Chapter 10: Kiting

From his vantage point Kaius was able to make out fifteen undead.

They milled around the hunting compound that was recessed into the cave wall. Some drifted from building to building, patrolling the area in some mockery of a lively camp. Others just stood there, swaying in place.

It was unnerving. The unnatural stillness with which they stood, unbroken by the micro-movements and twitches typical of the living. The way they burst into motion without warning, speed and power juxtaposed by a jerky and almost mechanical lack of grace. It set his teeth on edge. It lookedwrong. Unnatural.

He hated the undead.

Fifteen would be the most amount ofanythinghe had faced in single combat. He had skill and dexterity on his side, but it was still a lot of bodies.

At the very least they all seemed about as well armed as the patrolling party he had faced an hour or so earlier. Half rotted leather hunting gear, not even true armour, and a smattering of hatchets, axes, spears and knives.

Unnatural and disgusting they may be, the fact that they were undead would play in his favour. They would have nonexistentEndurance. NoHealthto regenerate wounds. His father had told him of great and terrible spirits of death who could heal withMana. Not here though. Deep, far deeper than he would ever reach for years.

Strong, indefatigable, and immune to blows that would mean the end of anything with a heart beat. They were also dim, clumsy, and had noHealth.

He could fight them defensively, utilising positioning, the environment, and superior coordination to whittle them down one by one.

Fifteen was still alotof bodies. He gulped.

Kaius took a deep breath, quelling the nervous tension within him. Despite their numbers, he couldn't deny that the prospect of facing off against such a large group was as exciting as it was anxiety inducing. Plus the dangling carrot of the store house was too great to ignore.

There was something more than the promise of glory and loot that made the risk so enticing however. The pressure and push of facing so many foes at once would force him to the edge, he would have to capitalise on every single mistake the undead made.

The urge to merge his next legacy skill had been a constant buzz in the back of his mind. Every one he completed would make him just a little safer, give him another powerful tool to work with as he tried to survive in an environment he had no right to be in.

The battle ahead was sure to levelSense Weakness, in all likelihood more than once.

Heneededthat. Needed the edge his next legacy skill would bring him. Needed to start on the next one after that, that would bring him some much needed survivability.

Tightening his grip on his spear, his knuckles went white.

Kaius launched himself forward, pushing off a root and shoving the trunk he was hiding behind to bring himself up to full speed in a burst of acceleration.

The light brush standing between him and the end of the treeline whipped against his legs. Quickly forgetting the stinging mark of their passage as he bent his mind to the singular goal of closing the gap between himself and the closest of the wandering undead.

He brought the point of his spear up and level, turning his run into a charge.

Soft breeze covered his advance, the rustling of leaves enough to drown out his heavy breaths and the soft thumping of his feet on soil.

He was almost there.

Some of the undead, those who just so happened to be looking in his direction, had already noticed him. Ambling limbs readied glorified farm tools as they drew in his direction on stumbling. His target did not move. Too dim-witted to experience even vague curiosity at what had riled up its fellows. Kaius grinned, surging blood making his face grow hot.

The point of his spear rammed into the back of its head with the force of a charging bear, driving deep into its liquified brain. Black blood sprayed out as the undead was flung forwards from the force of the collision. The machete it held in its hand tumbled to the ground.

**Ding! level 12 Undead Scout slain**

Vibration shot through his spear and into his arms, stinging the palms of his hands. He was forced to plant his feet, sliding in the soft earth to arrest his charge.

Ripping his spear free from the body of the dead scout, he turned to face the rest of the undead, now well aware of his presence.

In an instant he assessed their composition. They were still spread out, those first few who had seen him only now just beginning to cross the courtyard between the lodges buildings. He still had time. Unfortunately, whatever mindlessness impeded the undeads' senses and cooperative abilities also seemed to make them impervious to surprise. They all just seemed to notice he was there, and then got ready to gut him where he stood without taking any time to think about it.

The closest to him was a trio who had been standing in the shadow of the smokehouse. One with a spear, One with a hatchet, and another with a knife.