Tybalt barely avoided losing consciousness.

  As darkness clawed at the edges of his vision, a new level hit and pulled him back from the brink.

  He broke his fall with his right hand, catching himself before he could hit the ground too hard and wind up with sand stuck in his greasy hair. His fingers screamed in protest as sand scraped against his raw flesh, and his battered arm bones screamed just as loudly, but he shoved the pain down.

  Tybalt checked his status briefly and found that he had 6/67 mana. His head swimming with the hangover from a very brief mana exhaustion headache, he nevertheless quickly deduced that he had hit empty… for about a second. Each level gave him roughly an additional five or six points of mana, by adding three to fortitude and four to will. It was only the level up, after Generate Undead succeeded, that had partially refilled his tank, saving him from a much worse headache and possible unconsciousness.

  Why the fuck did it take all my mana to turn this kid into an undead? Tybalt thought angrily. Then he shook his head. Don’t ask stupid questions. You already know why…

  The real question was what new kind of undead he had on his hands. It couldn’t be another revenant.

  The dead boy was sitting up, looking at Tybalt with a curious head tilt. That same green glimmer stood out in the edges of the creature’s irises now that Tybalt knew to look for it.

  “Sit still,” Tybalt said quietly, warily. If the corpse was a ghoul or something equally vile, Tybalt had no expectation that he would know his master before receiving a command.

  The creature obeyed. At least, he did not spring upon Tybalt immediately. The small body went still and simply remained staring at the necromancer, unblinking, with cold dead eyes.

  Tybalt had to resist the urge to order him to close his eyes or look away. He didn’t want to look weak in front of his undead. Tybalt turned his head and noticed Baldwin standing close by. In the moment when Tybalt swooned, the revenant had apparently moved in close to his master’s side, ready to tend to him in some way.

  It brought home to the necromancer that he and the revenant really were on the same team now. Baldwin clearly understood it implicitly, to the point that his body acted without needing much time for thought when Tybalt appeared to be in some sort of trouble.

  But it also showed just how visibly vulnerable Tybalt was.

  “Thank you for, um, reacting, Baldwin,” Tybalt said.

  “I hope you are all right, master,” Baldwin said agreeably. “Think nothing of it.”

  His calculated expression reminded Tybalt of a similar look, when Baldwin had provided a rat for Valmont.

  Right, he’s still the same ass-kisser as before I turned him, Tybalt reminded himself. He’ll do anything to look good to the person who controls his fate. I need to always remember that’s who he is. And maybe worry less about how I look in front of him…

  “I should be fine,” Tybalt said. “One moment…”

  He opened the dead boy’s status and started by looking at the numbers.

  “These numbers don’t make much sense…” Tybalt murmured.

  Will and fortitude were much too high, while the other numbers showed parity with the mother’s.

  Then his eyes jumped to the top of the table, taking in the race of undead.

  It’s a type I don’t remember reading about, Tybalt thought.

  It was not terribly surprising. The book contained the descriptions of dozens of categories of undead, and Tybalt had focused mainly on the sections discussing his own abilities and the more common versions of the creatures: skeletons, zombies, ghouls, wights, ghosts—and on the most powerful types that he fantasized about one day creating, like the lich.

  This one must be somewhere in the middle of those two extremes.

  “What is it, master?” Baldwin asked.

  “Ma-s-s-ster,” the dead boy said slowly, as if trying on the syllables for size. “You?” He tilted his chin at Tybalt.

  “I am your master, yes,” Tybalt said. “What do you remember?”

  “My p-p-parents,” Hieron said, pointing with his chin at his zombified parents, who stood among the other undead. Tybalt had the distinct impression that the fext was trying not to move any more than necessary, to avoid disobeying Tybalt’s first command—and he mentally released it.

  The fext turned to face Baldwin and pointed an accusing finger.

  “You killed me!” Hieron hissed.

  Stutter’s gone, huh?

  Baldwin, for his part, stood unruffled.

  “I did, on the master’s orders,” Baldwin said. He tilted his head in a nod to Tybalt.

  Thanks for that, Baldwin, Tybalt thought sarcastically.

  “Keep your voice low, Hieron,” he said quietly. “We are outside the Nietian Army’s camp right now. Far enough away that they shouldn’t hear us, but I can’t be certain of that. We don’t want to get any attention. You would be destroyed immediately if the squad there caught you.”

  “Understood, master,” Hieron said. He bowed his head humbly, but Tybalt noted a certain cast to the fext’s lips—and a look in the eyes as the boy raised his head back up.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Is that contempt?

  Well, it made sense. Hieron had just learned that Tybalt had ordered both of his parents killed. Tybalt would have had contempt for the man who did that, too, back in that pleasant moment when he thought he had two loving parents. The necromancer nevertheless quietly told himself that he would find a way to drain the contempt out of the boy. It did not do, in a military hierarchy, for the lower ranks to have visible contempt for the upper ranks.

  Eventually, there would be more free willed undead in Tybalt’s force. To some extent, they would likely take their cues from how the more senior undead behaved.

  I need to do some research on this creature.

  “Go with Baldwin and the reanimated corpses of your parents and the others,” Tybalt said. He was speaking to both Hieron and the undead broadly, but he focused on the fext. “After Baldwin leaves, you will be responsible for guiding and protecting the rest. During the day, you and your companions will hide from any and all humans or other intelligent life forms. You will do whatever you need to do to remain hidden and keep your comrades hidden, because if a human were to discover you, you would be destroyed. If you have the opportunity, kill wild animals to gain levels. Don’t put yourself or the others at unnecessary risk. Also, all of you undead are to always do anything needed to protect me from physical harm unless I order you otherwise. You are forbidden to harm me unless the harm is necessary to save my life. Aside from obeying me, the chain of command is Baldwin at the top, followed by Hieron. Obey either of their commands unless they conflict with my orders.”

  Tybalt felt the need to be careful in giving his new creation orders, because he didn't know what the normal parameters of a fext’s behavior were, and he didn’t want to check Unholy Forces right in front of both Hieron and Baldwin. It would make him look like he didn’t know what he was doing.

  He knew that some undead could try to twist orders or evade commands in various ways. If Hieron could potentially disobey him, he wanted to make certain that the fext knew the reasons for Tybalt’s instructions, which were within the fext’s rational self-interest.

  “Whatever you require, master,” Hieron replied. There was a faint but unmistakable sullen note in his tone, Tybalt observed now.

  Confirmed. The fext resented him.

  Fine. As long as you obey me nevertheless…

  Tybalt sized the creature up for a moment. Hieron had straightened up, but he still held himself with a strange posture, as if he’d had some undiagnosed spinal condition that had only worsened after death.

  Such low stats mean I could kill him really quickly myself if necessary, Tybalt thought. It wouldn’t even take long. He pondered whether he should do it for a moment, then shook his head. You’ve read too many folk tales of horror, written by superstitious people.

  None of those folk tales had even addressed the myth of the fext—Tybalt had never heard of it before in any context—but he felt a bit like he was in a folk tale now. He had a strange feeling that he might regret not killing Hieron while he had the chance. In one of the two folk tales Tybalt had read about necromancers, the necromancer had been killed by outraged townspeople led by a priest. In the other, the dark mage was ripped apart by his own creatures.

  Tybalt had to remind himself those were spook stories, designed to keep ignorant and superstitious peasants in line. If he chose to believe the stories, he would have to give up using his class entirely.

  From what Vidalia told me, I'm destined to either be executed as an outlaw or rise to be a king, he reassured himself. He tried to ignore the fact that he did not know that the fox woman was real rather than a figment of his imagination—or the invention of some hostile deity, manipulating him through his dreams. Or an independent agent with a completely different agenda nevertheless not his own.

  He slowly rose to his feet, still conflicted.

  “Shall I be going, then, master?” Hieron asked, looking up at Tybalt.

  For a moment, the necromancer observed a bit of the child that Hieron had been shining through the inhuman visage of the fext. It was simply in the cast of the boy’s face and only for a second.

  He had to suppress a shudder at the sight.

  “Yes, get a move on,” Tybalt said brusquely.

  “Will you be all right to go back on your own, then?” Baldwin asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes,” Tybalt replied. “I’ll still be limping, but in truth, the levels plus the potion you gave me have healed most of my hurts. I’m going to have to fake being in worse condition than I am.”

  “Just don’t wash off the blood,” Baldwin suggested. “Not to worry, you still look like shit.” He smirked, waited a moment, then added the word “master” at the end, suggesting deference that was belied by the rest of the sentence.

  “Good for me,” Tybalt replied, rolling his eyes. “Get out of here before I find more tasks for you to do.” He turned to address the other gathered undead. “All the rest of you, follow Hieron here—” He pointed—“and obey him as you would me or Baldwin until I give you instructions otherwise.”

  Baldwin gave a quick bow and picked up the head of the decapitated man in his right hand. He told two of the other undead to take the body below the neck. Then Baldwin stretched out his free hand to Hieron. To Tybalt’s mild surprise, the undead child actually took Baldwin’s hand. The two figures began walking away from Tybalt, looking oddly like father and son except for the multiple zombies and skeletons that trailed behind them—and the headless body that they transported.

  Tybalt shook his head, took a leak—he didn’t intend to leave the village the soldiers had commandeered again tonight unless it was absolutely necessary—and pulled his pants back up.

  Then he returned to camp. As he walked, he played up his very real injuries. The guards looked at him without any sign of surprise or suspicion, and he was able to quickly move down the main walkway and crawl into his hut without saying anything to anyone. He sent Baldwin the latest information on the positioning of the guards, since the revenant would need to sneak back into camp.

  Tybalt lowered himself back into his bedding slowly and carefully. Markus was asleep now, and Tybalt had no interest in waking him. The fewer people observed Tybalt closely, the easier it would be for him to fake being hurt worse than he was.

  He slept a short time longer, shallowly, a restless and sadly dreamless sleep this time, before his curiosity, the aches throughout his body, and sheer nervous energy woke him again.

  He saw the thin light of the morning that was beginning to dawn through the hut’s flimsy door, and he recognized that it was bright enough for him to read by.

  I’m not going to get very good sleep while this process is ongoing, he thought. Not until the squad is dead. Why even try? The only dreams that feel right…

  He didn’t allow himself to verbalize the conclusion of that thought. It felt weak. Dependent.

  Instead, Tybalt hid underneath his covers, used his storage ring to call out Unholy Forces, and began to read. Even though Markus was asleep, a little part of him suspected that Markus might be faking it—might have been ordered to spy on him. So Tybalt behaved in as paranoid a manner as he could while still obtaining the information he wanted. He might not have privacy all the rest of the day.

  He could barely see the words, with the thin daylight and his covers between him and the light source, but he strained his eyes and managed.

  Tybalt finally looked up what sort of creature a fext was.

  The entry was unfortunately brief.

  “The fext is a form of free willed undead unique in its intelligence. Similar to vampires, a fext has a high likelihood of being talented at generalship and/or magic. Unlike a vampire, a fext ages like a member of its original species until it reaches a state of advanced maturity, at which point it stops. The fext nevertheless tends to remain physically weak throughout life, even if its original species tends toward strong physicality. However, the creature is extremely difficult to kill. Only glass weapons can inflict permanent damage on its body. The fext will gradually repair damage suffered via any other weapon type or by magic. Their physiology requires further study…”

  There were notes in the margins, too, but they contradicted each other.

  “A gift from the heavens! My unit is so much more effective…” came right above “What are you talking about? Fucking schemer…”

  Well, I’m glad I didn’t try to kill it just now, at least, Tybalt thought. Where would I even get glass weapons?

  Then again, a broken bottle would probably qualify. He continued reading.

  “The fext is a very rare form of undead. However, there is a significantly elevated chance of creating a fext when the necromancer performs his art on a child.”

  That’s pretty sick. My odds of success in creating a future mage or general are increased if I use Generate Undead on a kid, then… He was reminded of the fact that he got enhanced experience for performing particularly evil acts. I guess I already knew I acquired a fucked up class…

  “The fext’s personality is a twisted version of its personality in life. They have no loyalty toward anyone or anything other than their creator. Their characteristic emotions are contempt toward all living things and an abstract desire for destruction.”

  So, the contempt I saw was real, but I shouldn’t take it personally. Got it.

  He shook his head, then stored the book inside the ring once more.

  He lay in his bedding indecisively for a moment, thinking about going back to sleep, yet aware that with the light beginning to show outside, the whole squad would undoubtedly awaken soon.

  Then a voice outside made the decision for him.

  “Tybalt?” Lieutenant Sperry said. “I think we should talk.”

  Patreon support.