A/N Responses:

Zerkill: It could go either way, but these next few chapters might shed light on that. As far as becoming a Saturday Morning cartoon, trust me. You might be getting what you ask for in the future considering what happens in THIS chapter alone.

Rangda: For Lyle it's not a matter of if he could, it's a matter of if he SHOULD as you'll soon find out.

SalinorTheDrake: It was pretty damn difficult, even for me. Took me a day to come to a decision to go through with it, though I appreciate you sticking through it. It gives me THAT bit of extra motivation to push on with this story.

Cyan-Sung-Sun: Your absolutely on point concerning that. The question is if Lyle himself can handle what needs to be done. The body is one thing, but your closer than you realize concerning the soul.

Samot: I think after this chapter, you'll realize he's getting more than wake up call at this point. Also don't worry. After the Bastonnian arc as I call it, You'll be getting more of the horrifying beasts that come with necromancers.

Space King Wizard Duck: Technically not the King's justice, but definitely the Duke's justice for sure, since said duke leaves such matters to his trusted retinue. But, yes it's now just a matter of who will be most successful with the ripping and tearing at this point. And who gets ripped and torn first.

Guest: Depends on the mood he's in, and just how murderous his behavior becomes.

Laxard: Lyle was able to overcome Khorne's whisper and temptation because his bloodlust hasn't completely overtaken his senses…yet. That and you could say that there was also some outside interference. And yes Ave could be resurrected to do any number of those things, but it's a matter of if Lyle actually wants to do that.

NoobStyle: You're welcome and thank you for reading. And I couldn't have put it better myself. Both worlds are cruel, it's just that Warhammer's is amplified thanks to both magic and the variety of species and beasts that can inflict such cruelties.

Sybille had the fortune and misfortune of working with some of the most talented necromancers and magic practitioners throughout her natural life. In her not-so-humble opinion, working with the Barrow Legion had just been part of her journey to becoming one of the best in the old world.

Throughout that journey, she'd met several types of necromancers. The deranged who sought necromancy to fulfill their perverted fantasies. The vengeful who sought to wreak vengeance upon those who had wronged them. The weak who sought power to prevent themselves from staying that way. People like Kemmler sought it out to prolong their mortality.

But, then, there was someone like the young man sitting across from her with his head bowed, brows furrowed, elbows resting on his knees with a tenseness that wasn't akin to a wolf playing possum. Thanks to his hair masking the top of his face, it was hard to see his eyes, but she knew anger. Anywhere. Anger so palpable that you could see it in their body language. The boy they had taken with them could feel it too, which was why for his sense of safety, he was pressing into her body as much as possible, looking at the window of their carriage with a fretful eye, all the while, Soren stared at the boy to make sure he didn't try anything cute.

He needn't have bothered. He wasn't going anywhere.

However, even as their carriage moved and jerked from their ride, Sybille could also detect another dueling emotion in the Lichemaster before her. Fear. Even though her primary purpose of coming to this no-nothing village called Riffen was purely to save the tome from falling into the wrong hands, Lyle's was clearly altruistic enough to save the people in it.

Even now, that fear was overtaking his anger, that anxiety of not arriving in time. The boy wore his emotions on his sleeve, something she could deduce from the short time they had spoken to one another. The man was an anomaly in how he acted and spoke, along with his moral compass. Out of all the necromancers she had met, he was probably the most befuddling she'd met at this point.

He was a necromancer who was clearly trying to take over Britannia while also having a soft spot for its ill-bred masses. He was hell-bent on saving a village full of those same ill-bred people while also kidnapping a boy who'd barely been on the cusp of reaching adulthood. He was someone with great power that she could tell just by feeling around his magical potential, yet she could also tell by how he carried himself that he was still a novice and was barely scratching the potential of his power.

The boy was confusing. Perhaps he was only confusing because she was trying to only think of him as a necromancer first and a human being second. It wouldn't be the first time such categories coincided in such ways.

Suddenly, however, her sense of smell was assaulted with a dark and heavy scent. The scent of smoke and iron caused her to grimace and frown out of how acute it was. It was a scent she was familiar with whenever Kemmler had grown daring enough to raid a village or keep its valuables…more specifically, locations with a large population.

Lyle could smell it, too if his face lighting up with trepidation was anything to go by. And while she doubted that he'd ever raided a village or town personally if his personality was anything to buy, she could see the gears in his eyes turning to put two and two together.

Too little too late in the end. She could only hope that the book didn't share the peasants' fate.

Moving to the exit of the carriage while it was moving, Lyle poked his head out the window, his anxiety in full force. "Rudy!"

"It's…I think this is the place master Lyle…I…maybe I got it wrong, or-

"No!" Lyle suddenly shouted over the sound of the horses continuing to move forward, uncaring of their conversation, only of their destination. "Keep going…just keep going!"

And keep going, they did, until the only thing they could smell was smoke and iron. Lyle didn't return to his seat, standing at the window and tightly gripping the frame.

As if to show just how much things had reversed from a few moments ago, now it was the young noble Emmerich who was staring down on the carriage floor, body tense but with more visible worry. And as usual, Soren didn't move an inch besides the odd jostling of their ride here or there.

Then finally and mercifully, it all came to an end.

The carriage stopped, and Lyle burst out the door as quickly as he could, but it made no difference how quickly he left. The result was still the same. Following him, at a more reasonable pace, Sybille was greeted with the death of a village.

Huts were still burning, and the blood from the many corpses littered the field looked relatively fresh, but it was clear that whoever did this was here recently. That being said, she was somewhat surprised by the number of corpses here, or rather the lack thereof. Perhaps it was a smaller, more sparsely populated village…but no. She'd seen Bretonian villages, and to have so few this size is far too odd.

"Nobody dared to say a word, not even the peasant boy that nipped at Lyle's heels like a loyal dog after he got off the front of the carriage, looking morose at the sight before him. Lyle was ashen-faced, unable to emote beyond wide eyes and slightly parted lips as he slowly walked forward, trying to process what was clear before him.

"A log." Lyle suddenly muttered, life returning to him after his eyes swept a whole row of caved-in mud huts. "Th-the kid, who helped me…s-said the tome would be in a log-No! It's in a tree stump! South of the village."

Sybille hoped that the boy's memory was more coherent than the boy's tongue at the moment but kept such thoughts to herself while she turned to the peasant. "Boy. If you don't mind, do be a dear and make yourself useful. I could use an extra set of eyes and hands."

Looking affronted, the one-eyed boy looked to argue before Lyle spoke up. "J-just go with her, Rudy. I'm good."

"But, Lord Lyle. Whoever did this may still be-

"I SAID I'm good!"

The boy hurried over to Sybille, who was all too happy to help her. Not wanting to waste time, she didn't comment further and went southward to the village as suggested. As she did, she made sure to shed the peasant armor that gods-awful peasant armor all the while, sick and tired of how both poorly it was made and how hung loosely against in all the wrong places.

Off came the kettle helmet, the gambeson, gloves, and even the boots. She'd rather wear nothing down there than use something that she was sure was supposed to torture its wearer's feet with how uneven it was. All that was left was the black, specially-made cowl that her captors had mercifully not parted from her. What more would a necromancer of her caliber need, truly?

Well, okay, a powerfully built staff wouldn't hurt, but that could be rectified at a later date. First, Kemmler's terribly misused book, and then they could go from there.

As she walked about, hoping in vain to possibly find better shoes for her to grab. No such luck. It seemed that whatever corpses they did find had anything and everything of value taken from them. Whatever did have anything of value wasn't anything that the necromancer could use, while others, much like the huts, had been set on fire. Not many of them, mind you, but enough to the point where it had been annoying. Whoever had done this wanted to leave barely anything for even the crows to enjoy.

"Tell me, boy. How is it that you can tolerate such foul clothing."

"...you get used to it." Was his slow response, with only the sounds of their footsteps permeating the dark and smokey air. "I… I'd never seen a village reduced to this before. M-my father mentioned something like this during the campaign before he died, but seeing it in person. All these people…"

"Not the first, and certainly not the last." The woman cut in brusquely, having heard this before. "I've seen bigger cities with more memorable names than Riffen reduced to rubble, so if you do intend to be a tick to the Lichemaster's side, do get used to it, boy. Melodrama can get old fast."

Walking up to her side while keeping pace, the boy bravely made his displeasure known. "You call this melodrama? This, butchery of people just trying to get by?"

"It's a way of life in the old world." Sybille shrugged. "Seen it from here in Brettonia, to the Empire to the Border Princes. Different beasts, but in some cases like this, it's fellow man against fellow man. You get used to it. For your sake, I certainly hope so."

"Not for long. At least not in Brettonia." The boy grunted defiantly, looking for the stump as requested. "Lord Lyle will bounce back. He'll set things right, he will."

"Or perhaps he'll fail." She mentioned offhanded, noting a decapitated corpse laying over one that was the size of a child, causing her face to still. Looking away, she feigned disinterest. "Great men than him have existed, and even greater men have failed, boy. There's a reason why your country has been so backward for centuries. Don't let an idealistic zealot like Lyle get your hopes too high."

The side eye she received was withering. "You lookin' to stop him?"

"Hardly. This country's many grail knights and damsels will do that for me. The least I can do is see how far this young man can go, at the very least, and try to undo some of the waste his predecessor started."

"Y'know, maybe THAT is why things in my homeland have been how they have for years. Because of people like you."

Sybille didn't hide her laugh. "Oh? People like me? I've done nothing to you, boy. Never even met you until now."

"Exactly. You've done nothing." Rudy spat, looking away in disgust. "I'd never been to the Empire. Never been outside my village till' the day my village was mustered to fight Lord Lyle's undead army. We fought against him, but he didn't hold it against us. Some of us tried to kill him in the middle of a feast, and he just let those who did nothing go. He's done more for us than anyone I've ever known in my life. Fought for us, bled for us. Didn't really ask for anything in return. He just did." He then glared at the necromancer. "More than I can say for anyone, really."

"Hmph. So a starving dog being given a bone."

"Call it whatever you bloody well want, witch. I won't bend on my dedication to Lyle. He'll help us. He's the only one that seems to try."

"Dosn't mean he'll succeed, peasant boy. In fact, if he-Ah, here we are. I can feel the Dhar-like stench from here."

Making a steady yet purposeful beeline for a stump that was conspicuously just outside the village outskirts, Sybille and Rudy approached the stump firmly planted into the earth. It was so firmly planted that it almost seemed too perfect and out of place. No other tree stumps around it made it stand out further.

Reaching the stump, Sybille placed her hands on it, knotting her brows in confusion. "This is the stump for sure…yet the way to open it is unclear. I'm not sensing anything of the sort, but perhaps Lyle used certain magics or wards to protect it? No. Perhaps a failsafe would ensure it wouldn't get into the wrong hands. Then again, that boy hardly seems the type to know or think of such things when it would benefit him the most so that he could-

Before she could continue to think allowed, Rudy suddenly pushed forward into the center of the stump on its side, pushing out what looked like a carved plank of wood through the opposite end; when it was ultimately pushed out, the top of the stump suddenly flung open, nearly hitting Sybille in the face, revealing the leathery grimoire within.

She frowned at the slight smirk on the peasant boy's face. "A little forewarning would have been helpful."

Rudey shrugged. "This kind of disguise is common. Even though I've only seen it in my own village, it made me wonder if other villages outside of Artois do it…looks like they do."

"My point still stands boy." Sybille grumbled, grabbing the grimoire and grinning as she felt the old yet leathery cover for the first time in her long life. "I would appreciate a warning. One day I might feel inclined to return the favor."

Little else was said as both necromancer and peasant began to make their way back with the grimoire.

When they returned, they were greeted with the unnerving sight of Lyle on his knees, the shape of a small one-eyed boy in his arms.

Rudy looked like he wanted to say something about them finding the grimoire but was thinking better of it. Sybille couldn't see Lyle's face, but considering his predisposition towards feeling sympathy for peasants, it may have been unnerving.

Rolling her eyes, Sybille stepped forward. "We found the grimoire, boy. We can make our exit, back to Blackstone."

At first, she received no answer. Wondering if she was going to have to deal with this as gently as she did with the body of that…girl, Sybille looked to speak again until Ulysses spoke. "This is the kid that hid the grimoire." His voice was low but deep. The undercurrent of anger was unmistakable.

Once again, Sybille was unnerved by how similar Lyle sounded to Kemmler at that moment. The only difference here was the age discrepancy and the reason for anger. "I…see." Usually, she would have made a snide and smart comment, but something in her gut held her back. She wasn't sure if it was because she felt sorry for Lyle. Maybe it was, but it was almost as if she was holding back for the same reason she would hold her tongue around Kemmler. "His…sacrifice most certainly won't be in vain."

A beat of silence followed again until Lyle threw her, and most likely even Rudy, for a loop. "Get the boy. Emmerich. Bring him here, now."

A few conclusions jumped to Sybille's mind on how that would end. Side-eyeing Rudy, who side-eyed her back, he must have come to the same conclusion and tepidly spoke up. "L-lord Lyle. I-I know you must be upset at what happened here, but…and I'm glad that you care so much, but perhaps Lady Sybille has the right of it. W-we can save more villages from being punished like this if-

Lyle turned around, and Sybille felt herself go still at the sight of the young man's eyes flashing a dark, sickly purple for a moment before suddenly shifting to a bright blue. Out of the corner of her eye, she swore she could see a few corpses twitch intermittently before going still. "Rudy." The peasant boy froze for a moment before nodding. "I wasn't asking."

Nodding dumbly and nearly tripping over himself, Rudy went to do as he was bid. Lyle-no. The Lichemaster then turned to her. "Bring me Ave's body."

Sybille decided to do as she was bid, reaching the carriage just as Soren and Rudy were escorting a trembling and fearful-looking Emmerich just past her. It didn't take her long to unfasten the wrapped-up body of Ave, which was near the driver's seat.

She handled the body with care. More care than she would ever admit aloud, but this went beyond just wanting to not draw Lyle's ire. No. The moment she saw what had happened to the girl in the Red Room, a stab of sympathy went through her soul, especially with the signs that whoever did this was far from gentle to her.

She'd never been unfortunate enough to suffer such a fate…but her mother was less lucky when a rival family hired Sartosan pirates in Tilea to sack her family manor.

A memory she would instead do without dwelling on. Something that became increasingly challenged by seeing the state this girl was in…she couldn't even respect her parent's bodies on account of them being reduced to ashes afterward. The only one she could revive was Soren, even as mutilated as he was. Poor, poor Soren. A norscan who came south, fleeing the dark gods his family demanded he worships while searching for a better life. He found it becoming a butler for the family…only to perish and serve her in life.

She really should find the time to talk to him instead of just keeping him at arm's length. It was the least she could do for him, especially since he had some of his wits about him, certainly more than the average undead did.

It only made it a bigger mystery as to how Lyle, someone with great magical potential but limited knowledge of necromancy, could give her family's former butler a form of sentience.

She wasn't too keen on asking him herself to him for several reasons, chief amongst them being that this wasn't a perfect time.

The other reason, Sybille thought as she headed back toward the group with Ave's body in her arms was that a part of her was too prideful. A portion of her wanted to figure it out on her own. Even resummoning someone as a wight wouldn't give someone like Soren THIS much initiative.

Then Lyle began to speak.

…

"So, Emmerich, I was curious about somethin'." Lyle started off conversationally as if they weren't standing in a village of corpses. "Did your father hear or even care about the fact that this village was getting extorted by some orks before he had it reduced to just nothing but broken homes and bodies?"

For a moment, Emmerich was fumbling with an answer, his eyes darting to everyone around him as if searching for a way out. Finding none, he swallowed audibly. "I…I had nothing to do with this L-

"That wasn't the question." Lyle couldn't help but put an edge to his tone. The anger that was threatening to boil forward was barely being held back as it was.

Thankfully Emmerich wised up quickly, finding his wits in short order. "I-I don't believe my father did, no. H-he would have done something if he had. Personally, if he had to!"

"So then. In that case, you're either covering his ass like the good son that you are. Or he's incompetent. And I have a good feeling you wouldn't try and be two-faced with me…right?"

"N-no! I-I mean, no, I wouldn't lie. Never. Not now, not ever. I…look, Lord Lyle, you must understand." Taking an opportunity to get his breathing under control, Emmerich tried to compose himself. "My father. Duke Bohemond of Bastonne is a warrior first and foremost, I believe I would know, it's something he's tried to impart to me with…mixed results. He's obsessed with physical prowess and feats, especially if it can protect the realm. He leaves the actual ruling of the realm to those he can trust so that he can focus on what he believes matters. I promise you this wasn't done with malice in mind!"

Lyle nodded as if somewhat agreeing with him. "So, in other words. He trusted the wrong people."

"Y-yes. People he grew up around for most of his life, as a matter of fact. People he had fostered with and others that had taught him about being a lord in the first place!"

"Sounds to me like they've done a questionable job at best. But, see, even though he's just incompetent and not as sadistic as the people he puts in power, he's still the kind of guy who allows people he employs to have their way…" He then looks pointedly at Ave's wrapped-up body. "With a girl who isn't even fully grown yet…to get violated in the worst possible FUCKING WAY that anybody could imagine before killing her! It wasn't enough that she got killed, oh no, no, no! They had just to do one of the most repugnant things you could ever do to a human being! And if what you said about the Red Room is true, then she's probably not the only person to wind up like this, is she?"

Emmerich looked down at first only to see Ave's body now being unwrapped by the Lichemaster, who had by now unwrapped enough of it to reveal her face. "Is she!?"

"N-no. She's not."

"This shit happens in your dad's castle." Lyle seethed. "If he's blissfully unaware that this happens in his goddamned home, then that begs the question. How many other villages wind up like this, Emmerich? How many others get extorted or outright put into the dirt like this one because your dad, can't be bothered to do his job?"

"I don't like it any more than you do!" Emmerich nearly screamed, getting more than a little defensive.

"Well, that's all well and good, but that ain't doin' much for me right now. And it didn't do shit for any of them!" Lyle roared. "I fought with these people! Hell, I even bled with them! I can't even find all of their bodies, some of the faces I saw I…You motherfuckers." Lyle found himself screaming, veins pulsing on his face. "You goddamn motherfuckers! They fought tooth and nail for their survival! They just wanted to get treated better, and all you lords couldn't have THAT now, could you!? All that work, all that struggle to survive the people who were extorting them for everything they were worth, and then some, and your father's incompetence just pisses all over that! So what if they wanted freedom and didn't want you nobles to tell them which pot to piss in! I'd want to kill the nobles, too, after the shit they'd been put through! FUCK!"

The necromancer took some deep breaths, focused on inhaling and exhaling as Sybille and others around him couldn't help but notice that the many bodies were twitching at a more seeable frequency. While the others were keeping a noticeable eye on all of this, Lyle sighed deeply one more time before talking again.

"Emmerich. Truth be told, I'm not really mad at ya. I don't hold this against you cause you seem like a stand-up kid…but, I just…this isn't something I can't really get over. Cause you to see, I promised all of these people their freedom after helping save their lives. Now I can't do that anymore, and it just…screws me in the head in all of the worst ways."

Several different winds of magic suddenly began to pour towards the Lichemaster at that moment, all gathering and whipping around him as if he were a conduit of the otherworldly energy.

"You see, I don't like to talk about this much, Emmerich, but at this point, I just don't give a damn anymore. See, before I got here, I was just a thug. A run-of-the-mill wannabe gangster really that wanted to listen to his cool and mulit-watch-wearin' uncle more than his own ma'. Problem was when it came to offing someone, that my uncle considered popping my cherry…I froze up, crawled back to my ma, and we never spoke of it again. Again, don't like talkin' about it, but I also don't like people dying because of assholes like Bastien and whoever else your Dad's allowing to do whatever the fuck they feel."

Brushing his hands through his hair, Lyle grits his teeth as bodies begin to slowly rise from the ground, standing up as if waking from a nap.

"Reason, why I didn't kill who my uncle wanted me to kill was…well, I was a pussy. I sobbed to my mom that it just wouldn't be Catholic-like, but it was bullshit. I was just too scared at the moment and damn near pissed my pants. The problem was one of my uncle's associates didn't like the fact that I knew so much yet wasn't in. Saw me as a problem. So he went to go deal with me personally."

Almost all of the corpses had risen at this point, and as soon as they did, they began to gaze at Lyle.

"He cornered me. Tried to off me with a knife. The thing was, I was stronger and faster. He had a surprise, but compared to him, I was an adonis, and he was just this scrawny, weasely prick. The thing was, in the struggle, I slammed that knife of his into his neck. He didn't last long after that, but the one thing that I got from that whole experience…wasn't how lucky I was or how convenient it was for me that he happened to be near a sewer grate I could slide him into while it was raining…nah. It was that once it was all over, I wasn't really bothered by the whole thing."

The zombies began to lurch into activity. While there had been many bodies scattered about the village turned slaughter zone, there were still tools they had once used as weapons. Hoes, makeshift spears, boards for shields, anything they could get their hands on. It was as if time was repeating itself but in a more macabre manner.

"Thing was, I was bothered. Not because I'd killed him, but more so that I wasn't bothered that I killed him. I didn't have nightmares, didn't toss or turn in my sleep, and I didn't freak out about it. Don't know why, but it could be somethin' in my blood. My family comes from Sicily, and we have a lot of scary superstitious bedtime stories about that kinda stuff. Either way, I got over it…but I'm sorry to tell you this, but all of this? This bullshit the nobles of Bastonne think they can get away with? I think I will lose some sleep over it. Me killing people? I can get over. Seeing people die for shit like this? It's like I said. It fucks with me on a mental level that's hard for me to put into words."

Suddenly the very earth beneath them began to shift. It was a small thing, but a noticeable thing, but noticeable all the same. As if realizing what was happening, Sybille's eyes widened perceptively.

"Imposs-…no. Perhaps nothing is impossible with whatever was used to summon him here."

A mound of earth began to rise higher than it had any right to. Suddenly without warning, the earth mound exploded in a burst of earth, grass, and ash, with a snarling misshapen manticore with some of its flesh rotted off with bones coming out of it. Its wings flapped with strength in spite of the state of its body, and it snarled with a viciousness that could be matched in its living days.

Lyle then continued to speak after giving a cursory glance toward the lion-headed beast. "Now that I think about it. I ain't gonna bother with words no more. At least not to people like your dad. See, if he's willing to trust people to do this, he ain't gonna be trusting my honest intentions any time soon. Since you yourself have said he's a man of action, and I've seen personally that you ain't lyin', I'm more inclined than ever to speak on his wavelength."

Approaching the manticore, Lyle reached tentatively to the mane of the beast, wondering if it would lash out. Instead, it only dipped its head in servitude, showing that it would act on his command and his alone, with no fear of reprisals. "The hell is this thing anyhow?"

"A manticore." Sybille offered, eyeing both him and the creature with curiosity. "Or an undead version of anyways…I wasn't aware you had gotten so far in the grimoire to learn how to summon one."

"I didn't…it just came to me."

"Hm."

"Yeah. Oh, and Emmerich." Lyle said to the boy, who said nothing for fear of saying something to set the necromancer off at this point. "I want you to write a letter. To your dad."

"M-my father?"

"Yeah…tell him that in around two weeks or so, I'm gonna be back. Tell him I'm gonna be back and lookin' for my rematch, just past the bridge from where we fought last time. Tell him that if he wants to see you again, that's where we're gonna settle things, once and for all. Capiche?"

Lyle was sure that Ememrich didn't know what capiche meant but nodded slowly all the same, willing to do anything at this point to stave off any malice towards him. "I…I can do that. I-I'll need some writing paper, of course."

"I have some leather you can use." Sybille offered blandly, looking at Lyle with minor disappointment. "Really? You're going to neutralize your element of surprise by having an honorable battle? Did you not lose the same way because of this blunder?"

"Let me worry about winning." Lyle said with a coldness that gave him the compliance he desired. "You just focus on taking all of these people and the kid to Blackstone Post. Have a merry reunion with your old friends…I have a pit-stop I gotta make…actually scratch that. Before I go, there's one last thing I gotta do." Lyle then approached the still, mostly wrapped-up body of Ave, gingerly and carefully picking her corpse up. There was a tremor in Lyle's body as he did so. He could feel his throat tightening as he carried her to the manticore. Though he tried to hide it, the weight of his guilt was pressing heavily on his chest. On his entire being. "I…I need some rope. I need something to help keep her and…get me some rope to hold her and that boy I was holding in place."

Mercifully it didn't take long for both Soren and Rudy to accommodate his request, even some of the undead villagers he had summoned had helped with this task, acquiring rope to fasten the bodies on the back of the manticore which lay down patiently for the work to be finished. Sybille just looked on, confused, wondering what Lyle was trying to accomplish.

"What exactly are you planning bo…Lichemaster? Raising them as zombies? Why not do it now-

"I don't WANT to do it now." Lyle growled out, biting the corner of his lip to keep his emotions from pouring forth like a waterfall, his eyes getting misty. "Not here and not now."

Getting bold, Sybille leaned in toward Lyle, her voice at a whisper. "Tell me. Are you planning to do to them what you did to Soren?"

Lyle looked back at the butler-like undead, who then turned his head toward Lyle as if sensing he was talking or perhaps just thinking of him.

"Why do you care?"

"What you did to him is not something I have heard of any necromancer being able to pull off short of returning someone as a powerful wight. I must know. Did you know what you were doing when you returned him a sense of sentience?"

Lyle didn't answer because, truthfully, it made him think from time to time. It was one of the first things he had dwelled on since he'd stewed in his storm of thoughts while on the trip to what used to be Riffen. Did he do to Ave what he did to Soren? Did he do it to give her a chance at revenge? For what happened to her and everyone else? Did he dare to even do the same for every person in Riffen? Should he put them through that kind of existence? To be alive but not technically alive in the regular sense?

Should he bring Ave back after the torture she went through? The horror that no human being like her should experience? But didn't she deserve a chance to personally get back at the people who did this to her in the first place?

It was a lingering yet ever present question that had thumped in his mind, and even then, he wasn't sure if he could pull it off again. When he brought Soren back from…wherever a person goes when they die, it was more of a spur-of-the-moment thing. Something that he did without really thinking about, kind of like how he just summoned that manticore. It was almost as if there was a random and chaotic element to the necromantic magic that he was using that he couldn't quite wrap his head around.

Not having an answer to any of these questions, he chose the cowardly way without really saying it aloud. He was kicking the can down the road.

In the end, he decided to avoid answering her and instead moved back to the still lying down manticore, sitting just in front of both the bodies that were just behind him, on the back of the undead beast.

"L-lord Lyle." Rudy called to him just as he was about to will the beast to his destination. "Wh-while we're all going to Blackstone Post, where will you be headed? It's not somewhere dangerous, is it?"

Lyle sighed, looking away as the manticore began to get on all of its fours; its leathery wings started to flap. "Karak Ziflin."

Just before Lyle made to leave with these words however, he began to hear something hoarse yet soft that cause him to freeze. Not just physically, but mentally.

"Make Brettonia Great Again."

Lyle twisted his head around and felt his breath seize in his throat. It was none other than Eudon, one of his hands still missing. His eyes glassy and blank as he stared blankly head, the words once again leaving his lips. "Make Bretonnia Great Again."

The words were chanted again, this time by other undead villagers. Where they once had passion, there was a dull undertone that bellied their now physical nature.

"Make Bretonnia Great Again. Make Bretonnia Great Again."

There was no shouting or cheering. It was a dull chant. A chant that was amplified by the sheer number of hoarse and low voices, strengthened by one another.

Sybille was confused, wondering what exactly was spurring about this chant and what exactly it meant. Emmerich was confused as much as he was creeped at by the sudden chant, but none looked nearly as inspired as Rudy, who stared wide eyed at the display before, a sense of branching pride and somberness yearning within him. A sense of motivation that blossomed within his chest.

Lyle himself said no more as the bat began to elevate before eventually flying away into the smoke-filled air.

It took far longer than he would have liked for the dull and lifeless chants that he had originally inspired to leave his hearing range.

The Lichemaster was glad that he managed to get away when he did, for as the wind and smoke began to beat against his face and assault his senses, he warily turned behind him, seeing the bodies of those that depended on him, indecision once again wracking at his soul and mind.

Eventually, he turned away, with the Earth Native's body shaking. Warm water dripped down his cheeks while the impromptu reigns he had, tightened perceptively in his grip.

Then suddenly without warning Lyle's glared up fiercely into the sky, glowing a bright blue while he screamed with rage that could no longer be contained, bellowing a torrent from the winds of magic so potent that it whipped violently into the sky.

The manticore for a moment struggled to fly, but eventually right itself. The clouds of smoke that hung like death over Riffen were not so fortunate as it was blown away revealing the orange sinking sun in the distance.

And just like the one who raised them, much to the alarm of the living on the ground, every zombie suddenly lost their monotony and screamed along with their master, a cry of rage, ripping and tearing through the sky and the heavens. With eyes suddenly glowing a fiercer blue like their puppeteer, the zombies raised their weapons voices roaring with fierceness that didn't belong to zombies.

It was so sudden and so vitriolic, that even Sybille couldn't help but be amazed and alarmed at the sight of such power.

…

Alvin's sword sunk into the troll's eye and penetrated its brain with ease, causing the beast's protests to cease and the healing of the cuts it had sustained up until this point to falter. Yanking his blade out with strength that he had fallen in love with since arriving in the old world, the young man looked around in pride at the sea of corpses that he and the Brettonian forces had been laying waste to these past few days.

Even now, he had barely broken a sweat. His asthma was practically non-existent, his poor eyesight had become an afterthought. And his previously weedly arms had become wired and corded with hard and unyielding muscle. Even then, he now possessed strength that he never possessed, further evidenced by him casually swinging his sword behind him, decapitating a norscan raider playing possum to get a cheap shot in.

Taking a deep breath and taking in the smell of blood, feces, decaying body parts, and the faint smell of the ocean, Alvin savored his third battle in the span of a week. This time however, with the death of so many chieftains and warlords, King Louen doubted that there would be any more coming for the foreseeable future, lest they lose their lands to any other opportunistic rivals back in Norsca.

Alvin thought it a shame. Surely there could have been more fodder to stain the new sword he came here with.

"Lord Alvin!" That was another thing. They called him lord after the first battle. Him killing another exalted champion after saving Louen's bacon made them feel like he deserved as much. He never bothered to correct them.

"Uh huh?" He answered back, not taking his eyes away from the scene to address the messenger.

"The king has refreshments being served with the battle over! He bid you to come to the war camp to grant you relief for your heroic deeds!"

He 'bid' me. He should be on his feet after I saved him. Fucking Bretonnians. I could get better 'refreshments' from a 711. Putting a smile on his face and giving an encouraging nod, he also gave a thumbs up. "You got it pal! Tell him I'll be over in a hot minute!"

"A…hot minute m'lord?"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Alvin continued to smile amiably. "I'll be over soon. Sorry. It's an expression."

"Ah, of course. We'll be waiting for more tails of your heroism at the campfire m'lord!" And with that the young nobleman rode off, just out of earshot for Alvin's scoff.

"Out of all the coolest factions I could have been dropped into, and it's no-nothing, Bretonnia. Seriously? The sword and the better physical condition are nice, but couldn't I have been, at the very least, the empire or badlands? At least maybe I would have had a good time with the orcs while I was butchering them left and right."

Alvin didn't even like the fantasy in general if he were being honest. What was so exciting about being in a backward world with an even more backwater country that probably thought that penicillin was a form of witchcraft? Instead, whatever deity did this to him thought that it would probably be funnier to tease him with possibly being a space marine and pull the rug out of him by making him a grail knight. Just like that.

There was no internet, no high-end tech to get excited about, no microwavable food, no cars to prevent his lower body from feeling bow-legged, and even the toilet paper was suspect. The fact that everyone stunk to high heaven, especially the peasants, didn't improve the earth native's mood.

Again Alvin didn't mind the strength, conditioning, endurance, and ability to shrug off wounds that would usually impair a man of his former thin and unimpressive physique, but it just wasn't doing it for him right now.

After all, who would feel honored fighting side by side with a bunch of prissy nobles who got off on stupid cocked-up notions of honor, chivalry, and fighting the good fight? It was as genuine as a modern-day politician and as palatable too.

He sighed derisively as he got on top of the restless horse he'd been given and drove his spurs into its flanks, urging it forward.

"At least the norscans were a decent distraction." But, in the end, there just hadn't been enough bloodshed for his liking…or modern comforts, for that matter.

A/N: And so the other player on the board makes his move. I actually feel like I'm on a roll right now with how little I've encountered writer's block up until this point and I'm loving the direction this story is going and the pace it's at. And, yes as you have just seen, Lyle was too late. Too late to save Ave and too late to save the villagers he had only just fought with. You could even throw in that he was too late to realize just how much of a force of nature grail knights can be if not countered properly. For a while now, Lyle's managed to taste nothing but, victory. Now we see how he handles repeated defeats being slammed into his psyche.

Regardless the field is starting to get set, and the eventual rematch is starting to form. Next chapter we see Lyle's return to Karak Ziflin along with the perspective of another individual on the Bastonnian side…perhaps two in total if I feel I can fit it into one chapter.

Speaking of chapters, I wanna give a BIG round of applause to you guys, because the last chapter was my most reacted to chapter ever. It makes sense given how visceral it was, but I was greatly appreciative of the feedback, and I'm excited to hear more! Seriously you guys have no idea how much the reviews you leave help me become a better writer and storyteller, and I can't wait for you guys to see what else is to come!