A Quick Stop at the Stables
"Before we head out, let's swing by the stables and grab some horses. You're a commander now, after all—you need a mount at least."
Yoahim nodded at Tilia's words. He ordered his undead troops to stand by, then followed her with his companions.
The stables weren't far from the Spire Tower, and by coincidence, they ran into Gellios there. Holding his helmeted head in one hand, he waved at Yoahim with the other.
"Heard the news, Yoahim. You're leading the vanguard to take Levia Castle? Man, I'm jealous. Actual combat—you lucky bastard. Me? I'm stuck here till the real fighting kicks off, shoveling stinking horse shit."
It seemed Gellios was there because he oversaw the stables. Of course, as cavalry commander, he wouldn't be mucking stalls himself. But horses were vital assets to his riders, so he probably inspected them like this now and then.
"Jealous? It's a dangerous gig."
Gellios shrugged. Flames danced where his head should be, flickering wildly.
"If we die, necromancy brings us back. What's to worry? Hell, die big and fight hard while you're at it."
Undead think different from us. Death? Just respawn—what's the problem?
Yoahim let out a disbelieving scoff. Sure, if he died in battle, necromancy would revive him too. But he wasn't thrilled about it. Undead were just walking corpses in the end. High-tier ones like liches could near immortality, but at the cost of a grotesque form? No thanks. As a human, turning undead was physiologically impossible anyway. Better to die clean.
"Gellios, we're busy—keep it short. Lend us some horses."
Gellios glanced at Tilia, who had butted in, and shrugged again. Sparks flew everywhere.
"Sure thing, Tilia. One for Yoahim, right?"
"Nah, three."
"Three? Pulling a chariot or what?"
Tilia shook her head.
"His subordinates need mounts too. That's why three."
"Got it. Hang on—I'll grab some sturdy ones."
Gellios set his head on a table and led three horses out from the stables. He handed Yoahim the reins of a massive, muscle-bound black stallion.
"This one's a powerhouse. Warhorse—won't tire no matter how hard you ride. You know how to handle one?"
"Obviously."
As Yoahim took the reins, the black horse snorted irritably. He flinched for a split second but didn't show it. Instead, he locked eyes with it, glaring fiercely. Horses were smarter than people thought. Show weakness, and they ignore you. After a staring contest, the horse looked away first. Yoahim stroked its mane, satisfied.
"The other two are tough too."
Yoahim nodded to Gellios, then glanced at Tilia as something occurred to him.
"You not riding?"
"Nope."
"Then why not borrow one? Got your own?"
"Obviously."
Tilia shrugged and flicked her hand. A chill purple mist billowed out, and a silhouette formed within. A gust scattered the fog, revealing what hid inside.
"A phantom steed?"
A skeletal horse, flesh stripped to bare bones. Blue flames burned in its empty sockets, and smoky tendrils swirled around its frame. No meat left, but it didn't look weak—its eerie form inspired dread instead. Yoahim's horse whinnied in fear and backed away at the sight.
"What the hell? Why do you get a cool phantom steed? Why's yours the badass one?"
Tilia straightened proudly, chest puffed, and tsked.
"Phantom steeds don't carry weaklings. Means even if you had one, you couldn't ride it."
"Picky bastard for a horse."
Yoahim grumbled, but then something struck him as off. Phantom steeds—undead horses made from the dead. Revived by necromancy, way more useful than live ones. So why breed living horses from Haellagos's perspective? Performance aside, phantoms had zero upkeep once made. Militarily, they made way more sense.
So why keep horses at all?
"Question: why breed horses?"
"Why breed 'em? How else do you wage war without cavalry? Listen, Yoahim—horses are key assets."
Yoahim knew that. That's why he was asking.
"No—use phantom steeds instead. So why bother with live ones?"
"Why ask dumb questions? You need live horses to make phantom steeds, duh."
"So you kill these to turn 'em into phantoms?"
Gellios had no head to show emotion, but if he did, it'd be baffled. The flames atop his neck flickered.
"Yeah. What, you think we wait till they drop dead naturally? Pray for 'em to hurry up and croak?"
It made perfect sense, yet Yoahim hadn't considered it. He chuckled despite himself.
"So all these horses are sacrifices for phantom steeds?"
"Yep. Spare a few stallions and mares for breeding—the rest are fodder. Raise 'em from foals till prime, then slaughter for phantoms."
Yoahim stared silently at his horse. This big brute would end up phantom fodder too.
"...Fuck, riding phantoms is gonna feel weird now."
"Weird how? That's just how it is. I got offed to become a dullahan. Undead ain't bad—mana means no food, no sleep, no shits. Better than living."
Bullshit. Normals would pick a dung heap in the living world over undeath. No wonder they were Haellagos's crew. Yoahim shook his head quietly and grabbed the reins.
"Busy now—gotta go. Catch you later, Gellios."
"Sure. After the job, bring that horse back. I'll phantom it for ya."
"..."
Yoahim left without replying. He mounted up, grabbing an extra set of reins. Tilia did the same on her phantom steed. They rode back to the waiting undead troops.
"My lord, you're back."
"Time to move out, then?"
Yoahim nodded as Leon and Sasha mounted.
"Yeah. Let's roll."
The undead legion marched with Yoahim at the front, passing through the gates toward Gate 12. Manager Jade, already alerted, spotted them and opened it right away.
Leon and Sasha gawked at the massive portal, awestruck. Tilia's smug look pissed Yoahim off. Like she activated it herself.
"Leon, Sasha—quick mission brief. First, retake Elga Village. Use it as a base to carve a path to Levia Castle, step by step."
With only the two living in the unit, briefing was easy. Yoahim laid out the plan.
"Don't overdo it. Pull back if it's risky. Unlike the undead, you two can't be replaced."
"Got it, my lord. So we just kill anything in the way?"
Yoahim sighed at Leon smacking his lips.
"Yeah, but you heard me—no heroics. Back off if it's dicey."
"Soft talk from you, my lord. But I don't hate it."
This guy's nuts.
Yoahim ignored Leon and turned to Sasha.
"Sasha, keep an eye on him. Got it?"
"Yes, my lord! Sasha will stake her life on your orders!"
One too cocky, one too devoted—both headaches. Yoahim sighed habitually and eyed Tilia.
"You? Not helping?"
"I'm just oversight. Won't downplay your wins—or your fuckups."
"Then stay out of the way. Won't save your ass if you're in danger."
"Sorry, you're in no position to say that."
True, given their level gap. Yoahim smirked and shook the reins.
"Let's go. Elga Village ain't far. Expect about two hundred skeletons. Might be more, but Levia won't waste more on a hamlet. Taking it's easy."
Elga had swapped hands endlessly between forces. Tilia called it a training ground. Levia's side probably skimped on defenses—a small village didn't warrant big troops. Wasteful, and it split their forces.
Leon and Sasha nodded. Retaking Elga was simple. Holding it as a foothold to Levia? That was the grind.
"Three more villages between Elga and Levia. Light garrisons there too. Take 'em all, and Haellagoria's main force rolls straight in."
Yoahim gave Tilia an OK sign with thumb and forefinger.
Elga was close now. Yoahim gauged the distance from memory—about fifteen minutes at undead pace. The village emerged gradually, scarred from yesterday's battle. Undead had no reason to repair it.
As they neared, enemies came into view. Skeleton warriors garrisoned inside, around two hundred like expected.
And then.
"Haellagos's dogs! Finally here? Thought my neck'd snap from waiting! Come on—taste Alzahar's wrath!"
A pale demon with blood-red eyes cracked his whip. Behind him, an undead legion paraded. Skeleton warriors, archers, mages, zombies, ghouls—about five hundred. Plus Elga's two hundred skeletons: seven hundred total.
"My lord, didn't you say Elga'd be a cakewalk?"
"..."
Yoahim had no comeback for Leon.
Fuck, what the hell? Who's this asshole stirring shit?
One thing was clear: they were screwed.