A/N: This fic contains graphic violence and disturbing imagery, so reader discretion is strongly advised. The fic is rated M for a really good reason. Also, the fic contains spoilers for several Trails games all the way up to Cold Steel 2 and possibly beyond.

R&A Research, Ruan, Liberl

After spending a couple of days in Calvard appraising the site and failing to discover anything useful, Alan Richard had decided to head home to Liberl. It was up to his wide network of informants now, the one he'd begun cultivating as head of the Liberlian Army's now-disbanded Intelligence Division, and he could manage that more easily from Liberl than Calvard. All he had to do was pull a few strings and watch the pieces fall into place.

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he admitted to himself that there was an ulterior motive for leaving the ruins: they'd been starting to fill him with an indescribable dread. It wasn't anything concrete he could identify, but between Aeolia's discovery about the walls of fossilized flesh and a recurring, vaguely menacing symbol he kept seeing in the caves, it had been an enormous relief to leave. He'd jotted down the symbol — a downward arch dotted with five equally-spaced inward-facing spikes — but nobody seemed to recognise it, not even Kevin, so he'd forwarded it to some of his own sources to see if anyone knew anything.

Alan flicked through his thickly-scrawled diary before giving up and paging his secretary. "Kanone, do I have any appointments today?" he asked. Sometimes he didn't know what he'd do without Kanone Amalthea; she kept better track of his schedule than he ever could, both now and back when she'd served as his second-in-command in the Intelligence Division.

"Yes, sir. You have a follow-up appointment at 1000 with ZCF's factory chief Murdock regarding potential foreign markets," Kanone replied through the intercom, referring to the head of Liberl's state-run orbment research enterprise. "The mayor will be seeing you after lunch at 1400."

"Thank you, Kanone. It appears we're not too busy today but be ready for drop-in customers." Alan sipped at his tea while turning his attention to a sheaf of reports from Erebonia. He hadn't got far before his phone rang, and he put down his teacup to answer it.

"R&A Research, Alan Richard…" Alan's greeting was cut short by an ear-piercing shriek of excitement, forcing Alan to pull the receiver away from his ear.

The voice belonged to a particularly excited young woman whose speech seemed to be getting faster with every word. "Alan Richard? The big cheese himself? Yes! Just the man I was looking for! The name's Katie Lee, I'm a reporter with the Altair Times and boy do I have a big scoop for you…"

"Please remember to slow down and breathe, miss! What's this big scoop about?" Alan said, wondering how exactly the hotshot reporter had come to find him in the first place. He heard Katie take a few deep breaths before continuing.

"All right, so you're trying to dig up dirt about whoever hired a bunch of Jaegers and sent them to some creepy desert ruins, right? Well, yours truly has some juicy info on exactly that!" Katie continued. "So, how about a quid pro quo? I scratch your back and you scratch mine?"

"And what exactly is it that you want in return, Miss Lee?"

"Call me Katie!" she chirped. "And as for what I want... I want to know what those Jaegers were doing, why they were hired, what they were searching for, what got them killed, when —"

"I think I get the picture," Alan said, cutting her off before she could build up any more steam. "Very well. I accept your deal. Now, tell me what you know about whoever hired the Jaegers."

"The good news is that he's a senator, but the bad news is that he's dead and-"

"What? He's dead? How?"

"Chill out! I'm getting to that. Basically, the Interior Guard were raiding his office at dawn a couple of days ago as part of an anti-corruption sting when they found him dead," Katie said, slowing down as she explained. "After some digging by yours truly into his finances, it's perfectly safe to say he was the one who hired those Jaegers. You know how all of them got killed by something in those ruins? Turns out that it wasn't all of them after all: a few of the Jaegers stayed behind and didn't go inside. The IG thinks they got back at the senator for sending their buddies to their deaths."

"You sound a bit skeptical about the Interior Guard's explanation," Richard said. "Is there something else behind the official line?"

"Bingo! It turns out the remaining Jaegers were found dead in a nearby warehouse," Katie explained as her voice dropped to a near-whisper, almost as if she was reciting some urban legend. "Those IG guys think they just got greedy and killed each other, but I don't buy it at all. You…you sure you want to hear the rest?"

"By all means. Everything helps."

"Well, I managed to catch a couple of high-ranking IG officers sloshed out of their mind at a bar, and they're all saying the same thing," Katie said slowly and quietly. "'Yin is back.'"

"Oh, my. That does sound quite disconcerting," Alan said, a shiver crawling up his spine from the mere mention of the legendary assassin. "Thank your information, Miss Lee. Is there anything else?"

"Nah, and that's all I got for now, sorry," Katie said. "Well, I held up my end of the deal. Now it's your turn. For starters, all the Bracers have been cagey and antsy since the Jaeger slaughter fest in those ruins, but nobody from the Guild is giving out details."

"Have you tried talking to Nial Burns from Liberl News?" Alan asked. "He probably knows more…"

"Of course I talked to him! He was just as cagey as all the Bracers I interviewed," Katie said. "Nial seemed to take the case really personally too."

"I see. He has every reason to. Imagine two young, well-liked, and talented rising stars in the Guild that you've known for a few years. Imagine them not only saving your life, but also the entire nation they call home," Alan sighed deeply to compose himself before continuing. "Now, imagine them disappearing while taking on an extremely dangerous request…"

?

Estelle looked around frantically, searching for any sign of life. "Hello? Is anyone there?" But there was no answer, only the deafening silence of a dark void as far as the eye could see.

She tried again anyway. "Hello...?"

A muffled cry off in the distance caught Estelle's attention. As much as she strained her eyes, she couldn't make out any discernible shapes. Concerned about some kind of trap, she advanced carefully, her staff at the ready.

"Who's there?" she asked, hoping to get some kind of answer. Although the crying became more distinct and clearer as Estelle approached, she still couldn't make out any words. Suddenly, the crying stopped.

"Grandpa?" the voice said faintly.

"No, I'm not your grandfather," Estelle said as her pace quickened. "I'm just a Bracer. Hang on, I'll be right there."

"Grandpa, you don't look too good," the voice said. "Wh-what are you doing?"

"What's happening over there?" Estelle asked, breaking into a light jog. A thick, sickening unease welled up inside her. "What's wrong with your grandpa?"

"Grandpa, no!" A shrill scream rang out, and Estelle instantly recognized it as the little girl she saved from the elderly undead.

"Hang on, I'm coming!" Estelle called out as she sped up. Suddenly, she was surrounded by the howling of the risen dead. With no way of seeing anything ahead of her, Estelle had no choice but to forge ahead.

"Grandpa, no!" The little girl screamed again, but there was a subtle shift in her tone.

"Can you hear me? Follow my voice!" Estelle called out again as she kept running. Sweat started to form on her brow, more out of fear than out of exertion.

"Grandpa, no!" The scream sounded different, and also more familiar.

"It's okay, I'm almost there! Just keep running!" Estelle said, trying her best to tune out the unholy moans that still surrounded her. Something's not right. That voice…

"Grandpa, no!" The girl's voice suddenly became much clearer, and very different from the little girl Estelle had saved. It was a voice that had always brought joy to Estelle, full of bright curiosity…

"Tita? What are you doing here?" Estelle was running as fast as she could, hoping to sweep in and save Tita before it was too late. "It's me, Estelle! Just run towards my voice!"

"Grandpa, please! Why—" Tita's fearful, desperate plea was interrupted by a shrill scream full of pain and hopelessness, cut short by a sickening tearing sound. Then there was only a ragged gasping that quickly fell silent.

"Tita! No!" Estelle screamed as tears welled up in her eyes. Suddenly, what was left of Tita Russell came into full view in front of Estelle. She tried to force herself to look away, away from the long blonde hair stained by Tita's own blood, away from…

Estelle shot up in her bed, gasping, reeling, and covered in a cold sweat. She found herself surrounded by darkness once more, but it was the calming darkness of the barracks and not the oppressive void that she was just in. It…it was just a nightmare.

Estelle flopped back onto her mattress and shut her eyes, but sleep would not come no matter how much she twisted and turned. Even from behind closed eyelids, she still saw the grisly sight of the dead villagers and her ears were still full of terrified screams and the moans of the dead from earlier that day. I was too late. I should have been there!

Accepting the fact she wasn't going to fall asleep any time soon, Estelle slipped on her boots, leaving her pajamas on and her hair loose, and crept out of the barracks. At night, the Hamlet's streets were dark and dreary. The constantly looming clouds which blocked out the sun also prevented any moonlight from shining through. The only sources of illumination were oil lampposts sparsely spaced along the town square, the occasional glow from the windows of families that still stayed up, and the torches carried by the night watch. In the dim lighting, Estelle could make out bloodstained cobblestones that hadn't been cleaned thoroughly enough, leaving a faint rotting stench lingering in the air.

The Hamlet felt like a tomb, and the horrific events from earlier that day only reinforced the comparison. Estelle didn't want to spend more time than necessary in the dimly-lit streets, so she headed straight for the Tavern. She pushed open the door leading into the somewhat better-lit watering hole and found it even emptier than the Hamlet's streets, which at least had roaming patrols. Aside from a barmaid and Tardif, who had his back turned, Estelle was the only person there.

"Good evening, Miss Estelle," The barmaid said as Estelle took a seat at the bar. "What will it be?"

"I'll have 'The Reward'." Estelle said. Without a word, the barmaid quickly poured a dark-colored liquor into a glass before setting it in front of Estelle.

Estelle stared blankly into the glass. Mr. Heir had decided to reward the efforts of Dismas, Baldwin, the four Crusaders, and herself with a bottle of rum he'd imported from some distant island, but she was in no mood for celebration. The empty Tavern and the stygian mood throughout the Hamlet were in stark contrast with the lively good cheer merely a day ago, and Estelle felt like she was partially responsible for it. She had gotten over the shock of seeing walking corpses rather quickly, since she was no stranger to fighting fantastical and horrifying enemies but seeing the bodies of the slain villagers lying on the bloody ground...

This has never happened before… I've never had an innocent bystander die on my watch. Did I get sloppy? Am I a bad Bracer? Estelle wiped a stray tear from her eyes, barely paying attention to someone sitting down next to her. After a minute or so of hesitation, she raised the glass to her mouth with shaking hands, eyes squeezing shut at the rum's intense bite. The aftertaste, coupled with memories of the villagers who couldn't get away from the corpses in time, caused Estelle to cough and gag.

"Are you all right, Estelle?" The voice beside her belonged to no other than William, causing Estelle to look in his direction. A part of her was relieved it was the Houndmaster who caught her sulking instead of someone else.

"Yeah, I'm good. The booze is just kind of strong, that's all," Estelle replied as she wiped her mouth, unwilling to unload her mental turmoil on him. "Where's Annabelle?"

"She's enjoying some well-earned rest, but I can't say the same about you," William said, staring straight at her. "I know that look in your eyes far too well because I've seen it in the mirror plenty of times myself. Come on, what's ailing you?"

Should I tell him? Being a cop, he'd probably be able to figure it out anyway. Estelle gulped some more rum before setting her glass down, letting out a ragged sigh before speaking up. "Bracer Code, Article Two: Bracers and Their Duty to the People. 'In the event of unjust imperilment of citizens, the Bracer's sworn duty is to bear the responsibility for the citizens' safety.' William, how many people died today?"

"Six." William sighed and shook his head. "That's six too many."

"Then you get what I'm talking about. That's six people who will never see their friends and family again because I was too slow," Estelle slammed a fist down at the countertop as tears welled up in her eyes. "Six times I failed as a Bracer!"

William said nothing for almost a minute as he sipped from his beer mug, his brows knit in thought. "What was your track record like back home?" William asked after a pregnant pause.

"Zero. Joshua and I always kept civilians safe. Yes, we had to deal with monsters, criminals, and some pretty freaky things, but we never let that faze us." Estelle paused, composing herself while thinking back to the fellow Bracers and other allies who fell in the line of duty. "The two of us had to deal with losing friends a couple of times, but never did we let an innocent bystander die on our watch."

"Were you saddened by their deaths too?" William asked, yet there was no hint of interrogation or accusation in his tone.

"I sure was, and Joshua had it way worse than me this one time. But we know they died fighting and doing their jobs to keep innocents safe, and the best we could do is to fight on for their sake," Estelle replied, looking straight at William. "These people, they're different. They died scared and alone, begging and praying for someone to save them. That someone should have been me."

William nodded slowly after hearing Estelle's words. He frowned as he took a swig from his beer mug, as if deep in thought once more. "Estelle, would you be so kind as to listen to an old lawman ramble? You remind me so much of myself when I was younger, with fire in my stomach and a hunger for justice. Like you, I too had companions in the form of fellow lawmen who I thought I could trust with my life. And while my wife wasn't part of the force, she still supported me with companionship and warm meals after a long day at work. She was a strong yet gentle woman, and a proud mother to two wonderful children."

Estelle nodded as she sipped on her rum, her attention fully focused on William. Did something go wrong?

"I had been part of the constabulary for a couple of decades when the shire I was from had a string of disappearances, and I was eventually tasked with the investigation when no one else could solve the case. I did eventually discover one of the victims, but the truth…it destroyed me. The poor girl, I still remember her face when I arrived. I was too late. She was already dead!"

William had a frantic look in his eyes as he paused to down a few more gulps from his mug, and Estelle was glued to her seat with rapt, horrified attention.

"Many members of the force, including senior leaders like the chief and the mayor, were in on the disappearances! They were part of a cult that was sacrificing innocent people to some dark god. I barely escaped with my life, but my family…they weren't so lucky. My home, my wife, my children…the lawmen who I thought were my brothers-in-arms destroyed them all in the span of one night! I fled that accursed shire with nothing but the clothes on my back and my Annabelle. If there were other honest lawmen, they didn't make it out alive."

"William…" Estelle said, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder while he chugged the rest of his mug. Poor man, and I thought Lloyd and his team had it tough. I can't imagine other Bracers turning on me like that.

"My investigation eventually led me here, and I have been in the service of the local lord ever since. As for my former colleagues, let's just say they were eventually dealt with." William then looked at Tardif's table.

Estelle also looked towards Tardif, who was too busy enjoying his drink to notice their stares. "What are you trying to tell me, William? Wait, don't tell me…"

"It's just as you think, but that's a tale for another day. I believe Tardif could tell it better if he's willing to tell it at all. He's not one for words," William said before taking on a sterner tone, one that reminded Estelle of her own dad whenever she was being too mean to Joshua as children. "Your spirit and drive are commendable, that much was evident given how you were the first person to respond to the attack. However, in this place, sometimes you can do everything right and it's still not enough. In fact, it's rarely good enough. Deaths are a certainty rather than a possibility."

Estelle slowly nodded as she set down her glass. This is a dark place compared to home. Alfred already told me about how much these people have suffered, but today really hit it home. No amount of moping will bring back those innocent people, but there's something else I can do…

"So what you're trying to say is that I need to treat civilian deaths the same way as I treat Bracer deaths?" Estelle asked softly. "That I need to fight on for their sakes and bring the one responsible to justice?"

"I don't think I mentioned that part…" William raised an eyebrow, but a small smile crept up his face.

No, you definitely didn't. I was just blind to that really obvious answer. Estelle finished the rest of the drink and slowly stood up, allowing her vision and balance to adjust to her somewhat intoxicated state. "Thanks, William. You're a real friend."

With a pat on the William's shoulders, Estelle walked back to the barracks with her spirits lifted and purpose made clear.

Hamlet

After the undead attack, the remainder of the day had been taken up by a quick memorial service to the ones who perished, followed by a massive pyre for the victims as well as their unwilling attackers. The Heir then placed the town watch on high alert until the Necromancer Lord could be dealt with. Patrols became more frequent, and laborers were busy constructing barricades throughout the streets. Afterwards, the Heir busied himself with more paperwork dealing with reconstruction, trade, and the Hamlet's overall administration. After finishing up his work for the day and forcing down a late supper, the Heir decided to read a novel until a knock on his office door interrupted him.

Alfred's voice came from the other side. "Pardon me, My Lord, but Reynauld wishes to speak to you."

"Very well, send him in," the Heir said, and the veteran Crusader soon entered. He was a far cry from the inspiring and stalwart soldier he had always projected himself as in public. Instead, the veteran crusader looked sad and vulnerable, just like that day in the Tavern when he had told the Heir and Dismas his full story. The Heir took out two glasses and poured whiskey into both before pushing one to Reynauld, who gratefully took it.

"Good evening, old friend. What ails you?" the Heir asked.

"My Lord, I understand this request may be tactically unsound, especially coming from myself," Reynauld said before pausing to take a sip. "I humbly request thee to replace Estelle with Junia as the healer for the expedition against the Necromancer Lord."

"Do you not trust the Bracer, Reynauld?" the Heir asked in surprise. "I was under the impression you two had struck up a rapport."

"To win this coming battle, I must devote myself fully to victory, with no room for mercy. My brothers and I shall strike without restraint nor humanity, for our foe has none either. The Bracer…Estelle, for all her remarkable abilities and skill, is innocent. I do not wish her to see what I can become," Reynauld said. "If she were to accompany us, she shall witness a part of my past that should never see the light of day."

The Heir kept his face impassive as he considered his next words carefully. "Reynauld, you and Dismas have been with me ever since the start of our ordeal. I think of you two not just as my most trusted strategists and confidants, but also as my friends. Our friendship dictates that I must point out the folly in your thinking," the Heir said, taking on a soft tone he never used in public. "I assume you know the importance of bringing a healer, correct? Would you rather perish than have the Bracer think you a monster?"

"I am fully aware of the need to bring a healer for every expedition, My Lord. I am also keenly aware of how Estelle's healing 'Arts' are far more potent than anything Junia could muster," Reynauld said. "Yet I still wish to bring Junia instead. As a fellow adherent of the Light, she knows far better than Estelle about the evils of necromancy and why its practitioners must be given no quarter!"

"Junia may be aware of the theological justification behind slaying the Necromancer Lord, but the Bracer is a far stronger fighter than that Vestal could ever hope to be. She could very well be the only healer who could withstand the horrors which may lie in wait in the throne room, and the only one who could ensure all four of you will survive!" the Heir retorted. "You are a soldier. You know full well the success of this mission, and therefore the safety of the Hamlet, is of greater import than your concerns and theological musings!"

Instead of answering, Reynauld simply sat still and stared at the Heir in silence. The nobleman had a feeling he had touched a raw nerve by speaking so lightly of the old Crusader's beliefs.

"My apologies, old friend. That outburst was unbecoming of my character, and I did not mean to belittle your faith," the Heir said. "Reynauld, you have showered me with nothing but accolades for the Bracer's bravery after that battle with the Prophet, and those who went with her on other expeditions have the same high opinion of her. Do you consider yourself to be a good judge of character?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"Then do you think the Bracer will sever her friendship based on your predicted ferocity in the coming battle?"

"I…well…" Reynauld stammered and paused for a few seconds. "No, My Lord. If she could tolerate a radical such as Damian or that damned Abdul, then I see no reason she would regard me with animosity."

The Heir nodded firmly. "Very well, then. I consider this matter settled. The Bracer shall accompany you in your battle against the Necromancer Lord."

"I have no further objections, My Lord," Reynauld nodded, shifting uncomfortably in his seat before looking out the office window.

"Is something else troubling you?" the Heir asked, concerned about Reynauld's visible unease.

"My heart and soul are not at ease, but I cannot discern any precise reason," Reynauld said. "I only know that it is caused by our undead foe."

"I supposed more libations are required if it will help you sleep through the night," the Heir poured more whiskey into their glasses. "Drink and rest, so that you may renew your strength for the days to come."

Two Days Later

The time leading up to the first team's departure was spent finalizing team composition and plans of attack. Aside from Junia and one of Reynauld's more experienced Crusaders, it was decided that Dismas and Missandei would join the first team. Meanwhile, the second team would be composed of Estelle, Reynauld, and two other Crusaders. Although Baldwin had been part of the first ones to respond to the undead attack, it was decided he would remain in the Hamlet and assist in its defence. At the break of dawn on the day of departure, the Heir rose early in order to see the first team off.

He found them near the Hamlet's edge, where the Old Road tapered off towards the sole bridge leading into town. Barricades had been erected behind the bridge in order to create a choke point that was barely wide enough for a single stagecoach, and there were extra guards on alert for further incursions. The second team was there as well and busy conversing with the first team. Unwilling to interrupt their farewells, the Heir stood off to one side to listen in.

"Take heed to follow Dismas and Junia's advice, Brother Lucian," Reynauld instructed the Crusader on the first team. "They are well-acquainted with the dangers that unholy castle has in store."

"I shall not fail you, Brother Reynauld," Lucian said. "On the honor of the fallen, I shall accomplish my mission."

"Remember our plan. As soon as someone sees my flare, you four need to hurry towards the Ruins and be ready for battle," Missandei said. "Make sure you are all well-rested and ready. Do not respond to any raids unless the situation is truly dire."

"You hear that, Estelle? Don't stretch yourself too thin," Dismas told Estelle before pointing at Reynauld. "That big lug there is itching for a fight against those bony bastards, so make sure to rein him in. Let Barristan and Baldwin run the show if the Hamlet does get attacked."

"You got it, Dismas. Be careful and come back in one piece, you hear me?" Estelle said with a grin.

"I always do. Got the luck of a devil and all that," Dismas chuckled before looking past her towards the Heir. "Got some word of wisdom before we go, boss?"

"Indeed I do, but I shall keep it concise to minimize any delay. The risen dead is a clear indication our foe must not be trifled with. For the safety and prosperity of the Hamlet, he must be eliminated. All eight of you, as well as those who remain in the Hamlet for these two expeditions, have important roles to play in this climax," The Heir said, and the eight were in rapt attention. "With the Necromancer Lord's amassed power and his insidious raids collecting corpses, the only reasonable conclusion is that the battles ahead will be even more gruelling than anything you have experienced in the past. But do not lose heart in the face of this dark threat, for we are the flame, and darkness fears us!"

"Well said, My Lord. Perhaps we could come together in prayer before we depart?" Junia suggested.

"That is s a splendid idea, sister. Even those who are not devout or do not share our faith are more than welcome to join us," Reynauld said, sweeping an arm towards Estelle, Dismas and Missandei. "Thou art invited as well, My Lord."

The Heir nodded and joined the eight adventurers in a circle. He bowed his head in silence, listening to Junia's supplication for protection and victory. It was a small moment of peace for everyone present. The circle dispersed after the prayer finished, and the first team set off on their way. The Heir and the second team watched them follow the Old Road for a few minutes before turning down a side path and disappearing from their view.

"Come on, guys. Let's go to the Guild," Estelle said, being the first to head back into the Hamlet. "We've got a few days to get ready, so let's work out some tactics."

"A sound plan, Estelle," Reynauld said as he followed. "Come, Brothers."

The Heir followed them back into the Hamlet, passing more barricades and roving patrols along the way. He parted ways with the other four at the town square, watching them enter the Guild before heading back to his office. In the split second after the Heir sat down at his desk, Ambrosius appeared in front of him.

"Every creature has a weakness. The wise hero trains for what she will face," the phantom said ominously.

"What are you referring to?" The Heir raised an eyebrow.

"The three Crusaders and that 'Bracer', of course," Ambrosius replied. "Their training will be much needed in the days to come."

"I take it you have some insights to provide?" the Heir asked.

"Indeed, I do. That attack, that senseless bloodshed. I was behind it, in a fashion. But you already know that, do you not?" Ambrosius said.

"I had an inkling you were responsible in a way, but how?" the Heir asked, expecting more vague statements and non-answers.

"Mastery over life and death was chief among my early pursuits. I began in humility, but my ambition was limitless. Who could have divined the prophetic import of something as unremarkable... as a twitch in the leg of a dead rat?" Ambrosius began. "I entertained a delegation of experts from overseas, eager to plumb the depths of their knowledge and share with them certain techniques and alchemical processes I had found to yield wondrous and terrifying results. Having learned all I could from my visiting guests, I murdered them as they slept.

"I brought my colleagues back with much of their intellect intact - a remarkable triumph for even the most experienced necromancer. Freed from the trappings of their humanity, they plied their terrible trade anew: the dead reviving the dead, on and on, down the years. Forever." Ambrosius finished his tale, leaving the Heir's mouth agape in disgust and shock. After a few silent moments from the Heir, Ambrosius spoke up once more. "This is the terrible truth behind the skeletal legions infesting the Ruins, and I fear the last 'survivor', the delegation's ringleader, has some grand and terrible design which will consume the Hamlet if not stopped in time."

The Heir broke out in a cold sweat, disgusted that the forefather he formerly admired in his youth had resorted to such atrocities all in the name of knowledge and discovery. Gasping, reeling, he sat down at the base of the statue, leaning against it for support.

"You…you fiend…" he muttered under his breath. "What have you unleashed? What manner of horrors am I…are we facing?"

"The legions of risen dead are all you need to concern yourself with for now," Ambrosius said as he began to fade away. "Steel yourself for the trials ahead."

West Entrance

With Barristan occupied elsewhere, Missandei on an expedition, and Reynauld being ordered not to engage except in the direst circumstances, the defence of the western portion of the Hamlet fell to Margaret due to her status as a noble. Over half of the town watch had been committed to the defence of the western entrance with the remainder either on standby or patrolling the waterfront. Spearmen and swordsmen were on the ground, and crossbowmen as well as archers were on the rooftops. While she was chatting with some of the militiamen, the Abbey's bell sounded.

"Please return to your homes! Threats approach from the west!" the town crier shouted at the top of his lungs.

"To arms! To arms!" Margaret shouted after she climbed up a ladder leading to a house's roof, joining several archers. To get a better look at the enemy, she took out her trusty lightweight hunting telescope. "Hmm…there's over forty of them, mostly bone rabble and a handful of bone arbalests. Archers and crossbowmen, get ready!"

Margaret continued to peer through her telescope at the advancing enemy. Her hunting instincts served well as she picked out landmarks along the Old Road that would help her determine the enemy's distance. Steady…steady…just a little closer…

As soon as the first rank of skeletons marched past a tree stump, Margaret ordered the troops to fire their arrows and bolts. The projectiles found their mark, shattering bone and sending half the invasion force clattering to the ground in pieces. Although the archers and the crossbowmen were quick in reading the next couple of volleys, a lot of bone arbalests were still left intact due to their armor. The marching force stopped its tracks, and the front ranks of bone rabble and arbalests dropped to their knees, giving the last rank a clear shot.

"Take cover!" Margaret cried out as she flattened herself against the roof. While most of the town watch were able to get behind the barricades, a handful were too slow and thus became victims to the bone arbalests' bolts. The vengeance from the town watch was swift and merciless. The arrows and bolts, combined with a musket shot from Margaret, obliterated the attacking force. Before Margaret could take a breath of relief, the sound of marching feet echoed down the Old Road once more. A quick glance through the telescope revealed a much larger force, consisting of bone rabble, bone arbalests, and bone bearers.

"All archers and crossbowmen target the bone bearers first! We don't want them raising the dead again! Fire on my command!" Margaret commanded as she reloaded her weapon. "Those of you on the ground, bash in the heads of your dead! We don't want their corpses turned against us!"

While bows and crossbows were nocked, Margaret looked through her telescope at the second wave. That's it, you flag-waving bastards. Just a little closer…That's it! They passed the stump!

"Fire!" she commanded, and the whistling of arrows and bolts soon followed, joined by a shot from Margaret. The volley took out some of them but not as many as she had hoped.

"Hurry up and reload! Do not let them blow their trumpets!" Margaret commanded as she desperately slammed the ramrod down her musket's barrel. Damn it, I'm running out of options! Unless…

Margaret's train of thought was interrupted by a long tone from the bugle of one of the bone bearers, causing the fallen bone rabble and arbalests to slowly put themselves together and rise once more. The risen foes continued their advance, with the majority funnelling onto the bridge while a few waded into the river. No…I'm too late…Think, Margaret, think! The bridge is a natural choke point, and the ones in the river have to climb over the barricades.

"Infantry, defend the gap and hold the line! We can't let them go further than the bridge!" Margaret commanded, barely able to contain the panic in her voice. "Archers and crossbows, fire at will! Prioritise the bearers first, then the arbalests! We can't let this cycle continue! If you see any enemies climb over the barricades, fire at will!"

"My lady, this cannot continue. We need additional reinforcements!" one of the archers next to Margaret told her.

"I know," she said curtly before taking out her hunting horn from its pouch and blowing on it in order to signal for reinforcements.

"The rest of you, keep firing into the enemy's rear ranks until they're laying on the ground in pieces! We can't afford to have them shooting at us and reviving their own dead!" Margaret said right before she shot another bone bearer. Okay, that one hit. Good. Four more to go…

"Where are the reinforcements?"

"Why won't they die?"

"We need that staff-wielding girl and her strange magicks!"

Fire, pour the powder, then the shot, ram it down, aim, fire again. With the chaos and din of battle, each step in the process was agonizingly long, and every shot felt like an eternity. Deep down in her mind, she had an inkling fear that her ammunition would be depleted before the enemy ranks did. I can't miss…I can't afford to miss…I'd rather die than miss!

A few more militiamen arrived, along with a group of adventurers who were assigned to the western entrance. Margaret's relief was short-lived when an archer next to her loudly grumbled about how there were so few reinforcements for the battle.

"Stop complaining and start shooting!" Margaret shouted at the archer, being close to breaking point herself. She felt a familiar tingle all over the back of her neck, a hunter's instinct that would only flare up if some unseen danger was approaching…

Ruins

"Mmm…yes…" the Necromancer Lord muttered to himself as he observed the battle through a bone bearer which he assumed direct control over. "The second phase of my plan is progressing well. This pathetic Hamlet cannot last long."

Out of all the skeletal troops under his control, the commanders retained the most of their intellect and knowledge. Out of those commanders, a particularly ancient general had not only strategic insight, but also some capacity for speech. That allowed the Necromancer Lord and his coven, before they had been put down for good, to focus on refining their arcane knowledge while relying on the general for advice on all things military. It was during one of those strategy sessions that the general had brought up a particular advantage the undead had over the living. The Necromancer Lord intended to exploit that advantage in full in his campaign for vengeance.

He had learned of the Betrayer's demise shortly after it had happened, but his thirst for vengeance was eternal. The Necromancer Lord had vowed long ago to bring ruin to the Hamlet and all those who lived within. A key part of the plan was to turn that Prophet to his will, then setting up a cult that the Necromancer Lord could manipulate from the shadows. The arrival of the new lord, who was apparently a descendant of the Betrayer, was initially seen as a minor obstacle. Yet that lord's intrepid lackeys had shrugged off losses and braved numerous assaults, eventually slaying his two apprentices and putting the Prophet to the sword.

The matter grown worse when a strange new arrival managed to slay the Prophet for good and burn his corpse into a pile of smouldering ashes, leaving the Necromancer Lord with little in the way of options outside of gathering raw materials to build up his army for a powerful two-pronged assault on the Hamlet. While the first prong was in position and applying steady pressure, the second prong had taken a longer, more challenging route that would yield a greater payoff in the long run. If all went well, the first prong would wear the defenders down via a battle of attrition, leaving them vulnerable, and then the second prong would be able to destroy the rest.

"Hmm…the next wave should arrive along the Old Road soon," the Necromancer Lord mumbled beneath his hood. "The Hamlet's fall shall only be a matter of time."