In the halls of the City Lord, it was forbidden to run, punishable by a week in a cell, regardless of status. Yet the messenger sprinted faster than he ever had before. His heart pounded in his chest, he could feel it pulsing even in his head.

"Out of the way!" He shouted at a pair of men talking in the middle of the hall, uncaring that their robes displayed them as wealthy Nobility.

They turned and glared at him, but did not move.

He did not stop.

He charged through the two of them, sending both careening away, and causing one to hit the stone wall quite heavily.

A guard saw this.

"Halt! You are under arrest for assaulting a Noble!"

But again, the messenger did not stop. His crimes could be cause to put him to death, but his message was more important, and it was already late.

The guard chased after the messenger, but the guard was weighed down with his weapons and armor, while the messenger was wearing only light clothes and was used to running around the entire city delivering various messages.

The guard was quickly left behind.

As he ran, he ran past several more guards, two of which managed to keep up with the messenger and follow him to his destination.

A destination that was guarded by four guards.

Only now did the messenger reach into his vest and pull out the medallion.

"Urgent news! Make way!"

The medallion identified the wielder as on vital business for the city, but the guards did not move, their charge was even more important.

They stepped in front of the door and crossed their halberds over it, blocking it from the messenger.

"Gods damn it!" The messenger exclaimed, forced to slow down and stop.

"We don't have time for this! I must deliver this message to the City Lord."

"He is in a war meeting. He is not to be disturbed!" One of the guards firmly stated.

"You don't understand! He is coming here!"

"Who?" The guard asked, his patience running thin.

"Ashborn!"

The guards involuntarily stepped back, the one who spoke before spoke again, none of the previous authority in his voice, "You may enter."

The guards lifted the halberds, but the messenger was already ducking under them. He threw open the doors.

"Who dares interrupt this meeting?" A loud voice boomed.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The room was the City Lord's personal office, though he rarely had time to use it, especially with the war.

It was a smaller room, though still quite large for an office. The messenger's own apartment in the city was not so large. The walls were filled with crowded bookshelves. The middle had two sofas and a small table, but everyone was crowded around the City Lord's desk, which had a map of the continent laid out.

There were nearly a dozen people in the room, each with the authority to have the messenger executed.

The man swallowed his fear and did his duty.

"Your Majesty, the scouts have reported Lord Ashborn's coming!"

Whatever the meeting had been about suddenly seemed inconsequential.

The City Lord was the first to speak, "Can you point on the map where?"

"Yes sir!"

"Then do it."

The messenger stepped forward, standing in between the General in charge of the Hunters and the head of the Adventurer's Guild for Galmore.

He pointed to a stop roughly ten miles away from the city.

"The scouts spotted him in this area, moving towards Galmore. They say that at his current speed, he will arrive in three hours."

The General beside him spoke up, "He can travel much faster than that, it is even suspected he can teleport. If Galmore was his destination, why would he be moving so slowly?"

"Because he has an army of the Dead with him. One that stretched past the horizon." The messenger recited from the scouts' report.

"So he intends to attack Galmore." The Minister of Trade huffed.

"That doesn't make sense, he trained here, he wouldn't simply attack it."

"Why else would he have an army with him?"

"There is more than one reason to be traveling with an army."

"But he leveled Onigas, for all we know, he could have lost his mind long ago."

"Silence." The voice was not loud, yet it towered over all others, the City Lord was speaking, "We do not know his intentions. So we must prepare for the worst-case scenario. Do sound the alarm, but have criers out in the city announcing that it is not an attack. There are hunting parties still out, the alarm will bring them back, or send them into hiding, either is fine.

Man the walls and prepare the Siege Weapons. Have the every soldier and guard not on the wall on standby, prepared to either get to the wall or on Firewatch.

Ensure panic does not spread.

Go."

The room emptied as everyone went to obey their Lord's commands, leaving just the City Lord alone in his office. When the doors closed, he opened one of the drawers and pulled out a small crystal slate, thin enough to look through. He injected a small amount of mana into it.

After a moment, the slate became opaque and milky before clearing, the image of Azamar now displayed.

"What is it?" The city's Elder and Guardian asked.

The City Lord noted that the man's eyes were dark. News of his daughter's death had hit him hard. Only a few months ago, he had refused to even leave his house.

"He is coming."

The Guardian did not speak. Several minutes passed in silence.

"When?"

"Three hours."

"Fine." That was all he said before cutting the connection.

The City Lord's slate returned to near transparency as he sighed and put it back in the drawer.

'What does fine even mean?'

* * * * *

The rhythmic pounding of tens of thousands of boots against stone pierced through the otherwise tranquil forest. A forest that hid Monsters even Experts would hesitate to face. A forest that had been considered impassable by the outside world for centuries, only recently conquered enough to have a small road constructed.

It was a feat that had been written down in the city records of both Onigas and Galmore. A feat that had only been achievable because of one man.

One man, and his army of the dead.

An army that had marched through the forest, clearing the way for engineers and Earth Mages to build the road.

An army that retraced their steps once again, now much more numerous, powerful, and bloodthirsty.

Alaster led the way atop Nightmare, his mighty steed that had claimed countless lives by itself and struck fear into the battle hardened.

Many Generals and Commanders would be in the middle of their army while it moved, surrounded by their most elite soldiers. They did so to avoid any danger, as they knew that if they perished, so too would their army.

Such an event was even doubly so for a Necromancer, as their death would cause their entire army to disintegrate back into Mana. But Alaster did not care.

There was not a single Monster in the forest that could even hope to harm him. Nor were there any Demons or Humans nearby.

Nothing could kill him.

Though he wondered if that thought comforted him, or angered him.

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