[You Death Point has been updated]
The notification snapped Ludwig out of his thoughts. He took several careful steps back, putting more distance between himself and the silent, unmoving Moon Reavers still stationed around the manor’s perimeter. A slow exhale escaped him as he realized just how close he was to certain death.
“Is there a plan?” Thomas asked, his spectral form flickering beside Ludwig like a candle in the wind. “Or are we just admiring the scenery until those things decide to attack?”
“Leveling up,” Ludwig answered, keeping his voice low. His eyes never left the Reavers. “These things are strong. Too strong for me as I am now.”
The Knight King’s tiny spectral form materialized abruptly in front of Ludwig, his translucent arms crossed. “Nonsense. You could defeat them as you are if you truly wished to.”
Ludwig didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he turned and began moving toward the manor walls, his boots crunching on the brittle grass. “I probably could,” he admitted after a moment. “But at what cost?” He reached for his chain, coiling it in his hand. “I’ve spent days gathering resources. Should I burn through all of that just to prove a point? The Risk of death is too great, and they give nothing when they die,”
The Knight King’s spectral form wavered, his expression unreadable. “A warrior does not shy from battle when it is—”
“And a hunter doesn’t waste arrows on prey he can’t carry home,” Ludwig interrupted, flinging his chain toward the window ledge above. The metal links rattled as they found their mark. “I’m not running. I’m choosing my fights.”
For a long moment, the Knight King said nothing. Then, with a slow shake of his head, his form dissipated like smoke in the wind.
Thomas let out a low whistle. “I think you hurt his pride.”
Ludwig began climbing, his muscles straining as he pulled himself upward. “He’ll get over it.” Midway up the wall, he paused, his grip tightening on the chain. “There’s something else, though.”
“Something else?”
“It’s like…” Ludwig searched for the words. “Others grow stronger through training, through effort. I could do that too. But right now?” He glanced back toward the Gibbus Moon, its swollen form dominating the sky. “It feels like I’m fighting against a timer. Like something’s coming, and I don’t know how much time I have left before it gets here.”
Thomas’s form flickered uneasily. “You feel it too, then. Even as just a soul, I can sense it. The closer that moon gets to being full, the heavier the air feels. Those Reavers out there—they’re not attacking because something’s holding them back. But they’re not in a hurry either, are they?”
Ludwig resumed climbing. “No. Because they know we’re trapped here.”
Ludwig hauled himself through the window and dropped back into the manor’s musty interior. Thomas floated after him, his translucent brow furrowed.
“Why did all of this even start?” Thomas asked, gesturing vaguely at the crumbling walls around them. “The moon, the Reavers, the way the land itself seems to be rotting—what triggered it?”
Ludwig reached into his inventory and produced the two broken halves of the strange orb. The fractured edges fit together perfectly, as if they had been shattered only moments before. “Because of these, I think.”
Thomas leaned closer, peering at the artifact. “So killing the Lords makes everything worse?”
“Seems that way.” Ludwig sighed, rubbing his temples. “But it’s not like we can just stop. The quest won’t let me leave the March until they’re all dead.” He slumped against the wall, suddenly exhausted. “Honestly? I’d kill for a proper bath right now.”
Thomas snorted. “Finding clean water here would be harder than finding an oasis in a desert.”
“You’d think so,” Ludwig mused, pushing himself upright. “But there was water in the Rat Lord’s dungeon. Nobles they may be, but they still needed to piss and shit and wash like everyone else.”
His current state was proof enough of that. The crusted blood, the chunks of dried viscera, the tattered remains of his Black Academy robes—even his undead flesh carried the accumulated grime of days spent fighting through filth. It wasn’t pain he felt, but a deep, persistent discomfort, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
Ludwig moved through the manor with cautious purpose, checking rooms he’d previously overlooked. Most were in ruins, their contents long decayed into dust. But in a far corner of the ground floor, he found a barricaded wooden door.
From behind it came the unmistakable sound of rushing water.
“Jackpot,” Ludwig muttered. He gripped the rotted planks barring the door and pulled. The wood crumbled instantly, centuries of dampness having turned it to little more than brittle kindling.
The room beyond was small and thick with moss. A magic circle, its runes still faintly glowing, hovered near the ceiling, conjuring a steady stream of water that poured into a hole in the floor—likely draining into the dungeon below. The air smelled damp but clean, a stark contrast to the manor’s usual stench of mildew and decay.
“Well,” Ludwig said, peeling off his ruined robes, “it’s not a royal spa, but it’ll do.”
Thomas materialized near the doorway, eyebrows raised. “An undead man taking a bath. Now I’ve seen everything.”
Ludwig shot him a glare. “Privacy, Thomas.”
“Right, right.” Thomas grinned, holding up his translucent hands. “Wouldn’t want to scandalize the corpse.” With a mocking bow, his form dissipated.
The water was cold but refreshing. Ludwig stood beneath the stream, letting it sluice away layers of gore and dirt. For the first time in days, he felt something close to clean.
His robes, however, were beyond saving. With a grimace, he left them in a soggy heap and instead willed his slime coating to reshape itself into a semblance of his academy uniform. It wasn’t perfect—the texture was all wrong, too smooth and slick—but it would have to do.
As he stepped back into the hallway, Thomas reappeared, his expression turning serious once more.
“Feel better?”
Ludwig rolled his shoulders. “Marginally.”
His eyes focused up ahead, a corner he seemed to have missed before and thus he started walking toward it.