Prologue - The Rising Dead

The wind shrieked simultaneously with the wails of men. The field of war has once more opened for the brave, glory-driven men. A thousand heavy armored men stood in battle formation not far from a forest where a raging battle ensued, they watched patiently as their brethren fell against the dead and once again rose to join enemy ranks. At the forefront rode a man fully donned with armor, covering all parts of his body- he had his arms raised steadily, the soldiers expected for him to shout their charge, yet what came from him was. “Archers! Fire!” Accompanied by the blowing horn signaling the men in front to retreat.  Reluctant the archers may be, orders were given and the soldiers must uphold unto it. A volley was released and the air was suddenly filled with arrows, striking both men and the dead alike.  Soon the second order was conveyed and another volley was released, thoroughly clearing almost everyone except for those who timely retreated.

“It is time. Charge!” Finally, when only the rising dead remained in the forest, the commander raised his sword and cued his horse to move forward.

At the sight of pestering, gruesome bodies in addition to its smell; many recruits couldn’t help vomit their guts out after the battle. Every dead body was piled in a pit dug before the battle, then the mages would cast fire spells to burn the bodies, a way to reduce the spread of diseases that had first inflicted the previous army stationed in the region. Now that army had become the walking dead attacking any living being in their presence. “It’s been two weeks, yet their numbers are still rising,” Norman Goldsworn—The Commander—muttered. He was tasked by the king to investigate why the kingdom has stopped receiving any reports from its easternmost parts, just past Clementine forest. He thought of this as a simple task, though confused why the king had ordered him to bring more than two thousand men, little did he know, what welcomed him was a place he will deem hell on earth- with the dead rising and disease spreading through contact with those bodies. He wanted to venture deeper into the forest in hopes of finding more information about this crisis, while also confident due to the large army accompanying him yet the unceasing outpour of the dead has kept them from entering, prompting the army to build a temporary fort and a line of fortifications where they could stand their ground around the forest’s perimeter.

After sorting out the dead bodies, the soldiers then built barricades or repair the broken ones as means to hold off the undead swarm during a collision of the two sides. Arrows were restocked in the armory of an outpost, this will then be given to men assigned for the watchtowers. This was what they could only do, lay traps and hold off as long as they could, Norman would not do anything drastic unless with a larger army and an order personally given by the king. For now, they must hold the line, letting no undead breakthrough lest the disease spread all over the kingdom. One time, he raised a plan of burning the forest along with the dead in it, yet met great resistance from Marcus and other senior officers; the wrath of nature must not be taken lightly, they reasoned.

“Go report to the king of what is happening here, lad.” Said a man approaching from behind. The man had a long scar on his closed right eye, and a mustache reaching both his pale cheeks. He clapped Norman’s shoulder then sat steadily on a wooden log right in front of Norman, saying, “I’ll hold the undead here while you must bring reinforcements from the capital.”

“I never knew a duke can be ordered by a man lower than him.” Norman joked, having no malice in his words. He took off his helm and tidied his long ruffled hair with his hands, then proceeded to wipe the bloodstain off his sword.

“I am your mentor first, before any standing,” Marcus said sternly.

“Never could joke with a stone-hearted man,” Norman remarked. He snickered when Marcus humphed in response, it was always funny to joke about his mentor’s austerity- growing up doing so, remembering that he had even gotten smacked in the bottom when he was thirteen for it. Yet no matter what, the essence of respect will never vanish, for Marcus—a man worthy to be a man that all knights should strive to be— was the one who instilled all knight’s values to him. Even the man’s feats alone during the demon-subjugation war deserve the respect of every human in this kingdom.

An hour later. The army began marching back to their fort, leaving a quarter of them to man the watchtowers spread throughout the perimeter. In a way, these men were here as fodders to hold the undead off until the main army arrives. The soldiers knew it but for the kingdom and its people, they shall die. Norman glanced in pity at his men atop the watchtowers before he resumed striding forward. It wasn’t long before they reached a gorge where not far from where they stood, a tall wooden wall blocked the narrow pass. It was a little dark as dusk has just passed, torches were well lit around the wall and they could see patrols on it. Norman ordered a man to raise their banner high, while a soldier brought a torch to lighten up the area around the bannerman. Soon after, the gate opened and a small squadron came forward in a line to welcome the army’s arrival, an officer approached Norman to report- though there was hardly any worth listening to. Though a report did succeed in catching Norman’s attention, The academy researchers have progressed in finding out how the disease works, and so they asked for more test subjects, to which Norman happily complied; providing the corpses the army have preserved earlier with this objective in mind. The faster they find any result, the lesser the casualties. He was tired of all the bloodbath, and they had already recruited almost all men in the surrounding villages by now. Before proceeding to sleep in his tent, Norman conveyed orders to his adjutant about departing for the capital tomorrow at dawn, to prepare and inform the corresponding individuals that will accompany him in this journey.

“Is everyone here?” Before dawn, the adjutant brought the men listed by Norman the night prior. In response to Norman’s question, the adjutant nodded and had the twenty men form a line, included in them were four academy researchers whose task is bringing over a specimen to the academy for analysis from senior scholars as well as better equipment. He first briefed each of their names then checked if there are none missing in their supplies, next was bidding farewell to his mentor. Much to his annoyance, a noble— deemed landless now since he lost his lands from the dead —came over, requesting to tag along with their caravan in hopes of bringing his remaining wealth and servants to the capital. He accepted due to his noble oath, and though landless; the noble was still a viscount albeit in name only. Norman watched the servants, having the guards inspect them one by one for any sign of the disease, allowing them to enter their carriage once deemed safe.

“Do not dirty my robe!” An angered yell resounded throughout the grounds, stemming from a man in a loose robe. The man, whose face couldn’t be seen through his hood, did not let anyone touch him, showing blatant disgust to the guard in front. This made the guard helpless, the man seemed to be of high standing, and offending him would prove detrimental. He turned to Norman for help, greatly relieved when Norman gestured for him to leave. “Is he your relative?”

“No, My Lord.” The noble shook his head. He glanced at the man before answering, “The Lord is an archmage assigned by the king himself to administer lands east of Clementine forest.”

“Ah, is that so?” Norman turned his head towards this arrogant, grumpy man. “May I be honored to hear of the lord’s name?” He was very respectful with his words since an archmage has immense power that could topple a town by himself, even a city if he exerts his best.

“Andorin,” he answered coldly.

“A befitting name for an archmage, Lord Andorin. Do proceed now, and I am very sorry for the previous displeasure.” Norman slightly bowed his head and gestured Andorin to enter their carriage. He caught a glimpse of Andorin’s withering gaze at his guard as he entered, this arrogance shown by the mage made Norman dissatisfied. “It is time to depart, Lord Strawford.” Strawford was the nobleman’s name, he nodded politely to Norman while speaking a few flattering words in hopes to appease him over what had happened.

Before leaving, Marcus spoke to Norman of his suspicion. “I have never heard of any court mage called Andorin, lad. Have you?” Norman shook his head. Marcus thought for a moment before forming a conclusion, “I think there’s something wrong with that mage, the viscount included. Have your men watch over their every movement.”

“I will, Marcus.”

“Always be on guard, Norman. Holus guide your path.” Marcus placed his hand on his chest.

“Holus protect you.” Norman did the same.

During their journey back home, the beautiful flowers at the roadside reminded Norman of his beloved’s figure. The long parting made him long for her presence, he was like a bee thirsting to suck her nectar dry. His desire grew the more he thought of it, he hope for her to accept his love once he arrive. Hoping that she had a change of heart and her sweet smile had become his, shown only to him alone. Her heart was far more difficult to conquer than the surrounding territories of his dukedom, yet the thought of being able to successfully conquer an impregnable heart brings a chilling thrill deep in his veins. Her name is Maria, a lovely girl with a sweet smile that topples all there is, she has a sweet scent similar to raspberry- it made him wonder how sweet she would taste. Their union was very much anticipated by every citizen in the capital, a golden union, they call it. Yet the hardhearted girl refused to accept his proposals, each time leaving him broken-hearted. The sorrow does not last long as he has a way to relieve the pain, a method he could never disclose.

It took a whole week for their caravan to reach the valley outside the capital. From here they could see the towering wall of the city, and the large, intimidating cannons fortified on each of its sections. As they approached, they were greeted by coachmen of caravans from all around the kingdom, and as Norman’s carriage carried the insignia of both his household and the army- his caravan didn’t need to join in line for checking. The capital city is split into three districts, one for the noble and the rich, another for the commoners, and lastly, the slums. Entering through the main gate, what welcomed the caravan was the commoner district with its brightly-painted houses, their houses adorned with slates and meticulously arranged ornaments, while the long walkway lanterns and crowded streets during the night mended a joyful air. This reminded Norman that tonight was the eve of Winterday, and every noble must have gathered in the castle to celebrate it with the royal family.

The three districts were divided between a wall, whereas those who enters the noble district must be checked first and only the nobles or servants of a household are allowed entrance. There wasn’t a line in the noble district’s passage, as it was more direct and instantaneously since nobles had their crests instilled in their carriages, and the guards had memorized most; if not all household crests.

Viscount Strawford and his group split from the caravan, he spoke to Norman of housing his servants first in his mansion and a must-have preparation before attending the feast. Norman glanced at the viscount’s caravan, before hurrying to the castle.