Chapter 119: The Necromancer and The Bard

Felicia

“Oh thank you! Thank you so much for saving us!”

One by one, the villagers gave me their thanks. It was a natural thing for them to do, for I had saved themselves and their village from extinction.

And yet, I wasn’t satisfied. My smile for them was barely a genuine one.

For I didn’t manage to save every single one of them.

“Milady…”

I turned around. Berault was there. If he had his helmet open, he probably would have a worried expression on his face.

"How is she?"

"She's fallen asleep."

"I see…"

"Why?! Why didn't you save him? Why didn't you save Father?!"

"You've tried your best, Milady. Please do not blame yourself."

"My best, huh?" I gave a wry smile. "This… this isn't my best. Not in the slightest."

Everyone made it out alive, except for one.

Leila's father.

He had passed in his sleep right as I was putting the finishing touches on the cure.

I… had broken my promise to her.

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It was time for his funeral.

The entire village had gathered on the small graveyard on the village outskirts. They were dressed in their best outfit, which meant the least worn and ragged clothes they had. They were standing on a line, watching as the men in front of them shoveled dirt down the hole.

I stood at the front, with Leila linking her small hand with mine. Tears were streaming down her face, a natural reaction to seeing her father being buried right in front of her.

"Father, wake up! Miss Flameu's finished her cure!"

Beside the hole was the village elder. He was acting as the priest, giving prayers to the Saint as more and more dirt covered the coffin.

"Father? Father? Come on, wake up, Father!'

As a proud user of the dark arts, I naturally didn't believe in the Saint's teachings. However, it didn't mean I was against this. If it brought comfort to them, then all the better for them.

"Father? Father! W-why? Why aren't you waking up, Father?!"

Suddenly, Leila buried her face into my skirt—her hands wrapping around my waist.

The coffin had disappeared entirely. You could only see dirt being piled more and more into the hole.

"M-Miss Flameu? W-why isn't Father waking up?"

I could hear her muffled cry as my dress dampened more and more from her tears.

I could only pat her head to comfort her. I didn't deserve to hug her after my failure.

Before I knew it, my eyes grew watery as well.

"W-what's with that look? F-Father, h-he's fine, right? You've promised! I'm fine now so Father ought to be fine as well!"

What am I crying for? Am I sad that her father’s gone? Or have I taken pity on her, who is now an orphan? Or am I crying for myself, for failing at my task?

“No! You lie! Father’s not… Father’s not… but he can’t… You’ve promised! You’ve said you’re going to cure him! Then why—why is he...u-uuuwaaahhhhhhh!”

I think… I think I know why I am crying.

She’s just like me now—a victim of humanity’s brittleness and fragility. A little wound, from a creature so pathetically small, had erased the only family she had left.

Her mother too was a victim of that unfortunate fact. She had died from giving birth to her—an all too common occurrence amongst people like them. Imagine, being so weak that you die from giving birth to new life. Pathetic.

The burial was now finished, and it was time for the village elder to make his speech.

It was the usual, trite stuff. He was a good, kind man, and everyone here would miss his presence greatly. He also prayed to the Saint to accept him to her paradise. I couldn’t help but give a small snide laugh. Heaven and the afterlife are just things humans invented to comfort themselves of their inevitable death. After all, humans had the least lifespan compared to every other intelligent race.

To my surprise, however, he announced that he would take care of Leila. As she had no one to provide for her, I naturally felt relieved, knowing that she wouldn’t just be abandoned. Oh, I’ve seen them. Babies abandoned in alleyways. Usually, they either came from prostitutes who had gotten pregnant from their clients (the fools forgot their contraceptives), or the poor who couldn’t afford to raise another baby (I’m not sure if it’s better than them selling the baby to slavers). The orphanages, something good that the Church actually does, would take them in, if they aren’t full themselves, that is.

I stared at the elder. He seemed to be a decent man. Unlike that pig that took me in when I lost everything that day. So Leila would be in good hands.

After the elder was finished, one by one, the villagers came forward, placing flowers on top of the unmarked grave. There weren’t any stonemason around that could fashion a gravestone for him, not that they normally had gravestones on their graves. It’s a lavishness they could not afford. As for the coffin, they were lucky that they had some lumberjacks that could work on it. And of course, they did it for free. If there’s something this village had in abundance, it’s their charity to each other.

Some of the villagers came near us, giving kind and caring words to Leila in the hopes of comforting her. However, she refused to even look at her, as she continued to hug me as tightly as she could.

We remained like that for a good while, as one by one the villagers left the burial grounds. Perhaps they believed they should give us some privacy. Or perhaps they simply had somewhere else to be. After all, life went on for them, even without one of their fellow villagers. The village elder was the last to leave, as he was gravely concerned about Leila’s current state of mind. He kept sending worried glances towards us, while timidly keeping his distance, too afraid to disturb our moment. So, I gave him a nod, telling him to leave her to me. Only after then, he left the premises.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Leila released me, before making her way to her father’s grave.

She knelt, took out her flower from her pocket, and placed it on top of the grave.

And then, she clasped her hands and began to pray.

“O Lady Milicis, please send my father to the same heaven my mother went to. I don’t want him to be lonely up there.”

I stood there in silence, not realizing that my tears were streaming down my face. My entire body shook, with my right hand which was gripping my staff shaking the hardest.

She was me. I was looking at my young, grieving self. I was right there, kneeling in the front of their graves, tears in my eyes.

...No. I can't just leave her like this.

...I have to do it. Even if it's risky.

I have to bring her father back.

Without hesitation, I threw my staff away and rushed up to her, hugging her from behind.

I will not let her heart break. I will not.

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Hugo

“Haah…”

I let out a sigh as I stared absentmindedly towards the far end of the room. My right hand moved on its own, stirring the half-empty glass on the table.

I was currently sitting in a pub, drinking a glass of warm milk after I had my lunch. And I was pretty much the only one. Everyone else here seemed to be drinking this pub’s specialty, which is its beer. Being in the north like this, and with the cold weather, it’s pretty much customary for both the locals and the adventurers to drink strong alcohol, just to keep themselves warm. It’s the same back in my old world, like Russians and their fondness for vodka.

Still, I did not partake in that tradition. Why? Because I… never really liked drinking beer in the first place. I always thought that it’s a stupid thing for people to go into those after-work parties and get drunk. I always skipped them, giving weak reasons like, “Oh, I got something else to do for the night!” even though I didn’t really have anything other than playing video games on my computer. As you might have guessed, I despised socializing, and going for drinks with your co-workers is the peak example of that.

No wonder I never had any friends.

In my mind, I cited scientific facts like how alcohol is bad for your heart, brain, and whatever other organs it affected. But I knew deep down, I was just too scared to open up to people.

And so, here I am, drinking milk like a kid. Well, I am still a kid in appearance. So no one gave me dirty looks or anything. Though technically, there’s no legal age on when you’re allowed to drink alcohol in this world. I’ve seen one or two young adventurers like me chugging their mugs. They didn’t last long though, to the laughter of their older companions.

It had been one month since I arrived in this town, and yet, I hadn't gotten any fruitful leads on that high elf. At first, I was overjoyed that there were indeed sightings of such a person. In fact, her presence had been somewhat of a rumor in the region for the past few months. “The Little Snow Fairy,” they said. The fairy part probably comes from her diminutive stature (even though she’s an elf), and the snow part probably comes from her silver hair. They say that you will be blessed with good fortune if you ever see her on the road. And that came from the fact that a couple of adventurers had been saved by her. Apparently she was this amazing mage but at the same time, she’s strong enough to use her staff as a melee weapon? Now that smells like embellishment to me.

Then again, that might be the truth. Who knows what a high elf is capable of? They’re a really long-lived race after all, so it wouldn’t be odd for one to be able to master both the martial arts and the magical arts.

Still, for an elf to go all physical… that’s not very elf-like, is it?

Unfortunately, the one thing information I desired, that is, her location, I couldn’t find anything concrete in that department. People who claimed to see her only saw her months ago, so naturally, I couldn’t just go out there and assume she was still in the area. I need a fresh lead, like two or three days ago. Hell, I’ll take a week ago even. I tried going to the nearest sighting spots, but I didn’t get anything, just as I predicted. And before I knew it, a month had passed.

Still, since the most recent sighting was from a month ago, I could assume in good faith that she was still around. I just need to get lucky enough with my search to find her.

"Umm, excuse me?"

I was broken out of my reverie by a soft, unmistakably female voice.

I looked to the side and saw an elven girl standing in front of me.

Oh wow, she's cute.

She had short blonde hair that didn't reach her shoulders. She wore a blue and white tunic underneath her dark blue short cloak. Under that, she wore a pair of brown trousers. If in human age, she should be around fifteen years old or so.

Decently sized chest… and those tight pants of hers are really nice…

Hey, don’t blame me. She’s an elf, and no elves so far that I’ve seen are unattractive.

"Are you perhaps Sir Charles Pendleton, the Divine Tempest?" She clasped her hands together with a beaming smile on her face.

Wait, how does she know my name? And Divine Tempest? What kind of a nickname is that?

"Well…" I scratched my face with my finger. "That's my name alright. Dunno about the Divine Tempest part though."

"Oh, that's perfect!" Without hesitation, she snatched my hands and grabbed them tightly with hers. "I'm Sari! A bard! And I would love to have an interview with you, Sir Pendleton!"

"A-an interview?" What is this girl talking about?

"I beg of you! Your act of heroism truly inspires my muse! I need to know the story from the person himself!"

"Uh, it's not that big a deal really. I was just—"

"Please!" She gripped my hands even closer as her face inched uncomfortably near mine. She was now leaning forward towards me, probably giving quite the nice view of her butt to the eyes behind her.

Well, this is troublesome. The news has no doubt spread and now this bard wants me in her tales. I don't really need the attention though and accepting her request will be detrimental to that goal.

I sighed inwardly. Sorry, cute elf girl, but I have to refuse your request.

"I'm sorry." I stood up as I gave her an apologetic smile. "I don't want people to get the wrong idea. I'm not some hero like in your stories. I'm just an adventurer, that's all."

With those words, I left the poor girl, yanking my hands off hers in quite the forceful manner in the process, unfortunately.

Once outside, I promptly used Wind Step to fly over behind the building, just in case she decided to chase after me.

Eventually, her tales would reach the ears of the Magocracy. I’d rather not be assassinated in my sleep, thank you very much.

And Charles Pendleton is my fake name anyway. If I’m going to be famous, then I’m going to use my real name.

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Sari

Little did Hugo know that his actions only fueled the flame of passion burning inside the bard’s heart even more.

Uwaah, so cool!

That's it! That's exactly how a hero should be! My instincts were right! He is the perfect material for my new ballad!

If he doesn't want to answer me, then I just have to do my research on my own! Hehe! I'm going to make you a hero, Sir Pendleton, whether you want to or not!

The elf was indeed a wandering bard, going all across the continent, singing in pubs and taverns while collecting heroic and wondrous tales from all over to be written as ballads. She didn’t do it to make money. It was her hobby. She did it out of the joy of discovering and spreading said tales. She even considered herself a “tale-hunter”, as she would never be satisfied with just processing rumors and hearsays for her songs. She wanted to know and understand her tales intimately, which was why she came all the way from the capital just to seek out Hugo.

Of course, the tale of him being responsible for killing the frost dragon on his own quickly spread around. His name—well, his fake name at the very least—was now talked about heavily in both Keirnes and Misfon, as stories adventurers told each other as they drank and even amongst the nobility who are now aware how a really strong adventurer had just made his entrance into their kingdom. And naturally, people started giving nicknames to him as well, with “Divine Tempest” ending up being the most prominent one, knowing that he was apparently a powerful wind mage.

Hugo wouldn’t realize the extent of his popularity until a bit later though.

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Felicia

"You came."

In the dark, I could barely see her tiny silhouetted figure, dimly lit by the half-moon shining on the night sky.

There was no mistaking it. It was Leila.

“Have you really… have you really brought Father back?”

Her voice was filled with anxiety and nervousness. A normal thing, considering the condition we’re currently meeting it. The village cemetery was dark and I had requested her not to bring any light with her.

After all, this meeting must be done in the utmost secrecy.

“Of course,” I replied with a smile. “However, there’s a promise you have to make before I can let you see him.”

“I don’t care what it is! I’ll promise! Just bring back Father to me!”

The poor girl’s eyes were swollen red. She must have been crying. It had been a month since her father’s death, and yet, her grief was still as fresh as falling snow.

“Very well then.” I pat her head. “John, you can come out now.”

The sound of bushes moving could be heard as he approached.

And then, there he was, standing in all his glory. Wearing a simple shirt and trousers, he was indistinguishable from his old self. In fact, he looked less bony than when I visited him.

“F-Father? I-is that? Is that really you?”

Naturally, the girl couldn’t believe her eyes. The man in front of her could only be her father. And yet, he was supposed to be dead. She saw his burial with her own two eyes.

“Of course, dearie.” A warm smile was drawn on his face. “Come to Father.” He stretched his long arms wide open.

“F-Father… Father!”

Hearing him speak, any doubts she might have in her mind disappear into the night wind. She ran towards him and jumped into his embrace.

Another successful creation of mine.

The person she was currently hugging—that’s one of my Perfect Zombies. Created after many years of research in the dark arts of necromancy, I was now capable of creating a zombie so humanlike that no one would be able to tell the difference so easily. And they’re resistant to that pesky Turn Undead spell as well, so they’re excellent as fighters against any priests who conceitedly think my creations are heretical abominations that should be turned to ash.

It wasn’t easy, making one of them. It took a lot of preparations beforehand. However, the result was well worth it. Look at how happy she is.

Even if that happiness is a lie.

I can’t bring back the dead. I am the one controlling that zombie. Using a fraction of my own soul, I can create a puppet with the capability of mimicking basic human interaction. It is easy for me to make one that will act as her father.

This is my atonement to her. No, not just that. I am not that selfless. I show her this for another reason as well.

“Leila?” I spoke as sweetly as I could. “What do you think about becoming my apprentice?”

ForestDweller

And we finally get some more display of Felicia's necromancy. Perfect Zombies. Quite terrifying, if I do say so myself.

And I ended up choosing "Divine Tempest" for Hugo's nickname. Sorry for everybody else who've submitted their ideas!