Anse rode his horse up a rise and reined in, looking back.
The undead pursuing them were scattered and clearly lacked leadership, while the main force was surrounding a group of capable professionals.
He guessed they were the Amnians they'd encountered during the day. They were breaking through toward the camp, only a few hundred meters away. He couldn't tell whether it was a coincidence or a deliberate attempt to lead the undead to them.
After that burst of Holy Light, the undead had suffered heavy losses, but only the weaker ones had died. The Amnians' situation had not improved.
"Anse, look over there." Brat caught up, sweat beading on his forehead, though his breathing was still fairly even.
Anse followed his gaze. The undead were about to catch up with Emon and the others. A fight could break out at any moment.
It wasn't that the undead were fast. The Stonemason Guild had too many elderly people, women, and children to move quickly. Emon couldn't bear to abandon them, so he had stayed behind to help.
Brat pressed his lips together, anguish in his expression. His hand gripping the longsword had gone deathly pale. He didn't want Anse to put himself in danger, but he couldn't stand by and watch Emon get killed, either.
Emon had his principles, and Brat had his own moral limits.
"Sorry, I have to go help—"
"How are you going to do that?" Anse cut him off, then took off his backpack and tossed it to the ground. "You and Finn take the packs and keep heading west. Be sure to stay in good shape.
"I'll go help him. With Noronos here, those undead won't catch me."
Before Brat could answer, Noronos whinnied and shot down the slope, heading straight for the undead.
After a day of practice, and with the saddle's help, he could finally pick up speed. He was so excited that he kept accelerating.
Anse raised his staff and cast Light Spell on it. Noronos had Darkvision out to 60 feet (at least 18 meters), but he didn't.
The gesture came so naturally that it reminded him of that dual-wielding berserker, Gandalf, who cast Light Spell and then went on a sword-swinging rampage.
The few hundred meters vanished in an instant, and Emon, Alva, and the others came into view.
Emon was grateful to see Anse arrive, but this clearly wasn't the time to talk.
He and Alva stopped at the same time, drew their weapons, and turned to face the enemy. He couldn't bring himself to leave Anse to guard the rear alone.
"You go. I'll use hit-and-run tactics." Anse waved them on, his tone firm.
He wasn't showing off. With Noronos, he could fight and flee without worrying about a thing. Two more people would only slow him down.
Emon and Alva hesitated for a moment, then chose to trust him. But they didn't go far, staying close behind the Stonemason Guild's group so they could help at any time.
Anse focused his attention on the zombies. The Dice trembled slightly, then quickly revealed their information:
[Skeleton, Undead, Challenge Rating 1/4] [Zombie, Undead, Challenge Rating 1/4]
The fast ones were skeletons; the slow-moving ones were zombies. A pretty monotonous bunch.
"They don't seem that strong."
But undead never tired or got scared, and they often came in hordes. With nothing but bones or rotting flesh on their bodies, no one wanted to fight them. If you could avoid them, you did.
Anse raised his staff, ready to test how tough they were.
"જાદુઈવિસ્ફોટ"
Sorcerous Burst—Fire!
The spell's glow cut through the night and streaked dozens of meters, striking the skeleton squarely in the chest.
"Boom—"
The skeleton didn't even try to dodge. The sudden burst of flame blew it over, shattering a cluster of its ribs. But it neither wailed nor roared. It scrambled back to its feet and continued its pursuit.
[You cast Sorcerous Burst on a skeleton... The skeleton was hit and took 6 fire damage. Current HP: 9/15...]
Noronos turned and ran a few steps, opening up the distance again.
As soon as he came to a stop, Anse cast another spell, slamming a Sorcerous Burst into the skeleton's face. Maximize Spell damage triggered Chain Burst, blowing the skeleton apart.
[You cast Sorcerous Burst on a skeleton... Target killed. Gained 45 Combat Experience]
"That was way too easy." Anse's eyes lit up as he watched the scattered undead pursuing them.
They didn't dodge or evade, and there was no need to waste Magic Missiles on them. Weren't they the perfect experience fodder?
With that thought, he didn't hesitate. He had Noronos run forward a bit to open up the distance, then repeated the same trick, killing a second skeleton with three Sorcerous Bursts.
[...Target killed. Gained 50 Combat Experience]
The experience from each skeleton varied a little, but not by much.
Anse wasn't greedy. He rode Noronos while fighting and falling back, always keeping a safe distance and targeting only the one in front.
He used nothing but Sorcerous Burst. It was the Sorcerer's signature Cantrip, and among attack Cantrips, only a Warlock's Eldritch Blast could reliably outclass it.
The result was a strange scene: dozens of people stretched into a long line as they fled through the night, with Anse behind them and scattered undead following farther back.
The undead seemed to be lining up to die. One after another, they fell, and even at their closest, they never got within fifty meters of Anse.
Anse was having a great time. He'd already taken down four skeletons and one zombie.
Only now did he realize how important a mount was to a spellcaster!
He didn't need to stand still to deal damage, nor did he have to worry about enemies getting close. He could cast on the move, changing position after every shot. Monsters with a lower movement speed couldn't touch him.
The only problem was that his riding skills were poor. He couldn't stay focused or aim accurately while bouncing in the saddle. Otherwise, casting while mounted would make him a proper mobile artillery platform.
There weren't many undead behind them now. In the darkness, only a few zombies still lumbered after them. The distant village and the horde of undead were no longer visible.
Anse didn't stay behind to wait for the zombies. He kept retreating with Emon and the others; he wasn't about to risk his life for a little experience.
By now, he had a deep understanding of the chaos in Faerun. Experience points... they'd come to him on their own.
On the other side, the Amnian squad stared at the empty camp ahead and the figures that had vanished into the night, their hearts filled with despair.
He'd intended to use those forty-odd people to share the pressure and seize a chance to break through. He hadn't expected them to be so alert and flee so early.
Looking at the Holy Grail in his hand, he regretted it. If only he'd waited a little longer before using it.
"We're the Nahivarr family's slave-catching squad!" he shouted to those around him. "I know who you are—the servants of the Lord of Bones. We're not your enemies..."
"That's right, we're from Esmirtalan in Amn..."
"Lord Nahival is nearby. Think carefully..."
The surviving members caught on, too, and began shouting.
But no matter how much they yelled, the undead's assault didn't let up in the slightest.
In the shadows, two mysterious figures in black robes embroidered with white human skulls remained silent, anger in their eyes.
They'd only been gone for a few days, and someone had already occupied their lair. The aura of the holy relic, along with the blood and death, had stirred the Resurrection Circle and awakened the slumbering undead horde ahead of time.
The undead weren't strong enough yet, and quite a few had gone out of control. Years of planning had gone to waste.
One of the black-robed figures looked west. The night was dark in that direction, but the image of the knight wearing a holy symbol still lingered in his mind.
"A follower of Tyr," he said gravely.
"I've got eyes," his companion rasped, his tone sour.
Followers of the God of Justice loved meddling in other people's business. If word of what had happened here got out, hordes of followers and Paladins would soon come knocking.
Their situation was already dire. They couldn't cast most divine spells, and no matter what they did, they couldn't get a response from Milkor, the God of Death.
They'd begun to suspect the worst, and had been forced to hide in the wilderness. Only the undead could give them even a little sense of security.
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