A heavy silence followed Sophia's concise assessment, the weight of facing a Rank 4 Necromancer settling upon the newly formed Unit 18. The air in the briefing room felt thick, charged with unspoken apprehension. Even the seasoned veterans among the newcomers, Larm and Egran, shifted uncomfortably. Necromancy was a dark art, reviled and feared for potent reasons, and confronting a practitioner who had already crossed the significant threshold into the Fourth Rank, however recently, was no minor undertaking.
Sophia, sensing the unease, elaborated further, her voice losing none of its quiet authority, though it lowered slightly, taking on an unsettling gravity fitting the subject matter. "Beyond assessing their initial strength, we must understand a Necromancer's typical progression, especially one newly ascended." Her amber gaze swept across the assembled faces, lingering for a moment on the younger members, Melly and Torsan, whose expressions betrayed a mixture of fascination and nascent fear.
"Once they have summoned an initial legion, particularly in a remote location like this graveyard, their immediate objective is almost invariably expansion and consolidation of power." She paused, letting the grim implication sink in. "They require… materials. Fresh materials. They will seek to use their fledgling army immediately, targeting the most vulnerable nearby settlements - small villages, isolated farmsteads, places with minimal defenses - to harvest corpses."
A wave of revulsion rippled through the squad. Melly visibly paled.
"Each massacre," Sophia continued, her voice flat, devoid of emotion as she stated the horrifying calculus, "fuels the next summoning. Fresh blood, recently deceased flesh, the lingering echoes of terror and pain… these are the Necromancer's preferred reagents for creating higher-level, more powerful Undead constructs. They are driven by an urgent need to bolster their forces before their presence is widely known and a significant military response can be mobilized." She looked towards Jacobs. "I am certain, Captain, that Command has protocols for this eventuality?"
Jacobs nodded curtly, his expression grim but resolute. His voice, steady as bedrock, cut through the tense atmosphere, bringing a necessary measure of military procedure to the chilling discussion. "Indeed. Any confirmed emergence of an Undead legion triggers Standard Operational Protocol Four-Step Gamma. You have all been drilled on its core tenets."
He raised a gauntleted hand, ticking off the points with deliberate emphasis. "Step One: Accurate assessment of the Necromancer's Rank and the legion's composition. Completed." He lowered one finger.
"Step Two: Interception and containment. Preventing the legion's advance into populated areas, ensuring civilian safety. Evacuation of settlements within the projected threat radius is already underway, handled by local garrisons. Completed." A second finger fell.
"Step Three: Requisition and preparation of specialized countermeasures. Magical and alchemical ordnance, blessed artifacts, consecrated weaponry effective against Undead entities." He tapped the list he held. "This will be your primary focus for the next three days while I," he added, "focus on fully stabilizing my own power after the recent ascension. A detailed requisition list, cross-referenced with available supplies at the nearest depots, will be distributed momentarily." The third finger descended.
"And Step Four," his voice became hard, final, "Mobilization of a sufficient extermination force to engage and annihilate the Necromancer and the entire legion in a single, decisive engagement." He met each soldier's gaze. "Prolonged conflict is unacceptable. Every moment wasted grants the Necromancer opportunity to replenish their forces, adapt their strategy, or worse, complete whatever dark ritual fueled their initial summoning." His fist closed slowly.
"The designated extermination force," Jacobs continued, outlining the final phase, "will consist of this unit - all twelve of us - augmented by one hundred and twenty regular soldiers drawn from the Bandit regional garrisons and supporting districts. Based on current intelligence regarding a newly ascended Rank 4 Necromancer and a legion of approximately one hundred forty Undead, Command assesses this force as sufficient for decisive elimination." He surveyed the room, his gaze sharp, challenging. "That is the framework of the operation. Questions? Concerns?"
A moment of silence, then a unified response, voices tight but resolute. "No, Captain!"
Henry clenched his fist beneath the table, the familiar surge of pre-mission adrenaline mixing with a cold determination. Three days. Then they would face the darkness gathered in that desolate graveyard. This was the first true test of the expanded unit, the first significant challenge since his own ascension, since accepting the Sanctuary's burden. He glanced at Sophia beside him, saw the quiet resolve in her eyes. Her knowledge was their shield, her insight their sharpest blade against the unknown.
"Good," Jacobs nodded, satisfied with their response. "Retrieve your requisition lists from Sergeant Larm. Prepare yourselves. Dismissed."
The formal tension broke as the squad began to disperse, forming smaller groups, the veterans mingling with the newcomers, discussing equipment needs, sharing hushed speculations about the mission ahead. The atmosphere remained serious, but the shared purpose, the clear plan, had restored a measure of professional focus.
As Sophia gathered her own notes, Melly approached hesitantly, her youthful face etched with a mixture of awe and lingering unease after Sophia's earlier analysis. "Sister Sophia," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "could I trouble you for a moment? There are things… about Necromancers, the Undead… I still don't quite grasp."
Sophia offered a gentle, reassuring smile, turning her full attention to the young mage. "Of course, Melly. Ask whatever you need. I'll explain as best I can."
Torsan, overhearing, sidled closer, his expression curious. "Why not just ask the Captain when he was here? Surely Command provides him with more detailed enemy profiles?"
Melly shook her head, her brow furrowed thoughtfully. "The Captain has crucial preparations to oversee, coordinating with the regional forces. I didn't wish to distract him further right now. And… Sister Sophia explains things very clearly."
Daniel chuckled softly, clapping Melly lightly on the shoulder. "Growing considerate, aren't we, kid?"
Melly ignored him, turning back to Sophia, her large eyes wide with earnest inquiry. "You said Necromancers often summon their first legions in desolate places like graveyards… but then they immediately target villages? Why not summon closer to their targets? Wouldn't starting in a remote place just make it easier for the military to detect them before they can attack?"
Sophia nodded, her expression turning thoughtful as she considered the question. "It's a matter of both practicality and process, Melly. Summoning a large Undead legion requires specific conditions - a high concentration of viable corpses, certainly, but also often a place with sympathetic ambient energy. Old battlefields, execution sites, neglected graveyards… these places resonate with death, making the initial summoning easier, requiring less personal aether expenditure from the Necromancer, especially one newly ascended who might still be mastering the complex incantations."
She paused, organizing her thoughts. "Furthermore, the act of summoning itself is a refinement of their craft. Each successful casting, particularly of complex spells involving numerous entities, strengthens their control, deepens their connection to the negative energies they wield. Starting in a 'safer', more resonant location allows them to practice, to build their initial force without immediate interference, before unleashing it upon the living." Her voice turned grim again. "It is an unavoidable step for those seeking power through this path. The massacre of the living that follows is not just conquest; it is resource acquisition, fueling the next, more powerful summoning."
Lumos, the quiet hulking warrior, spoke up then, his voice a low rumble. "But skilled Necromancers, the truly dangerous ones, often choose battlefields or ruins far from civilization for their major rituals, precisely to avoid detection during the lengthy summoning process. The fact that this one was discovered so quickly near the Bandit graveyard… perhaps Sophia is right about his inexperience. Or perhaps," Lumos frowned, "he was simply… unfortunate. Or made a critical error."
Henry listened intently, crossing his arms. That faint sense of unease, the feeling of something… off… about this entire scenario lingered at the edge of his perception. A newly ascended Rank 4 making such a basic error? It felt too convenient. Or was he merely projecting his own recent experiences with hidden powers and complex machinations onto a simpler, albeit dangerous, situation? His Mystic Sense offered no clear warning, only the general tension of the upcoming mission.
"Sister Sophia," Mia, the keen-eyed archer among the newcomers, leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand, her gaze sharp with intellectual curiosity. "You seem deeply knowledgeable. Have there been truly infamous Necromancers in Zephyros's history? Figures who spread terror far and wide?"
The question seemed to cast a subtle shadow over Sophia's features. She nodded slowly. "Indeed, Mia. Far too many. Their actions are precisely why Necromancy is deemed a forbidden art, punishable by death in almost every civilized nation. Their power inherently breeds destruction." Her gaze became distant, accessing the vast library of lore stored within her memory. "Perhaps the most notorious in recent epochs… though his connection to Zephyros was one of conflict rather than origin… was the one known as Beleth. Rank 6. His moniker…" she paused, the name itself seeming to carry a chilling weight, "was Necrofear. The Dread of the Living."
A palpable shift occurred around the table. Even the seasoned veterans leaned in slightly. Names like Beleth weren't mere historical footnotes; they were legends, cautionary tales whispered in barracks and libraries, warnings etched in blood and sorrow.
"His rise came fifteen years ago," Sophia continued, her voice low, almost hypnotic, drawing them into the dark history. "During the height of the Birtoraz Border Wars - the brutal conflict zone contested by the three great powers: Zephyros, Loren, and Moduff. It was a land soaked in blood, where corpses lay unburied, piled like cordwood under a perpetually grey sky. A perfect breeding ground for his art."
"Beleth exploited the chaos, the suffering, the sheer concentration of death. He emerged from obscurity, summoning an initial army estimated at five thousand Undead." Her eyes darkened. "He unleashed this force not against the warring armies, but against the civilian populace caught in the crossfire. Over ten villages and towns along the disputed border were simply… erased. Their inhabitants added to his growing legion."
"By the time the intelligence networks of the three powers pieced together the reports and realized the scale of the threat originating from within the warzone," Sophia's voice trembled slightly, "Beleth commanded an army exceeding twelve thousand Undead. Not just shambling corpses, but legions including high-level constructs, creatures of nightmare. A force capable of threatening any major city within striking distance."
Melly gasped, her eyes wide with horrified disbelief. "Twelve thousand? Why… why didn't the nations unite to stop him immediately? He was a threat to all of them!"
Sophia offered a faint, bitter smile. "Ah, Melly. Therein lies the tragic irony, the flaw inherent in the feuding nature of powerful states. Politics. Suspicion."
Henry picked up the thread, his voice grim. "If Zephyros, for example, unilaterally diverted significant forces to engage Beleth, they risked weakening their front against Loren and Moduff. Success against Beleth might mean devastating losses, leaving Zephyros vulnerable to invasion by its supposed 'allies'. Conversely, failure would be equally catastrophic."
"And a joint operation?" Daniel murmured, grasping the complex geopolitical trap. "Command structure? Division of spoils? Guarantees against betrayal once the common enemy was vanquished? Each nation would suspect the others of using the campaign for their own strategic advantage."
"Precisely," Sophia confirmed. "Beleth, a Rank 6 entity of terrifying power, was also undeniably possessed of a cunning, manipulative intellect. He understood the paralysis created by their mutual distrust. He positioned himself strategically in the disputed territories, belonging formally to none, threatening all equally. He made no direct move against any single nation's core territory after the initial massacres."
"So… what happened?" Torsan asked, unable to contain his morbid curiosity. "Was he eventually defeated?"
Sophia sighed, a profound weariness in her expression. "No, Torsan. Beleth… achieved a cessation of hostilities. He brokered a peace treaty with all three great powers."
A stunned silence greeted her words. The concept was outrageous, obscene.
"What?" Melly almost shouted, indignation flushing her cheeks. "He slaughtered thousands of innocents… and they made peace with him?"
"He held the knife to all their throats simultaneously," Daniel reasoned quietly, piecing together the grim logic. "By remaining in the neutral, war-torn territory, any unilateral attack would have been perceived as an act of aggression by the other two powers, likely triggering wider conflict. Beleth likely offered… guarantees. Promises not to expand further, perhaps even offered his Undead legions as a bizarre form of mercenary deterrent against the other nations, playing them off against each other."
Sophia nodded sadly. "That is essentially what the fragmented records suggest. All three nations, exhausted by years of war and unwilling to risk further conflict or the potential rise of a rival power benefiting from their losses, accepted his terms. The Birtoraz region, after five consecutive years of brutal warfare, fell into an eerie, two-year peace… enforced by the very architect of its recent horrors. A land of death, granted tranquility by a Necrofear. The irony," she whispered, "was not lost on the chroniclers of the time."
Her gaze became distant again, clouded by the darkness of the tale. "During those two years of 'peace', shielded by the fragile truce, Beleth consolidated his power. He constructed a fortress, a bizarre black spire of bone and solidified shadow known in terrified whispers as Death Rising. His Undead legions swelled, reportedly exceeding twenty thousand. And worse, he began… evolving them. Reports spoke of new, terrifying variants - Black Curse Skeletons capable of withering flesh with a touch, incorporeal Soul Crawlers that defied physical barriers, bloated Flesh Bursters filled with corrosive plague…" Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "Creatures comparable in individual threat to seasoned Rank 4 warriors."
She concluded the tale, her voice flat, devoid of hope. "Then, two years after the truce began… the Birtoraz region became shrouded in a dense, unnatural fog. A miasma that carried deadly plagues, sickening any who approached the borders. And from within that blighted land… silence. Beleth, his tower, his twenty-thousand strong legion… vanished from all records, from all sight. As if swallowed by the poisoned mists they had created."
The implications hung heavy in the air. A Rank 6 Necromancer, having achieved his aims under the noses of the world's superpowers, had simply… disappeared, leaving behind only a legacy of terror and unanswered questions.