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The other four mercenaries tacitly chose Jhuro Yashura as their leader because, well, none of them had any fucking idea about what really happened.
“Jhuro, did you have a plan?” asked someone.
“Yeah, fuck them up really hard,” Jhuro told them. “We will fuck them up tomorrow when the sun is hanging high. I will use my poisons to disable those fuckers as much as possible.”
“Anyone you know in that fuckin’ camp is already dead. And they live again as fuckin’ zombies.”
Everyone sucked cold air through their teeth. Jhuro Yashura told them a brief summary of Blackwood’s Necromancer, Nura Blackwood. Then, someone else asked again.
“You have your poison to slow them down, but what about us?”
Jhuro glanced at him. “You fucker just focus on cutting their fuckin’ limbs. Dealing much damage is fuckin’ useless unless we have some ice elemental affinity fucker with us.”
Fuck them back.
That was their only choice right now.
As they were waiting in a hidden location, the hot sun was setting on the west, and the icy night of the dessert followed. The five mercenaries had to sleep in an unbearable cold temperature without blankets or a fire source to keep them warm. Their anxiousness grew stronger inside them.
In a secluded area, Jhuro Yashura sat alone, gazing the pale moon in longing. There was a gentle and beautiful face of a loving woman appearing in his mind. He smiled bitterly.
The day after that.
The dessert was muted, as the wind didn’t dare to blow through the still, the cold dessert field of razed tents filled with an aura of the death, as the patrolling army of living dead mindlessly wandered around the camp.
Five men appeared.
And suddenly, the wind began to howl.
“It’s operation ‘fuck them up’. Don’t disappoint me, noobs,” said the leading Jhuro to his newly made team, while he walked at the front.
The other four were nervous, but they unsheathed their weapons anyway.
In Blackwood’s tent.
Nura Blackwood leisurely crossed his legs and drank some good wine, while his bodyguard ate a bowl of meat jerky.
He smiled and looked at the reflection shown in his magical crystal ball. With his power as Necromancer, he sent a message through one of the living dead under his control.
“Long time no see, Jhuju. After this sixteen years passed, you still exactly the sa—”
The head of talking dead man fell. Jhuro waved his sword, cleaning the rotten blood from it, then put the sharp weapon back to its sheath.
He never liked it when a dead fucker talked to him.
Then, another zombie appeared.
“How rude. Is it how you treated your best fri—”
Another head fell.
And Jhuro put his sword back to the sheath on his belt again.
His steps were calm. Chaos might be his best tactic against the living, but when the dead appeared, it was better to thought things through.
Yet, somehow, Jhuro Yashura felt something wrong.
He furrowed his eyebrow, then asked, “Nura, why did you not attacked me?”
“Why should I? I just wanted a good chat,” answered a dead man who walked towards him.
“No, you’re not. I knew you were using my poison to fuck with Ghalim’s life. What do you really want?”
“Ah, See? A proper chat between friends. Is it too hard?”
The head fell again.
“Answer me,” Jhuro coldly said while he sheathed his sword back.
Another dead man said, “it seems your sheath is much inferior from the one you left behind.”
“I didn’t ‘left’ it behind. You’re the one who stole it. Just fuckin’ answer my question Nura, what did you want? Is it the four elemental daughter of Ghalim? Last time your sister got horny when she knew the truth.”
“I don’t care with Blackwood. I like my past family name. It’s Nura Gilmour now.”
“Just fuckin’ answer me!”
As the next head fell, screams of living men were heard. Jhuro Yashura glanced around and saw his team were easily ravaged by the army of the death without much fight.
“It seems operation ‘fuck them up’ got fucked right from the start,” Jhuro clicked his tongue. His partners dead, but he didn’t care for a bit. He knew they would die sooner or later, as common warriors were no match for the Necromancer’s calamitous army.
Soon, Jhuro realized that he became the last man standing.
“Please calm down and come to my tent so we could chat over a tea.”
“Don’t you feel tired with those cursing of yours?”
“What do you want then?”
“A fuckin’ answer.”
“As I said, come to my tent and we could properly chat about it.”
“Fuck it. Let’s just fight.”
“Okay. Let’s fight.”
The army of the death immediately made their moves.
And Jhuro Yashura put his hand on the sword handle.