and Regis turned back towards his own enemy, only to get knocked back as a heavy swing hacked his staff in half. He barely had time to register what happened when he looked up to see the armoured undead rush towards him.

The youth had no time to react as the plate-covered body smashed into him, but much to his surprise, he didn’t fly backwards from the crash. A moment later, the reason of the searing cold in his chest and the drowning sensation when he tried to breathe was clarified as he looked down to see the two-handed sword sunk into his chest almost up to its hilt.

“Regis!” He could hear the others scream his name, but he couldn’t utter a single sound.

His eyes dampened as blood foamed and trickled from his mouth. The undead abomination stared at him with red flames in its eye sockets as if mocking the youth. ‘Stop grinning motherfucker, you’re coming with me!’ He roared without words as he felt drowning in what he knew to be his blood.

Regis raised the magic and hatred-infused remainder of his bladestaff with one last rage-powered move to stab it towards his enemy’s head while using his last moments of consciousness to cast a runic arcana bolt with his left hand pointing at the abomination’s face. The glowing edge of the bladestaff pierced through one of the undead’s eyes while the other side of its skull shattered a moment later when the point-blank ranged spell blasted through its other eye.

The sickening sound of its skull shattering reached far as the abomination crumpled on the ground like a puppet that got its strings cut. Regis fell backwards as the cold darkness overtook the golden words that floated in his vison.

{You have fought till your last breath and defeated a level 10 Fallen Entitled Knight. You have gained the ‘Till death takes us both’ feat. Your might, spirit and willpower got permanently increased by 1.}

‘Level 10?’ His last thought echoed as his consciousness faded into darkness. There was nothing in that void. He didn’t feel cold, or hurt, nor did he feel hitting the ground. After what seemed to be an eternity, the burning pain in his chest returned, along with the sensation of falling. Then, the feeling of hitting the hard ground followed. Regis opened his eyes with a start, desperately trying to breathe as all of his senses returned to him. He wheezed and gasped as if he was in the middle of an asthma attack.

“Regis? Is that really you?” He heard from the side and as his blurry vision cleared, he saw Mr. Simmons kneeling beside him.

The director of the college was in the middle of sorting out some documents when a pitch-black crack opened in space just a foot above his carpet-covered floor. His initial surprise was diverted when the strange spatial distortion spat out a familiar youth. As the young man opened his eyes while grasping his chest and suffocating, the director jumped up from his seat to help him if he could.

“What’s wrong? Say something!” The director tried and failed to help him as air finally reached the depths of the young man’s lungs.

“I’m okay,” Regis wheezed. “I’m just glad to be able to breathe again.”

“Breath again? Why, what happened?”

“I… I died.” He answered with his gaze clouded by the memory of drowning in his own blood.

“What nonsense are you talking about? How could you have died if you are still here and talking?”

Regis looked at the man before clambering back up onto his feet. He took a few more deep breaths as he took in the familiar look of the director’s office.

“Mind if I pour some?” He asked as he pointed at the jug of water on the side table.

“Go ahead.” Simmons nodded as he watched the youth with a discerning gaze.

Regis poured himself a glass of water that was followed by two more as he felt his throat was dry as sand. Once he felt somewhat better, the young man sat down on a chair and briefly explained how he fought and died on the battlefield in front of Hunor’s walls. He also explained the consequences of dying over there.

“This is madness,” the man looked at him aghast. “If what you’ve told me is true, then going there is the worst thing any of you could do. To think that those idiots kept bragging to the others, how they’ll return to that other world to become heroic knights!”

“Which idiots?” Regis asked absentmindedly as he kept reliving the last minute or two of his ill-fated fight.

“I’m talking about Nate and Richie, of course. They kept spewing nonsense to the other students before vanishing like you did, only to return a good hour ago, raving on about monsters. I had to ask some of the staff and Ms. Emma to take them to the infirmary to rest. Now most of the teachers are terrified to let any of the youngsters out of their sights in case one of those shadow things appears. Ms. Emma spent hours trying to talk down some of the graduates from actively trying to hunt down those shadows for the black coins that would let them change their fates as Richie told them.”

“Do the shadows appear frequently?”

“Every evening,” the man sighed. “Luckily the staff managed to deal with any that appeared so far, but it’s still troublesome. As for you; I hope that you’ll reconsider staying here after what happened to you.”

“No,” Regis answered immediately. “I’ll return as soon as my time is up.”

“Why would you want to? That place is…”

“I’ve decided to make a life for myself there,” the youth looked the director in the eye. “I’ve made a few friends over there that are willing to watch my back, not to mention that I have an actual talent for magic. What do I have here? Nothing. I don’t have any real family or money, not even a chance to study further properly. Back there at least I have the others and my own power.”

“But those monsters…”

“I’ve decided Mr. Simmons.” He ended the conversation as he stood up to leave the director’s office.

“Where are you going?” The man asked desperately as the youth walked towards the door.

“I’m heading to the library. I get to stay for a while, so I might as well make good use of it. Still; thank you for your concern, sir.”

Regis closed the heavy wooden door behind himself before sighing deeply. He understood the director’s worry and he was grateful for it, but he had already made his choice. The young man walked through the hallway of the main building towards the college’s own library.