Tybalt quickly channeled his mana—perhaps the most efficient he had ever been—pulling it from his center and directing it into his left hand.

  The open pot of porridge stood before him, still steaming, though the flame beneath it was quickly dying.

  The cook had probably extinguished it before he considered leaving his post. Slightly cold porridge was acceptable. Horribly burnt porridge was inedible.

  Tybalt blocked the pot and what he was doing to it from view with the right side of his body. If anyone who could see mana—just Lieutenant Sperry, among the squad—walked by, they would only see Tybalt standing there awkwardly.

  He tried to recall the exact feeling of the virus he had created previously, the way his mana resonated when he turned it into the stomach bug. Then he felt ready. As ready as he was going to be without another twenty minutes to think about this.

  He solidified the mana around his hand, then flung the tiny invisible monsters into the porridge, flicking his fingers as he did so—trying to get as much coverage as possible, like he was seasoning with cinnamon rather than effectively poisoning the squad.

  Then Tybalt stepped back to the opening of the hut, hid behind the left wall, peeked out—and popped his head back in.

  Shit!

  Private Lorenzo had turned and was walking back his way.

  Baldwin, cook coming back! Tybalt sent. Interference, please.

  Tybalt scanned the other exterior angle he could see from where he stood. No one was over there. Almost everyone was at the opposite end of the village. It was just Tybalt and the cook, assuming nothing happened to turn the Private around.

  He heard Lorenzo’s footsteps approaching the hut.

  No no no… Tybalt thought. Can’t be discovered here. Not when the Commander thinks someone’s been poisoning the food. And if I leave now, he’ll see…

  His eyes quickly scanned the hut for another exit, but of course there wasn’t one.

  So Tybalt prepared for the other solution. He loosened his dagger in its sheath. If the cook entered before Tybalt could slip out, Tybalt should be able to kill him. At least he would have the element of surprise.

  Private Lorenzo’s shadow fell across the opening in front of the hut, and Tybalt braced himself. He adjusted his grip on the dagger, holding it in reverse grip to more swiftly draw and begin stabbing.

  Lorenzo stepped into view, and Tybalt bent his knees slightly, ready to lunge and take the man’s feet out from under him just as soon as the cook set foot inside the hut. The darkness still hid Tybalt.

  Lorenzo peered inside the hut for a moment, squinted his eyes as if trying to see through the darkness—Tybalt tensed, waiting for the spark of recognition in Lorenzo’s eyes, waiting to strike—and then Lorenzo twisted his head to the side.

  Tybalt heard the voice a moment later.

  “Cook?” It was Baldwin’s voice, lowered so that only Lorenzo—and, just barely, Tybalt—could hear it.

  “Baldwin?” Lorenzo asked, his tone guarded.

  “Yeah, it’s me. There’s something over here, could you give it a quick look?”

  “Me? Um, yeah, one second.” Lorenzo turned fully away from the entrance, away from Tybalt, and walked around the side of the hut.

  Tybalt exhaled deeply. He hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath.

  He moved toward the hut’s opening with quick, assured steps, looked to both sides, and, observing no one who might see him, stepped out into the twilight.

  As he got out into the slowly dawning light, he realized everyone—apparently the entire squad except the cook—stood together in one spot. All the thirty-four people besides himself, including the Lieutenant and the Commander, seemed to be standing in a loose circle. He thought he could hear the Commander speaking in a low voice, but Tybalt could not make out the words. Volusia could command a crowd with that voice, even keeping it relatively quiet.

  All right, everyone’s still gathered at the other end of the village. I got away with it. I can slip back into the group. Time to find out what exactly is going on.

  He had just taken his first steps in that direction when he was interrupted.

  Master, come this way! Baldwin’s voice rang through his head. Around to the other side of the hut. Hurry!

  Tybalt only hesitated for a second before he turned and ran to follow Baldwin’s instruction. By this point, despite not having had much trust in Baldwin to start with, the revenant had more than proven his worth. If he wanted Tybalt to move his way quickly, the necromancer would do just that. There would be time for questions later.

  He darted around the side of the hut and saw Private Lorenzo lying supine on the ground. There was a puddle of blood beneath him, flowing from a single stab wound to the center of his chest.

  Just past the corpse, Tybalt saw Baldwin crouched on the ground, cleaning his knife off in the sand and grinning.

  Oh. That was why you wanted me.

  Now, master, before the others come around! Baldwin sent.

  Right, Tybalt replied, quickly overcoming his shock at seeing a dead squad member.

  Tybalt dropped to one knee. The necromantic power surged up within him more quickly and naturally now, as he had been using it just minutes prior.

  He placed his hand on Lorenzo’s collarbone, deliberately avoiding the site of the fatal wound, then pushed the energy into the other man’s chest. He felt the body wiggle and writhe immediately, responding to his touch.

  He also felt a slight weakness at his suddenly diminished mana, right before it was replaced by a surge of strength.

  Alerts flared up simultaneously.

  Yes! Man, that feels good…

  Suppressing the joy of leveling slightly, Tybalt dismissed the alerts almost as quickly as they had appeared. He needed to get a handle on the situation before he worried about his new skill. What sort of creature had he created? Obviously not a revenant or skeleton.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  “Graaaaar…” The creature that had once been the camp’s cook let out a low groan.

  Tybalt knew instantly that this was not an intelligent undead. Must be a zombie.

  Silence! he sent telepathically.

  The monster stilled immediately.

  Play dead, Tybalt added. Don’t move at all unless I give you the order.

  It was all right with him if the squad just treated the corpse of Private Lorenzo as they would treat any squad member’s corpse—preserve it, so that it could be delivered to his loved ones. That way, Tybalt could come back to it later. Alternatively, they might bury the body here in the desert, which would be even better, since Tybalt would not have to contrive a way to sneak the corpse out from under their noses.

  But even if the squad burned the body, he would be happy to have had the experience.

  Thanks, Baldwin, Tybalt sent to the revenant, who was putting his blade back in its sheath. Well killed. You were so quiet, I didn’t even hear you!

  Baldwin bowed his head and smiled. Master, we have to raise the alarm now.

  And Tybalt saw that Baldwin had a bit of blood on the front of his gambeson.

  Tybalt’s eyes widened.

  Baldwin, what are you talking about? he sent. We have to get out of here now!

  The revenant shook his head.

  No, master, it’s all good. We just need to be up front about what happened. We found his body.

  Tybalt gave the tiniest fraction of a head nod.

  Fuck it, it sounds like you have a real plan, he replied.

  Inside, he added, The blood is on you, not me…

  Baldwin stepped around Tybalt and into the central walk of the village, then cupped his hand around his jaw to carry his voice further.

  “Hey, I found another one!” he shouted.

  Tybalt stepped around the hut and looked down the path. He saw several of the members of the group peeling off to join him and Baldwin.

  Another one? Tybalt asked. What does that mean?

  Corporal Jackson is dead, too, Baldwin replied. That’s what has the camp in this panic.

  When? By who? Tybalt asked.

  I don’t know, Baldwin sent. It wasn’t your virus that killed him, I know that much. His throat was cut from ear to ear.

  What are the odds…?

  There was someone else in the area killing members of the squad. It had to be the beastfolk. Once in a blue moon, they tried actually defending themselves. That was the only plausible answer.

  Tybalt swallowed. He had not planned for this. To the extent that he had clear plans, he wasn’t certain if this helped or hurt them. What if Tybalt actually succeeded in killing off his squad? Would that just leave him a sitting duck for these beastfolk, who might very well see him as an enemy too? Would Volusia insist on heading back for reinforcements or take the squad charging into the mountains where these people probably made their homes? Was Vidalia involved somehow?

  Too many questions to answer right now. It would be a long day of seeking and getting those answers.

  At least this probably makes my story about getting ambushed by beastfolk before more credible, Tybalt thought.

  He quickly opened his system interface with a mental nudge. He could grab his new skill while the other members of the squad were closing the distance.

  Of course, there was only one skill for Tybalt to choose from. He would have more options when he reached level ten, when the second skill tier opened up. But for now, it was just Scrimshaw.

  He grabbed the skill, took in the description again in a single glance, and then dismissed it.

  Scrimshaw: Manipulate bone like clay to form weapons and other objects. Properties of the created object depend on the quality of the bone used. Consumes mana.

  With all those skeletons around me, at least I’ll never be without a weapon.

  And he could feel the increase in his strength from the new level. Only a marginal difference, but every little bit counted. He would be more powerful in a close quarters fight than he had been one level ago.

  He felt ready to face whatever happened next. Then a dozen other members of his squad stepped into close proximity with him and Baldwin, and they began rapidly speaking over each other, asking questions Tybalt could only half understand.

  “What happened to—”

  “Where were you—”

  “How long has he—”

  Tybalt was grateful the questions were directed at Baldwin. He himself still felt a bit shaken, but the revenant received all the inquiries stoically, with a sober expression on his face.

  “I just found him like this,” Baldwin said. “I had returned to camp and ran into Tybalt—he was in pretty bad shape tonight with this bug going around—and then I discovered the cook. Tybalt was right beside me at the time, he can confirm.”

  Tybalt simply nodded in response to the gazes suddenly turned in his direction.

  Yep, whatever story Baldwin is spinning is true.

  The other soldiers were muttering among themselves at this point.

  “A single death is one thing, but two?”

  “I thought this was just an easy extermination type deal.”

  “Maybe we were wrong about who’s getting exterminated…”

  Then the gaggle of men parted. Tybalt saw Commander Volusia and behind him Lieutenant Sperry and Privates Graven and Indus.

  “Baldwin, did you see anything?” Volusia asked, his voice all business.

  The revenant shook his head. “Tybalt and I just found the body here, sir.”

  The Commander nodded, then turned to Tybalt. Almost dismissively, he asked, “You didn’t see anything either, bastard?”

  “No, sir,” Tybalt said through gritted teeth.

  “Hmm.” Volusia turned away from Tybalt and engaged Baldwin again. “This was undoubtedly the work of the beastfolk, so I’ll ask no more about it for now. You knew Corporal Jackson, correct?”

  Baldwin nodded. “Yes, sir. I served with his father, Sergeant Jack, too.” He swallowed down what looked like a lump in his throat, and Tybalt wondered if he was witnessing real emotion from the revenant. “This ends a rather distinguished military line.”

  “I thought so,” Volusia said softly. “I’ll ask you to be the one to talk to his family after we get home, all right?”

  “Yes, sir,” Baldwin said, his voice slightly choked up. He stood ramrod straight, at attention, as he added, “Thank you, sir.”

  “At ease,” the Commander said. Tybalt saw a rare sympathetic expression on the man’s face. Then Volusia turned back to his other subordinates, the boot-lickers who had followed him there. “Indus, see if our cook had finished the morning meal before he was killed. If he had, see that the men are served. Our work can’t stop for anything, and a hungry army is a weak army. If he hadn’t finished, then cook the food the rest of the way yourself. We’ll come up with a more permanent replacement for Jackson back at base. Graven, you and Tybalt take Private Lorenzo’s body and put it with Corporal Jackson’s. They should both be preserved as best we can. Salt is a good preservative. The desert sand should work in a pinch. We have an empty barrel from all the men’s drinking. Put them in there.”

  Graven and Tybalt shared a hostile look.

  Then Private Graven turned to the Commander. “Sir, yes, sir!” he said loudly.

  “Yes, sir,” Tybalt followed up much less enthusiastically.

  Volusia had already turned away, back to Private Indus.

  “Once the men have eaten, we’re immediately going to pursue these fuckers,” the Commander said, baring his teeth. “Pass the word. Make sure the men are ready.”

  “Commander, can I have a word in private?” Lieutenant Sperry asked quietly.

  He frowned and then shrugged.

  “Certainly, Lieutenant.”

  Tybalt watched as they walked off into the space between two of the huts, outside his hearing range, for a conversation. He couldn’t imagine what they might be talking about.

  A moment later, as he was trying to read their lips, Graven stepped up.

  “Well, bastard, let’s shift this body,” he said.

  Tybalt raised an eyebrow but silently grabbed hold of Private Lorenzo’s legs and went along with Graven. For now, that was the strongest move.

  Author's Note: The story up to chapter 11 of Book 2 is now available on !