Author Responses:

OwleVogele314: Again, thanks for pointing that out. That's a pretty big oversight on my part.

Annoying POW marine: Well, you might be surprised on how said POWs will get treated this chapter, but you'll get it once the circumstances get laid out. And yeah, in spite of Lyle's many fuck ups, he's definitely starting to get it together so to speak. And you'll see that people like Sybille are going to be crucial in making sure it stays that way.

Ayman El Kadouri: Well thank you very much! I appreciate that you liked that battle since writing those tend to be my favorite part of this fic! As for Bohemond I can promise you he ain't dyin' this chapter. You'll soon see why.

Superfanman217: Lol and merry Christmas now.

RandomSovietFarmer: Yeah, Gerome has really gotten the short end of the stick probably more than any other character I've written in this story, and I can promise you, it isn't really intentional! It's just how things have kind of turned out. But, don't worry, things will start to sort of turn around for him!

Zerkil: To answer your question, Lyle will definitely dabble more into ghosts like Kemmler did, since he inherited much of the former Lichemaster's skill. Though he will dabble with skeletons like has throughout the story.

Laxard: For now, yes. Eventually though Even Ranald has to take pity on those with ill fotune.

Guest: MOOOOAAAAAAR

…

Emmerich fidgeted with his fingers, the silence becoming unbearable, save for the distant sound of what could only be described as thunder. Sometimes, it came in booming bursts; other times, it went off like a cacophony of thunder, repeatedly clapping on the ground. He'd heard tales of what gunpowder sounded like from his father and other knights who had fought with him, but their tales didn't do the sounds of it any justice.

It was a wonder man didn't break and run from the mere sound of it alone. Even from the distance from the battle, he could practically feel his bones rattle from the reverberations that his eardrums were picking up.

Even the one-eyed peasant boy who sat across from him inside the carriage was affected by it. Rudy was his name, if Emmerich could recall correctly. For every cannon or rifle that went off, Rudy trembled ever so slightly, yet not nearly as much as Emmerich did. It was cold comfort when a peasant was as unused to such weapons as a noble like himself, but at least it was something.

They'd been sitting inside the same carriage he had originally been riding in since his kidnapping, and honestly, Emmrich couldn't find it in himself to complain. Considering what Lyle had seen, and his father had allowed, he'd been treated far better than Emmerich thought he would. Sure, he'd gotten more than a fair share of dirty looks from the young peasant across from him, but it was better than being maimed, killed, or used for some unholy experiment that necromancers were infamous for.

Part of him felt as though this wouldn't last long that his father would do what he always had even before Emmerich had been born: Trounce the enemies of Brettonia, which would have his name be sung in the halls of those inside and outside Bastonne while receiving praise from the king of a job well done.

And why shouldn't Emmerich think this? His father had slain armies and all manners of beasts, whether orc, beast or, in this case, undead.

Yet, this time, the doubt that was usually very minor and packed away in the deep recesses of his mind was much more everpresent. The fact that he himself had been captured was only the tip of the iceberg in terms of concerns that he had.

The heir was trying anything that he could to keep his mind off, but simply trying to ignore the peasant who looked to be roughly the same age as him and think of perhaps any books he hadn't had the chance to read only brought thoughts back to his father, which inevitably turned his mind back to the battle.

A never-ending loop of constant worry wasn't healthy, he knew, but it always came back to that.

Eventually, the blonde-haired heir decided to try his chances. "Pea…what can I call you?"

The peasant turned his scarred face toward him carefully, the arrow he had been working on whittling now. "Rudy."

"Rudy. Erm, I do hope that you don't mind me impressing upon your attention and time for a moment, but-

"Get on with it, noble." The youth frowned. "I'm not interested in flowery words."

"...very well. What is that you think of your lord, Lyle Spoletta?"

"...why?"

"I'm not spying if that's what you're thinking." Emmerich gestured to the carriage they were in and the skeletons right outside. "I'm not in much of any position to report to my father."

"You still didn't answer why."

"I'm just curious. I know that I've seen that he cares about your type and your peasants. I highly doubt that he faked that, especially in front of me." Emmerich wasn't lying either. The anger was as genuine as the kind that his father would show in him for not willing to at least try and match him with the sword.

"Of course, he didn't!" the peasant responded heatedly. "Lord Lyle was one of us before he led the Barrow Legion! Of course, he cares!"

"Truly?" Emmerich hadn't heard that from his father nor from any of his knights. "He doesn't speak like a peasant, at least not entirely."

"Well, he's not truly a noble. Not entirely."

"Yet you still call him 'Lord' Lyle."

"Well, it's only a fitting. He's my lord anyways. And he'll be lord of all Bretonnia if he has his way!"

"That would technically make him King Lyle, would it not?"

The boy's face lit up at the thought, before it broke out into a smile. "'Do like the sound of that, I do. Don't know if he would."

"What do you mean by that?"

Rudy shrugged, going back to whittling his arrow. "Lord Lyle is weird like that. Doesn't seem to care much for nobles, not that I blame em', But, he's STILL my lord."

"I didn't say he wasn't." Rudy sighed. "But, let me ask you. Let's say for the sake of argument that your lord defeats my lord father on this day, something that, as far as I know, has never happened to him. Do you think Lyle would be a good Lord?"

"'Course he would!" The peasant. "Wouldn't be hard, I reckon' but with him, anything is possible."

"... I'll admit that my father leaves a lot to be desired-

"The people of Riffen would agree." Rudy interrupted, his one eye narrowing.

"-in terms of actually ruling the land that he owns, but it could be worse. And do carefully consider what I'm asking because, from the one fight he had with my father, Lord Lyle has shown a talent for battle. But, it takes more than battle to rule. My father and what happened to Riffen is proof of that."

Rudy was silent for a moment as if acknowledging that much at least. He was about to speak more before Emmerich continued. "Perhaps you trust Lyle, personally. For that, I can understand that, but do you believe he could rule the land of Bretonnia? Do you believe he could do so successfully, despite having no experience to my knowledge of ever ruling over anything? Do you believe he could do this while having treacherous necromancers that could very well be plotting behind his back or, even worse, using him to further their own nefarious aims? Lyle could most definitely be someone of good character, but what about the people under him? Are you so quick to forget that many, if not all, the ones that now respond to Lyle used to respond to Kemmler himself?"

The silence that ensued was telling, as Rudy looked both rancorous and frustrated at the words. He wanted to refute what the youth across from him was saying, but he was struggling to find purchase with counteractive words or points to go with.

And again, Emmerich continued to speak his point. "All I'm saying is that you and the other peasantry could be setting yourselves up for disappointment. Rule under Lyle may sound fortuitous for those who share your status, but there could be consequences for it in the long run that not even I could foresee." Feeling bold, Emmerich leaned forward. "Are you sure you're prepared for the risks and consequences that come with this?"

To the little lord's surprise, Rudy bowed up, finding some gumption and glaring. "Yes! I am willing to take that risk because I have nothing left to lose!"

"What about your family? Have they nothing to lose?"

Emmerich almost immediately realized that was a poor choice of words, given the smoldering look that he received as an answer. The son of Bohemond figured the only reason why Rudy didn't gut him right then, and there was because of the order from Lyle and the respect the peasant had for his new liege lord.

Eventually, once Rudy had martialed his anger, he inhaled, exhaled, and then spoke. "I would tell you to ask Duke Chilfroy what happened to my parents, but Lord Lyle saw to him."

The implications didn't need to be hammered home any further.

Emmerich was thankful that he once again didn't have to be left with his thoughts any further because the zombie named Soren opened up the carriage on Rudy's side, peering at his rotted face inside. "The battle is over."

…

Lyle was exhausted. Emotionally, Physically, Mentally, and Magically exhausted. What was worse was that he could tell that he wasn't alone. More than a couple of necromancers had opted to just lie down on the ground, sucking in the wind slowly yet surely, trying to get their bearings. Others were leaning against their staves, trees or just outright using the undead they had summoned to keep themselves upright, worn out from the battle they had just managed to obtain.

They normally wouldn't have been so exhausted even in a battle that lasted a few hours, but it was the need for a rush of spells to be cast throughout this intense bout that wore them out. Say what you want about the Knights of Bastonne because the constant pressure they put on the front lines pushed all the magic casters to their limits.

Sitting immediately around Lyle, his 'inner circle' was barely any better. Oh, they were certainly more relieved to have won the battle, but they all looked more than a little weather-beaten. Sybil seemed especially happy, looking particularly smug with her role in helping win them the battler.

Lyle knew he'd have to thank her for that later. After all, if it wasn't for her, he wouldn't even be here…her and that giant rat.

It gave him the shivers just thinking of that furry, red-eyed thing.

Shaking his head, Lyle slapped his hand on the table, gaining weary but attentive glances from all those in attendance, including Fredericka, Schmitz, Tobias, Wendel, and Sybille. "So. It's all over then…mostly over, I mean. Still gotta take Castle Bastonne, right?"

"Indeed…Master Lyle." Schmitz said with a growing grudging respect. "Though if we're going to take the capital of Bastonne, we'd best do it quickly. Leave no chance of word getting back to the nobles who are still held up in their personal castles or any other dukes to lend their aid here. If we wish to take the castle, we must do so swiftly."

"Only after we give our fellow necromancers a day at least to have a reprieve." Tobias counseled. "The battle took its toll on them, but not so badly that we must wait overtly long to resume the march. It's also important that we raise whatever undead that we can get while…choosing what to do with the many prisoners we've acquired from this battle."

"What is there to discuss?" Schmitz grunted. "We kill them and add them to our horde. Killing the Beastslayer could grant us an especially powerful wight that we can use to slay future forces that dare to oppose us."

Tobias shook his head, however. "On the contrary, I think we could break down their materials and organs to supply the beasts that we can create further in the future. Most of our captives are knights, and their internal organs and bodies are made of better material than those of peasants. It could be quite beneficial for sturdier beasts."

Though Lyle didn't care for the knights or nobles, the earth-native couldn't help but blanch at the rather gory and macabre descriptions of what his subordinates wanted to do to their captives.

Thankfully, Fredericka had her own opposition to the plan. "On the contrary, I think they're of better use to us alive than dead, especially as hostages to be ransomed."

"You wish to ransom Bohemond Beastslayer?" Schmitz began in mild disbelief. "Have you any idea how fortunate we were to not only survive but to defeat him in battle? Grail knights like him are beyond the pale in terms of how lethal they can be for anyone who draws their ire! And you want to give him the chance to fight another day? To ruin our ambitions?"

"I can scarcely believe I'm saying this, but I agree with Tremin." Tobias sighed. "Your goal is rather short-sighted, Fredericka, and we won't receive many opportunities to permanently put an end to a grail knight, much less many well-trained knights."

"I know that, but…" Fredericka hesitated, biting her lip. "Normally, I would agree with you, but right now, gold and just about any funding is getting tight right now. Very tight."

Schmitz rolled his eyes. "Oh, this again. Look, girl, I know you've been fretting over how our funding has been to afford the material to sustain our creations but rest assured, I doubt we've much to worry about."

A nervous chuckle broke out through the table, and all eyes turned to Wendel, who tugged at the collar of his black robe. "Erm…about that. While I've been resting-recuperating at Blackstone Post after I took an arrow to the eye, I had the opportunity to look into our gold reserves…our near nonexistent gold reserves."

"Impossible." Tobias scoffed this time. "I saw the papers and the budget myself, and while we're going over the limit for our income, Kemmler always ensured that we had more than enough funding to purchase the material we needed to sustain our rituals and our creatures."

Wendel sucked in his lips like he'd bitten a lemon before speaking once more. "Have you actually seen the gold vault, Tobias?"

A pregnant pause ensued at the table. When Tobias came to an uncomfortable conclusion to the question, he warily shook his head no.

This time, Lyle inserted himself into the conversation. "Hold on, hold on, Hold the hell on. Wendel, are you telling me that we're running out of gold?"

"Master Lyle… I'm here to tell you that we're nearly out of gold."

Schmitz's eyes bugged out, his face going red while his voice screeched. "How can this be! How did this even happen? Where in the many hells did our gold disappear to? Was it stolen in the night?" When Wendel went conspicuously silent, Schmitz stared in disbelief. "How!?"

Fredericka sighed, rubbing her eyes. "It was in all of the chaos when former Master Kemmler died. Remember when at least half of our number fled the castle? Someone must have pilfered whatever gold they could carry when they had the chance. Or perhaps considering how much gold was taken, there were multiple people taking our gold along with much of our dark material for our undead."

"Godsdamnit it all!" Schmitz cursed, slamming a fist on the table. "We'd been so focused on the threats that we failed to notice the cretins scurrying about like Skaven and Goblins and robbing us blind!"

Sybille rolled her eyes. "I leave for a few years, and you all go to shit. Were no wards in place to protect the gold from any light-handed opportunist taking whatever they wanted like a child at a cookie jar?"

"...there were…" Wendel sighed. "I inspected the vault…the wards were powered by Kemmler so long as he was alive."

The entire table groaned and, in some cases, facepalmed at how poorly they'd been had or overlooked such a simple thing. Sybille looked like she wanted to spit. "And so because the old fool thought he'd never die, he made sure the wards were tied to him. Typical old codger."

Schmitz normally would have defended his former master in this case, but he knew it would hardly be the time or place. With all being said, Lyle asked the question that all were now thinking. "Wendel. You saw that gold vault. How long can we keep going before we start goin' before we're fresh out."

"Two weeks." Everyone collectively winced in one way or another. Two weeks wasn't a generous amount of time to get their economics sorted out. They probably would have had more time and more gold if they hadn't had to summon more skeletons and zombies in an emergency method to fill out the ranks in this battle. But, as it stood now, it left the Barrow Legion with a very dire problem.

Lyle had been educated enough on what happened when you didn't have enough dark material or items to keep your undead army together. The army would weaken, their bindings would start fraying, and the undead creations would start dying a slow yet surefire death, leaving their organization as a dead man walking, which was ironic considering their professions.

That meant they only had one true option. One that Lyle was the first to say aloud. "Okay, okay, so if we ransom these guys, we can't just give them' back to their families willy-nilly; we don't need these knights being sent to their families willy-nilly throughout Bastonne as we conquer it. That's a fuckin' headache I do not want us to deal with."

"We can have them ransomed to King Louen." Sybille shrugged grumpily, still onerous over their situation. "While I was at the tender mercies of Duke Bastien, I found out that the King of Bretonnia was having a tough go of things in the north. Norscan raiders, if I had to guess, but it sounds like he needs every ablebody he can get." The witch smirked devilishly. "He would pay a high price for these highly trained bodies if nothing else, especially if one of them is one of the greatest grail knights in all of the Old World."

"Dammit, I know we need the funding, but…are we truly about to let these bastards who have harried us for years go?" Schmitz groaned in frustration. "We may never have another chance to slay this bastard again before he proves a nuisance once more!"

"We may also not have the chance to consolidate our power." Tobias sighed. "I'm loathed to admit it, but if our funding has truly been pilfered, then I feel we have no choice…Gods, I can already feel the headache coming from the budget balancing. I'll have to go over it in the ledgers in the ensuing days."

Wendel smiled nervously, trying to alleviate the spirit. "Well…look on the bright side everyone! I mean we still won the battle and possibly all of Bastonne! Plus, the Duke Bohemond should fetch us a pretty copper, should he not?"

"So it's settled then?" Fredericka broached diplomatically. "We ransom the knights and Duke Bohemond along with any other nobles we have?"

Tentatively, all eyes turned to Lyle, who tapped his finger onto the table in thought, pursing his lips. Lyle then turned his eyes toward Tobias and Schmitz. "We're positively sure…that there's no 'Lord Bastien' that's among either the dead or the captives?"

Both the necromancers turned toward one another since they were both primarily responsible for taking care of the prisoners and the dead. Schmitz for getting his undead to physically move and sort them, and Tobias for recording their names and houses.

It was Tobias who shook his head. "We have not, Master Lyle. I believe that Duke Bohemond might have spoken the truth when he said that the man had fled."

Tobias had remembered how chilled he would be whenever he'd seen someone earn Kemmler's ire in the past. Oftentimes, they rarely had a chance to do so a second time. The glowering look that Lyle gave was giving the bookworm flashbacks in all the wrong ways.

However, the expression only lasted for a moment, and Lyle returned to a more reasonable and less offensive posture. "Alright…so who wants to write up the offer?" When Tobias tentatively raised his hand, Lyle nodded. "Try and make up an offer to squeeze as much gold out of this King as possible. Also, lemme read it after you done; I may want to-no. I'm definitely gonna wanna put my own two cents into that when all is said and done. And Freddy?"

"Y-yes?"

"See if you and Wendel can't put your heads together on how we can get more cash flow going into our coffers. Having some ransom money could be nice, but unless we start getting a long-term solution for our money problems, we're gonna be more fucked than I was after we first lost to Bohemond."

Fredericka didn't need any encouragement. "Understood."

"Good. When all is said and done, and our necromancers had their day of rest, we're gonna haul ass and make sure we take Castle Bastonne in record time. I don't want any bullshit, arguing, or delays once we hit the road. If any of you guys have any issues, you bring it up with me." Lyle said with a strained smile, which more than got his point across. "We managed to pull out a big one, guys. Yeah, the money problem ain't great, but it could be worse. Let's just keep plowing ahead, and we can sort this shit out expeditiously. Capiche?"

Everyone nodded across the table, and just as Lyle was about to adjourn the meeting, a thought crossed his mind. "Oh, and Sybille?"

"Yes Bo…Master Lyle?"

"Get Soren to bring Emmerich here. The kid and I need to have a heart-to-heart."

Sybille looked at Lyle curiously but nodded. "I've already sent the mental command. He'll be here shortly."

"Good. You all know what to do. If ya need me, then holla for me. Remember. One day, we were out. Spread the word and make sure everyone gets the message, we are not in a room for fuck-ups right now."

Everyone nodded sharply and swiftly got up, the meeting having given them the breather they needed for a second wind for the day's activities. Though many necromancers were tired, the mood was noticeably lighter in the air. Some necromancers were chuckling and smiling with themselves, almost happily stunned that they managed to pull off that victory, with some looking toward Lyle and giving him appraising looks and nods. Even after Lyle's multitude of achievements before he first ran into Bohemond, he never got this level of approval from his newfound peers.

This victory was different, that much he could tell. For the earth-native, it was only soured by the thought that he wished that the people of Riffen didn't get the chance to see it.

Not yet anyways. Lyle had been deliberating on the issue for a good while now, but it was at the point where he felt now was as good as time as any to readdress it with his subordinates now doing what they needed to do to keep the war machine going.

He went back to his personal tent, which he had erected after commandeering some stray undead, which had inside the same two bodies he'd kept with him since Riffen.

As Lyle stepped inside and stared at the two lifeless faces that stared back at him, Lyle knew what he wanted to do…he knew what he felt needed to be done. Yet once again, indecision plagued him.

Sighing deeply, Lyle sat back on the simple wooden chair that had been brought into the large tent, sagging into it as the weight of his consequences was laid bare before him. It was all he could do to not break down into tears at what could have been.

"Marone…what would mom do?"

Actually, that was a terrible person to base that on. Not that his mom was a terrible person by any stretch of the imagination, but just because she wouldn't approve of half of what her son had done in this world.

Or would she? Would she approve of him fighting for the little man? Would she approve of the lives that he took to accomplish that goal? Would she still hug him and kiss him on the cheek after seeing the powers at her son's fingertips?

The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to think less of his mother at that moment.

The Lichemaster of the Barrow Legion must have been staring at the two bodies before him longer than he anticipated initially because soon he felt confusion from the bumps to his ankle that Lyle was receiving. Looking down at the said ankle, Michael felt his eyebrows shoot upwards at the site of a disembodied hand trying to garner his attention, jabbing his ankle.

"Holy shi-Thing! Christ, I ain't seen you in forever!" Michael said jubilantly, his sour mood evaporating at the disembodied hand that hopped up and down excitedly. "Jesus, man, I'm sorry; I damn near forgot about you after that cluster fuck of a battle!"

Thing made a shooing motion as if it wasn't a big deal, and it understood completely.

"Thanks, man. Like I said, I'm sorry. But, damn, man, where've you been? I mean, have you been with the Barrow Legion this entire time? Why not come to me sooner?"

As if it already had prepared an answer to such a question, the Thing then moved to the side to reveal a rolled-up piece of paper neatly tied up and gesturing towards it with a sense of urgency. Furrowing his brows, Lyle nonetheless got what Thing was trying to get him to do and tentatively grabbed the paper and untied it.

Lyle felt his eyes widen once he read what was written, a sense of hope and desperation erupt in his chest like a volcano.

"Thing! Is this legit? Like a hundred percent legit?" Lyle asked rapidly, his eyes jerking from the paper to Thing, who crouched its fingers and stood up in quick and repeated succession as if it were nodding. "Wh-where did you get this info-I mean who told you this!?"

Thing then pointed at the paper jerkily, making Lyle realize he hadn't completely finished reading through the paper in its entirety. When he did, Lyle felt more conflicted than ever, seeing a name he hadn't expected to see in quite some time.

Gerome De Gisoreux.

"You're shittin' me." Lyle said more to himself than anything else. "You have gotta be shittin' me."

It was so incomprehensible yet plausible enough to be true. Ridiculous yet possible. In a vacuum, Lyle would have thought that whoever brought him this was on the new hot narcotic in the market that his uncle would take part in, but given the world that he was in, this strangely seemed realistic.

The question was, why?

Then Lyle had another thought of realization. Gerome was at the banquet. Was it possible he was among the knights in the battle? If so, was he dead, captured, or escaped with that piece of excrement Bastien?

Regardless of what Lyle thought of Gerome, if he was still breathing, he'd just given Lyle a chance to redeem himself.

It's not too late. I can still save some people from my fuck-up. People who might even wind up getting a fate worse than death if what Thing wrote down is accurate. Fuck waiting a day we gotta put the foot on the gas NOW!

"You're a lifesaver, Thing! Pack your shit or…whatever shit that you consider yours! We're hauling ass, right now!" Thing saluted with one of its fingers and scurried deep within the tent, and Lyle immediately burst out of it, a second win bugging his speed. "Schmitz! Tobias! Change of plan, get your asses over here, pronto! Where the hell are you, weedy, pale-skinned bastards? We're on a schedule here!"

Lyle had to wrangle and harass a few unfortunate necromancers that were unlucky enough to be close to him, but eventually, one way or another, they get his message to his subordinates one way or allow Lyle to get face-to-face with a confused and grumpy Schmitz and Tobias.

Before either of them had the chance to speak, Lyle spoke first. "Change of plan gentlemen. We're leaving right now. ASAP."

More confusion grew on the necromancers, with both looking at the other, wondering if each knew about this. Tobias blinked wearily. "May we ask…why Master Lyle?"

"Change of plans. New information. One of my undead came up with some intel on Bordeleaux, and we gotta haul ass there right now. Specifically to a smaller city on the coast called Rione."

Schmitz's annoyance turned to one of curiosity, leaning forward, wanting to hear more clearly. "What of it, Master Lyle? What is in Rione that demands a rushed march now of all times?"

"Well, it's simple, honestly!" Lyle began thinking on his feet for a good reason as to why they should agree with this sudden change in priority. Lyle may have been more than willing to work with the Barrow Legion to accomplish its goals, but he wasn't ignorant of the morally fluid area they worked in to accomplish their own. That was why he knew that this would require a level of tact and wordplay. "It turns out that location is going to be absolutely filled to the brim with gold! I'm talkin' a King's ransom's worth that we can ensnare to put a bandage on our gold problem!"

That definitely got their attention, making them more receptive to the words he was spewing.

"Truly?" Tobias said, his glasses gleaming. "What makes this city of Rione a particular standout for gold?"

This was where Lyle was sure he'd get away with it. After all, if there was anything his uncle ever taught him about creating lies, it was that sprinkling in the truth could inflate their believability. "Turns out that the local lord there's been doin' a no-no when it comes to tending to the people…by sellin' them off to the highest bidder, somethin' I imagine is very easy to do since it's a coastal town."

"A slave trader." Schmitz realized, stroking his chin in thought. "To the Druchii, no doubt."

"The Druchii?" Lyle muttered, rummaging around in his brain before he remembered notes from Kemmler's Grimoire. "Oh, you mean the dark elves?"

"Precisely. Don't much care for their lot." Schmitz scoffed. "I don't for elves in general, but the Druchii…pah. Sometimes, I wonder if it's a requirement of theirs to be spiteful for the sake of it."

"So you've met them before?"

"Unfortunately." Tobias grimaced. "Master Kemmler has had dealings with them. One of the few I disagreed with. You can never truly trust their ilk, or any elves in my opinion. Their long lives lead to even greater lengths of pride; the Druchii are more of a prickly variety."

"Well, regardless, that's why we gotta head there. The amount of gold that the lord is sitting on is an opportunity that would be criminal for us not to take advantage of. He's been makin' a literal killing off of it; we gotta make something offa this!"

Tobias was nodding along, clearly agreeing with the logic of the plan. It made sense since the spectacled man seemed to take things on a pragmatic path. Lyle, however, felt wary at the scowling face of Schmitz staring back at him.

"Master Lyle. What are your true motives here?"

Lyle stared back at the bald man with a raised eyebrow. "What I literally just told you. Money."

"Money or the people being sold off?"

"Is it a problem if it's one or the other?"

"It is if you're endangering the Barrow Legion with your feckless morales."

Tobias's eyes fidgeted between the men with growing trepidation, wondering if he should intervene or get someone else to intervene on his behalf for his own safety.

Nonetheless, Lyle didn't back down, which only served to make Tobias even more nervous. "What exactly are you sayin' Schmitz? You got somethin' ya wanna say to me?"

"I have more than enough to say. Don't get it wrong Lyle. I'm impressed by you leading us to victory over Bohemond, but I know you well enough to understand that you could dash the fruits of our labor to ash."

"Is that so?" Lyle replied, a smile forming on his face.

"You managed to defeat the Beastslayer using his own morals and personal attachments to force him into rash action." Schmitz then walked closer to the earth-native with a glare. "Whose to say that someone couldn't do the same to you?"

For a moment, nothing else was said. A few passing necromancers, however, began to mutter, witnessing the exchange and looking on in curiosity, while others started to put distance between themselves and the incoming confrontation. "You may have had your successes, but I think you're letting them get to your head once again. You are no Kemmler boy, and I think you're getting ahead of yourself to think you can make the choices you select when you're risking the integrity of our Legion."

Everyone, however, felt themselves thrown off in a major way when Lyle started to laugh right in Schmitz, which confused and irritated the older necromancer. The laughter dissolved into a full-on belly laugh.

"Do you find the position you are threatening to put us all in humorous, boy?"

Still smiling, Lyle shook his head. "Nah. Nah, not at all, my man, not at all. See, the thing is, I can't deny what you're saying. What you're saying has merit. There's just one flaw with your argument, is all."

"Oh?" The bald necromancer grunted, folding his arms. "And what's that?"

"I'm the one who calls the shots."

The mirth on Lyle's face and in his voice had evaporated in an instant, and in its place was a frigid coldness that felt alien to those who witnessed it. Even Schmitz couldn't suppress the twitch on his face at the sudden change.

"Let's say you're right. That I am doin' this to help the people gettin' shipped off as slaves to God knows where, or I'm just doing this cause, I'm greedy. Whichever the reason, all you need to know is that WE are going there. We're going there because it will ultimately serve our goal of taking over Bretonnia, both to fill our pockets and to help win the heavily mistreated people of this land over to our side." Lyle then inched closer to his older counterpart until their noses were nearly touching. "You're right about one thing: I'm not Kemmler. Probably never will be, and I see that as a good thing since he hasn't accomplished even half of what I have. Oh, sure, he'd probably whip my ass up and down Blackstone Post if we had a magic duel or whatever, but this isn't about whose best at magic or who can be the edgiest. It's about getting the job done. And if you got a problem with the current management around here, then just know this. I ain't keepin' you here."

Schmitz stared back before his eyes fidgeted around, seeing the reactions of the other necromancers around him, who were staring back at him pensively. What indeed caused a stone to settle in his gut were the looks of admiration toward Lyle and other expressions of irritation toward Schmitz himself.

Schmitz flinched back toward Lyle as the Lichemaster spoke once more. "So, my man! We good? You gonna tell everybody else what I told you? You gonna haul ass so we can get a move on, or do you wanna start somethin' else?" Lyle's grin was back on his face, but his eyes were anything but mirthful. "We're burnin' daylight here, and if you really wanna do somethin' for the good of the Legion, as you put it, I'd rather we do this quickly! Capiche?" Schmitz once again looked around himself, taking the temperature of the situation, before his eyes settled on Lyle's.

Eventually, the older man sighed and turned away from the Lichemaster. "Everyone cut down the camp! We march on Castle Bastonne now! If you can't find your legs, get in the carts! If you have your legs, move the dead!" Schmitz marched off, taking his frustrations out on those who groaned in exhaustion while others grinned at having the chance to finish off Bastonne once and for all. Either way, the camp buzzed with activity once more, taking down the tents and encampments that they had put effort into building. There was some minor pushback, but eventually, the tide of what was coming drowned them out for the march that was soon to come.

Lyle then turned to Tobias, who jerked at the new attention on him. "Oh, and Tobias?"

"...yes?"

"Look for a Gerome De Gisoreux while you get your affairs in order if you would. I would very much like to speak with him. Quickly."

Tobias felt a headache coming with the amount he would have to do before and while they were marching towards Castle Bastonne, but unlike Schmitz, he was smart enough not to make it an issue. "At once, Master." The spectacled necromancer almost felt sorry for the number of tasks he was about to delegate to other low-ranking peers who could still walk at this moment and time.

Almost.

…

A/N:

Sorry that this took longer than usual, but there's been a lot of upheaval lately. Got two new jobs to replace the one that wasn't paying the bills, and there's been adjustment to that. Also believe it or not I'm writing a short story that I'm planning to publish by next year, so I'm taking time to get the ball rolling on that! That being the case, have no fears, I'm not stopping this story any time soon, especially since I'm nowhere near the conclusion I want it to be.

So yeah, A lot going on, especially with Christmas demanding much of my time, but nonetheless I'll keep going until I'm done. With that being said, thank you for sticking with me for this long and keep leaving your reviews for me to sustain the black hole that is in place of my heart. It gives me the fuel for the soul.