The Necromancer's Servant

Asa hurried after Captain Sanders as they dashed out of the camp. Despite being clad in full steel armor, Sanders moved faster than Asa, who was in lighter gear. The other soldiers, startled awake by the alarm, scrambled to grab their weapons and joined the rush.

Under the bright moonlight, everything was starkly illuminated. At the crossroads outside the camp stood several figures of varying heights, their menacing weapons casting ominous shadows even in the gentle moonlight.

Among them loomed a towering ogre, colossal even among its kind—twice the height of an average human and five times as robust. Its massive body was encased in custom-forged iron armor, and it wielded two spiked maces, one large and one small, that matched its size. The moonlight glinted sharply off its armor and weapons.

Beside the ogre stood two arcs. To enhance their agility and speed, they wore only hardened leather armor protecting vital areas. Their bolas, while not as fearsome as the ogre's maces, were still capable of crushing any armor. Accompanying them were three lizardmen, similarly equipped, wielding long swords that were as tall as a person. On the far side, two half-orcs each carried oversized crossbows.

Amidst this assembly of deadly beasts was a solitary figure, thin and seemingly frail by comparison. This individual bore no armor or weapon, only a cloak that obscured his race and feature.

Captain Sanders's face appeared ghostly pale under the moonlight. He had not anticipated such a desperate situation.

Just over a month ago, he had received the order from the commander of the Knights Templar to secretly lead a squad of soldiers to scout the unusual movements of orc tribes in the western wasteland. For years, the western forces had been exterminating various orcs tribes, leaving hardly any survivors in the region. So, while his superiors had cautioned him to be careful, he had only expected to encounter some scattered attacks.

Orcs did not understand metallurgy or smithing. Their tools and weapons were mostly primitive stone implements. Thus, despite their superior physical prowess and combat skills, they were no match for a well-equipped army.

Orc tribes had never interacted with one another. These primitive sub-humans even refused to engage with any other civilization, clinging stubbornly to their unique traditions and beliefs. One tribe after another quietly awaited their turn to be crushed by human armies.

Now, this common knowledge lay shattered before the grim reality, and the outcome promised to be steeped in blood. The well-armed mixed force of orcs before them was undoubtedly not there for a mere show of strength.

This location was on the summit of a desolate mountain, surrounded by cliffs. Sanders had chosen this spot to camp for its excellent visibility and defensibility. Even if the orcs attempted a nighttime raid, the single access point could be effectively defended, preventing any orc from reaching them.

Of course, holding this access point meant that no one could escape either.

Suddenly, the cloaked figure among the orcs stirred, nodding slightly, and emitted a soft sound of approval.

It was a distinctly human sound, light and casual—like a note of agreement while sipping tea and listening to a friend's idle chatter in the sun.

The ogre beside the figure seemed to respond to this gentle tone as if it had triggered some mechanism within its massive frame. Like a beast that had been restrained by a leash, the moment that restraint was loosened, it erupted into a thunderous roar and charged toward the group. Each of its thunderous steps sent tremors through the ground, a force capable of pulverizing any life in its path. Fear flashed across the faces of the soldiers.

The moment Asa caught sight of the orcs, he was thinking of running away. He was very clear how bad the situation was. These orcs could climb up the mountain quietly and block the path, they must have confidence to wipe out this unit of one hundred soldiers. He also knew what an ogre equipped with heavy armor and massive weapon can do. Even a single ordinary ogre was able to defeat twenty or more armed soldiers.

The cliff was very high, even though the Dono River was below, the height was enough to turn anyone into a pulp on the rocks under the water. However, Asa remembered there was a tree in the middle of the cliff, a tree he had once tried to water with his urine. He knew its location and the thickness of the branches. It could slow his fall to a safe landing.

As he saw the ogre charging toward them, Asa was about to turn and flee when a figure suddenly appeared beside him. It was Sanders, charging at the ogre alone, sword drawn and shield raised.

The morale of the troops had plummeted, and he aimed to restore it by confronting the ogre just by hisself.

In a blur, the figures clashed, as if the mountain itself roared with the impact. The ogre's blow, capable of crushing ten oxen, missed and struck the ground instead. The soldiers could barely catch the speed of Sanders's movement. With a resounding clash of metal, the ogre fell backward with a thundering crash, while Sanders soared backward, executing a perfect backflip before landing back in front of his troops. He raised his sword and started chanting. A blue-white glow started emitting from his sword, he looked like a warrior leaping from heaven.

A hundred soldiers, roused from their stupor, erupted into cheers, the sound deafening.

Asa remained silent; he alone could see the truth: the ogre had fallen on its own.

In that split second of their encounter, Sanders had evaded the ogre's hammer strike with remarkable agility, leaping onto its shoulder and aiming his sword toward the gap in ogre's helmet where its eyes met. Simultaneously, the ogre had fallen backward, swinging its smaller hammer upward. Sanders's left steel shield deflected the blow, but he was propelled backward, the tip of his sword just shy of piercing the ogre's eyes.

With a clang, Sanders dropped his now-deformed shield. The inch-thick, high-quality steel shield, designed specifically to withstand heavy strikes, had been rendered utterly useless against such raw power.

By the moonlight, Asa noticed that Sanders's left hand fingers had completely twisted out of shape; it was unrecognizable as a hand.

Sanders plunged his sword into the ground and gripped his twisted fingers, painstakingly straightening each one with the light of a healing spell. A crackling sound emanated from his hand, and beads of cold sweat formed on his brow, but his expression remained stoic, his piercing gaze fixed coldly on the ogre, which was now beginning to rise again.

Watching Sanders's calm, sculpted face ignited a fierce fighting spirit within Asa. He gripped his knife tightly. He suddenly didn't want to flee.

Sanders removed his steel armor. The protection had become meaningless; only agility and speed could secure victory. Clenching his sword, now imbued with a spiritual blade spell, he felt confident he could pierce the ogre without needing to find a weak spot in its armor. He turned and shouted, "Bless me!" Two priests among the crowd began chanting spells, a faint white light resonating around them and Sanders.

Suddenly, the two half-orcs leaped onto the shoulders of the nearby arcs, aiming their crossbows at the two priests.

One priest's head exploded like an egg, blood and brain matter splattering around. The soldier behind him fell backward without a sound, a fist-sized hole gushing blood from his chest.

The other priest had an experienced warrior next to him, who raised his wooden shield just in time, but the resulting shards from the shield and his own shattered hand lodged into the priest's face. The warrior let out a cry of despair as he fell alongside the priest in a twisted embrace.

With a surge of energy, Sanders charged at the ogre, knowing he had to eliminate the most lethal threat before the two half-orcs reloaded their crossbows.

The cloaked figure spoke a few words, and all the orcs, except the two half-orcs, surged toward the soldiers. One werewolf headed directly for Sanders, who was still advancing on the ogre.

The distance of several dozen meters vanished in the lizardmen's incredible burst of speed as if it were just a fingertip away. Before the soldiers even registered the orcs' movement, the three lizardmen were upon them.

The first soldier fell like straw under the lizardman's long sword, dropping four or five men with a single stroke. The lizardman's attack, crouching low, sliced into the abdomen, and the long blade swung out, spilling blood and entrails. Following closely, the arcs attacked; each strike sent at least two soldiers flying, the heavy bolas raining down flesh and blood.

Asa faced a lizardman's attack alone. He charged toward the blade, knowing that the length of such a weapon offered a vast killing range; it was better to engage than to evade. The lizardman's strength only slightly surpassed that of a human.

With a longer weapon came greater weight, making the lizardman's movements predictable. Asa parried the first strike near the hilt, sparks flying. The second strike forced the lizardman to defend himself, and by the fourth strike, the lizardman had to abandon his long sword for a small axe at his waist, jumping back in haste.

Asa countered, thrusting his blade across in a surge of fighting spirit. "Come two more! We can win!" he shouted.

But the only response he received was the cacophony of screams from his comrades.