Chapter 1: Decay and despair

Darkness

Alone

A rocky cave.

"Wake up" A voice

"Why?" Stumbled

"WAKE UP!"

"Who are you?"

"Gindel the powerful dragon"

"Huh? I had always thought that I went mad ever since I heard voices." ??? dizzies

"Your name?"

"Tsarch Matroch."

"Now, let's get up and do something."

The old bag in the cave is suddenly ripped.

A pathetic loser war veteran stands up. Wearing a red cloak and holding what seems like a spear.

He looks at himself in a nearby lake in this cave.

A skeleton.

How long has it been?

That is right. A coward orcish assassin poisoned him with a knife.

Why were a knight's pride and a warrior's honor defiled by tossing his corpse into this cave?

For what? To be forgotten?

To be humiliated?

"Slay the humans, skewer the orcs, flay the dwarves, chop the drakes, gut the elves"

Echoing in his head.

"Why slay humans? Didn't they help me during war? Or should I say they were my kins?" He intimidates Gindel

"Have you thought that there were traitors among your army that led to your death?" The dragon doubt

A silent moment.

Treacherous, a thing usually happens in wars when a general is trying to push their own soldier beyond their limits. Without a proper purpose, he waged wars against orcs, dwarves, elves and drakes. Battles without meanings, soldiers were sick of his madness and unending conquest. They plotted with orcs to lure him to his death.

Then one night, guards allowed assassins to get into his tent.…

" I never thought of that. You witnessed ?" He freaks out

" I reside in this spear, so I heard no sound of alarm and I saw no light. It was quicker than many assassinations previously. So I conclude that there were traitors among humans.

Comrades died in front of their eyes. How could they turn a blind eye or get high spirits when their general was in a madness of bloodlust? Not caring about the casualties, not caring about others' conditions, not caring about their limits."

This is not the first tragedy of this general.

Those knife ears stabbed his wife to death. Those dirt worshipers killed his father during war. Those barbarians cut his best friend in pieces. Those winged lizards humiliated him in front of many eyes.

The only belief he had been clinging on is to serve the king. Greater good for humanity.

Expanding lands and gaining power were his purposes to humbly tribute for the king.

Maybe someday, he might get his own land and he could be a lord.

A dream that every strong willed man wants.

He treated people with generosity and benevolent.

He wanted to protect them from those grievous tragedies he had.

He wanted power.

Not just getting stronger but swiftly and fast.

A trader offered one thing. A spear that is powerful enough to fight anyone head on.

A spear that gave someone power was also the spear of destruction not only to the enemy but also to the user's mind.

Upon touching it, he lost his own mind. He was desperately trying to gain power.

How a mere trader could handle this weapon is still a question.

Perhaps, he was a kind man or he was not a human at all.

Tsarch now questions what his objective is in order to take revenge upon those living.

One thing that he has been doing best so far is domination through sheer power.

Maybe he can use his fear or will power to get more and more servants.

He sets his starting point is to kill those small prey first.

He wanders aimlessly in this lifeless cave.

Rock, water and only endless tunnels

He now likes this lifeless cave as his own base.

A place to set up an attack if needed

The sound of noisy drakes' settlement is what he needed to know if this place is suitable for a strike.

****

"What is the most basic thing to build an army?" The general points tup

"Hmmm, I had lived alone for most of the time so I can't answer this"

"A base to operate."

"Good thinking. But I had seen mobile armies that never had a base."

" Wrong, they always have it all the time."

" How?"

" Their base is mobile. Who said bases have to be stationary?"

" All the generals I had tortured and played with?"

" You are ignorant but you were strong back then anyway."

" Why did you grin?"

" I chose this to be our base."

" Why?"

" Multiple escape routes, easy to strike and also quiet."

The dragon stays quiet and has nothing to say about a weird idea of quietness.

The boneman feels happy about this

What creature should he kill?

Weak doesn't give sense of joyment

Strong could get him killed.

A human after a short stroll?

A wandering scout.

What is the emblem?

No, it can't be

The boneman shivers in despair, it is the Nortus.

They revolted against our kingdom.

And they succeeded?

HA HA HA HA HA HA

KEH HA HA HA.

"They deserve to die"

He thinks so.

That scout has average equipment: a short sword, a leather armor and a light sack.

Easy prey.

The miserable man feels the murderous aura. He draws his sword out.

But the general of the dead feels no fear. He sweeps his bone pole quickly at the scout's feet.

Trembling in fear, he is being gazed by the eyes of the abyss.

Splash

His blood spills everywhere.

Although the pole is no longer sharp as the spear before, the strength of the general can pierce through the toughest armor with this pole alone.

Hmmm

"What is this?" When he looks at something like black miasma.

Should he do it?

Aha ha ha.

First servant. A scout. Maybe, it would be better and lighter when he strips all the poor soul's flesh.

So a way to create an army.

A road to seek for revenge.

Maybe patiently enough, he will not make the same mistake.

****

Next morning, a report.

" Master, I have seen a small group coming this way." The scout bows

" Great, great. How many? Detail?" Tsarch sways his hand

" Six orcish hunters. I think they are from the Wolf Skin tribe."

" Good, now go, scout furthermore. Report, tomorrow."

" Yes, master." The scout jumps away

Wolf Skin, the howling terror during war. They fight like true animals. They howl before engaging. They use teeth and claws to shred the enemy's skin like those wolves. They wear wolves' skin, claws and sometimes the enemy's skull on their belts.

Their hunters, however, use stakes as projectiles. Easy to make and quick to draw. They are some of the best marksmans that could take on elvish rangers.

He approaches them slowly. He glares at them.

" Strange, usually I see a human scout or two around here." An orc is on guard

" Yeah, It is kind of strange. I feel like we are being watched." He scratches his head

" I can agree, I can feel a very strong murderous intent." He nods

" Then we should be on guard for safety." As he sheathes his knife

They are on guard. Ready their stakes, looking back and forth.

" KE HE HE HE HE HE HE HE" A manical laughter

They feel intimidated. Emerging from bushes, a skeleton wearing a red cloak with a pole?

The orcs let down a bit upon looking at him. It is just a skeleton.

But then, the true abyssal glare from that boneman makes them tremble.

Gnawing uncertainties

They fling stakes at him. He deflects them all with one swing. He is rushing, closer and closer to the orcs.

When he gets close, the breathing of terror.

They quickly dodge away from him but…

" He is very scary, bro." An orc shrivels

" We need to report this to our chief about this" One of the other points the escape route

" Someone must stay here to hold this pile of bones." As he holds his stake

" Then Jorkan, Muruk. Go, you two have futures but we might not." He stomps

" But, Nak…"

" Let's go, Muruk. For the tribe."

The two seem to retreat away.

Suddenly…

They are dead?

By a hand of an undead scout's blade.

" You fiiilthy bar...ba...rian shaaaaalll noooooot ESCAPE!" The general whispers

" It spoke?" He gets intimidated

" Then we must fight for our fallen brothers."

The four engage head on.

Splash splat thump.

Three are dead. Stabbed in stomach, head turned to mush, body cut in half

The last stander, Raging, rushing the red cloak head on.

Sliut~

The hand of the red cloak pierced the heart. The blood splashes out, the heart is still beating.

Perhaps, something new sparks inside the lifeless general's skull.

After he dominates six poor souls. He picks the last stander who dared to fight him with rage. He gives that beating heart to that skeleton. The skeleton is drowned in a power aura.

He now knows how necromancy works and how to improve a better army.

A lich has been born, but not for the first time in this continent of Rethanal.