Chapter B3C58 - A Temporary Reprieve

Chapter B3C58 - A Temporary Reprieve

It wasn’t too difficult for Tyron to extricate himself. Although, technically speaking, he didn’t. His closest minions weren’t far away and were more than capable of severing the rope for him. Perhaps that did count as doing it himself... a consideration for another time.

Experiencing a vision from the Unseen was not the same thing as resting, so Tyron remained utterly exhausted. Once he was free, he decided to wash himself, drink water and eat before he retired for an extended nap. For security, he pulled the majority of his minions closer to the cave, ensuring his revenants were on the frontlines to hold off the worst of the kin while he slept.

There was still so much that remained for him to do. He wanted to see Dove’s status sheet, he wanted to perform the ritual himself and see what he’d gained, but for now, he allowed himself to put it all from his mind, and rest.

Well, he used a spell to force it from his mind so he could rest.

Tyron awoke feeling sore and as dry as a bone. A week of effort and deprivation wouldn’t be so easy to overcome, even for him. Thankfully, his head felt clearer. After splashing his face with icy water and tending to his hunger, he felt... somewhat better. By the end of the day, he’d be back to normal, but for now, he was able to function just fine.

With a sigh, Tyron released the iron grip he’d placed on his curiosity and raced back to the cave where he snatched up the sheet of paper on the table, still smeared in his dried blood.

Dahved Levan. Through death, you have returned to continue the struggle. Duty is the chain that binds you, anger is the fuel that drives you. Power over the Arcane has always been your goal, and through it, you will exert your will once more.

You have gained the Class: Spectral Summoner.

Conjure forth others to fight on your behalf. The creatures of the Astral Sea will reject a being such as yourself, but those who dwell in the Realm of the Dead will answer your call. To increase your proficiency, contract with the denizens of that dread place and summon them to battle on your behalf.

Class Attributes per level:

Intelligence +1;

Wisdom +1;

Manipulation +3

Skills granted level 1:

Dead Sight

Spells granted level 1:

Spirit Contract

Appeal to the Dead

“I knew Dove wasn’t his real name, the prick,” Tyron muttered.

It appeared Dove had been reset to Level 1 with his rather dramatic change in lifestyle. His general Skills still applied, and they were quite varied, as well as being well-trained. It seemed the former Summoner had expended some Feats to raise the cap on some of his general Skills, though there were some questionable choices.

Although those remained, nothing else did. All the stats he would have gained from his Summoner and sub-class levels were gone. Even his race levels as a human were gone, as his species had changed to Spirit Construct.

Goodness knows what the advantages of that were. Hopefully, Dove would figure it out before long.

He was still in a weakened position, stripped of almost all of his power, but at least now he could do something about it. It was unfortunate, but none of the kin he’d managed to defeat had counted as experience, since he hadn’t possessed a Class at the time. At least from this point forward, he could progress. Although... he’d need to find another source of blood....

That wasn’t Tyron’s problem. Dove had struck out on his own and frankly, it was a load off his mind. Now he had more time and attention to spend on the things he needed to focus on. Namely, getting more powerful.

The past week of distraction hadn’t been kind to Tyron’s minions. He burned Dove’s status sheet and brushed the blanket protecting the entrance to the cave aside as he went to assess the damage. With his focus elsewhere, he hadn’t paid as much attention to the rift-kin assaults, which meant his skeletons had been more or less left to fend for themselves. This was, obviously, sub-optimal. He’d lost two dozen minions, and many others were heavily damaged.

As he ordered his skeletons and tsked over the losses, inspecting each squad in turn, he realised it would be necessary to conduct rather extensive repairs on at least fifty skeletons before they could leave. If he took such weakened minions into the rift on the journey back to Kenmor, the risk they wouldn’t survive the journey would rise precipitously. Tyron wasn’t so enamoured with the process of creating undead he would risk fifty minions. If he worked without pause, it would take him ten hours of gruelling work to repair all the damage.

With a growl, he set his revenants, who had thankfully been protected by their now-battered armour, and his healthiest squads to guard the mountain trail while he set up a work area and set to his task.

~~~

Trennan was not having a good day. Slayers were not the most disciplined of people when they weren’t in the field. He knew that. Everyone knew that.

But it turns out that when they weren’t able to massacre rift-kin to blow off steam, they became positively unruly.

“I figured if I came unprotected I’d likely be jumped by a dozen pissed off slayers,” the mage replied, casting a glance at Trennan, who shrugged.

“Tempers are getting short,” he stated.

“And fair enough too. I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving. I’ll be traversing the rift, which should put a damper on the number of kin leaking through for about half a day, but you’ll be back in business after that.”

“That’s... good news,” Trenna said, a little surprised. Deep down, he wasn’t sure if he’d really believed they would all get out of this alive.

“I’ll be back, of course,” the Necromancer grinned, immediately dampening his spirits again, “but you’ll have a couple of months to yourselves before I return.”

Well, that was something at least.

“If anyone advises you to set up a trap for me, maybe try and persuade them to abandon the idea,” the mage suggested. “Things worked out amicably this time, I’d like to keep it that way.”

“I’m not in control,” Trennan told him honestly. “I’m not able to prevent anything.”

“Well, give it a go. You should also think about the things I said. Carefully.”

“About rebellion, or about your origins?”

“The rebellion, mostly,” the Necromancer said. “It’s only going to grow over the next year, and you’ll be caught up in it by the time I get back. If you want some advice, start training up a few promising villagers; Ortan can recommend some people. They aren’t restricted by the brand, and so long as Poranus is in charge, you’ll be covered by false paperwork.”

Trennan felt distinctly uncomfortable.

“I don’t have any love for the magisters,” he said, which was true, “but I’m not sure if a rebellion is really a good idea.”

“It doesn’t matter what you think, it’s happening.”

“So you say.”

The man nodded thoughtfully.

“That’s true. You don’t really have much evidence other than my word for it. I can only tell you that is going to change, and soon. People are going to come, slayers, volunteers, that sort of thing. Cragwhistle is as far from the empire's control as it is possible to get, and it has a shiny new rift to train unbranded soldiers with. It won’t be long until you have to pick a side, Trennan, and I hope you pick correctly. It’d be a shame for you to die so young.”

With a wave, the mage turned to leave, but Trennan called out before he got far.

“Show me your status sheet,” he said. “Show me that, and I’ll believe you.”

The Necromancer turned back, a frown on his face. He appeared to consider for a time before he responded.

“Fine,” he said, “when I get back, I’ll show you.”

“Why not now?” Trennan challenged.

“Because I’ll have choices to consider, and I want to make sure I hit my next threshold before I conduct the ritual,” came the irritated reply.

That was fair. Nobody wanted others looking over their shoulder, or worse, potentially sabotaging the ritual and costing them precious Class selections.

“See you in a bit.”

The skeletons silently turned on their heels and began to march away, the mage in their midst. Soon, they were lost amongst the trees, no longer able to be seen.

Trennan and Ortan shared a glance before both released a long breath.

“I don’t really want to do this again,” Ortan groaned.

Trennan turned to head back to the barracks; he had good news to share.

“Doesn’t seem like we get a choice.”