"Fallen Knight?"

  Duncan flinched as if I'd slapped him, his eyes flashing with sudden rage. His hand tightened around his bloodied sword, knuckles whitening beneath his gauntlets. For a heartbeat, I thought he might charge at me—but then his gaze met mine, saw the genuine confusion there, and the anger drained from his face.

  "I suppose it was only a matter of time before you found out," he said, his voice hollow as he wiped zombie ichor from his blade. "Yes, I am a Fallen Knight. Not something I advertise."

  "It's a class forced upon those who once bore the mantle of Holy Knight," Duncan continued, sheathing his sword with practiced precision. "When a Holy Knight loses faith in the goddess Liora, the System strips away all divine abilities and replaces them with... something else. Something darker."

  I glanced at the zombie remains sinking slowly into the muck. "So you lost your faith in the goddess?"

  "After my father's murder, how could I not question?" Duncan's eyes darkened. "I prayed for answers, for justice, for any sign that Liora still watched over her faithful servant. Only silence answered."

  The pieces clicked into place—his reaction to the holy symbol I'd offered him, the fact he wasn’t even wearing one himself, the way he'd flinched when Lady Miriam mentioned his faith.

  "His replacement ability is necromancy," Hellene interjected, leaning on her staff as she surveyed the carnage around us. "Specifically, the power to raise and control the dead."

  I stared at the decomposing corpses scattered around us, their waterlogged flesh already beginning to sink back into the swamp. "But if you can control them, why were they attacking you?"

  Hellene snorted. "Because he isn't exerting any mental control over them. Without guidance, the undead revert to their base nature—hunting the living."

  Duncan's jaw tightened. "I didn't summon these intentionally."

  "That doesn't answer my question," I pressed. Keeping secrets was practically a necessity in my old adventuring party. I wanted us to be honest with each other if we were going to work together. I wanted it to be different.

  With a resigned sigh, Duncan raised his hand. A translucent blue panel materialized before me—a party interface window I hadn't seen since leaving the Heroes Party.

  Horror washed over me as I processed the implications. "The zombies at your estate... the ones that killed your guards... you created them?"

  Duncan's face was a mask of shame and defiance. "Not by choice."

  "But you knew this would happen," I said, struggling to keep accusation from my voice. "You knew if you didn't use the ability, it would activate on its own. Why would you risk—"

  "Do not presume to judge me!" Duncan's voice cracked like thunder. "Would you have me desecrate the dead? Force souls back into rotting flesh to serve my will? I'd rather die than become the very thing I once swore to destroy!"

  The vehemence in his words startled me into silence. For a moment, the only sound was the soft bubbling of the swamp and Osirus's wings as he landed on my shoulder.

  "Caw! Dead is dead! Bodies just empty houses! Souls already gone to next place!"

  "It's not that simple," Duncan muttered, his shoulders slumping. "Not for me."

  I took a deep breath, trying to process everything. "Look, I understand your reluctance. But people died because of this—your own guards."

  "Don't you think I know that?" The raw anguish in his voice made me wince. "I've tried everything—isolating myself in remote areas, seeking cures from the church, even attempting to have the ability sealed. Nothing works."

  Hellene watched our exchange with calculating eyes, her staff pulsing gently in the gloom. "The System doesn't offer escape clauses, boy. Once a class is assigned, it's yours until death."

  "I don't want to talk about this anymore," Duncan said flatly. "Not here, not now."

  I studied his face—the rigid set of his jaw, the haunted look in his eyes—and decided to back off. For now. "Fine. But we're having this conversation before another week passes. I'm not risking uncontrolled undead killing innocent people."

  Duncan gave a terse nod, relief flickering across his features.

  "Well, now that we've sorted that little revelation," Hellene said drily, "perhaps we should discuss our next move." She tapped her staff against the soggy ground. "I assume you have some sort of plan beyond 'steal from the Heroes Party'?"

  "Send me a party invite," she demanded, holding out her hand expectantly.

  I complied, the blue interface materializing before her. She accepted with a tap of her finger, and I felt the familiar mental connection of a party bond forming.

  [Hellene Gardens has joined the party] [Party: Will Walton, Duncan Lasair, Hellene Gardens, Osirus]

  "Four in a party," I mused, scrolling through our combined stats. "It's a start."

  "A start for what, exactly?" Hellene asked, one eyebrow arched.

  "I know of a Four Sigil Dungeon near the capital," I explained. "We should hit that first—gain experience, gather treasure, build our strength before we tackle the Five Sigil Dungeon."

  Duncan nodded, understanding dawning on his face. "The Four Sigil would be challenging enough with our current levels. We're nowhere near ready for a Five Sigil."

  "The Four Sigil might even be too much for us," I admitted. "But we need to start somewhere. And we’re running out of time—the Heroes Party won't wait forever."

  Hellene's violet eyes gleamed with a predatory light. "It’s time I avenge my former student. I've spent enough years hiding in this swamp. I will return to the world—and showed those self-righteous 'heroes' exactly what happens when they cross a master enchanter."

  As we made plans on how to leave the swamp, I couldn't shake a growing sense of unease. Our little band of misfits—a one-handed scout, a fallen knight who couldn't control his powers, an embittered enchanter, and a talking raven—hardly seemed like the group destined to challenge the Heroes Party.

  It just showed revenge could lead to some interesting allies.

  Hellene needed a day to store materials and books from the tower. There was a guest bedroom in the tower where Duncan insisted I sleep on the bed while he took the couch. He may be a Fallen Knight, but he was also a chivalrous knight.

  Hellene didn’t have a Inventory Box, that was a perk exclusive for Heroes like the Scan ability. But she had a magic backpack very similar. I saw one wooden box after another stuffed inside the backpack, never causing it to look bulkier. The one peek she allowed me to have of the inside showed a endless darkness. If I had to guess, she took about a third of her materials and books at the tower.

  When I asked her if she was worried about the rest, she just gave a wicked smile and told me that Duncan and I didn’t run into all the monsters she had collared.

  The next day we were heading back to our horses. Just as Duncan promised, they were still there.

  The horses nickered at our approach, Valor tossing his head proudly while my mare stomped nervously. I couldn't blame her—after two days in a monster-infested swamp, we all smelled like death and decay.

  "Just two horses for three people," Hellene observed, her nose wrinkling as she surveyed our mounts.

  "You'll ride with me," I said, already calculating the weight distribution. "My mare can handle us both until we reach the next village."

  Hellene's violet eyes narrowed. "I haven't ridden double since I was a girl."

  "It's that or walk," Duncan pointed out, checking Valor's saddle straps. "Unless you have some enchantment that lets you fly."

  "If I did, I wouldn't be sharing it with you," she snapped, her staff pulsing angrily.

  I mounted first, then offered my good hand to help Hellene up. She ignored it, using her staff for leverage as she awkwardly clambered onto the mare behind me. I felt her settle against my back, stiff as a board.

  "Put your arms around my waist," I instructed. "You'll fall off otherwise."

  "I'd rather take my chances with gravity," she muttered, but reluctantly complied, her thin arms encircling me with obvious discomfort.

  Osirus took flight overhead, his white feathers stark against the gray sky. "Caw! Osirus will scout ahead! Make sure path is safe!"

  As we rode out of the swamp and onto firmer ground, I became acutely aware of the tension radiating from Hellene. Her body remained rigid against mine, and she kept as much distance between us as physics would allow while still maintaining her grip.

  "You're going to exhaust yourself holding that posture," I said over my shoulder. "It's a long ride to the next village."

  "I'll manage," came her clipped reply.

  The journey was uncomfortable in more ways than one. Whenever Duncan rode alongside us, I could feel Hellene's body tense even further. The few times they exchanged words, the air between them crackled with barely contained hostility.

  "We should reach Willowbrook by nightfall," Duncan announced after several hours of riding. "Small farming village, but they should have an inn."

  "And stables," Hellene added pointedly. "I'll be purchasing my own horse. I refuse to travel like this any longer."

  "Your poor old bones can't take the jostling?" Duncan asked, his tone just shy of mocking.

  Hellene's fingers dug into my sides. "Better old bones than a faithless soul."

  I felt the temperature drop several degrees despite the afternoon sun. Duncan's face hardened, his mouth opening to give an angry retort.

  "Caw! Look at that magnificent cloud!" Osirus suddenly swooped down between our horses, wings flapping dramatically. "Shaped like Osirus! Nature recognizes greatness!"

  The absurdity of his claim—the cloud in question looked nothing like a bird—broke the tension. Duncan closed his mouth with a eyeroll, and Hellene's death grip on my waist relaxed slightly.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  This pattern repeated throughout the day. Whenever Duncan and Hellene's verbal sparring threatened to escalate, Osirus would interject with some outlandish observation or demand for attention. By the time we reached Willowbrook, I was mentally exhausted from the constant emotional whiplash.

  I was also a little ashamed I couldn’t diffuse the tension myself. If I was going to lead this group to a Four Sigil Dungeon, I needed to motivate them to get along. Unfortunately my only example of a party leader was someone who used threats, abuse, and murder as his methods of leading. Not exactly a great role model.

  The village was exactly as Duncan described—a collection of thatched-roof buildings clustered around a central well, surrounded by fields of wheat and barley. The villagers eyed our strange group with wary curiosity as we made our way to the small inn.

  The Willowbrook Inn stood at the village center, a two-story structure of weathered stone and dark timber that had clearly witnessed generations of travelers. Its sign—a faded painting of a weeping willow creaked on rusty hinges as we approached, the sound oddly welcoming after days in the wilderness.

  True to her word, Hellene purchased a dappled gray mare from a local farmer before we'd even secured rooms for the night. She paid with a small pouch of gold dust that made the farmer's eyes bulge.

  "You've been carrying gold dust this whole time?" I asked as we led our horses to the inn's modest stable.

  "A master enchanter keeps materials for both crafting and trading," she replied, patting her new mount's neck. "I've bartered with crazier things than gold dust when necessary."

  Later that evening, after a simple meal of rabbit stew and dark bread, I found Hellene alone in the inn's small garden.

  She stood in the center of the small garden, a pocket of green amid the drab buildings. Herbs and flowers grew in tidy rows, their gentle fragrance drifting on the evening breeze. A stone bench sat beneath an old apple tree, its gnarled branches heavy with unripe fruit.

  She sat on the stone bench, grinding something in a mortar and pestle by the light of a small magical orb hovering above her shoulder.

  "May I join you?" I asked, keeping my voice low to avoid disturbing the quiet night.

  She nodded without looking up, her hands never pausing in their rhythmic grinding.

  I settled beside her, watching the hypnotic motion of her work for several moments before gathering my courage. "I wanted to ask you something. About Duncan's... condition."

  "I wondered when you'd bring that up," she said, still focused on her task. "The undead summoning is troubling you."

  "It's not just me. It's troubling him too." I shifted, choosing my words carefully. "I was wondering if you could craft something—an item that would prevent his ability from triggering without his consent."

  Hellene's hands stilled, her eyes lifting to study my face. "Of all the requests I expected from you, given my skills as a Crafting Enchanter, this was not one of them."

  "What did you expect?" I began, curious about her assumption.

  "It doesn't matter," she interrupted, returning to her grinding with increased vigor. "And to answer your question—no, I cannot create an item that would prevent his ability from triggering. The System doesn't allow for such direct circumvention."

  My heart sank. "Oh."

  "However," she continued, her voice softening slightly, "I believe I can craft something that would help him. Not prevent the triggering, but perhaps give him more control over what happens when it does trigger."

  Relief flooded through me. "That would be perfect. Whatever materials you need, take them from my share of the dungeon loot."

  Hellene's head snapped up, her eyes flashing dangerously in the magical light. "Do you think I require payment to help prevent innocent deaths? That I would need to be bribed to do what any decent person would do?"

  "No, I didn't mean—" I stammered, taken aback by her sudden anger.

  "Save your apologies," she said, waving her hand dismissively. She set aside her mortar and began pulling various materials from her pouch—a small vial of crimson blood, what looked like crushed bone, and a paint brush. "I'll need a personal item from him. Something he's carried for at least a month."

  "I'll ask him in the morning," I promised, watching as her fingers mixed blood and crushed bone into a thick paste.

  "No need to wait," she said, not looking up from her work. "He is watching us from the second floor of the Inn.”

  I found myself turning and true enough, he was watching us from a window with his thick arms resting against the window sill.

  “The belt pouch he wears—the one with the Lasair crest. It should do, ask him to bring it."

  I turned and gave Duncan a awkward wave as I approached. Did he hear everything we said? The window was only twenty feet from the inn’s garden.

  “Could you come down and bring your belt pouch? Ms. Gardens is going to try to help with the whole… undead thing,” I said, wincing and glancing around. Luckily it was a slow night for the inn and no one else was around to hear my awkward call out. Duncan simply nodded from the window, disappearing back in his room.

  Only a few minutes later he walked out from the backdoor, wearing common garments instead of his armor. A hand rested on the belt pouch tied to his side.

  “I appreciate whatever help you can give Lady Gardens,” Duncan said, sounding more formal than usual. Whatever annoyance he felt about the enchanter appeared suppressed at the idea of having her help with his unfortunate ability.

  Hellene rolled her eyes at Duncan's formality. "For Light's sake, both of you need to stop with the 'Lady Gardens' and 'Ms. Gardens' nonsense. Just call me Hellene. We're conspirators now, not strangers at a royal ball."

  She extended her hand toward Duncan, fingers curling impatiently. "The pouch. Give it to me."

  Duncan hesitated only a moment before untying the small leather pouch from his belt and placing it in her outstretched palm. Hellene immediately laid it on a flat garden stone beside her bench, the Lasair family crest—golden flames against brown leather—glinting in the magical light.

  I watched, fascinated, as she dipped her paintbrush into the crimson paste she'd created. With precise, deliberate strokes, she began painting arcane symbols across the pouch's surface, each rune flowing into the next in an intricate pattern that seemed to shift before my eyes.

  "Blood binds to intent," she muttered, her voice barely audible. "Death recognizes want."

  As she worked, I noticed the air around us growing noticeably colder. The torches mounted on the inn's exterior walls flickered and dimmed, as if something was drawing their energy away. My breath began to fog in front of my face despite the summer night's warmth.

  Duncan stood perfectly still, his eyes never leaving the pouch as Hellene continued her work, murmuring words in a language I couldn't understand. The magical orb above her shoulder pulsed with an eerie blue light that cast strange, elongated shadows across the garden.

  With a final, decisive stroke, Hellene completed the last rune. The symbols flared briefly with a dull red glow before fading into the leather, leaving no visible trace of her work.

  "Done," she announced, picking up the pouch and holding it out to Duncan. "Take it."

  Duncan accepted it with a reverence typically reserved for holy relics, carefully retying it to his belt. As the pouch settled against his hip, his expression shifted from solemn to puzzled, his brow furrowing as he seemed to feel something I couldn't see.

  Suddenly, his puzzlement transformed into pure, unbridled joy. A laugh erupted from him—deep and genuine—the first I'd heard since meeting him.

  "What?" I asked, confused by his reaction. "Why are you laughing?"

  "The pouch," Duncan managed between chuckles, "it's cursed. She cursed me!"

  I looked to Hellene, who merely offered a smug, self-satisfied grin in return.

  "Yes," she confirmed, her violet eyes twinkling with mischief. "I most certainly did curse him."

  "Have you both gone nuts?" I demanded, looking between them. "How is being cursed a good thing?"

  Duncan's laughter subsided to a broad smile. "Will, scan the pouch. See for yourself."

  I focused my attention on the leather pouch, activating my Scan ability.

  [Lasair Pouch - belt pouch, CURSED item, trait- Any creature summoned by the wearer will immediately and exclusively target the wearer with murderous intent, ignoring all others.]

  Understanding dawned on me as I processed the implications. "So when your ability triggers..."

  "The undead will come straight for me," Duncan finished, his smile never faltering. "Ignoring any innocent bystanders completely."

  "It's elegant, if I do say so myself," Hellene remarked, cleaning her brush with a scrap of cloth. "The System won't allow you to prevent the summoning, but it has no rules against influencing the behavior of what's summoned."

  "This is..." Duncan seemed at a loss for words, his hand resting on the pouch with something like reverence. "This changes everything. I won't have to isolate myself anymore. No more innocent deaths."

  "Don't get too excited," Hellene cautioned, packing away her materials. "You'll still have to deal with undead trying to tear you apart once a week. And they'll be quite determined about it."

  "I can handle that," Duncan said with absolute confidence. "I've been fighting the undead since I was a squire. And now that I know they'll only target me, I can prepare properly."

  "Thank you," I said to Hellene, truly meaning it.

  She shrugged, but I caught the hint of genuine satisfaction in her eyes. "We can't have our party's knight getting civilians killed. Bad for our reputation."

  "I am in your debt," Duncan said formally, bowing his head to Hellene.

  "Oh, save the knight's honor for someone who cares," she replied, but her tone lacked its usual bite. "We should rest. Tomorrow we begin the journey to your Four Sigil Dungeon, and I suspect none of us are prepared for what awaits."

  Hellene had been quick to gather her supplies and was already heading to the inn. I’m pretty sure she found all the gratitude a little uncomfortable. Duncan turned to me, grin still in place.

  “Thank you as well. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t have done this if I was the one who did the asking.”

  Before I could respond, Osirus swooped down from the inn's roof, landing on my shoulder with his usual lack of grace.

  "Caw! Secret night meetings without Osirus? Not fair! Osirus has best ideas!"

  "We weren't excluding you," I assured the indignant bird. "We thought you were sleeping."

  "Osirus never sleeps when interesting things happen!" He tilted his head, eyeing Duncan's pouch. "Magic feels different now. Cursed thing? Smart cursed thing!"

  Duncan nodded solemnly. "Very smart. Your friend Hellene has given me a great gift."

  "Not friend yet," Osirus declared, fluffing his feathers importantly. "Osirus reserves judgment until she proves worthy of friendship. Must pass Osirus's tests!"

  "And what tests might those be?" I asked, amused.

  "Secret tests! Very difficult! Maybe impossible!" Osirus announced before abruptly taking flight again. "Going to check perimeter! Important guardian duties!"

  As the raven disappeared into the night sky, Duncan and I exchanged glances.

  "He's quite... unique," Duncan observed diplomatically.

  "That's one word for it," I agreed. "But I wouldn’t trade him for anyone else."

  “You appear to have a strong friendship with him.”

  “I… I guess I do,” I said, trying not to look embarrassed. For the first time I realized I had a best friend. Yes, they were a talking bird with a giant ego, but still I had a best friend. I never had that before. Patrick definitely didn’t count as one now that I thought about it.

  We made our way back into the inn, the common room now empty save for a sleepy-eyed innkeeper polishing mugs behind the bar. I thought for sure Duncan was going to head upstairs, instead though he headed to the bar and signaled for a beer. After a moment of uncertainty, I joined him.

  Two wooden mugs were slid our way, filled with amber liquid. I won’t lie, it took all my will power not to scrunch up my face after sipping the beer. Sometimes I wondered if the beers back on Earth tasted better. Duncan took a couple of long gulps of his compared to my sip. Now I felt even wussier compared to him than before.

  I noticed though the grin was gone and a more solemn look was on his face.

  “You were right to be angry with me.”

  The words took me by surprise as I glanced at him. His blue eyes stared at the wood wall in front of him, hand tight on the mug handle.

  “My guards did die because of my negligence. I normally leave the manor grounds and go far into the forest when I know the ability will soon trigger.”

  “So what happened?” I asked, used to this type of scene. One thing I learned as a scout is when people wanted to share and when they didn’t want to share. Duncan definitely wanted to share his story.

  “Lady Miriam, the priestess at my home, convinced me she found a way to suppress the ability. She learned a spell which created a holy ward on a person. Supposedly they couldn’t use any hostile abilities while inside the ward. The idea was the summoning of undead would be seen as a hostile ability and be neutralized. But the spell only worked on holy ground.”

  “So you could only test it at the chapel,” I said, thinking back to when I met him there.

  “And it of course failed with the zombies showing up at the very doorstep of my home,” Duncan grumbled, taking another swing of his beer.

  “I’m a little confused on the details about that, did they just magically show up from thin air or did corpses literally rise from the ground,” I said, hoping that speaking on the technicalities of the ability might distract Duncan from his guilt.

  “A little bit of both. What you may not understand is our lands are old… very old. The oldest history books claim humans walked these lands at least ten thousand years ago. It may not seem that way because monsters and the occasional rise of a Demon King trims away the population. The point I’m trying to make is you can’t even walk fifty feet without accidentally stepping on some spot where someone was buried once centuries ago.”

  “The ability just needs to sense bodies buried, even if those bodies are nothing more than a couple of bones due to time. Then it magically brings those bodies to the surface much more whole than they were before. Skeleton structure made complete and even flesh regrown, admittedly rotted flesh. Then you have yourself a summoned zombie.”

  I have to admit, I wasn’t doing the best poker face because Duncan snorted so hard he sprayed beer after glancing my way.

  “Oh don’t look so terrified my friend, I’m not studying to be a necromancer. My family has several tomes on how necromancy works purely for the purpose of slaying those necromancers and their creations. I had been reading everything I could on spells about summoning zombies in hopes of getting rid of the ability.”

  “And you found out the zombies weren’t just monsters made out of magic, but based on actual bodies,” I said, feeling like I now had a better idea of how Duncan saw the situation. Duncan’s eyes turned hard as he went back to staring at the wall.

  “Aye, if they were just monsters with no actual link to real buried bodies, I might have been able to bring myself to use this disgusting power instead of shying from it. But this horrible magic takes those buried and makes them weapons. Those like my father…”

  I was officially out of my depth. I made for a good listener. I could get people to share and I knew when to back off.

  But I didn’t know what the right thing was to say here.

  I think Duncan could see the struggle on my face. He gave a grin and slapped my back so hard, I nearly stumbled out of my stool.

  “Oh don’t look so glum friend. This really isn’t a night for sorrow, but for cheer. I’ve finally gained a control of sorts on this dastardly ability. And it’s thanks to you and Hellene. I’ll see you tomorrow morning for our journey,” Duncan said, ruffling my hair as he got up. I swiped his hand away with an eyeroll, but smiled.

  It was nice hearing someone call me ‘friend’ and appear to really mean it. It’s been… quite a long time since that happened.