Daughter of Death - A Necromantic LitRPG

The arcade teemed with activity.

There was much to do. In order to oppose Alistair and Sokalar simultaneously, Lieze would need to ration her thralls. In a head-on battle, there was no hope of overcoming either party, and so a certain amount of caution had to be exercised before executing any plans.

The interiors of the arcade’s many establishments made for excellent storage space once gutted. A surplus of supplies were also available from the various eateries and shops. Lieze had established a temporary command centre in one of the former, slamming together tables to form a surface upon which many plans would no doubt be chartered. Drayya, however, was more interested in the restaurant's pantry than anything else.

“You seem like the kind of person who has her eggs over-easy, Lieze.” From the kitchen window, a sizzling could be heard, “-Or am I wrong?”

“Can’t this wait?” Lieze pleaded, “We’ve just broken off from the only allies we could possibly have in this world, so I was hoping we could perhaps discuss our strategy moving forward?”

“You may have risen from the dead, but that’s no excuse to live on an empty stomach.” She replied, “I know for a fact that you haven’t eaten anything since yesterday morning, so kindly sit yourself down.”

Lieze couldn’t deny that simple fact. She was hungry - famished, even. Between the attack on the northern district and the Order’s appearance, she hadn’t found a spare moment to enjoy a meal. There were matters of grave importance to be attended to, but she knew better than anyone else that Drayya was not going to take ‘no’ for an answer.

And so, while her cultists dealt with their growing army outside, she allowed herself a few moments of peace. Marché was seated at the opposite end of the conjoined tables, tapping his shoe against the ground.

“It’s been years since I last visited a place like this.” He said, “Tonberg seemed so full of life all that time ago… it was a city of uncontested prosperity. Trade with the north was still strong back then. Coin flowed like water. There was always something new to see… somewhere new to visit.”

“This is no time to be getting sentimental.” Lieze replied.

“Oh, believe me - I have no love for this city.” He claimed, “Why else would I be a necromancer? Wealth is good, but not without its price. I’ve grown to dislike nobles in particular. They rubbed their shoulders with Ricta and claimed to have the city’s best interests in mind, but most of them fled as soon as the Order began conquering other cities.”

“Yes… men and women of high birth, who realise far too late that coin cannot buy them safety from the Order.” Lieze muttered, “I do not understand it. Why do they flee? There is no life for them to the north, where the Dwarves will turn them away into the wilderness. They will starve, or be mauled to death by some rabid beast. Such a ‘life’ is so much worse than death.”

“Is that what it’s all about?” Marché wondered, “Most would claim that suffering is only one of life’s temptations. If a man does not suffer, how does he rise above his weaknesses? If an artist does not suffer, how can they create something truly beautiful? Is it better to be born great, or to be born poor and worthless only to overcome those circumstances through great effort?”

“Not all who practise ‘effort’ are rewarded with success.” Lieze replied.

“No!” Marché pointed a finger towards her, “That is exactly it. Life is a terrible and fickle lottery, isn’t it? A man who works half as hard as his peers may be rewarded with twice - or half - of the rewards, and when you consider the complexities of our society - influence, wealth, governance, power… the equation becomes muddied. Suddenly, there is no objectivity to fairness. We spend more time explaining what we understand as simple concepts to those who have no intentions of internalising them.”

Drayya wandered in from the kitchen doorway, a frying pan in one hand and a plate in another. The former was placed in front of Lieze and the latter in front of Marché. Two folded egg whites continued to snap in the pan oil, a vein of runny yolk perceptible through the haze of ground pepper.

“They’re still in the pan.” Lieze pointed out what was obvious, much to Drayya’s chagrin.

“If you want a plate, then go get one. The kitchen has plenty.” She replied.

“Marché got a plate.”

“I made his eggs first, so I moved them onto a plate to make way for yours.”

“Why not use two pans in that case?” Lieze paused, “You could have saved time.”

“I don’t know, Lieze!” She exclaimed, “I’m not a chef! I didn’t think that far ahead!”

“You didn’t ask me how I liked my eggs, either…” Marché entered the conversation with a hint of apprehension in his voice.

“I didn’t. But now that we’re on the subject of eggs - how do you like them, Marché?”

“I- well… if I had the choice, it would… uh…” After tripping over his own words, the curly-haired necromancer could only manage a meek smile, “...I don’t like eggs, Drayya.”

“-And you didn’t think to tell me that?” Drayya asked, “When it was already established that I had found some eggs and had every intention to fry them?”

“You seemed like you were in your element, so I didn’t want to intrude…”

“Oh, I was in my element, was I?” She crossed her arms, “Of course. I’m a woman, so the kitchen is my domain. Is that it?”

“The two of you need to stop talking immediately.” Lieze interrupted, “I can only take so much of this. Marché - eat your damnable eggs. Drayya - be quiet for once in your life.”

Lieze had risen from her grave not one hour ago, and her two most trusted lieutenants were more interested in discussing the intricacies of fried eggs. Drayya picked a seat and fell into a dreadful huff while Lieze and Marché took a few minutes to enjoy the first meal they’d had in well over a day. It wasn’t something she would readily admit, but Lieze did think that Drayya had a talent for the culinary arts. The eggs were tasty.

Once her late breakfast was out of the way, Lieze wasted no time moving on to the true purpose of their meeting.

“Are either of you two in need of a refresher, or can we begin strategizing immediately?” She asked.

“What’s there to refresh?” Drayya folded her arms, “We still have a king to dethrone, only we’ve now gone and made an enemy of the Order as well. With any luck, both sides will annihilate each other in a climactic bloodletting the likes of which Tonberg has never seen. After that, it’s just a matter of moving in to sweep the ashes.”

“Do you think it will be that simple?” Lieze asked, unsure of whether she meant it rhetorically.

“No.” Drayya shrugged her shoulders, “It’s never simple. But I can dream, can’t I?”

“As it stands, Sokalar outnumbers Alistair’s remaining forces.” Marché said, “Not only that, but he has the means to defeat those ‘angels’. It’s only a matter of time before the castle falls.”

“That spell he used was formidable, certainly, but it isn’t all-powerful.” Lieze replied, “I’d wager his entire reserve of mana had to be dried up to use it. And no matter how powerful he is, a sorcerer is defenceless without mana.”

“Well… he still has an army of undead, too.” Drayya pointed out, “But, saying that - I had a good chance to examine the Order’s ranks yesterday, and most of them appear to be Gravewalkers. On the other hand, our forces are composed of more sophisticated thralls.”

Lieze considered the limitations of Sokalar’s followers.

He was forced to grant the Deathguards a certain amount of independence. Not even he could command an entire army. But most of the Deathguards were level [20] or below, meaning there was a significant lack of efficiency when they raised thralls for themselves. In short, the average level of Lieze’s army was most likely higher than the average level of Sokalar’s.

“That still leaves us with a terrible disadvantage in numbers.” She said, “No matter its strength, a thrall is next to worthless if it’s surrounded. A battle on even footing is still out of the question.”

“So we are going to wait for them to kill one-another?”

“Partially.” Lieze paused, “We’ll need to weaken my father’s army. Killing his Deathguards would be the most sensible strategy. For every lieutenant of his that perishes, the total amount of thralls he can control will reduce. Graeme was a good start - killing him was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I can’t think of a single reason why anyone would want him alive.”

“You want us to just pop over and kill a few of them in their sleep?” Drayya asked, “Easier said than done.”

“Nothing as careful as that.” Lieze smirked, “I think we might have just the thing for it.”

Less than a month ago, complete domination of Tonberg was within Sokalar’s reach. If Ricta hadn’t hedged his bets on summoning a miracle, the city would already be crawling with undead. But upon their return, circumstances had changed - the war had changed.

“Ignas.”

The Lich turned his head to see Lüngen trotting over to his side. The man wore his ever-present grin as if he wasn’t leading a horde of undead through the husk of a destroyed city. For once, the sun was unobstructed by clouds. Beads of sweat ran freely from Lüngen’s pores.

“Excellent work repelling that attack. It seems you’ve been acquainting yourself with the most advanced of my necromantic grimoires.” He said, “I would warn you that such power does come at a cost, but a man of your unique spirituality needn’t fear the hand of death.”

“I’m well aware of the risks involved in high sorcery.” Sokalar replied, “It was necessary to avoid losses. This will push Alistair towards more defensive strategies in the future, which will present opportunities for us to extend our influence in the city.”

“To think that Ricta was truly dethroned by his own advisor…” Lüngen folded his arms behind his back, “To think we have Lieze to thank for it… her growth continues to amaze me every day. In a few more weeks, she may even rival the likes of-”

“Lieze is dead.”

A beat of silence passed.

Sokalar didn’t expect the old man to suddenly explode at him for the act. He was a reserved and intelligent fellow who understood the purpose behind many esoteric concepts and sacrifices. The most he could offer in response was a tender sigh.

“...I see.” He muttered.

“You aren’t surprised?” Sokalar asked.

“No. It was always a possibility. One that haunted Lieze from the day of her birth.” He replied, “If she is dead, then… yes - then that is how it was always meant to be. But I do wonder why you entertained the possibility of her growth for as long as you did.”

“Her growth has nothing to do with it. She was possessed of a wicked ambition. It was too dangerous to ignore for any longer.” He explained, “I will not have my position subjugated when the Order is on the cusp of attaining its goals.”

“Hm… but isn’t that counterintuitive to the Order’s beliefs?” Lüngen asked, “The weak are culled, and the strong survive.”

“If she was not weak, then she would not have allowed herself to die.” He said, “It is as simple as that. Confidence is only a boon for as long as one can resist its temptations. Too much, and a subject becomes inflicted with a potent sensation of invincibility. It transforms them into irrational fools.”

“Of course…” Lüngen’s smile remained, “Shall I have a Deathguard retrieve her corpse?”

“I have already dispatched a necromancer.” Sokalar said, “I wish to study the effects of the Blackbriar’s influence on her body. I believe it may be the key to unlocking the deepest secrets of sorcery.”