The corpse let out a guttural scream as Arthur expertly parried its attack and riposted, taking its arm off with a single blow. It lunged forth, its other arm outstretched in an attempt to grab him, before Arthur sidestepped it and sliced off its head. Like the others before, it tumbled to the ground, as the same cloud of purple magic billowed from its open neck wound and dissipated, whereupon the corpse stopped moving once more.

  Beside them, Praetorus was dodging and weaving another corpse's attacks, stabbing and slicing at it between its sword swings. His dagger would have long pacified a living attacker, but against the undead it was nearly useless; the blade was too short to effectively remove the head from the body, and the stabs and cuts did little to slow it down.

  Arthur pivoted over to Praetorus' foe and repeated the same procedure against it, taking off its arm and head in similar fashion and dispatching it with little fanfare. As the corpse toppled over, Praetorus sheathed his dagger, picking up the sword the corpse had wielded against him.

  "You have my thanks." His tone was impassive as always, but Arthur could detect a faint shade of irritation beneath the archer's stoic facade. He suppressed a sneer; Praetorus was clearly unaccustomed to being the one in need of saving.

  "Don't mention it, old chap." He watched as the archer hefted the rusty sword in his hands. "You know how to use that thing?"

  "I will manage."

  "For your sake, I hope so." Arthur sheathed his sword as he glanced back at the tunnel behind them.

  No less than a dozen beheaded corpses littered the floor, each in various states of decay; some were little more than skeletons held together by parchment-like skin, others had more flesh and musculature to their bodies. He noted the different periods of the corpses as well: the more decayed corpses wore ancient rusted armor pre-Regency, no doubt hundreds if not thousands of years old, while the fresher ones wore more modern gambesons and brigandines.

  Arthur's swordsmanship had cut all of them down, while Praetorus' skills with a bow and dagger were of little use; he couldn't help but feel haughtily smug at this reversal, where only days before he had been at Praetorus' mercy to the forest and outlands. Seeing the archer ruffled at this as well further tickled him pink.

  "Oh, I don't blame you, dear Praetorus." Arthur smirked. "It's not often you run into the undead, who are impervious to arrows and daggers."

  "I sense you are enjoying my plight."

  "Nooo, why would I possibly do such a thing? A knight of my station is humble, forgiving, and most of all, humble."

  "I thought you are a knight-apprentice."

  "Well, I'll be a knight soon, so it's close enough."

  The two of them continued further down the tunnel, their torches lit and bobbing as they walked. The stone walls here were more disjointed and rundown, with strands of moss and ivy overgrown between the bricks; this part of the tombs was more ancient than the portion they had gone through so far, and Arthur's nose was filled with the scent of mildew and moss. No murals or paintings adorned these walls; whatever artwork that had been painted on them had long worn away, leaving only bare stone and brick wherever moss didn't cover it.

  Their footsteps echoed more distinctly in these parts, mixed with the occasional dripping of water from a nearby snowmelt. The air in the tunnels was brisk, but warm enough to melt ice and snow; Arthur's breath billowed in front of him as he exhaled, a faint cloud that dissipated as quickly as it had formed. Were they not deep within the mountain and facing undead warriors, he would have almost found it relaxing.

  Another set of footsteps sounded ahead, and the pair stopped.

  Arthur raised his sword to confront the assailant. "Alright, let's get this over with. I'm starting to get tired of these fellows."

  A figure emerged from the shadows, stepping into the faint torchlight. To Arthur's surprise, this corpse seemed... much more fresh. It wore half-plate, the kind he often saw worn these days, and a tabard of white and gold over its armor; the sigil of a black eagle marked its center.

  House Borodin. Arthur froze. This corpse was a knight, someone of this age and from a knight house he knew.

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  The undead knight lunged forth, the longsword in its hands as fast as lightning. Arthur barely had time to parry it before the knight performed another attack, this one a low slash that he barely managed to dodge.

  "Keep back!" Arthur grunted as he locked blades with the knight; the face was deathly pale, but virtually intact. This knight had died no more than a few days ago. "This one's fresh!"

  Two more corpses, in a more advanced state of decomposition, staggered past the dueling pair and engaged Praetorus in combat.

  His undead attacker's face was contorted in rage as it snarled, the purple flame in its eyes brighter than the foes he had faced thus far. Before Arthur could react, the knight shoved him back and backhanded the apprentice with an armored gauntlet; his nose reeled in pain as he staggered back, feeling a warm trickle of blood run from his nostril.

  Oh, that's it. He wiped his nose and dropped the torch, gripping his sword with both hands now. His opponent, eyes still glowing and ablaze, seemed to sneer at him as it did the same, assuming the same stance. The two of them slowly circled, mirroring the other's move in almost perfect unison; were it not for the knight's pallor and eyes, Arthur would have thought he were fighting a living opponent, so smooth and lively were its movements.

  The clashing of steel from Praetorus' fight lessened considerably, as the archer managed to dispatch one of his foes. The undead knight was momentarily distracted by this, and Arthur seized his chance.

  Darting forth, Arthur aimed for the knight's head with a slash, but the knight blocked his blade with an armored forearm, knocking it aside before it swung its own sword at Arthur in turn. The apprentice dodged its attack and sprang back, then unleashed a flurry of fast blows; breathing hard, Arthur kept up his offensive, lashing out as swiftly as his arms would allow as he managed to push his opponent back.

  The knight was forced to retreat as it barely managed to fend off Arthur's attacks, the two duelists' swords ringing out as sparks flew from their fight. As it raised its sword to block the next strike, Arthur pounced; he switched up his attack pattern and kicked, a savage blow that knocked the knight off-guard. As the undead fighter struggled to regain its footing, the apprentice stepped inside its guard, pushed its sword down with his own, then ran the blade up the length of its arms and sliced the head clean off.

  The knight's head bounced and rolled like a ball as the body seized up and crumpled to the ground; a spurt of dark red blood, almost black, sprayed out from the gaping neck wound. The same cloud of magic billowed out and disappeared, much to Arthur's relief. He lowered his sword and panted heavily, trying to catch his breath; nearby, he spied Praetorus knocking his remaining opponent to the ground before chopping its head off as well, defeating it.

  "Not bad, old chap." He grinned at Praetorus. "With a sword, no less."

  "I am learning." The archer leaned on his sword, breathing heavily. "Your skill with the sword is most impressive as well."

  "Repeat it in Henry's presence, and we're square." Arthur strode over to the fallen knight's body, stooping down to examine it. The armor was modern; he recognized the fluting and style matching that of a reputable smith in Valmorra, the capital. What vexed him most, though, was the standard the knight was wearing: the eagle of House Borodin.

  "Strange," Arthur muttered, more to himself than to Praetorus. "This fellow was a knight of House Borodin. They're one of the larger knight houses of the Regency, with outposts and chapters in all corners."

  "What is a knight doing here?" Praetorus leaned over him, inspecting the body as well. "What killed him?"

  "He's likely from the knight's chapter in the village close by." Arthur lifted the tabard and saw a gaping hole punched straight through the side of the torso, exposing the ribcage through the shattered plate. "Something pierced his armor, and hard. A halberd, maybe?"

  "I do not think he was killed by the undead. We have managed to fend them off so far; an experienced knight like him was unlikely to be killed by them."

  "Perhaps he was swarmed?"

  "Then he would have been covered in wounds. I only see one wound, aside from your handiwork."

  Arthur frowned; the archer was right. If it wasn't the undead, and with such a large wound, then it was likely that...

  "Dragon." He looked up at the archer. "Definitely the dragon. It must have impaled him with its tail or claw, gutted him like a fish."

  Praetorus knelt beside the body and looked at the wound more closely, before nodding. "It is a clean stab wound, large and smooth. I agree it is a singular claw or barb."

  The knight-apprentice shuddered; an experienced knight was felled by the dragon, in one move too, it seemed. Doubt began to creep into the edge of his mind; perhaps confronting the dragon was a stupid move, doubly so with just the two of them. He almost cracked, almost decided to turn back then and there; as he stood, though, the familiar thoughts filled his head with courage once more.

  He must avenge this knight; he must perform his duty as a knight; he must save the region from the dragon's reign of terror. Practical reasons aside though, a smaller, more appealing voice crooned a sweet fantasy that tantalized him: Arthur the Dragon-slayer. Arthur, Dragonsbane of House Braddock. Arthur, the first and only knight-apprentice to slay a dragon before he became a knight.

  That'd show him. Arthur smiled to himself, reveling in the fantastical daydreams in his mind. That'd show them all. But especially him.

  "Arthur." Praetorus' voice snapped him out of his daze; he turned to see the archer had walked on further, ready to continue. "I sense we are not far now. We must strike quickly, before the dragon and necromancer realize how close we are."

  "Right. Onwards, then." Arthur picked his torch back up and jogged after him. Not much longer now.