At the man’s command, eleven more bandits jumped out of the forest and ran towards the village. They weren’t far, only two hundred feet away. The distance would evaporate in no time.

Jerry, watching the bandits descend upon the town, thought them to be very rude. What kind of brute attacks out of nowhere, especially when they spot the one man carrying a bunch of stuff? Alas, bandits are, by nature, rude folks.

Therefore, Jerry did the only thing he could; he ran away, dropping what he was carrying and bolting for the village center. At the same time, he mentally commanded his skeletons to assist. A bandit raid was not something he wanted to face alone.

The village folk noticed the approaching bandits and screamed in alarm. Several men drew their weapons on the spot and rushed to the edge of the village, forming a wall of swords, or rather a flimsy fence of swords. Several others ran away or froze in terror.

Jerry himself rushed behind the village warriors. Not only was he unarmed, but he was also a wizard; the front line was not his place in life, that’s for sure.

When the bandits collided with the villagers, it would not be a pleasant sight. The former were better armed, better trained, and far more seasoned than the latter. The only reason these guys ever stood up was for their families, for their wives and children.

But as the bandits were about to reach the village, a mighty growl resounded, and the gates of hell opened wide. Three monsters rushed out of the forest, heading for the village faster than the bandits ever could.

One was a massive monstrosity of bones in the shape of a wild boar, charging with the strength of a horse. It was unstoppable. On its back stood a skeletal form only vaguely humanoid. Its entire torso was missing, making its shoulders rest upon its waist. Most importantly, the thing had blades for fingers and razors for teeth, and its bone jaw cackled manically as they rushed for the bandits.

The last monster ran ahead of those two, drawing far less attention; it was shaped like a fox but made of bones.

The bandits turned and stumbled, unable to process what they saw. But the skeletons’ speed was great, and before the bandits could realize what was happening, the monsters were upon them.

For all their weapons, armor, and training, the bandits were not ready to meet Boboar’s assault. The beast barreled right through them, unstoppable, sending two bandits flying like bowling pins. Boboar then rushed past the battle, unable to halt his sprint in time, but his back was now vacated.

Shorty had jumped off the double-boar and into the thick of the bandits. He did not know how to fight, that much was evident to Jerry, but the poor criminals couldn’t see it; all they saw was an abominable monstrosity made of blades and death. Shorty whirled in their midst, wreaking havoc but causing few casualties, while Foxy silently invaded them and began spreading swift death. Her claws and fangs shredded throats, chests, and limbs alike, the skeletal fox an incarnation of fury at the ones who dared threaten her master.

The bandits screamed, but a steady shout rocked their bodies.

“They’ve got a necromancer!” ordered the leading bandit, a short, wide man made entirely of muscles. He must have been in his forties, if not older. “Don’t panic. Focus, and you will live!”

Jerry did his best to appear inconspicuous in the crowd that had formed. The leading bandit stared the necromancer directly in the eye, as if he knew, or perhaps because Jerry had been the first person he saw. Jerry looked away and whistled.

Just as the leader was about to shout another order, Shorty fell on him, and the man was forced to draw his weapons and defend. He wielded two axes, whirling them around in a hurricane that demolished Shorty. The poor skeleton was intimidating and deadly, yes, but weak in direct combat. Due to his lack of a torso, he was significantly weaker than a normal skeleton.

His only saving grace was the lack of targets he presented, as he was essentially a mass of thrashing limbs.

While Foxy was fighting the still disoriented bandits, one of the leader’s axes bit into Shorty’s left bone wrist, cutting it clean off. The skeleton, unable to feel pain, continued to fight ferociously, but his defeat was only a matter of time.

It was right then that the moving bone fortress, aka Boboar, returned for another round. He rushed straight at the bandit leader, furious at his friend’s imminent peril; however, the bandit was ready.

Disengaging from Shorty, the bandit leader faced Boboar’s assault, and at the last moment, jumped to the side. The double-boar barreled through with a frustrated oink, unable to turn his massive body.

Boars are fairly easy to dodge once you know the trick.

The axe-wielder turned back to Shorty, smiling grimly. The remaining bandits, four in number, coordinated with each other and pushed Foxy away. Boboar was still struggling to turn.

Shorty lunged forth, fearless in his undeath. At the last moment, the bandit leader’s axe cleaved down, a sure strike to the skull.

It missed.

The bandit screamed and fell to the ground, holding his chest. A man walked out of the crowd, his right palm shining black.

“Leave Shorty alone, you mannerless twat.”

“You!” The bandit’s eyes were bloodshot as he turned, only to meet Shorty’s slap head-on. The result was not pretty.

“Alright.” Jerry sighed, dropping his arm. He was already sweating. He’d had no idea that he could fail at Soul Severing, the process of cutting the bonds between soul and body, nor did he know that he could keep exerting pressure if he failed. Well, he knew now, and he also knew that it was downright exhausting.

At least the rest of the bandits were apparently not the brightest bunch, as in their shock, they had failed to acknowledge the very definition of obvious approaching them from behind.

Boboar rammed into them in all his piggy glory, once again sending two men flying. Only two bandits were left standing, one of which had the misfortune of being set upon by Foxy. The other was already running away, screaming, and Shorty once again jumped on Boboar’s back as they set to the hunt.

Right before the bandit reached the treeline, an arrow dived straight into his skull, killing him instantly. Derek walked out of the woods, bow taut, as the bandit collapsed.

“What the fuck is going on?” he asked.

“Oh, Derek, hi,” said Jerry, panting. “I came by earlier but you were missing, so I left your cart with Holly. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Jerry.” Derek looked on in confusion. “What happened here?”

“A bandit attack,” the necromancer spoke as if it was the simplest thing in the world, “but we held them off.”

“I… Oh, Gods.” Derek stepped past some corpses, shouting at the gathered villagers, “Is everyone okay?”

Silence came from behind Jerry, and he turned to look. What he saw was pure terror, but not for the bandits; it was directed straight at him. The necromancer almost stepped back from the beam of concentrated fear he received.

“What?” he asked. “I saved you.”

“Monsters…” came a voice from the back of the crowd, and a couple more repeated the word.

Jerry frowned. These people had just been saved, but they were more afraid of him and his skeletons than they were of the bandits.

“What are you people saying?” Derek stepped up. “Jerry just saved your asses!”

More silence met him, and a vein pulsed at the hunter’s temple.

“It’s alright, Derek.” Jerry sighed. “People are always afraid… but they will understand, in time. I will show you—” he turned to the villagers— “that you do not need to be afraid of me or my skeletons. We will not harm you; we will protect you, and make you the loveliest of shoes.”

“As far as I’m concerned, this is stupidity at its finest.” Derek scoffed at the villagers. “This guy protected you and your families, and you have the gall to look at him like that. Shame on you. And where the hell is Murdock? He’s supposed to protect us too.”

“Well, I’m off,” said Jerry, picking up the goatskin, St Hugh’s Bones, and napron from the ground where he’d dropped them. “Feel free to visit whenever, Derek, and bring anyone you want. Ashman and Holly are especially welcome.”

He then stepped closer to the hunter, whispering a few more words. “But get some booze for me, please. The old man refused to give me any.”

“Are you sure, Jerry?” asked Derek, his eyes gleaming.

“Yeah, I asked him twice.”

“Not that. Are you sure it’s okay? This… We must repay you, somehow.”

“That’s alright. The hospitality and assistance you’ve offered me, along with this toolkit—” he raised the shoemaker’s toolkit— “are more than enough compensation.”

He then thought better about it and pointed at the dead bandits. “Actually, can I have them too?”

“The bodies and anything on them naturally belong to you.” Derek nodded. “That is only right.”

“Alright then. Ah, also, can I borrow your cart again? Without the tools this time. Hope it’s not too much to ask, but I cannot carry all these bodies otherwise.” Jerry scratched his head, feeling a bit pushy.

“Of course!” the hunter replied excitedly. “In fact, it would be my pleasure to help you carry them!”

“No, that’s fine. I’ll have Boboar pull it.”

“Then… Very well. Come, let us unload the tools. And as for all of you—” he turned to the villagers, fury simmering in his eyes as he roared out, “what the hell do you think you’re still doing here? If you cannot properly express gratitude, then begone!”

Standing a head taller than everybody else, and being an experienced hunter, Derek cut an imposing figure. One man still retorted against his aggressive attitude.

“Why are you shouting at us, Derek?” he snarled. “I didn’t see you doing much to help either, only an arrow from the back.”

“Learn to behave before you can lecture me, boy,” the hunter replied roughly, locking eyes with the man who was about the same age as him. “Get out of my face!”

The man defiantly held Derek’s gaze for a moment, clenching his teeth. The hunter stared right back. Then the man snorted as he looked away, and the crowd swiftly dispersed.

“I’m sorry for what you had to see…” Derek turned back to Jerry. “Sometimes, they can be a bit…”

“That’s alright, I understand.” Jerry laughed. “Let’s just get the bodies.”

Derek nodded, and the two of them got to work. A few minutes later, and with the assistance of the skeletons, all twelve bodies had been loaded, eight on the cart and four on Boboar’s back. The double-boar growled as he pulled the cart, which creaked under the weight.

“If it breaks,” said Jerry as he took off, “I’m making you a new one. See you, Derek. May the Wall hold forever.”

“You too, my friend,” whispered the hunter, “you too. May the Wall hold forever.”

He stayed there, unmoving at the edge of the village, watching Jerry strut off. Only after he was lost behind the treeline did Derek let out a deep, sad sigh.

Jerry was a good man, Derek knew that much. He did not deserve such treatment, especially after he risked himself to save everyone. But he was dangerous and alien, and the villagers… did not take kindly to the alien. Derek was well aware of that. If only they were more open-minded, then maybe Holly’s mother would still be…

He shook his head, sending the thoughts away. What was done was done.

Derek could only hope that this warm, friendly, genuinely good man called Jerry would manage to weasel into the village folk’s hearts.

Gods know he deserves it… Derek sighed one last time before turning to head into the village. His home and daughter awaited. His daughter, Holly, for whom he could endure everything.