Sworded Affair

I\'m starting fifteen years behind where I should be, Emma retorted, her attention mostly focused on Princess Astaroth\'s explanation of conduct at the dinner table, featuring two dozen utensils per person and a bewildering array of rules and regulations. I need every advantage I can get, to avoid looking like a fool in front of Mom\'s extended family.

[You could also just avoid them until you\'re strong enough that none of this matters anymore. I used to attend the annual Conference of Masters in just my nightgown; remember, only the poor and the weak are ever crazy. The rich and powerful are instead eccentric.]

Emma coughed, barely suppressing her laughter as the Princess wound down her lecture, demonstrating how to properly hold a teacup during an afternoon soiree.

[Somehow, I don\'t think there\'ll be much time for nine course banquets this year. The end of the world tends to put a damper on such celebrations.]

I could use a feast right now, Emma retorted, having yet to find a solution for her inability to eat solid food. My stomach\'s rumbling just thinking about a proper Victorian sponge cake.

[...That\'s not your stomach.]

Turning away from the table to look into the distance, Emma\'s eyes narrowed as she spotted a cloud of dust upon the horizon, a clear indication of large scale movement, all inbound for the castle.

"Took them long enough," The Princess remarked, not far behind Emma in noticing the new arrivals. "Looks like a pretty big army; do you think you can manage the same spell you used before?"

"That one has a long cooldown," Emma shook her head. "Something for later, maybe. Let them waste time setting up camp, they\'re the ones on a timer, not us."

Emma watched intently as what looked to be nearly three times as many men as before, accompanied by a dozen trebuchets and a similar number of battering rams on wheels. Far more worrying was the golden light that poured off the incoming host, lighting up the evening sky to such a degree that an onlooker might have thought it was the crack of noon. As the army approached the positions prepared by their predecessor, hundreds of men fanned out across the field. Some went into the empty camps, preparing them for use once more, whilst others mobbed the incoming supply train to the rear, pulling out stakes and tarps to erect extra tents.

Still more headed for the open field, shovels and incense in hand, led in orderly columns by white-robed clergy; men in simple unmarked robes, of no evident authority yet stood unmistakably at the lead, guiding their fellow soldiers in march and prayer alike.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Rites of sanctity," Princess Astaroth grimaced. "Whoever\'s running this scenario has accounted for our class and identity. That\'s good, because it means the framework exists for my magic to work properly, but also bad, because that means the army came with countermeasures. I\'ll have to burn one of my trump cards now, before I lose the opportunity to use it for good."

"The stage is yours," Emma agreed at once, eager to see what a more experienced System user was capable of.

"My channelling will become very obvious once I start," The Princess warned. "Watch my back; if there are any assassins lurking about, this will be their chance to strike."

"Protect her with your life," Emma declared grandly, calling the Earthbound Immortal into play.

In the absence of soil, stone bricks flew from the surrounding fortifications, forming into a massive grey golem twice Emma\'s height and girth, its back against the Princess as it stood watch. Emma could have played the same role herself, of course, but she didn\'t want to miss out on whatever magic was coming.

"Much appreciated," Princess Astaroth smiled faintly, staring into the distance for a moment longer before running a finger across her palm, drawing a thin line of blood and guiding it into the air where it congealed into a small sphere the size of her fingertip.

[Status condition: Charm resisted.]

Emma frowned and turned towards the Princess, but refrained from responding overtly; given that the latter wasn\'t even looking her way, it was unlikely to be a deliberate attack rather than a simple byproduct of the spell being cast.

"Blood of the living and blood of the dead, in cowardice spilled and bravery shed.

The Weave takes the soul and I claim the rest, that those departed might pay their debt.

In the end, the deep always collects."

[Status condition: Insanity resisted.]

Emma\'s hand twitched at the second notification, but before she could summon Epitaph by way of warning, screams filled the air in the fields below. Status conditions forgotten, Emma watched with fascination as the men she\'d slain days ago rose once more. Some relied solely upon their bodies; rotted limbs grabbing ankles with unnatural strength, pulling the living down, so that skeletal jaws could feast upon exposed flesh. Others retained enough memory to wield their weapons, stabbing mud-stained spears into groins, armpits, and necks.

To their credit, the survivors rallied remarkably quickly, driven to action by the priests - all of whom had survived, Emma noted, as not a single undead attempted to attack them. Spears became makeshift bludgeons, battering many zombies back down into their graves; nonetheless, the element of surprise alone was enough to bring down dozens of soldiers and wound many more. To compound matters, those tending to the latter soon received another unpleasant surprise, as the newly dead turned upon them at the drop of a dime, devouring a number of medics before their comrades could intervene.

"Begone, creatures of darkness, for the light welcomes not your evil!"

[-5 Anima.]

Emma jolted as she felt the slight loss of vitality; hardly an amount worth notice, save for the fact that she was far from the action. The risen zombies below fared far worse; many crumpling to the floor at the Priest\'s words, whilst the few nearest to him turned to ash outright. Similar exhortations rang out

"So that\'s what it feels like with real faith," Emma murmured, recalling the failure of a paranoid old man in a cabin, what felt like a lifetime ago.

"I don\'t think I like it very much."

"Neither do I," Princess Astaroth snarled, sweat beading upon her brow. "Fresh zombies are too weak to touch the priests through their protection. You got anything that can help?"

"Oversoul."