The [Lord] curtly ordered the [Knights]. The Thronebearers muttered.

“Dismount? But we fight best on horseback.”

“Are your horses trained to fight undead? They’ll spook if a Ghoul jumps them. And a dead horse becomes a zombie fast. Also—we might need them to escape.”

The [Knights] hesitated, turning towards their leader. Dalimont’s eyes flickered. Slowly, he dismounted.

“You are in command, Lord Afiele. What are we looking at?”

“I don’t know.”

The village was silent. In the distance, it was dark—no lights visible. That was a bad sign. If it was under attack, they should have heard something. Ser Dalimont’s sword and shield were raised, and he was poised to charge forwards, but he wavered.

“We’re not going in? The young woman was insistent—”

“We have to scout.”

Lantal was vibrating and silent inside. He had drawn his longsword. He looked towards the village, speaking for the benefit of the [Knights], to fill the space between his thundering heartbeats.

The plain, thick houses stood silent and tall. Featureless. No lights in the windows. Lantal’s skin prickled.

Few of even Noelictus’ people had the courage to sleep in darkness.

There would be lights. Something terrible has happened.

The worst? He didn’t know. Lantal longed to rush in too. But—everything he had been taught told him not to.

His father had died like this. Rushing in, making one mistake. Lantal had seen his body. He edged left, seeing his house guard do the same. Trying to peek between the spaced houses for…something lurking in the shadows. A gleam of glowing eyes under the stairs. Afiele’s people had strict building codes to prevent tight alleyways. Yet he saw nothing. Heard nothing.

It didn’t matter. They didn’t breathe. If he had the money for [Detect Death] spell scrolls…Lantal realized the [Knights] were looking at him, not realizing what he was doing. So he explained.

“If they broke the doors, there’s a higher grade of undead out there. No zombie can break a door in Noelictus. No Ghoul, either. Not skeletons—if they broke the doors, it means a Lich. An undead [Mage].

Or a Crypt Lord. Or…worse.”

The Thronebearers hesitated. They had formed a tight formation. Afiele’s guards had staggered themselves, protecting the archers who were next to the horses. Six were still mounted; experienced skirmishers who could fight the leaping, running Ghouls. The [Knights] were good, Lantal had no doubt.

Yet had they ever seen a spellcasting monster? Glanced up and seen a Bone Crawler scuttling slowly overhead to drop on you from a tree? Let it only be that. Let the people be hiding—

“Lord Lantal.”

A voice. The [Scout] ran back, breathless. Her eyes were wide. She raised a trembling finger, and Lantal’s stomach dropped. It was her eyes. The tone of her voice, cracking.

“It’s a Crypt Lord. At least one. I ran the moment I saw it.”