Deus Necros

Ludwig already knew that he would be caught the moment he walked into any of the empire’s checkpoints. So he used the Glamour of his lantern to completely change his appearance once he reached the gate of Tulmud.

The decision was automatic, practiced. He didn’t wait until guards stared too long; he didn’t gamble. The Glamour slid over him like a second skin, subtle at first, edges shifting, lines softening, then firming into a different face with different proportions.

Even the way he carried his shoulders changed slightly, as if the illusion insisted on posture as part of the disguise. The gate of Tulmud loomed ahead, wood and iron and bored men with eyes trained to look for trouble.

He walked in without much trouble, only needing to provide proof of his profession, and he already had an older adventurer’s emblem that the guards needed only one look at to allow him in.

The city of adventurers looked different from before. More dreary and empty. Unlike when he arrived here the first time, the bustle and hustle of the city were nowhere to be found. Spare a few old men and adventurers with missing limbs, not a single young one was left.

The free city felt like a body after blood loss. The streets were the same stone, the same familiar corners, but the life had been drained out.

Where once voices and laughter and arguments had filled the air, now there was only the scrape of boots and the occasional cough. The few who remained looked worn down by time or violence, old men hunched over canes. The absence of youth was the worst part, a missing sound more than a missing sight.

The city seemed to have lost color with the lack of people here. And this was probably happening all over the empire.

Even the banners looked duller, as if dust had settled on everything that once looked proud. Ludwig’s eyes moved over shuttered shops and quiet corners, and the thought crept in that this was not merely Tulmud’s exhaustion, it was the Empire’s.

Ludwig took note of a newly attached paper to a wooden board and realized the reason. There was a full conscription going on in here. And it was probably happening all over the empire.

The paper was fresh enough that the corners hadn’t curled yet, pinned firmly like a verdict. Ludwig stepped closer, reading the bold lines and smaller details beneath. The language of conscription always carried the same cold politeness: duty, necessity, honor, words meant to dress up fear. He could feel eyes on him as he lingered, because lingering in a dying city made you look like someone with questions.

“Seems like the Empire is more worried about Solania than the desert.”

The snark came out automatically, not because it was funny, but because sarcasm was his way of acknowledging a grim truth without letting it sit too deep. Solania again. The name followed him like a shadow.

“Must be new here,” one old man said as he saw Ludwig too interested in the paper.

The old man’s voice was rough, the kind worn down by too many winters and too few reasons to smile. He stood off to the side of the board, arms crossed, gaze sharp despite his age. He sounded tired of strangers discovering obvious pain like it was news.

“Hey old man, what’s going on here?” he asked just to confirm his thoughts.

Ludwig’s tone stayed casual, but he kept his eyes on the old man’s face, reading for the kind of bitterness that usually came from personal loss. He didn’t want rumors; he wanted confirmation.

“Just as you thought, Solania’s been in a rut lately. Too many monster attacks. The whole kingdom is in turmoil. You look like a man with a strong arm, you’re not going?” he asked.

The old man spoke like someone reciting a truth he’d repeated too many times. “Rut” was an understatement that carried exhaustion. Monster attacks. Turmoil. The question about Ludwig’s arm came with a resigned expectation, as if every able-bodied person was being measured now by whether it could swing a weapon.

Ludwig shook his head, “I’m not strong enough nor brave enough to risk my life there.”

The lie slid out smoothly, almost comfortably. Ludwig even let his shoulders slump a touch, a practiced posture of weakness, the sort that made people dismiss you as harmless. He hated pretending cowardice, but he hated checkpoints and questions more.

“But you’re smart enough to know not to go, unlike my stupid son. He went to seek glory and honor… but what honor is there in death?” The old man sighed.

The sigh dragged a lifetime behind it. The old man’s tone changed the flow, turning the conversation from news into grief. Glory and honor sounded like poison in that sentence, and the old man’s face tightened in a way that suggested the wound was fresh, or never stopped being fresh.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. I heard that many powerful figures headed there.” Ludwig said.

He offered the reassurance automatically, because silence would have been cruel.

“Yeah, but who’ll use those figures when they have cannon fodder. You shouldn’t go waste your life there, either kid.” The old man said.

The bitterness was sharp, and it was aimed at the world rather than Ludwig. Cannon fodder. The old man didn’t soften it into kinder language. He said it plainly, because plain was all he had left. His gaze lingered on Ludwig as if he wanted to convince at least one young man to choose life.

“Wasn’t planning to anyway,” Ludwig replied, shaking his head. “I’ll need to go.”

He made the dismissal gentle enough not to insult the old man’s grief, then shifted his weight as if the conversation had already cost him time he couldn’t afford. The board’s paper fluttered faintly in a breeze, the only lively motion on that street.

“Good luck kid,” the old man said as he sighed, watching that accursed piece of paper on the wall.

The luck wished sounded more like a farewell than encouragement, and the word “accursed” carried real hatred, hatred of war, of monsters, of systems that ate sons and called it duty.

Ludwig moved toward the portal. Once he gets to the academy, he’ll begin his preparation for the upcoming test.

He didn’t linger. The portal’s location pulled him forward like gravity, the promise of distance collapsing into a single step. The Academy waited, the Tower waited, the daggers in shadow waited, and Ludwig felt the weight of six months ticking behind his eyes as he walked.