Anser rode onto high ground, reined Nornoth in, and looked back.

The Undead pursuing them were scattered and clearly lacked direction, while the main horde was besieging a formidable team of classed individuals.

He guessed they were the Amnians from earlier that day. They were attempting to break out toward the camp and were only several hundred meters away. Whether that was coincidence or a deliberate attempt to redirect the disaster, he could not tell.

The burst of holy light had inflicted heavy damage on the Undead, but it had killed only weaker ones. The Amnians' situation had not improved.

"Anser, look over there." Bratt caught up, sweat beading on his forehead, though his breathing remained fairly even.

Anser followed his gaze. The Undead had nearly caught Aemon's group, and combat could erupt at any moment.

It was not that the Undead were especially fast. The Masons' Guild had too many elderly, infirm, women, and children to run quickly. Aemon could not bear to abandon them and remained at the rear to help.

Bratt pressed his lips together, caught between two impossible choices. His hand around his longsword had gone deathly pale. He did not want Anser to risk himself, but he could not stand by and watch Aemon die.

Aemon had principles he refused to abandon, and Bratt had his own moral boundaries.

"I'm sorry. I have to help—"

"How do you plan to do that?" Anser interrupted. He unfastened the packs and threw them to the ground. "You and Finn take the packs and keep heading west. Stay alert.

"I'll help him. With Nornoth, those Undead can't catch me."

Before Bratt could answer, Nornoth neighed and charged down the slope toward the Undead.

After a day of practice and with the help of the saddle, Nornoth could finally build up speed. Excitement seized him, and he ran faster and faster.

Anser raised his staff and cast Light on it. Nornoth had Darkvision out to 60 feet (at least 18 meters), but Anser did not.

The motion felt so practiced that Anser recalled that dual-wielding berserker Gandalf, casting Light before wading in with his sword.

The several hundred meters vanished in an instant, and Aemon, Alva, and the others came into view.

Aemon was grateful to see Anser, but this was clearly no time for conversation.

He and Alva stopped together, drew their weapons, and turned to face the enemy. Neither could bring himself to leave Anser covering the retreat alone.

"You keep moving. I'll harass them." Anser waved them onward, his tone firm.

He was not showing off. With Nornoth, he could fight or flee as needed. Two more people would only slow him down.

Aemon and Alva hesitated before deciding to trust him. They did not go far, however, remaining behind the people of the Masons' Guild so they could provide support at any moment.

Anser focused on the Zombies. The die trembled faintly and soon displayed their information:

[Skeleton, Undead, Challenge Rating 1/4]

[Zombie, Undead, Challenge Rating 1/4]

The fast ones were Skeletons, while the slow, shambling ones were Zombies. There was little variety.

'They don't look very strong.'

Undead never became exhausted or afraid, however, and they traveled in hordes. With nothing but bone or rotten flesh on their bodies, no one wanted to fight them. People avoided them whenever possible.

Anser raised his staff, preparing to test their strength.

Sorcerous Burst—Fire!

The spell's light tore across the night, streaking dozens of meters before striking a Skeleton squarely in the rib cage.

Boom!

The Skeleton made no attempt to dodge. The sudden explosion of flame blasted it off its feet and shattered several ribs. Yet it neither wailed nor roared. It scrambled upright and resumed the pursuit.

[You cast Sorcerous Burst on a Skeleton... The Skeleton was hit and took 6 Fire damage. Current Hit Points: 9/15...]

Nornoth turned and ran several steps, opening the distance once more.

The moment he stopped, Anser cast again. Another Sorcerous Burst struck the Skeleton in the face. Maximum damage triggered a chain explosion and blasted it to pieces.

[You cast Sorcerous Burst on a Skeleton... Target killed. Gained 45 Combat Experience.]

'That was almost too easy.' Anser's eyes lit up as he looked at the scattered Undead pursuing them.

They neither dodged nor defended, and he did not need to waste Magic Missile on them. Were these not the ideal Experience fodder?

He stopped hesitating. Nornoth ran ahead to open the distance, and Anser repeated the process, killing a second Skeleton with three Sorcerous Bursts.

[...Target killed. Gained 50 Combat Experience.]

The Experience awarded by each Skeleton varied slightly, but the difference was minor.

Anser did not grow greedy. He rode Nornoth while fighting a retreat, always maintaining a safe distance and attacking only the creature in front.

He used Sorcerous Burst throughout. It was the Sorcerer's signature cantrip, and among all attack cantrips, only the Warlock's Eldritch Blast reliably surpassed it.

This produced a strange scene. Dozens of humans fled across the night in a long line, followed by Anser, with scattered Undead chasing behind him.

The Undead seemed to be lining up to die. One approached, and one fell. Even at their closest, they never came within fifty meters of Anser.

Anser was having the time of his life. Before long, he had killed four Skeletons and one Zombie.

Only today did he realize how important a mount was to a spellcaster!

He did not have to stand still while attacking or worry about enemies closing into melee. He could cast on the move, relocating after every shot. Creatures with poor movement speed could not touch him.

His riding skill was still lacking, and the jolting prevented him from maintaining focus and accuracy. Otherwise, casting while mounted would turn him into genuine mobile artillery.

Few Undead remained behind them now. In the darkness, only several Zombies still shambled along. The distant village and the main horde were no longer visible.

Anser did not remain in place and wait for the Zombies. He continued retreating with Aemon's group, unwilling to take risks for a little Experience.

He now had a deep appreciation for Faerûn's chaos. Experience would... deliver itself to his doorstep.

—

Elsewhere, the Amnian team stared at the empty camp and the figures that had already vanished into the night, despair filling their hearts.

The captain had intended to use those forty-odd people to divide the pressure and create an opportunity to break out. He had not expected them to be so alert and flee ahead of time.

He looked at the Guardian Chalice in his hand and regretted using it so early. If only he had held back a little longer.

"We are slavers of House Nashivaar!" he shouted into the surrounding darkness. "I know who you are—servants of the Lord of Bones! We are not your enemies..."

"That's right! We're from Esmeltaran in Amn..."

"Lord Nashivaar is nearby. Think carefully about what you're doing..."

The surviving team members realized what he was attempting and joined in the shouting.

Yet no matter what they yelled, the Undead assault did not weaken in the slightest.

In the shadows, two mysterious figures in black robes embroidered with white human skulls remained silent, anger in their eyes.

They had been away for only a few days, yet someone had occupied their lair. The chalice's sacred aura, together with blood and death, had stimulated the reanimation array and awakened the sleeping horde prematurely.

Not only had the Undead failed to reach the desired strength, many had also gone out of control. Years of planning had been ruined.

One black-robed figure looked west. The night was deep there, but the image of a rider wearing a holy symbol still lingered in his mind.

"A follower of Tyr," he said gravely.

"I have eyes," his companion replied in a hoarse, irritated voice.

Followers of the God of Justice loved meddling in other people's affairs. Once word of this place spread, swarms of faithful and Paladins would soon descend upon them.

Their own circumstances were poor. Most of their divine spells would not function, and no matter what they did, they received no response from Myrkul, the God of Death.

They had reached a grim suspicion and been forced to hide in the wilderness. Only these Undead gave them any sense of security.

Thank you to all my dear readers for your support and suggestions!

(End of Chapter)