Liam stared at the corpses sprawled across the forest floor.
His breathing was steady now, though his ribs still ached from the Sabre's earlier assault.
He leaned on his claymore for a moment, then summoned his black, leather-bound grimoire into his hand.
The weight of it in his hand was oddly reassuring.
"I hope this works," he muttered, lips quirking with a grim smile.
He crouched beside the Sabre's hulking carcass.
The beast looked no less terrifying in death—fangs still glistening, eyes glazed but uncomfortably lifelike.
Opening the grimoire, Liam searched until he found the spot filled with looping, sharp-angled glyphs.
He mimicked the strokes, etching crude circles and sigils into the dirt with his blade.
His first attempt was sloppy.
He cursed under his breath, wiped the lines away, and started over.
Again. And again.
Sweat clung to his forehead, and his fingers cramped from gripping the hilt, but he persisted, glancing at the book every few strokes.
At last, he stepped back, exhaled, and inspected the jagged lines.
"Looks… decent enough," he murmured, though doubt lingered.
He pressed his palms together, knelt before the corpse, and began chanting.
"¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥…"
The foreign syllables scraped out of his throat, alien and rough.
His voice echoed faintly through the still forest. Minutes passed.
Nothing happened.
Not a stir, not a whisper of magic.
Liam scowled, teeth gritted.
He erased the circle with the flat of his blade and redrew the arcane script, this time slower, more deliberate. His hands trembled, not from fear but from the strain of precision.
Again, he chanted.
"¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥…"
Still nothing.
Frustration flared hot in his chest. He slammed the grimoire shut.
Maybe this was a waste of time.
Maybe necromancy really was beyond him. He had other things to worry about—surviving Hollowgrove, for one.
He almost left it at that. Almost.
"…One more try," he muttered, jaw tight.
He reopened the grimoire, retraced the circle with painstaking care, and began again.
"¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥…"
The chant rolled stronger, steadier, his voice rising with each phrase.
This time, the leaves and grass around the corpse shivered. But there was no wind.
His eyes widened.
"¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥…" His tone climbed as the final verse approached.
Black smoke, thick as tar, began seeping from the ground. It coiled like shadows, curling around the Sabre's body. The tendrils of darkness seeped into its fur, sinking through flesh.
The corpse twitched.
Liam instinctively stepped back, hand tightening on his claymore.
His pulse hammered in his ears as the beast spasmed. For a long, dreadful heartbeat, nothing more happened.
"Oh… what a letdown," he sighed, shoulders sagging.
Then the body jerked again—slow, deliberate.
The Sabre's massive frame shifted, stiffly, like a puppet tugged by invisible strings. With a grotesque creak of bone and sinew, the monster rose onto unsteady legs.
Liam's lips parted in disbelief.
"…I did it." His voice was barely a whisper. "I actually did it."
Joy bubbled through him, unbidden and wild. He wanted to laugh but held it in, watching carefully.
The Sabre stood before him, its wounds knitted shut by dark magic.
Its once-glossy fur now looked pale, faded, almost gray. Its predator's eyes glowed faintly, an unnatural light smoldering deep within.
It was his now. His first successful necromancy.
Liam circled it, studying every detail, testing its movements with cautious gestures.
The beast obeyed stiffly, its gait slower than before, its raw strength diminished. If he had to judge, it had dropped from an E+ down to a flat E rank.
But that was enough. More than enough.
With a grin tugging at his lips, Liam pressed on westward, his new companion trailing silently behind like a shadow.
This time, he walked with confidence.
***
By the time he reached the halfway point, the sun had already dipped below the treeline.
Night crept into Hollowgrove. The air grew colder, the woods darker, filled with the restless growls and chittering of unseen beasts.
He faced monsters along the way—pairs of F-rank wolves, a clawed lizard the size of a man—but with the Sabre at his side, they were no longer threats.
They fell quickly, torn apart by fang and blade alike.
Liam tried raising more corpses to bolster his numbers, but each attempt fizzled.
The magic sputtered, leaving only lifeless remains. Whatever surge of fortune had empowered his first success did not return.
"Tch. Figures," he muttered, wiping blood from his cheek.
The forest pressed close. He needed rest, a safe spot before exhaustion set in. His ribs still ached, his limbs heavy.
"I need to find a place to rest," he murmured.
Minutes later, he spotted it—a rocky ridge jutting from the forest floor, the yawning mouth of a shallow cave beneath. Shelter.
But as he approached, a low rumble rolled from the darkness within.
The Sabre growled in answer, hackles bristling.
From the cave's shadow, two glowing eyes blinked open.
Then came the sound of claws dragging stone, and a massive bulk emerged—a hulking bear-like beast, matted fur streaked with scars, jagged fangs jutting from its maw.
An E-rank cave guardian.
"Of course," Liam muttered, drawing his claymore. "Nothing's ever simple."
The beast bellowed, a roar that shook loose pebbles from the ridge.
It charged, the ground trembling beneath its weight.
"Go!" Liam barked.
The Sabre leapt, colliding mid-charge with the guardian.
Claws tore fur, fangs sank into flesh. The two monsters clashed in a frenzy of blood and snarls.
Liam darted around the side, ribs screaming with each step, and swung his claymore down at the beast's flank.
Steel bit deep, black mana sparking along the edge.
The guardian roared, flinging the Sabre aside with brutal force.
It turned, massive paw swinging.
Liam barely ducked—claws sliced the air above his head.
He rolled, grit in his teeth, and came up swinging again, his blade carving a bloody gash across its leg.
The Sabre recovered, lunged again, sinking its pale fangs into the guardian's throat.
The bear-beast thrashed, smashing against stone, trying to shake it off.
Liam seized the opening, drove his claymore down with both hands, black mana flaring. The blade split hide, muscle, bone.
Hot blood sprayed.
The guardian gave one last shuddering roar before collapsing with a ground-shaking thud.
Breathing hard, Liam leaned on his sword, watching the steam rise from the beast's corpse.
The Sabre stood beside him, panting, its pale fur now streaked crimson.
"…Looks like we've got ourselves a den," Liam said, forcing a smirk despite his exhaustion.
He stepped into the cave, the Sabre padding behind.
At last, he had shelter.
And with it, a moment to breathe.