Chapter 142: The Job

I've gone through extra steps to make sure the elves present aren't harmed as I walk through with my growing undead army leading the way.

After an addition of the first hundred the numbers being thrown at me began to dwindle, personally, I'm surprised the Mayor prepared this many people to sacrifice their lives in a fight against me.

But now their numbers have begun to dwindle, I think it's more due to the fact that there have been several surrenders and turncoats rather than the Mayor not having more cannon fodder in store.

Either way, it isn't a loss. I've fattened up my army with several bodies to spare, bodies I've deliberately chosen not to raise. They could still have some other use.

But so far, I've carried out my preparations to the best of my ability and Anselm is doing his part. He's been flying around shooing the elves further up North where they stand a higher chance of surviving should the Mayor appear and fight me.

Curiously, several of the elves have shakily come up to me and asked to fight with me. It shocks me as they seemed not the bit afraid that I was going to kill them, instead they bowed their heads and begged for a chance to win their lives back.

All while I was draining the life out of some poor sob.

Quite frankly, the thought put a smile on my face. Sending them Anselm's way I trust they will be the first of many elves to pledge allegiance to me after this.

It's all going as planned.

Except for one hiccup. I don't have enough mana on my own to maintain and power this number of undead with a number of other spells passively activated.

Corpse Ignition. Is laced on nearly all the corpses. Bone shield is active, the strongest bones of my enemies made stronger by mana and sent in a perpetual twirl around me, passively waiting to block any attack that should come near me.

I've got twenty ghouls running amok, all connected to the well spring that is my mana so they stay active, same goes for the near hundred zombies ready to go berserk or simply blow up.

To maintain this insane level of spell casting, the largest I've achieved so far anyway, I've got two souls functioning as natural mana filters and feeding the ambient mana that's just in such abundance in the air to me.

But. I've discovered I can't cheat all the way through.

Not only do the souls have a limit to how much natural mana can pass through them depending on what type of person had the soul, but my body also has a limit to how much external mana it can take.

Even if the mana is being filtered and tricking my pathways into thinking the inflow of mana is actually my own, there's still a strain. And I've begun to feel it.

For the most part I believe I can bare the stress and light aching feeling I've begun to feel in my muscles, but I'm certainly glad I've caught onto this little caveat.

Preparedness is all what matters in battle.

I blink as I find I've reached the end of the 'North' I'm almost stepping into Aste proper.

Anselm lands coolly beside me. "I've evacuated the elves to the Northern gates and shown the ones, quite a few of them actually, who say they can fight where the weapons and armour are."

I nod, pleased with this, it seems I was right after all, "How many of the elves are willing to fight?"

Anselm's huff, he looks overwhelmed, "Well, damn near all of them, even the kids and aged."

I let out a laugh. "As would be expected from a group of people seeing hope to win their lives back once again. It's perfect."

At this he simply hums and asks, "Yeah, really. But who are these guys?" he points ahead at the barricade of men, spikes and a set of three rather cleanly equipped characters.

"I think they're the Calvary."

Standing behind all the cannon fodder are two men and one woman, all suited up for battle. I can immediately tell from my single glance at the folk, that they are from the Hunter's Guild.

The Hunter's Guild is a bit of something I never got around to bother with, either because I was far too concerned handling Anselm and Carbina or planning my next move.

Either way, from the very little bit I know about the Hunter's Guild, they are an independent organisation, independent of all Kingdom's, well, as far as I know. 

Maylin takes care of her books via work from the Hunter's Guild, and if she can take care of hundreds of elves, dwarves and even humans on an income from the guild then they must pay beautifully.

Perhaps I should look into owning them and their fortunes? After cleaning up the Mayor I'll need to run two cities and a village. I'm also interested in going back to the villages I've come across and making the most of them.

After all, can't leave a resource to ferment all by itself. Arak has been cleared, it'll need to be resettled and ploughed.

But I digress, the three standing in front of me, bravely, no, nonchalantly must be the Hunters the Mayor has sent to weaken me before he shows his face.

This tactic, unfortunately might just as well work. I can't keep up this mana conversion thing for much longer, the Mayor really needs to die quickly.

"Hello." I greet with a wave, "Do you mind…getting out of the way? You see, I and about a hundred of my friends want to have a sit down with the Mayor."

The only female in the group glances my way, taking a break from blowing on her fingers and huffs as she pulls out two rather long and large daggers that could easily be mistaken as short swords.

She wears a tight-fitting leather green and brown armour underneath her waist length pitch black cloak and has many pouches or pockets on her person, several of them have sheathed daggers, albeit smaller than the one she currently handles.

"So, you're the nuisance the Mayor needs dealing with?" She drawls, pushing her blond hair behind her ears, "Sator, Quen, the job is here."

Sator or Quen speaks next, I'm not sure which, "That's him? Hairier than I imagined." I resist the urge to bite back at the comment, I do need a trim but more importantly, it'd be beneath me.

He's got on a dark blue hood or cloak that covers just enough of his blond hair and carries a wooden bow in his hands, the quiver hanging lightly around his waist. He isn't as short as the giant dagger wielding female but his figure is clearly fit even with the cloak around him.

"Sator! Wake up!" the archer yells, shoving his comrade, "The jobs here."

Sator, as now named, is the most distinct out of the three. The man is lumberingly huge and only seems to get bigger as he stops slouching.

Unlike his comrades, he has no sort of cloak or armour or hell a shirt on. Instead, he simply has an X-shaped leather strap and baggy trousers.

But there is one distinct feature.

The giant metal gloves.

"Right then, lets get to work." He yawns, "Red?"

Red?

The female nods. And before I can take begin to answer any of them, Sator launches himself at me, fist cocked and eyes previously clouded with sleep blazing with an intense thirst for violence.