Sir Bucha Marol

The forest close to terriorty of Duke Magelda stood ominous in the distance, its thick canopy shrouding the horizon in perpetual shadow. From its depths, a horde of undead staggered forth, their guttural moans carrying through the chilling air. 

Sir Bucha Marol stood tall on the ridge overlooking the chaos, his polished armor gleaming faintly in the moonlight. It was not the kind of armour that other holy knights wore, instead it looked more like a warrior suit because he was a ranged fighter. He didn't have the best defense, but instead he got more flexibility and movement. 

He drew his bow with precision, the string taut and ready to unleash death upon the lifeless.

"Hold the line! Do not let them breach!" Sir Bucha bellowed, his voice cutting through the cacophony of groans and clashing steel.

The knights of Ared obeyed without hesitation, forming an unyielding barricade against the advancing horde. None of the slow and weak undead were even able to reach the wall created by these knights, as the archers did their job.

Sir Bucha loosed an arrow, its flight swift and sure, piercing through the skull of a ghoul that lurched too close to his comrades, but it didn't stop their instead it went ahead and hit another undead behind it showing Bucha's arrows were truly not ordinary.

"Another flawless shot, Sir Bucha!" one of the knights called out, admiration clear in his voice. "No wonder they call you the 'Deadeye of Ared'!"

Sir Bucha's lips twitched in a faint smile, though his sharp eyes remained focused on the battlefield. Another arrow was nocked, pulled, and released with deadly precision, striking down a disgusting looking undead it's mouth almost reaching for a soldier.

"Keep your praises for after we're done here," Sir Bucha said, his tone firm yet calm. "We've got work to do."

Despite Bucha's objection, the knights couldn't help but marvel at their leader's skill. Bucha's movements were fluid, almost artful, as if the bow were an extension of his very being. Undead fell one after another, each shot a testament to his mastery.

However, as the battle raged on, Sir Bucha began to notice something unusual. These undead were different. Their rotting forms still bore traces of flesh, their clothes torn but unmistakably those of villagers. A knot tightened in his chest as the realization dawned on him.

"No..." he muttered under his breath, releasing another arrow that found its mark in the chest of a once-elderly villager now turned abomination. His hand faltered for a brief moment, and his sharp features twisted with frustration.

"Sir Bucha, are you alright?" one of the younger knights asked, concern evident in his voice.

"They're... villagers," Bucha said, his voice strained. "These aren't ordinary undead. Whoever did this… whoever is responsible for this nightmare… they will pay."

The knights around him exchanged uneasy glances. One by one, they began to understand the horror unfolding before them. These weren't nameless monsters; they were people—farmers, tradesmen, children—forced into this grotesque state. Bucha's jaw tightened, and he drew his bow again, this time with grim determination.

"We cannot falter," he said, his voice cold and resolute. "They're beyond saving now. The least we can do is free their souls from this torment."

The knights nodded solemnly and steeled themselves. They fought with renewed purpose, driving back the relentless horde as Sir Bucha continued to rain death from above. Despite his stoic facade, every shot weighed heavy on his heart.

"Truly...whoever is responsible for this...be it the greatest evil... I will make you pay," Bucha muttered to himself, as he close his eyes and releasedanother arrow embued with his mana, which did far more damage than one of his normal arrows.

Far to the west, Dame Rosalind and Sir Roswald Persiwal sat in the bustling hall of a nearby garrison. The news of the undead outbreak had reached them mere hours ago, carried by a breathless messenger who'd barely escaped the carnage.

"Undead swarming from the forest? That's hardly surprising these days," Sir Roswald said, his tone laced with cynicism. He ran a hand through his ash-blond hair, his piercing blue eyes narrowed in thought. "But if Sir Bucha Marol himself is leading the defense, this must be worse than the usual pestilence."

Dame Rosalind's dark eyes flickered with unease. Her crimson hair, tied neatly behind her head, glimmered in the torchlight as she leaned forward. "The timing of this outbreak is... concerning," she murmured. "First, the villagers near the forest disappear, then the church's chaos… it can't be a coincidence."

"Chaos is putting it lightly," Roswald replied, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The faithful going mad, screaming of shadows and corruption? And now the dead rise in that very forest? Something awful has been spawned there, Rosalind. Something beyond our understanding."

"We need answers," Rosalind said, her voice firm. She rose from her seat and grabbed her sword from the nearby rack. "If we're to face whatever darkness is taking root, we can't wait for it to spread. Sir Bucha may be holding the line for now, but he won't last forever."

Roswald sighed but followed suit, fastening his own blade to his belt. "Let's hope the Deadeye has enough arrows to hold out until we arrive."

Back on the battlefield, the tide of undead had slowed, but the ground was littered with corpses. The knights' breaths came in ragged gasps as they regrouped. Sir Bucha's sharp eyes scanned the treeline, searching for any sign of a reprieve.

"We've thinned their numbers, but they're not stopping," he muttered. "It's as if something's driving them forward."

One of the knights stumbled forward, clutching a torn piece of paper painted with splash of blood. "Sir, look at this," he said, handing it to Bucha.

"What is this?" Bucha questioned.

The knight quickly answered, "It was from one of the officers we sent to see what happened to the villagers. He didn't make it, but for some reason, his horse came back to the barricade with this letter."

Bucha opened the letter quickly and was unpleasantly surprised. "All the villages close to the forest are apparently being infected by these undead. Apparently, according to him..." Bucha paused. "According to him, unlike normal undead, these ones, when they bite someone, that person also becomes undead..."

Bucha couldn't even finish reading before he suddenly heard screaming from the barricade they were building. A bad feeling crept over him.