The old man stiffly sat in what once was a high-quality wooden chair, made from fine leather and beautifully hand-carved by an artesian at the pinnacle of their trade. Now the chair's beauty was gone, what had once been slathered in gloss that beautifully reflected the sunlight had long peeled away, the wood worn down during its long years of use, its cushion torn in places. What could have once seated nobility, those figures who decided the fate of many, now sat in the village leader's cold office. Its past beauty was now indistinguishable from the rest of the room: the desk, the floor, the walls. Signs of the innate decay of the undead were everywhere one could look.
Although the chair was rotten to the core, it showed signs of repair. Parts that had broken off were reattached, the stitches of its cushion freshly done. Just as the Undead Kingdom was in a constant state of disrepair, its inhabitants – just like this chair – worked constantly to defy their very existence. Persecuted by all except their own, the undead forged a home out of things that would be discarded by anyone else. Rot and death was all that they had known since the reawakened on that lone battlefield, in the lair of a hungry beast, an old graveyard.
This was a fact that all in the Undead Kingdom knew by heart, all having made the long pilgrimage from across the furthest reaches of the Continent of Orzaria. To a place they could be safe from persecution due to factors beyond their control, a place they could call home.
Picking up a pen resting on his desk, the old man tentatively looked towards Leander. After a few moments, he stood up from his old chair, deeply bowing to Leander who was leaning against a nearby wall looking out the only window in the office which overlooked the village. Watching as the corpses of the manyfang he had slain minutes prior were being taken away.
"I must thank you, without your help those beasts would have run around damaging our homes, as I am sure you have noticed. We have enough disrepair to take care of."
Leander remained silent still watching as a pair of two zombies struggled to pick up one of the manyfang. It was only when a third joined them they managed to lift the corpse pulling it towards a cart where the corpses were being moved to.
"I take it you are the one in charge of this village."
The old man nodded his head, standing he moved to the window to join Leander in watching the cleanup process.
"I am, to think it has been one hundred years since lady Melaine gave me this honor herself."
As he spoke, the old man clutched a pendant that hung around his neck. The pendant was not much – simply a metal chain holding a small crystal. The only reason Leander took any notice of the pendant was that it pulsed with a familiar cyan light.
"My name is, Arnold. You need not introduce yourself, anyone and everyone within the Undead Kingdom has heard of our lady's efforts to raise a hero who will save us. You are Leander, the great Hero of Peace from the last Age of Peace."
As he asked, Arnold held out an open hand to Leander. As Arnold referred to Leander by his moniker as the Hero of Peace, Leander's previous distant expression twisted into a grimace for a moment before returning to his normal neutral expression. Without looking in Arnold's direction, Leander continued speaking.
"If you are in charge of this village. Can you tell me why you keep being attacked?"
As Leander made no move to shake his hand, Arnold awkwardly put his hands together rubbing them as he spoke.
"If I am honest with you, we're not sure. They come when the sun goes down, damage our homes and leave when the sun comes up. Yet they don't make an effort to break in and kill us, or well.
Arnold slightly laughed.
"They don't make an effort to put us to rest."
Watching as the last of the manyfang were loaded onto the wagon and taken away by undead horses, Leander shook his head.
"Those beasts, why would they bother attacking you? You don't taste nice."
Looking at Leander with a worried expression, Arnold slightly tilted his head.
"I don't quite catch your meaning, sir?"
For the first time since the conversation began, Leander looked at Arnold. His rotten skin, Arnold was a living carcass, a zombie. Anything that tried to eat him – be it beast or man – would die of one infection or illnesses associated with the consumption of rotten flesh.
"Unless things have changed drastically within the last thousand years. Your average beast only attacks for two reasons, food or territory. It doesn't look like you are encroaching on their territory, and you are definitely not their food. Why would they bother attacking the undead? It just does not make sense."
Arnold looked down at his hands as Leander finished speaking. A question formed on his lips, but he found asking it hard as if he was afraid of hearing the answer.
"Leander, can you tell me… Will more come?"
"I only killed four of them, the one that got away has most likely gone to inform its pack leader as we speak."
Arnold's concerned expression turned even sourer as Leander spoke. Putting a hand to his forehead, Arnold closed his one good eye as he tried to process this information.
"I thought it would be too easy… I suppose we will have to prepare for the attacks to escalate. Beasts are creatures of honour, with members of their pack slain. They will come for revenge… What will we do, with all of the Undead Kingdom's forces rallied along the border between us and the Goddess Kingdom, we have no way of protecting ourselves… We are just miners, we don't know how to fight and defend ourselves."
The village leader's voice shook with dread as the future of his home and those he had watched over for the past one hundred years had gone from relative peace to the edge of tragedy within hardly an hour.
"If they come here in force, intending to do more harm than damaging our homes… It will be a slaughter…"
Leander's eyes moved to the dry fountain. The zombies who had been clearing up the corpses were now sitting by the fountain. Whatever their conversations contained was lost on Leander who was standing so far away, all he could see were the smiles on their faces.
Stepping away from the window, Leander began walking towards the door.
"If I deal with the alpha, the attacks will stop."
Momentarily stunned by Leander's sudden departure, Arnold held up a hand reaching towards Leander as he began to leave.
"Wh- where are you going?"
Pausing, Leander pulled the hood of his cloak over his head as he turned back to face Arnold.
"To kill the leader of the pack."
Watching as Leander left the room, the door barely swung on its rusty hinges not coming to a close even as Leander began moving through the building. Every room he passed on his way to the stairs was filled with undead of all types, just the same as Funerary. And just like the inhabitants of Funerary, word began to spread as they all caught a glimpse of their saviour.
"Was that him?"
"Was that the Hero our lady summoned?!"
"He just came from the village leader's office? Where do you think he's going."
"Arnold must have given him a task."
"Did you see the expression on his face, he looked mad. Those beasts don't stand a chance!"
By the time Leander found the front door, every undead occupant hiding inside the townhall had been purged of their fear and doubt. A newfound fire burning within their souls that no threat could ever darken.
Stepping off of the porch that covered the front of the town hall. A small raven perched on Leander's shoulder. Glancing at Ravenmother, Leander's eyes narrowed.
"Where did it go?"
Eyeing him in return, Ravenmother chirped.
"Ha, you have already guessed where I went whilst you were having your lovely chit-chat with Arnold. I did indeed track the manyfang that got away, although I lost it when it went into one of the mines."
Scowling, Leander sighed.
"Eyes everywhere, huh?"
Squawking, Ravenmother squinted at Leander.
"Is this you saying you need more of my help, Hero? From everything Melaine has told me about you, here I thought this lead would be enough to go on."
Shaking his head, Leander turned away.
"It is a better place to start than any."