Rebirth of the Undead King: Book 1

by Ink Bamboo

  Despite that, they remained humble, victims to their own fear. Legends told by the village’s elders warned them not to succumb to their greed. Those who ventured too deep into the forest would never again be seen alive. Only their corpses would be found from time to time.

  Thus, children in these towns worked as soon as they reached the age of five, for every member of the village had to carry at least some of their own weight. Boys learned how to hunt, log, and mine, while girls learned how to farm, cook, and sew. The few needs that could not be supplied by the village were usually fulfilled by caravans of hunters and merchants carrying different products.

  The merchants came from the northern towns and cities, which made them capable of providing a variety of products that complemented the southern settlements’ own. This created a healthy system of trade. All in all, the village lived in harmony despite the various limitations they had to face.

  However, exceptions are the norm even in paradise. Zaros was a young boy living in one of these villages, only 13 years old of age. His hair was as black as coal and his skin was slightly pale from his lack of proper nutrition. His mother had died giving birth to him, while his father had been conscripted by the army, yet to return if was even still alive.

  Before his father’s departure, he had been entrusted under the care of the village. Alas, that protection didn’t last for very long. Given his circumstances, Zaros had to face a reality harder than the rest of the village’s children. From a young age, he had to learn how to hunt, log, mine, sew and cook all on his own. His weight was his own to carry. Expecting help from others who had their own burdens was nothing short of foolishness.

  As such, Zaros would usually wake up at three o'clock in the morning in order to prepare his hunting tools. Maintaining them was essential as replacing them would be too expensive for him to afford. Only after this morning ritual would he go out and hunt.

  Hunting every morning was crucial as food was impossible to keep fresh for long. Ice magic was an option but their settlement was too humble to host someone like a magician. That would remain a luxury affordable only to those living in the capital. Because of this, Zaros prioritized hunting as a daily event on his itinerary. Otherwise, no amount of forest fruits would be able to cover his caloric intake.

  That being said, given his young age and limited resources, Zaros chose to hunt only around the forest’s border. It was common knowledge that the deeper he went inside the woods, the stronger the creatures he would meet.

  Zaros’s skill at hunting became more polished every day, even under the shadow of his humble background. Had someone actually taught him, he would have turned him into a skilled scout. Without that training, however, he lacked both the resources and instruction to achieve his true potential.

  However, suffering hardships had earned him the villagers’ approval. His work ethic was recognized even by the adults. Alas, his way of life didn’t garner the same appreciation from most of the town’s youths. All they saw was someone stealing their parents’ favor despite being nothing more than a stray in their eyes.

  This morning, like many others, Zaros visited the village in order to trade. After his morning hunt, he had decided to exchange his leftover game for a resource with more liquidity. What could he do with the beasts’ innards otherwise?

  “Hello, young man,” greeted a middle-aged woman. She was the village butcher and the owner of the small establishment Zaros was visiting. Her shop specialized in processing all kind of resources; wild animals, meat, and leather alike.

  “Hey, old lady,” said Zaros, a mischievous smile on his face.

  The butcher’s nose twitched at the boy’s greetings before she quickly resumed her usual merchant-like demeanor. Zaros was known to be a bit of a troublemaker. His lack of interaction with other children made him behave like an adult — one without the reservations that came with age.

  “I’m here to sell some pelts,” said Zaros as he placed a bag of them over the counter. Blood dripped from the bag, evidencing just how ‘fresh’ they were.

  “I’ve told you I can process the hide myself if you just bring me the animal,” said the butcher. She was considerably irked by having to clean every time the boy visited. “The way you do it is still a bit too crude.”

  “You think I don’t know you keep the meat from the animals you pelt?” Zaros swiftly rebuked.

  The butcher’s nose twitched once again. Dealing with the mischievous brat was too troublesome sometimes. She couldn’t help but curse the wandering merchant responsible for teaching Zaros how to get the best of her.

  “Come on, don’t make things up; your lies could tank my business. I’ll buy them for 10% above the normal price,” she said in an attempt to buy his silence.

  “20%, I’m aware of your margins,” Zaros complained.

  The butcher had to do her best to avoid her expression souring. She truly despised being seen through in such a way by a mere child. All she could think about was how to make him leave her store with haste.

  “Fine, but you are to keep those rumors to yourself,” she answered. She didn’t want the other villagers trying to haggle with her in the future. Her eyes scanned each pelt carefully, calculating their full worth. A moment later, she pulled out five copper coins from her purse.

  Zaros’s face pinched with indignation. “Hey! It should at least be eight coins!”

  “I’m sorry, we have way too many pelts in stock. No merchant caravans have come in the past couple of days so we have an excess of inventory,” she clarified, a slight smirk pulling up the corners of her lips.

  Zaros scowled at her, making the difficult choice to let this one go. To the butcher’s chagrin, he took his coins and exited the shop without waving or saying goodbye. She could only smile wryly at that. It was a common interaction between her and the child.

  Contrary to his behavior, Zaros felt full of joy. Thanks to these coins, he would be able to buy a dress for Alice. She was a cute, young girl he had fallen for. Such a gift could gain him at least some of Alice’s attention. Perhaps even her affection.

  Alice, daughter of the village chief and the village beauty, was the most admired girl among the village’s younger generation. It was only normal for Zaros to be infatuated with her as well. However, Zaros’s knew his chances paled in comparison to the many youngsters who were not on their own.

  The odds seemed insurmountable for a young man with no backing like him. Without a family, he had a hard time acquiring the most simple of luxuries. His only fortune was getting along with the adults in the village, giving him a chance to overcome his situation with hard work.

  Zaros’s chest perked up as he fantasized about the future. A future where he joined their hunting parties and traveled the northern towns on his own. A future where he turned around his status. At times like this, his childish and naïve nature came into full display.

  Part of Zaros always wanted to be a leader of sorts. His goal from an early age had been to prove the other youths that he didn’t need a backing to become someone of importance.

  He was aware of the hidden disdain of those who had it easier than him. Even then, he was confident in his ability to fulfill his goals. Of course, the prospect of having a future where he achieved those dreams was enough to cloud his mind from the difficulty it implied.

  With those fantasies in mind, Zaros made his way to a small shack. Hidden away, it was a bit far from the outskirts of the small village. And although it looked simple, it was something he could call his own. He had built it from scratch two years ago using some leftover wood gathered from the nearby villages and settlements in the forest.

  His parents' old house had been given to another family as it was considered wasteful for a child to hog it as his own. In a certain way, things were bound to belong to the strong. Even then, he had no complaints. He understood that without enough strength to protect his house, he would have become the target of many people’s hatred had he kept it.

  As he ma
de his way to collect the coins he had hidden, he heard the sound of galloping horses approaching his way. Overwhelmed by curiosity, he climbed a tree to get a better look at the incoming beasts. From his vantage point, he saw men in shabby armor riding their mounts.

  No insignia decorated their gear, and no banners adorned their caravan. Many of them donned rusty swords at their sides while others carried rickety bows on their backs.

  Excitement filled Zaros at the sight of the armed men. They resembled the hunter parties that often came from the northern towns.

  People like them would usually carry wares for sale as they made their way to the forest. This meant he would be able to buy some interesting things that weren’t usually available in his village. What’s more, he would be able to hear tales of adventure and war — such experiences, even when embellished, were bound to be enriching for his own growth.

  While Zaros was focused on the riders and their gear, the riders’ scout observed him from a distance. The scout took his time, careful to confirm the young boy posed no threat to him nor his party before he and his steed approached the boy’s tree.

  “Hey, boy, to what direction is the village of Ruk?” he asked.

  “I’m not a child!” rebuked Zaros from atop the tree. “It’s just east of here. Follow the road and you’ll see it in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks. Be sure to come to the village, you’ll be surprised by what we have prepared,” said the scout with a smile.

  Zaros nodded. His interest was piqued by whatever the group of armed riders was carrying with them. He was sure he would find something interesting amongst their wares. Should they carry any clothes, Zaros might even be able to find something exceptional for Alice. Any dress from the capital was bound to be better than those crafted by their own village’s tailor.

  He rushed to his shack and dug through his few belongings, eager to find the bag of coins he had hidden in their midst.

  Back in the caravan, the scout returned to inform his leader of the direction they should follow. “Hey Zac, why did you let the kid go?” asked a man geared in a slightly more elaborate armor. He was the man responsible for their group, the party’s leader.

  “It’s too much of a hassle to chase after him right now, he could ruin our cover. I’m sure he’ll make his way back to the village on his own anyway,” replied the scout. “Even if he runs, how far can he make it?”

  The burly man frowned, “You know our orders were to not let anyone slip by, right? If he just happens to get away, you will be court-martialed.”

  Zac shrugged. “You do not understand how these village kids think,” he said. “They can’t contain their curiosity when someone visits their village.”

  The burly man sighed. Expecting more from the band of misfits he’d been assigned would only lead him to disappointment. As the proud captain of the army’s 22nd Division, he was used to having more disciplined men working under him. Unfortunately for him, this mission required the use of ‘disposable’ personnel. So, rather than risk his brave men, he employed a group of mercenaries along with one or two of the worst rungs from the King’s army. Anyone who wouldn’t be missed.

  Eventually, the band of misfits made their way towards the village. Indifference and bloodlust filled the air the group breathed, their intentions slowly coming to the surface.

  Initially, the commoners paid them little mind as they trotted into the village. Caravans with hunters and merchants were a common sight every now and then. Only the children, driven by their own curiosity, came near them without reservation.

  “Sir,” said one of the children, “what special treats does your group bring?”

  “Do you bring knives and swords, sir? My father said he will teach me to hunt as soon as he could find a weapon suitable for me.”

  Question after question fell on the captain’s shoulders, each of them increasing the burden his heart faced. Unfortunately for the children, he had already grown callous to such feelings. They weren’t enough to stop him from following through with his duty.

  He gave a last look at the pitiful people around him. Pushing his own emotions aside, he made way for the king’s will.

  “Execute them!” he commanded. “These commoners have refused to join our revolutionary army. Since they want to dedicate their lives to the kingdom, we’ll give them that pleasure in death.”

  Empty words. They were nothing but a charade — one done in order to hide the commands he had been given. The captain was aware of how ridiculous they were but he had no choice in the matter. It was the excuse he was told to give the mercenaries, and as such, that which he would present as the ‘truth’ to others. Despite his own reservations, the captain believed the royal family’s commands were absolute.

  The few villagers who had gathered in curiosity gasped in horror. The man’s words made no sense to them. As a village far from any town, they had contact with nothing aside from the forest. Their lives, despite being simple, held enough peace for them to remain happy. That’s why they refused to join the complicated circle of politics that surrounded the kingdom.

  However, their humble nature did not make mean they were dumb. The faces of many adults grew ashen as the implications of the declaration washed over them. Once someone fell suspect to working with the rebels, both them and their family would be executed without a chance to defend themselves.

  “Die!”

  The mercenaries took their weapons one after the other, swinging them in the screaming villagers’ direction. There was no mercy. In fact, the inner competition amongst them brought out the worst of their nature. To them, it wasn’t a matter of life and death. It was a game.

  Presented with the incoming assault, many of the villagers used whatever they could find to fend off the riders. Alas, their pitchforks and dull knives proved to be inadequate for the task. There was no way for them to successfully fend off the attack of bloodthirsty fiends.

  “Dad!”

  “Son!”

  Screams of terror and pain merged into one unintelligible sound. The children close to the mercenaries were the first to fall. Young and vulnerable, they were the easiest prey the mercenaries could get.

  “Please, we are not rebels!”

  “Goddess, please save us.”

  Some prayed, and some tried to reason their way out, but logic and piety had no place in the mercenaries’ ears. They only spoke the language of money. Once paid to do a job, they would finish it, gruesome as it may be.

  Blood painted the ground and buildings. Men, women, and children ran with all they could, but none could escape the mercenaries. Slowly, a scene of carnage took place inside the village. No one was spared.

  Chapter 02

  Fated.

  Far away from the presence of death, excitement took over the mind of a young boy. His hand wrapped around his hidden treasure, a small bag of coins he had hidden for safe keeping. Months of saving his hard earned money made him appreciate the small pouch in his hands.

  “Found it!” he exclaimed, tying the small bag to his waist. “I better make my way back.”

  Zaros excited his small shack, taking a moment to make sure it was covered once again with leaves and stones. Simple as it was, it belonged to him. He didn’t wish for the village’s youths to find it and play a prank on him. God knows they had done it a couple times already.

  Regardless, it wasn’t time for him to think about the past. He needed to make his way to the caravan and seize the chance to purchase something nice for the girl in his dreams. Merchants often sold their more valuable goods in the first few minutes after their arrival. Supply and demand meant the forest settlements had very few opportunities to buy luxury goods like textile goods.

  As he ran back to the village, a premonition surfaced in Zaros’s heart. “It is quiet, too quiet in fact.” Silence meant a single thing in the forest — danger.

  Did that convoy bring an exemplary with them?

  It was the only explanation Zaros could come up with.
He had once seen a hunter who had broken through the limits of ‘rank one’, a level of strength rarely seen in people outside the military. Like the name implied, it was the first step into reaching a new height of power.

  Zaros could still remember when that man had visited the village. Back then, everyone felt a strange sense of pressure was over them. Even the animals in the outskirts had grown quiet. Zaros still remembered the vivid image of the man’s back, it had become the goal of every youth inside their settlement.

  Putting his memories aside, Zaros saw the village in the distance. It looked empty, almost desolate. It was a scene different from the one he remembered from an hour ago.

  After Zaros walked inside the village, he discovered the reason for his premonition. A feeling of fear clogged his throat at the sight of a situation he had never expected.

  Blood.

  Corpses.

  A tower of bodies now laid at the village’s center, stacked taller than the buildings themselves. It was a monument born from bloodlust and massacre. A testament to the insignificance of life.

  Following the shocking sight, the stench of death attacked Zaros’s nose. He choked and gagged before he managed to cover his mouth and stumble back. The old man who had taught him to hunt, the merchant who had taught him how to read, write, and barter, and the butcher he had loved to tease — everyone he knew and cared for had become no more than a blood-soaked corpse.

  Zaros’s hands trembled as he moved towards the monument of death, hesitant to touch the bodies that had once been his friends. The only family he’d ever known in the stead of a dead mother and a missing father. People who weren’t obligated to teach nor raise him into who he was, but had still spared some effort in doing so.

  Yes, his life had been far from perfect, but this people were all he had. Zaros tried hard not to be a burden to them, for he had seen the struggles they tried to hide away from others. They were just like him, striving to survive in a land that didn’t have much to offer.