“Jerry!” Soon after the villages disappeared, a shout came from the hill’s base as a rugged figure burst out of the trees. It was Derek, panting as if he’d run all the way here and still wearing the same bloodied clothes as before. He’d come from a different direction than the villagers; they had taken the long, clear way around, while he cut straight through the woods. They hadn’t run into each other.

“Derek,” Jerry replied softly, walking to meet him mid-way. The undead stayed behind, letting the two men chat by themselves.

Derek quickly reached Jerry, a string of curses escaping his mouth before he could even catch his breath. He was furious, far more than Jerry had ever seen him, except perhaps when Brad had mistreated Holly.

“Where are they? Those pitiful, pig-born bastards! How dare they do this to you? How dare they take your kindness and throw it in the trash!?”

“It’s fine, Derek.”

“No, it isn’t!” the hunter shouted again, looking at the slur on the fence, then sighed deeply. “I’m sorry, Jerry… I had no idea they would do this.”

“I’m telling you, it’s fine.” Jerry smiled. “What’s done is done. You were right; I really should leave this place.”

“But they—”

“You didn’t run into them, did you?”

“I…” Derek blinked. “No.”

“Well, some things happened, and I killed Murdock.”

“Oh.” He stayed silent for a moment. “Yeah, I can imagine. I never liked that bastard anyway. Maybe this is for the best.”

“There’s another thing too,” Jerry continued with a smirk. “I told everyone that Murdock and Melissa have been having an affair.”

“They’ve what?!”

“Having an affair. Fucking. You know, Murdock was sticking his—”

“I know what it means, but what?” Derek’s eyes were wide as saucers. “Is that true?”

“Absolutely, my friend. I saw them with my own two eyes—well, not quite, but kind of. Murdock even lied that Ashman was sterile to drive them apart, but it wasn’t him, it was Melissa all along. I never said anything because Ashman didn’t want to know, but now… well, I wanted to get back at them. If they betray me, why should I carry their weight?”

Derek was speechless.

“Well fucking done!” he finally exclaimed. “They deserved that! But still, I can’t believe Melissa… that wench had been taking care of my daughter! Murdock and Melissa had been teaching her herbalism! I… Fuck them both!”

“They already did it themselves.” Jerry laughed.

“This is no laughing matter, Jerry! I… What kind of values have they been teaching her?” Derek clenched his fists, suddenly angry again. “That’s it; fuck it, fuck it all, and fuck them too. I’m not staying with those fucks any longer. I’m taking Holly and going to Milaris right now.”

“Yeah, I’m leaving tomorrow too… If I had any last doubts, they’re all gone. I didn’t need a home, but a family. And now,” he looked back at the tower, where the undead simply stood in silence, “I have one.” He smiled. “You were right, Derek. The world is too large to stay where you’re not wanted.”

“I only wish someone had told me that when I was younger…” The hunter grumbled. “So, what are you going to do? Will you come to Milaris with us?”

Jerry shook his head. He leaned back, releasing a light breath as he looked at the sky. It was still afternoon, and the sunset’s rosy color was just starting to color the horizon. The sky, the forest, the mountains, the birds flying above, his beloved undead behind him and a good friend in front.

Being unwanted hurt, but learning to deal with that was a critical part of life. Nobody belongs everywhere.

Suddenly, Jerry’s heart was light again, the anger and pain washed away. Not completely, of course, but to a large degree, and the rest would disappear with time. The future suddenly occupied his thoughts. The vast, promising world, and all its endlessly intriguing possibilities.

And as a matter of fact… Jerry already had an inkling of what he wanted to do.

“Not Milaris, my friend…” he replied. “Necromancers are not welcome in the Three Kingdoms, that much is clear—and they never will be while the Dead Lands remain.”

“Oh? And what are you going to do about that? Destroy the Dead Lands?”

“No, even better. I will lift the Curse.”

“What?” Derek’s eyes widened. “But that’s—”

“I know. For fifty entire years, after the Curse escaped Ozborne’s control, the northern half of the continent has been a wasteland of undead. If fixing that was easy, someone would have done it already—in fact, let alone fixing it, nobody even dares to enter the Dead Lands.”

“Exactly!”

“But you see”—Jerry smiled widely—“I recently discovered I’m undead myself. The Curse can’t touch me. I’m the perfect person for the job!”

“That’s—Well, yes, I guess... but what do you know about Curses?”

“Nothing yet—but when I get there, I will find a way. And when the Curse is lifted, necromancers will no longer be shunned for simply existing. Nobody will have to endure my burden. We will be free.”

The hunter processed this for a moment, gazing at Jerry’s smile, and then he laughed out loud, the kind of laughter that comes from one’s heart.

“You’re insane, Jerry, totally batshit crazy—but damn do I like you! You know what? I think that’s a perfect goal! If I didn’t have a daughter, I might have even joined you!”

Jerry smiled again. He’d felt lost a moment ago, but now, he had purpose. He had a goal, a dream. He would adventure to the Dead Lands, find some way to lift the Curse, and right the wrongs that necromancers had done. That was the right thing to do.

“But let alone solving the Curse,” asked Derek after he’d calmed down a bit, “how are you even going to get there? The Damn Wall is tightly guarded and no one is allowed past.”

“No idea; I’ll just play it by ear. But as for getting to the Wall itself, I do have something fun in mind. A way to complete the journey in style, have fun, and make some money at the same time—maybe I’ll need them.” Jerry leaned in closer. “This will sound weird, but it’s a great idea, trust me.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“I will start a wandering circus.”

“A what?” Derek’s eyes bulged out, surprise overcoming his previous anger.

“A wandering circus.” Jerry laughed, a peal of pleasant, carefree laughter. After all, why not? The undead were considered odd to begin with; why not capitalize on that? Plus, it sounded fun.

“What do you think, my friend? Isn’t it awesome?”

“A wandering circus… A circus?”

“Yep.” Jerry smiled. “And I think we’re all going to have a wonderful time. The more I think about it, the more I like the idea. Mhm. Alright then, a wandering circus it is!”

“But…” Derek still couldn’t believe it. Compared to their previous discussion, this was just too disorienting. “A wandering circus?”

“You sure like repeating things, my friend. Are you a parrot?” Jerry laughed again as he paced around, a new spring in his step. The sky was bright, the sun was shining, and the air was clean. The birds chirped as they flew overhead, and the first flowers had already begun to bloom, filling Jerry’s nose with their fragrance. The vandalized tower was nothing but a splotch of color in a beautiful world, already part of the background.

“What do you think, Derek? How about we travel together to Milaris? It’s on my way.”

“I—uh… Sure.”

“Great!” Jerry beamed. “Go on, then. Bring your daughter and baggage; we leave at dawn.”

Derek stared in disbelief.

“Come on, Derek! The circus won’t build itself. I can already see it; Axehand will be our strongman, the Billies will be acrobats, Headless will be the juggler, and Boboar with Foxy will take care of the animal routines. As for Boney, he will help me manage everything, while Birb… well, it will do Birb things. How beautiful; it’s as if everything was leading up to this very moment. Why are you still here? Go on, Derek; your daughter won’t fetch herself!”

Giggling and rubbing his hands, Jerry quickly took off towards his undead. And as for Derek, he still stood there, eyes bulging in disbelief.

“But… a wandering circus?!”

Jerry laughed from afar. And just like that, on the next day, a wandering circus that would soon become known far and wide as The Funny Bone set off, never to visit this little place again.

They were off to new, wonderful adventures.

***

In the middle of a dark, silent forest, there was a pulse.

The animals freaked out and ran away; the trees shuddered; the wind blew. Magic coalesced on the forest ground thickly, like slime, before the soil began to glow black. It rose, and at the same time, it transformed, becoming a naked man with wild hair, black eyes, and hands as large as shovels.

Jericho’s eyes opened in confusion.

“What happened?” he asked, looking around. He frowned. “How am I still alive?”

“You are not.”

A person walked out of the fallen tree’s shadow. Jericho turned to look.

This was a clean-shaven man in his thirties with dark hair and a long, thin scar running horizontally over his entire forehead. Below the scar, his blue eyes were framed by strict lines, yet were piercing like the pointiest of daggers. He wore a dark, tight leather jacket over a white silken shirt, and as he walked, his entire demeanor exuded a kind of sharpness that took even Jericho aback.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, but a burning pain in his soul instantly made him fall to his knees.

“Your new master,” replied the man in a crisp, young-sounding voice, “so be polite.”

“A necromancer…” Jericho grunted. “Fuck off! I have no master!”

“That is not your choice to make.” The man raised a hand, sending a new jolt of pain through Jericho. “This is: serve me or die.”

The earth spirit roared. “You fucker, I’ll—” He froze mid-sentence. “My Mother! Where’s my Mother?!”

“Gaia does not take in undead,” replied the necromancer. “She has abandoned you. It was I who revived you, saved you from the endless void of death. My name is Maccain Darkson, a Sakalai of the Wizard Order. Tell me, Jericho; are you willing to serve, or do you prefer to die?”

Jericho’s bravado evaporated. “A Sakalai?” he asked, eyes opening wide. “Is this the truth?”

“Is my strength not proof enough?”

A shadow fell on Jericho from behind, and as he turned to look, he found a one-eyed ogre staring him down. Jericho himself towered over normal men, but this creature was easily a head taller than him, and the club it wielded was a normal person’s height.

“I know you!” exclaimed Jericho, taking a step back. “Borgon the Crusher!”

The ogre smiled, revealing a line of thick, bulky teeth. Just as Jericho was about to speak again, a flash came in the moonlight, and the grass below seemed to lose its luster as droplets from all around formed a humanoid shape in mid-air, barely as big as Jericho’s palm.

“Many of your siblings are already part of my collection, Jericho,” said Maccain, making Jericho turn around again. “Serving me will be an honor. Now speak; are you willing?”

The revived bandit narrowed his eyes. “Can’t you force me?”

“I can, and I will, but even the slightest hint of obedience on your part can ease the frantic struggle of your soul against mine and make you worth my time.”

Jericho considered it. “I am willing,” he said, and the moment he did, a veil was lifted. Dark, slimy fingers were in his soul, prodding it and holding it upright. Jericho groaned. Suddenly, he realized he hated this man from the deepest core of his being, and his soul fought back with the madness of a cornered animal, but after he’d agreed to serve… somehow, the struggle got very slightly weaker.

His soul was overwhelmed, the fighting subdued.

Jericho fell to one knee and lowered his head. He was still himself, but at the same time, he knew he would do anything for the man he so very hated. No—the moment he became a slave, Jericho realized he hated himself the most, and an animalistic, desparate cry echoed from his throat into the forest.

Maccain smiled. “Excellent,” he said. “Now tell me, my newest slave… Who killed you?”

In the deep, bitter pit of his self-hatred, Jericho grasped onto the chance to vent his impotent frustration. His lips twitched with pleasure.

“A necromancer from the village of Pilpen, Master. A man called Jerry.”