Daughter of Death - A Necromantic LitRPG

Lieze’s mind struggled to recall the agreed-upon route towards the hideout that wasn’t studded with pitfalls and snares. Thankfully, Drayya was more than eager to show her the way back. At one point or another, Helmach could no longer ignore his growing fatigue, fading into the distance and affording a few precious moments to prepare for his inevitable arrival.

Quest "Escape" Complete!

Reward - 1,000xp

“Hey, you lot! Get out of here!” Drayya waved towards the lazy group of Dwarves idling near the hideout’s entrance, “An Acolyte is on his way! Flee now if you fancy keeping your heads attached to your shoulders!”

They didn’t need to be told twice. The commotion also caught the attention of Alma, who had been keeping an eye on the entrance. Her expression was more fearful than a necromancer ought to have allowed, but Lieze couldn’t blame the girl - she was rather terrified herself.

“An Acolyte!?” Alma repeated, “Don’t tell me-”

“Yes. It’s Helmach. Of course it is. Who else would it be?” Lieze summarised, “We need to gather as many thralls outside as possible. The Briarknight, the Rot Behemoth, the Wraith - everything. If that fool wants to run straight to his demise, then I won’t pass up the opportunity to finally be rid of him.”

“M-Marché is still asleep!”

“Then wake him! And gather the Horrors wandering outside! Honest to goodness… is this a cult or an inn!?”

“Calm yourself, Lieze.” Drayya placed a hand on her shoulder, “We need to keep our minds sharp. Let’s make our way to the crypt and discuss our strategy. I fear we’ll be needing more than brute force to put Helmach down for good.”

“Yes… of course.” Taking a breath, Lieze agreed, “Let’s go.”

‘Crypt’ was a generous moniker. The chamber carved out by the Dwarves was little more than a featureless stone room filled to bursting with motionless thralls. Compared to the ancient catacombs in the Order’s hideout, the difference was night and day. But luxury had never been a concern of Lieze’s.

Thanks to her newly-acquired [Greater Necromancy], she could control up to 46 thralls simultaneously. Marché’s efforts in reinforcing the cult’s power with Gravewalkers from Saptra had resulted in an overabundance of low-level thralls to use as meat-shields against Helmach. Lieze’s victory would be decided by the intelligent usage of more powerful servants to exploit weaknesses in his defences. High-value thralls such as the Briarknight and the Rot Behemoth were too rare to be sending out thoughtlessly.

“As it stands, the battlefield is in Helmach’s favour.” As she began exerting her control over a number of the thralls in the crypt, Lieze explained her strategy, “Moving such a large amount of thralls around would result in most of the hideout’s traps working against us. That’s why I initially wanted to fight defensively.”

“You see, the idea was that we would eventually be warding off groups, not a single man.” Drayya explained, “But I do agree. If we move quickly, we could meet him downhill and secure the higher ground. I’d like to see how long he lasts swinging that sword on an incline. If we’re lucky, he’ll lose his footing and end up flattening himself.”

“Lieze!” Marché rushed into the chamber with dishevelled hair and a face that looked like he’d just been brought back from the dead, “Helmach is here!?”

“He is. Now take as many thralls as you can manage and follow me.” She answered, “We’ll be splitting into two groups. The first will consist of myself and Marché. The second, Drayya and Alma. That should leave us with two forces of roughly equal strength.”

“Ah, a classic pincer movement.” Drayya folded her arms, “-But wouldn’t it be better if one group approached from behind?”

“There are too many thralls to consider a surprise attack, and it would take too much time to position ourselves correctly - time that Helmach could spend focusing on one group while the other struggles to flank him.” Lieze replied, “Boxing him in from two sides will work well enough. But we also have to consider the possibility of him using the Blackbriar’s power again. If we don’t act with caution, he’ll-”

“Right, right - naturally. But we really do have to get moving if we want to secure ourselves a strategically advantageous position.” Marché rubbed his eyes, “Who’s taking the greater thralls? The Briarknight? The Rot Behemoth?”

“Split them up. You and I will take the Briarknight.” Lieze turned her head, “Drayya - you and Alma will take the Rot Behemoth. We’ll attempt to split Horrors and Fleshbags evenly between our forces, but don’t complain if you turn up short. We don’t have time to be precise about it.”

“Where is that girl, anyway…?” Drayya finished collecting her thralls before wandering towards the exit, “I’ll find Alma and meet you outside, Lieze.”

With a quiet nod, Lieze turned her attention to the Briarknight. It was a jarring staring into the eyes of Stürm, now completely lifeless, knowing he’d been alive and well just a matter of days ago. Despite her tenure, Lieze wasn’t entirely familiar with the sensation of raising one’s enemies to serve as thralls. Seeing the fruits of her newfound power right in front of her eyes struck her with a dangerous and intoxicating sensation.

“Marché.” As the former hero was brought under her command, Lieze felt as if she needed to eliminate any errant factors before moving on, “You and Helmach have a history. I need your word that you won’t hesitate to kill him if the opportunity presents itself.”

“He’s no longer…” Hesitation laced the young man’s voice. He wanted to appear affectless, but he realised just as quickly that he wasn’t about to fool anyone, “He was once my closest friend, Lieze. I’m not sure I can promise that.”

“He’s a maniac.”

“Yes, but- that’s exactly the problem!” Marché exclaimed, “All he desires is a place to belong, but everyone he lends his trust to inevitably worsens the state of his mind! I won’t excuse the atrocities he’s no-doubt committed in the name of the Church, but-”

“-But you know he’s a good man, deep down?” Lieze finished, “Good, evil - if you wish to prosper as a member of the Order, you need to abandon these delusions of morality right this moment. We are but servants of death’s greater will, devoted to delivering this world from its suffering. Helmach is precisely the kind of tragic fool we aim to save.”

“You don’t understand.” Marché frowned.

“I took a risk by allowing you to join this cult. Don’t disappoint me.” She replied, “I do understand. Your sadness. Your longing. The cessation of wordly emotions is not possible - this is the curse of our blood. Helmach, too, is a man animated by fury and violence. Only in death can he truly be free. I’m half-convinced he thinks so himself.”

There was no winning. Marché didn’t want to admit that. He was still oblivious to the ideals and expectations of the Order. Lieze didn’t want to kill him - he was a useful ally to have. But he was a child of the countryside, pure and innocent. It would take many years for him to acclimate to the life of a tried-and-true necromancer. Lieze would have to make certain he didn’t plan on flying off the handle before then.

Soon, tides of undead were pouring out from the hideout’s entrance. Helmach was still nowhere in sight, leaving a few moments to finalise Lieze’s plan of attack. Group A (herself and Marché) would await the fervent Acolyte on the hillside, guaranteeing that his single-minded assault on the hideout would be an uphill battle. Group B (Drayya and Alma), on the other hand, would first join Group A before using the heat of battle as cover to circle around in order to block Helmach’s most likely escape route and to secure a positional advantage.

“We can’t allow him to escape.” Lieze summarised, “If he discovers the hideout and manages to rally the Church against us, we’ll be wiped off the face of the map.”

“Do you expect him to retreat?” Marché asked.

“Of course I don’t. This is Helmach we’re talking about.” She replied, “Combined with the recent raid from Baccharum’s thugs and the… uh, very sudden death of one of his captains, he’s slowly losing his ability to exert influence. The Acolytes were already pitifully underequipped, and now their leader is a voiceless madman on a quest to take on an entire cult of necromancers by himself.”

“It’s no wonder he’s so keen on killing you himself.” Marché folded his arms, “Combined with the death of Noma, the dismantling of his brotherhood, and the loss of his tongue, he’s probably been pushed to the edge.”

“Good. That means he’s more likely to make hasty decisions.”

“I wouldn’t say that… if anything, anger just seems to make Helmach more focused…” He paused, “-Exercise caution here, Lieze. He has very little left to lose.”

“He’s a fool. Noma, the Acolytes, his own body - he revels in this madness. If he wanted me dead, he would have killed me in the precinct.”

“Yes… why didn’t he do that?”

Her scale. It wasn’t something Lieze could admit to a wildcard like Marché, but she knew perfectly well why Helmach had allowed her to live that day. At the time, she didn’t understand it, but the reasoning was clear to her now. Helmach, Morgan, Alistair - all three of them shared her gift. Something about the favour of the Gods was so important that Helmach was forced to stay his hand that day.

“Despite it all, we’re still the fickle playthings of higher beings…” She thought, “What good does struggling against mortality do, when we’re no more than pawns in a much greater game?”

“Lieze?” Marché seemed confused by her sudden introspection.

“I don’t know.” She lied, “Enough of this. He’ll be here soon, and I want to be prepared.”

‘Soon’ was an understatement. It was only a matter of seconds later when Helmach emerged from the dense treeline populating the side of the highway, having reduced himself to a stroll to conserve energy. The sight of countless undead staring down at him from the hillside gave the man as much pause as witnessing children playing in the streets. There was no animation or zealousness to his stride, and neither was his expression particularly bothered by the circumstances.

He seemed ever so small from where Lieze stood. The swaying shadows of the canopy above hid the golden lustre of his hair. Marché’s presence, at the very least, struck him with the slightest pause. Lieze only noticed it then, but the wild chirping of birdsong and the rustling of woodland critters hidden in the undergrowth had ceased. The silence reminded her of the Order’s solitude.

“...I would ask why you aren’t speaking, but that would be too cruel of a joke even by my standards.” She began, “Why do you follow the Church of the Golden Dragon, Helmach? They castrate you, lop your tongue off, and still your loyalty remains unwavering. There are limits to how much goodwill one man can have - but only a fool would waste it serving an order that punishes the slightest insubordination with death.”

She knew his answer. The Order was no different. But in her eyes, a body that sought to deliver the world from perceived evil ought to be celebrating humility and temperance, not gleefully indulging in the deaths of their enemies and torturing those who served it.

“Hmph.” Helmach moved his gaze to another, “...Marché.”

The name slid out from his throat awkwardly. It wouldn’t have been entirely understandable if the subject of his tone wasn’t obvious. The man in question didn’t attempt to hide the overtly conflicted expression forming on his face.

“What Lieze says is correct, Helmach.” He said, “The Church barely respects its own, never mind its enemies. You’re being used to carry out the whims of power-hungry priests who claim to live virtuously while guzzling fine wine, bedding courtesans and avoiding their responsibilities.”

Naturally, there was no answer. Without the ability to expound his heartfelt beliefs, Helmach really was little else but a beast collared by the Church.

“We don’t have to fight.” Marché pleaded, throwing his arms out in abject exasperation, “-I know you will regardless. But I just want you to know that. Perhaps we’re no better - we necromancers - but Lieze and the others are at the very least true-”

“Stop, Marché.” Lieze commanded, “You’re only perpetuating his suffering. Do you really think he appreciates being appealed to when the murderer of his sister is standing right in front of him?”

“But…”

“There is ‘shepherding’, and there is ‘butchering’. Does a farmer ask for the steer’s cooperation before putting it down? Does he ask the sheep to understand his needs before slitting its throat?” She continued, “We do not demand to be understood. We do not ask permission to kill. Our way is the way of death, and nothing more glamorous than that.”

With her spiel over, Lieze turned to Helmach, “It’s useless for us to exchange words. With your tongue fed to the dogs, violence is now your sole method of expression. Is that what you want? Conflict? Death? A world devoid of peace and love - cursed with everlasting fury? It matters not to me. All those are the woes of ‘flesh’.”

A fearsome rasp accompanied Helmach’s movements as he pulled his greatsword from its harness. If there was one thing either of them understood, it was that debate would not be the arbiter of that day. Helmach represented the very first stepping stone on the path towards a complete realisation of the Order’s desire. If she couldn’t emerge victorious from that battle, then her ambition would be rendered inauthentic.