Deus Necros

“What’s that all about?” Thomas murmured, his spectral form shimmering beside Ludwig’s ear as they approached the carriage. His glow had changed slightly in the daylight, taking on a cooler blue hue, like moonlight reflected in water.

“Don’t know,” Ludwig said, eyes flicking briefly over his shoulder toward the Order’s ship, where the tension in the air was sharpening like a blade drawn slowly from its scabbard. “And I don’t think it’s wise to stay and find out.”

With that, he opened the carriage door, the brass handle cool under his fingers. The door swung inward with a soft groan, revealing an interior dimly lit by runes etched along the ceiling, casting a steady amber glow that pulsed with the low thrum of traveling magic. A familiar voice greeted him the moment his boots touched the interior floor.

“You really just ditched us, didn’t you!”

Melisande’s voice struck like a slap wrapped in sarcasm, edged by relief and tinged with a sort of bruised camaraderie. She sat with arms folded tightly across her chest, her mouth pressed into a scowl so practiced it might have been carved into stone.

Ludwig met her gaze without flinching, though a faint amusement touched his features. “Ah, Melisande. Good to see you again.”

His hand still rested lightly on the doorframe. Behind him, the heavy tread of boots on planks grew louder, several Holy Order paladins were descending the gangplank. Their movements were brisk, armored hands gripping polearms, heads sweeping in scanning arcs. Ludwig’s gaze lingered on them for a second longer before stepping fully inside.

“But let’s leave this for later,” he added calmly, taking his seat. His body eased into the cushions, but his posture remained alert, like a man used to resting only with one eye open. Behind him, Celine stepped in without a word, the hem of her cloak whispering softly over the carriage floor. She settled beside him, her head still low, her presence ghostly and silent, but not unnoticed.

Melisande blinked, her eyes narrowing as they shifted toward the shrouded figure beside Ludwig. “Who’s this lady?” she asked, voice lowering slightly. “And why is she hiding her face?”

The sharpness in her tone didn’t go unnoticed.

“Don’t you think that’s a rude thing to ask?” came Timur’s voice from deeper within the carriage. It carried its usual gravelly weight, roughened by years of shouting commands through storms, steel and magic, yet it held a lazy familiarity now. Ludwig followed the voice and finally noticed the others.

It was the same sort of carriage Lord Baltimore had once used, enchanted to be far larger inside than out. The seats curved inward in a half-circle, ample enough for several grown men to sit comfortably without brushing shoulders. Across from him sat Gorak, unmoving and as severe-looking as ever, his large frame taking up half the bench without seeming to care. Robin was there too, quiet as usual, almost lost in the dim light, his posture folded into the shadows like a shade refusing to announce itself.

“Sup guys,” Ludwig said, nodding toward each of them, though his tone was brisk. “Let’s leave now, talk later? How about that?”

“Fine by me,” Melisande muttered, still casting a suspicious glance toward Celine’s cloaked figure. “But you’ll have a lot of explaining to do.”

“Yeah,” Ludwig agreed as he adjusted his gloves, one knuckle popping with a dry click. “Not just me, though. Why are all four of you decked out like you’re heading into a siege?”

The question was barely out of his mouth when Timur leaned toward the window and barked, “Coachman! Head out!”

The carriage shifted almost immediately, the floor vibrating faintly as the magical suspension softened the roll of wheels over cobblestone. Through the window, Ludwig caught sight of the Holy Order paladins checking the other carriages, specifically the one bearing the Vampire Hunter sigil. The injured and wounded were being helped aboard, some groaning softly, others clutching bloodied limbs. One paladin broke away and began heading toward Ludwig’s carriage, face stern with suspicion.

Before the paladin could reach them, the butler, stoic as ever, intercepted him with a fluid step. The two exchanged curt words, and then the butler handed over a few sealed documents. The paladin looked at them with disdain, snatched them up, and turned away with a grunt.

“So, that’s done,” Ludwig muttered as he leaned back into the carriage. The tension in his shoulders eased a fraction, though his eyes remained wary. “Also, I doubt this is the way back to the manor.”

“We’re not going back to Lord Baltimore’s place,” Timur said, voice steady now, gaze fixed on Ludwig with something resembling seriousness.

Ludwig frowned slightly, waiting. His fingers curled lightly over the hilt of his blade, out of habit more than anticipation. “Things aren’t looking too good, Sir Davon,” Timur said.

“Starting by explaining might help,” Ludwig replied dryly. “That tends to be how conversations work.”

Timur let out a breath. “True. Where do I even start? Well, first things first, the Hero appeared.”

Ludwig’s brow arched at that. For a long breath, he said nothing. His mind worked in quiet loops, turning the words over with a strange sense of detachment. Wasn’t he the supposed hero? Or at least… hadn’t he been once?

Though that role had burned away the moment he arrived… well since he just died. He had been cast into something else entirely. What one might even consider the villain role, after all, not many are fans of the Undead, especially the living.

“Seems like he’s confused about that too,” Robin’s voice cut in, quiet but with a sharp edge of observation. “Master Davon, it truly feels like you lived your whole life in the depths of a faraway mountain.”

“Something like that,” Ludwig murmured. “But what does that have to do with anything?”

Timur folded his arms. “The appearance of the Hero is a calamity in itself. The Four Gods of Light only summon them when the world of Ikos is on the edge of something cataclysmic. And with their arrival comes the calling of companions. Right now it’s the choosing phase, two companions have already been selected. The usual two.”

Ludwig tilted his head. “Do we know them?”

“One of them is the current Saint of the Holy Order’ Sacrosanctum,” Timur said. “Rumors say he’s a young boy who can speak to eldritch and foreign entities. Terror itself on two feet, death and carnage is all that follows in its wake as he leaves any land he sets foot at a ruin of calamity…”

Ludwig’s lips twisted. “Mot.”

Timur blinked. “Yes, that’s his name. Wait… how do you know that and not something as simple as the Hero?”

“Because Mot was at the Dawn Islands,” Ludwig replied as he leaned back almost trying to forget the experience, a scowl was clear on his face, of both annoyance and exhaustion.

That silenced the whole carriage.

“You lived to tell the tale?” Timur asked, incredulous. He even approached Ludwig to try and learn more.

Ludwig raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like some harbinger of doom to outright be an enemy of a Saint? He’s just a boy. Why would I die from meeting him? And sure one should not believe every rumor they hear….”

“I guess the rumors are inflated. People say everything dies when he shows up,” Melisande muttered.

“Well… if it’s about that part… they aren’t that inflated,” Ludwig said, his voice growing colder. “Everything actually was dying when he joined the fight. But that’s not the point. Who’s the second companion?”

“The Holy Maiden. Titania,” Melisande answered, and at the name alone, a faint shiver rippled through her posture. It was subtle, but Ludwig didn’t miss it.

He remembered then that she had once been part of the Order. She had seen things.

“She must be terrifying,” he said.

Melisande nodded slowly. “She’s the only woman who can slap the Pope and live to tell the tale. The last one had his entire jaw shattered when he tried to grab her… or so the rumors go.”

“Ah,” Ludwig murmured. “Charming.”

Robin added, “They say even demons run when they hear her name whispered.”

“Why does any of this matter?” Ludwig asked. “The Hero and his companions, so what?”

Timur sighed. “Because everyone wants to join his party. To be one of the chosen who’ll face whatever great evil is coming, be it a Demon King, a god of ruin, a beast of ages. The identity of the threat is only revealed when the circle is complete.”

Ludwig scoffed. “What a waste of time. And just that made Lord Baltimore kick you out?”

“Not kick us out… also It’s not just that,” Timur said, leaning forward. “The Kingdom of the Sand lost more than eighty thousand people in one night after the Red Moon event. And now they’ve declared war on Lufondal.”

“What?” Ludwig’s voice cracked with disbelief. “War? What kind of idiotic thinking leads to that?”

“They say Lufondal had the Red Moons too but no casualties,” Timur said, his tone weary. “So the Kingdom of the Sand believes it was all staged, a ploy to deceive them. And now they’re out for blood.”

Ludwig sat back, rubbing his brow with one hand. “Brilliant. Absolute genius.”

Timur exhaled heavily. “Lord Baltimore promised us peace after our life of blood and blades. But it seems Necros still has use for us.”

“And where are we headed now?” Ludwig asked. “If there’s war, surely we’re not being conscripted…”

“No,” Timur said. “Lord Baltimore’s not that cruel. He sent us away, settled our debts, gave us some coin, set us on a path to start over somewhere new. We were thinking Tulmud. Farthest from the warzone.”

Ludwig nodded slowly. “I was heading there too… I guess it’s fate then.”

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