There were no more words. Tommy pulled a shortsword out from the scabbard on his back and began to run towards the orphanage with Artyom right behind.

  They got about twenty feet before they felt something was off, or rather, missing.

  “Huh, Lensa? Come on, there’s no time! Let’s go!”

  She looked at the two before hesitantly turning back towards the church. “I-I need to make sure my father is safe. They could attack here again. Besides, Neitra’s already there, why don’t you two stay here instead?”

  “Lensa, what the hell are you on about?” asked Tommy.

  Artyom kept quiet. He didn’t need a bloodhound to tell him something absolutely stank about this, but it could have been a number of things. He’d let Lensa say more before jumping on her for saying something so out of character.

  “The undead are weak enough that I know you can take care of them yourselves! My father needs me here.”

  “Is this supposed to be a trap?” Artyom thought to himself. “But she wouldn’t involve Tommy in it, and this would give me more time to talk to him alone. Maybe she’s actually that worried about her father?”

  “Come on Lensa, there aren’t any zombies here, and just tell him to lock himself away until we deal with the attack!”

  “I-I’ll,” she stuttered, before turning around and running back into the church.

  “No point waiting for her, come on!” shouted Artyom as he ran ahead of Tommy.

  He nodded and followed along.

  With the help of a pair of speed spells, the two were able to run through the town and make it to the orphanage within minutes.

  That was still a long time, and with an attack in progress, Artyom feared for the worst for the children inside.

  But he and Tommy both let out a sigh as they came across the main courtyard.

  The undead were… just there. Ambling around the otherwise deserted grounds, not adding much to the already bleak atmosphere. A good number of them were banging on the entrance to the mansion, but the doors held strong to the repeated hammerings.

  Not to mention there weren’t any windows on the ground floor so it was more like four undead battering the front and all the others standing listlessly behind them.

  “Their weak points are just below their neck,” said Artyom as he charged up his own spells.

  Tommy just nodded and ran in alongside the man from Earth.

  As they made it to the front of the crowd, they were joined by a third.

  “Lensa, glad to-”

  “Hi Tommy, Artyom,” said Neitra with a meek smile. “I was able to get everyone inside when I saw the attack coming, and they’re all safe.”

  “Glad to hear it from the horse’s mouth,” said Artyom with a smile.

  “Wait, is that supposed to be an insult?” asked Neitra after a brief pause. “Because I don’t get it.”

  “It’s a figure of speech, just means the info comes right from the source.”

  “Teccans sure have weird idioms,” she said as she unsheathed a dagger and stared intently at the ambling crowd.

  The undead, seeing the newcomers, immediately turned to face them and began advancing at a lazy pace. Even the ghouls amongst their numbers slowed their pace down to match the others, but that only allowed for greater cohesion.

  The zombies and skeletons began to spread out to surround the trio, cutting off any avenue for escape, while the much more agile ghouls took positions towards the back. No doubt they were meant to leap in while the three were distracted from the rest of the wave.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “They’re way too cohesive,” said Artyom aloud. “Now do you believe me that there’s someone behind this?”

  Neitra absentmindedly nodded while her focus was entirely fixed on the enemies.

  Tommy didn’t quite respond, but looked at Artyom with a believing look.

  It was good enough for now.

  “Do you think the culprit is still around then?” asked Neitra? “Controlling these many can’t be easy.”

  “If there is one, then we can catch ‘em after this fight,” offered Tommy.

  Artyom was happy the hero was considering his words over the other ladies’, but before he could say anything more, his eyes lit up in a sudden realization.

  “If they’re nearby, then-” he began, gathering up magic and adding a touch of emotion; his fears, lack of control over the party, being at the mercy of people much stronger in a constant game of cat and mouse.

  Even someone as hardened as Artyom felt such emotions, but he had the courage and experience to keep pushing through despite them. Being able to admit he felt them instead of bottling them up was one way he did so. And allowing himself to feel them, for just a brief moment, allowed him to infuse them into a powerful aura attack.

  Artyom let loose his magic in a concentrated pulse, focusing on strength and distance over longevity. While Neitra and Tommy felt a sudden chill that a quick counter-aura was able to quickly dispel, the undead were completely unaffected. It was why Artyom hadn’t used aura against them.

  But he wasn’t aiming for them.

  Within seconds, the neatly organized lines gave way as the undead began to break from their positions. They didn’t attack, but began to amble around, bumping into each other as they made their way to where even they didn’t know.

  Tommy realized Artyom had done something, and immediately flashed an excited grin while Neitra’s eyes grew more focused.

  They didn’t exchange any more words as they sprang into action.

  Tommy with his shortsword cleaved through several zombies and used its pommel to smash multiple skeleton’s spines.

  Neitra stabbed through the nearest undeads’ napes, instantly cutting off their magic.

  Artyom jumped over the front row of undead with a charged Gravity Lance, and sent it hurtling into several ghouls’ heads. It pierced through flesh, bone, and into their magical cores, reducing them once more to lifeless husks.

  Their advantage lasted for ten seconds. In a normal fight, that wouldn’t be much. But in a world of magic, Skills, and levels, it was enough to easily tear through a third of the massive horde of enemies. Now the rest of the undead began to suddenly regain their focus and face towards the trio.

  “Ten seconds to catch their bearings?” Artyom mumbled to himself. “This necromancer either lived a very cushy life or has never been in a proper fight before.”

  Artyom was ready to send out another emotional pulse, but then thought for a moment. The greatest threat, the ghouls, were already taken care of. The three of them could easily take out the rest of the undead as long as they didn’t let themselves get swarmed, and even then Artyom could fire off another pulse of aura to get themselves more breathing room.

  But even if they defeated the horde, that wasn’t their true opponent; it was the necromancer that animated them. How was Artyom going to find them?

  He had an idea.

  Artyom channeled his feelings of confidence at how the fight was going into his magic and got ready to release it as another controlled pulse.

  Tommy looked over at him at that moment and saw his posture before responding, “Hey, careful not to hit any of us this time. And don’t hit the orphanage either!”

  “Don’t worry, it’s a different effect this time, it’ll-”

  He realized his previous pulse would have affected all the kids inside, and he suddenly felt a massive pang of guilt. Not to mention his next pulse might motivate them to run out and try to “help” the hero.

  “That’s why I never fight with so many civilians around,” mumbled Artyom, trying to find something else to blame for his mistake. He really wasn’t used to fighting in such highly populated civilian areas, but deep down still felt responsibility for his actions.

  But that didn’t stop him from finding a solution to his predicament. Rather than just infusing raw confidence into his magic, he tinged it with a fighting confidence. One aimed at combatants- only combatants- that would bring out the confidence to show themselves and boast their abilities. And make them step out into the limelight.

  Artyom let the aura pulse loose, and emotion filled everyone nearby. Tommy and Neitra were filled with greater confidence and began to perform even showier attacks as they continued to cut through the undead.

  Artyom still kept his eye out for the orphanage’s front entrance in case anyone tried to come out, another pulse of fear aura primed and ready to send in that direction if worse came to worst.

  Thankfully, nobody exited from there.

  However, a door to Artyom’s left creaked open and the heat of an open flame passed him by.

  With eyes wide in horror, the man from Earth looked over to see Rotte emerge from one of the side buildings with the remnants of a fire spell in his hand. The boy’s gaze was locked in a determined smile as one of the zombies was struck and fell to the ground.

  Half a dozen others saw him and began to walk towards him, and as the effects of the aura pulse began to fade, his smile began to falter.