BoD Chapter 30 - Raise Dead pt 2 (Patreon)

Here is the rest of the chapter. Have a great day folks!

Back in Woodsedge, Dove allowed the glow to fade from his eyes as he ceased to share the senses of his wolf. He let out his breath explosively as he slumped back in the bath. The kid was mad. Completely fucking mad. Or perhaps he possessed a set of balls so large he didn't need a chair, he just folded those bad boys back and plonked his backside on them. Actually, that raised a question: at what point did recklessly large nads just become insanity? Casting such complex ritual magick in that condition… Dove could only shake his head. Even in his wild and carefree youth, when he'd felt invincible and nothing would ever harm him he wouldn't have tried it, not for a million gold imperials.

Then again, his circumstances had never been as desperate as the kids.

For the hundredth time he wondered if he'd done the right thing not reporting Tyron. Turning over the child of two heroes just because he wanted to keep the class he was given seemed monstrous, but if Dove was honest with himself, it wasn't anything strange. In fact, it happened all the time, every year a swathe of poor helpless saps would try to hold onto their forbidden class and some would escape, but most wouldn't. There were only two point that separated Tyron's case from the masses, the class he received, and who his parents were. Realistically, what would happen if he turned him over?

Having a class burned out was supposed to be excruciatingly painful, not to mention leaving the individual crippled, unable to take a new main class except in rare cases. There wouldn't be anything like that for the kid, though. The first thing Dove had done on returning to town was check the warrant posted for his capture. No second chances for the son of the Steelarms, he was for the chop as soon as he was brought in. And what would those two do once their precious bouncing baby boy was executed by the people they'd protected all their lives?

It wasn't hard to guess.

Everyone had heard about what they'd done in Foxbridge. Finding someone not gossiping about it was fucking impossible at the moment. When they found out who had turned the kid in, they'd burn the place to a fucking cinder, he had no doubt. As the only two top ranked slayers in the entire province, there wasn't a single soul who could stop them outside of the capital. By the time the brand brought them down they would have slaughtered an entire city. If someone wanted to turn the kid in, they better spend that reward money as fast as possible, they wouldn't have long to enjoy it.

Which was probably the whole point of their display in Foxbridge. They wanted everyone to know what would happen if they went against their son. The thought of going against the brand to that extent made Dove shrivel to nothing. The pain it gave him was soul crushing when he brushed against the vows, if he outright violated them? He literally couldn't imagine how bad it would be.

"Monsters," he muttered to himself.

Swearing softly, then loudly to himself, he pulled himself out of the bath and started to dry himself. No matter how he twisted this, something just didn't add up right. How the hell had Tyron ended up getting such a rare and dangerous class? There were rumours that the process of Awakening could be influenced through the crystals, but Dove had always considered that to be conspiracy theory bullshit, but now he had reason to pause. If it were true… the implications would be absolutely boggling.

It would almost make sense though, another lever of control the magisters could level against the population.

But if it were true, why would Tyron be targeted? Because of his parents? That didn't make sense either, they'd done more in the war against the rifts than anyone. Dove paused for a second. Yes, literally fucking anyone, when he thought about it. Most slayers who reached their level of power retired to palaces and only came out in emergencies, living lives of luxury, unlike the Steelarms who just kept ripping through rifts with barely a day off. The number of slayers who owed their lives to a last second rescue from those two was in the thousands.

The skinny Summoner shook himself like a dog.

"I don't fucking know!" he roared to nobody in particular before he started to get dressed with angry, jerking movements.

Rather than some ridiculous conspiracy, it was more likely the kid was just a natural Necromancer and the Unseen had given him the class best suited to him. The reborn god of fucking magick? After seeing the kid in action for himself, he had to admit he hadn't been far off the mark. Considering his piss poor level and lack of stats, Dove had to admit that Tyron was a natural mage. His pronunciation was perfect, he control of diction, volume and tempo, flawless. That stuff was such a bitch to get right. He could remember the endless days and nights he'd spent reading the words of power out loud, getting clobbered over the head every time he tripped over a syllable. And the kid was self-taught? Absolute bullshit.

Being born with that kind of talent was unfair.

No to mention the focus and concentration required to cast in that condition. Absolute fucking bullshit.

"Monster,"' he muttered to himself, then he laughed out loud.

He was just a little baby monster right now, but if he managed to raise his class over the level twenty threshold and advance it, then something truly incredible might be born. If that happened… who knows what the response would be from the higher ups? It'd be like dropping a fire stone into a pot of stew.

Dove loved stirring the pot.

Fully dressed, he rushed out of the bathroom and past a surprised looking maid before he barrelled into the common room and out into the street. He'd told the kid he'd give him a supply drop and so that was exactly what he was going to do. Food, water, mage candy, fresh paper, camping gear, outdoor gear, all at the finest quality available in town. He even yoinked a few supplies from the Slayer Keep, just for the irony. By the time he was done he'd amassed a small mountain of gear and spent half his savings, which frankly he didn't give a shit about.

Saving was for the future and people with a future were fucking cowards.

He was immensely pleased with himself as he looked down on the neatly tied packages he'd stacked in a pile in the common room of his team's suite.

"Dove," Rogil asked from the doorway of his room, a resigned look on his face. "What in the hell are you up to now?"

Dove grinned.

"Being a pain in someone's ass," he declared proudly.

Rogil grunted.

"Same as every other day then."

"You fucking know it."

Out near the rifts, Tyron dragged himself through the narrow cave entrance before he collapsed on the other side, panting. It was a miracle he hadn't been seen and frankly, it had been the height of idiocy to go roaming around with a pair of skeletons on his heels. However, he'd succeeded, somehow. He shrugged off his pack and fell backwards as his two minions silently stalked in behind him, followed by the star wolf. The two skeletons were both somewhat banged up, bones cracked, some completely split, and there was nothing he could do for them. He'd managed to secure enough remains to produce another two skeletons, hopefully, as well as scavenge some rusted weapons that they could hopefully use to some effect.

He had almost six hours until he would need to leave and make his way back to meet up with Dove. Hopefully the Summoner would be true to his word, Tyron hadn't managed to find anything to drink since he'd left the cave and his throat ached something fierce. He would need to drink and eat soon, but first, he had to sleep. When he woke, he could perform the status ritual and if the gods were kind, raising his current minions and the fighting they'd done would be enough to push him to level five.

Not that he could depend on the gods right now…

"Sleep," Tyron muttered and immediately his eyes fluttered shut as the spell took hold and dragged his consciousness away.