Chapter LXXXVIII

Everyone around stares at the mule while he can only cover his face in frustration.

“How is that mule still standing?” asks an unfamiliar voice.

Part of him is almost surprised that no one has started screaming “necromancy” yet, but that probably won’t take long. After all, that school of magic is fairly well-known, albeit despised.

“That’s impossible, that thing should be dead!” exclaims another voice, pushing things closer to the inevitable.

“Don’t worry! It’s nothing,” almost shouts a voice he finally recognizes.

That causes him to move his hands away from his face to see Blondie quickly stepping up beside the mule, which in turn looks at him as if nothing’s happening in the world.

The blond youngster looks around, clearly forcing a smile and trying to stay calm while he keeps repeating, “It’s nothing. This’ll be fixed in a moment.”

When he reaches the mule’s side, the idiot grabs the arrow and starts pulling. In a scene that wouldn’t be out of place in a cartoon—unfortunately, this isn’t one.

When the fool finally manages to theatrically yank the arrow out of the mule’s head, he cheerfully declares, “See? Nothing to worry about. Problem solved.”

He sincerely doubts even the undead mule believes a statement of that level of stupidity.

The total lack of acceptance of what was said is easy to confirm by looking around at the people’s expressions. Even the injured, who were being helped, have stopped groaning in pain, now just staring at Blondie and the mule with their mouths open.

Even the few remaining bandits still able to resist capture have stopped fighting entirely.

The only person who doesn’t look completely shocked is Grumpy, who’s shaking his head in what he can only assume is disbelief at the ridiculous figure his friend is making.

The two rescued children beside him are looking around, apparently unable to fully understand what’s happening.

Grumpy and Blondie should have been getting ready to take the children back to the safety of the caravan, now that the battle was over, when this happened.

Finally, a man on the ground—by the looks of him, a bandit—gets up and drags himself closer to the mule.

She just shoots him a glance that stops him in his tracks. But it doesn’t stop him from pointing at her and screaming in terror, “Undead!!”

A tragically simple conclusion. After all, how could the creature have survived the arrow—or worse, its inept removal by Blondie?

Or even better—where’s all the blood a wound like that should have caused?

Just getting a little closer is enough to put two and two together.

And so, the expected reaction follows.

As everyone who can grabs their weapons, for a moment, it looks like members of the caravan and the bandits who attacked them are about to join forces against this new threat.

With the inevitable approaching as several people turn toward him with weapons ready, he can only look up at the sky in frustration and mutter aloud, “I knew I shouldn’t have gotten involved in this mess,” as he starts moving his hands to prepare for the fight ahead.

A loud and authoritative voice orders, “Stop! Stop!”.

Looking toward the source of the sound, he sees the man who had previously thanked him.

“Stop! The Lord Mage just saved us, and this is how you treat him?” the man continues, scolding his companions.

“But he’s a necromancer,” one of them mutters in a restrained voice, as if afraid to become the man’s new target.

“Necromancer, necromancer. What a ridiculous idea. Why would a necromancer help us?” the man says while turning, apparently trying to meet his companions’ eyes.

But he throws him a quick glance in which he sees pure, unaltered fear, making the reason for this position crystal clear.

“Yes, yes. The captain is right. How could the Lord Mage be a necromancer? This is magic... the mule must be a magical creature...” adds the blond woman who was next to the captain.

And although part of him wants to point out that an undead mule is technically a magical creature, he decides that staying silent is probably the best choice right now.

“Yes... as everyone can see, my... companion is an extremely powerful mage,” Grumpy jumps in, joining the battle for the minds of these people, trying to prevent the most likely outcome.

He, for his part, keeps watching, hoping that the more reasonable ones win—and that he doesn’t have to act. After all, there are children nearby...

“What kind of nonsense is this!?” yells the bandit who had identified the true nature of the mule. And pointing at her again, he continues, “That thing is clearly undead!”

Then, turning toward him, he shouts again, “So he has to be a necromancer!” This leads several people to stare at him, apparently now thinking carefully.

“And we’re supposed to listen to someone who just attacked us?” shouts back the blond woman.

“What does that have to do with anything?” exclaims another bandit, this one with a face only a mother could love.

So much so that he momentarily tunes out of the conversation, wondering how that nose fits on that face.

But eventually, he returns to the ridiculous debate, where a group—mainly composed of bandits—is arguing with the man and woman about whether or not he’s a necromancer.

Judging by the tense looks they’re throwing his way, even his defenders must be pretty sure he is one.

The whole situation is so ridiculous that he starts having to hold back laughter.

Only to finally, after thinking better, he just lets it out. Bursting into laughter—causing the debate to fall silent.

With everyone quiet, he can’t help but take the chance to turn to the bandit next to the mule—one of the loudest—and say,

“Hey, you. Genius with a single brain cell.”

The guy looks clearly confused, pointing at himself as if to say, Are you talking to me?

“Yes, you. Can you answer a question for me before the inevitable stupidity begins?” he asks while catching his breath from laughing.

The man still looks confused, hand still raised. But since he doesn’t say no. So he decides to proceed with the question he’s truly curious about at this moment.

“Seriously, what the hell were you idiots thinking when you decided to charge at me?”

It’s not the fool who answers but the ugly one from before, who declares:

“Well, isn’t that how you fight mages? You charge them and go in for hand-to-hand combat.”

What he just heard is so dumb that his brain temporarily shuts down, and he’s left staring, mouth open.

It only gets worse when he sees several heads nodding in agreement—including many from the caravan.

“And where did you learn that!?” he asks, still incredulous.

“It’s what everybody says,” announces someone proudly, though he doesn’t bother to figure out who.

Covering his face with a hand, he begins talking, trying to organize his thoughts.

“The idea wouldn’t be bad...

If the distance between us were about a third of what it was...

Or if my fireballs were a lot weaker...”

“And you'd still have to prepare for at least half of your group dying in the attack.”

Uncovering his face, he shakes his head.

But, running out of points, he concludes with,

“You know there are easier ways to die, right? You should’ve just run away.”

“So we could be picked off easily while trying to escape—easy targets for your fireballs,” declares the fool beside the mule.

Who then grins triumphantly as he watches him stay silent in response to what he just heard.

But really—what more can he say? Once again, the base concept isn’t entirely wrong. Normally, trying to flee from battle leaves you more vulnerable than standing your ground. But in this case...

“Man, you still haven’t figured out that I could’ve wiped you all out at any moment...” he begins, raising his voice so that they can see his frustration:

“I was trying to get you to run! Trying to avoid all this...”

He finishes, spreading his arms wide to indicate the ridiculous conversation they now find themselves in.

“Instead, you idiots launched an attack that—if the caravan people hadn’t launched their counterattack—would’ve forced me to kill every last one of you.”

“Hmph. You’re just trying to distract us from the fact that you’re a necromancer,” declares the guy with a level of certainty and arrogance that only the truly stupid can possess.

Even if he’s right, the idiot still hasn’t realized why being right is such a bad thing.

“You’re really stupid,” he has to say, unable to hold back his previous conclusion.

Before anyone else can join this useless conversation, he raises a hand. Pointing his thumb at the man and the woman.

“You still haven’t figured out why they’re insisting I’m just a friendly mage, have you?”

“Because they don’t want to believe the truth,” declares the man with an astounding level of certainty.

“No—because, unlike you, they’re not brain dead,” he begins.

“They have a simple choice...”

While trying to explain, he starts looking around to see how people are reacting to what they are listening to—and tries to guess how this will end.

“Either I’m just a powerful, friendly mage and this all ends with kind thanks and cordial goodbyes...”

He presents the first option, which doesn’t get any particular response from anyone.

“Or... I’m a terrible and fearsome necromancer. Who has absolutely nothing to gain—and everything to lose—by letting any of you leave here alive.”

That alternative gets more reactions—fear, understanding, hesitation, disbelief, and even a little hostility. Especially the way that captain and the blonde act seems to confirm his theory about what they were thinking.

Which prompts him to continue, hoping to force some resolution.

“And I can guarantee you, if your choice involves violence, a lot—and I mean a lot—of people are going to die here today.

And I’ll probably walk away just fine.”

At this, he decides to drop the serious tone and try a bit of humor.

With a smile, he adds:

“After all, you’ve probably already seen how easily I can disappear.”

The crowd exchanges glances with one another. Weapons in hand waver as several people seem lost in thought. Seeing this, he takes the only option that makes sense to him.

Raising his voice, he declares loud and clear, “Decide.”