Bound To The Dead: The Deceptive Class-E Farmer

Isaac didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

Then he spoke, voice low and flat, calm, but heavy, like a storm on the horizon.

"I buried monsters way much stronger than you. Without a shovel."

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate.

"If you think class makes a warrior... you haven’t bled enough."

The air thinned. The younger commanders exchanged stiff glances. Even Marvik’s smirk faltered for half a second, barely, but Isaac saw it.

Then he walked past him, straight to the war table, and looked down at the untouched maps like he already owned the battlefield.

"How many retreated?" he asked, not looking up.

One of the younger commanders cleared his throat. "From the fortress? Less than three thousand. Scattered."

"Then gather them."

He set the wooden piece down and hard, right in the heart of the map.

"You’ve been defending like the war can be won by holding ground." Isaac glanced up, eyes sharp. "It won’t. Not against Rookheim. You want to survive? You stop playing defense and start breaking bones."

Elder Simon watched from the side, quiet but alert.

General Marvik stepped closer, trying to reassert dominance. "And what would you suggest, Farmer?"

Isaac’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

"I suggest you sharpen your blade, General." He leaned in just enough. "You’re going to war behind a farmer."

Suddenly, everything came to a halt as the war room doors burst open.

A panting woman entered, leaning heavily on a soldier. Her green battle robe was torn and smeared with blood, the front cut low enough to reveal a sharp line of cleavage.

Her silver hair, streaked with dirt and sweat, shimmered under the torchlight. One of her eyes was a piercing blue, the other black as ink. Both carried the weight of what she’d just seen.

Despite her wounds, she didn’t falter. Her legs trembled, but she forced herself forward, driven by something stronger than pain.

Nobody stopped her. Everyone just stared.

Isaac turned, quietly observing as his system responded.

[Name: Denise Gazini

Type: Soul Mage

Rank: Class S

Status: Wounded – Exhausted

Abilities: Unknown – Authority too low

Hidden Trait: Unknown – Authority too low]

He stepped away from the table.

"How many are they?" Isaac asked, his voice steady.

Denise blinked. She was still trying to process who he was. His aura felt strange, cold, vast, and hard to read. But something about it made her speak.

"...Around thirty thousand."

Murmurs rippled through the room like cracks in ice.

Isaac’s face didn’t change. He didn’t panic. He just nodded once and turned to the map again, dragging his finger across the lines. His movements were slow, deliberate.

Denise dropped to one knee, out of breath, arms trembling as the soldier held her steady. "They’ve already taken the eastern fortress... Spawnhold’s defenses are collapsing."

Simon clenched his fist.

General Marvik spoke. "Then we’re already dead. If they reach the gates..."

One of the younger commanders staggered toward the table, clutching the edge like it might save him.

"W-We only have maybe twelve thousand combat-ready."

"We can’t win this," muttered one of the older commanders. His gray beard twitched as he stared at the map. "Not unless we summon gods themselves. We’re outnumbered. Outflanked. And out of time."

Simon looked around, his voice rising. "We should’ve evacuated the civilians! We should’ve pulled back to the mountains...!"

"Too late now," said the second old commander, swallowing hard. His hands were shaking. "We’ll be slaughtered... like pigs."

Panic was spreading fast, spines straightening, eyes darting, hands trembling. No orders. No leadership. Just rising fear.

Isaac stayed quiet.

Still standing. Still watching.

His arms were crossed. His eyes were calm, almost bored.

And then...

The door creaked open.

Every head turned.

A frail figure was wheeled in, surrounded by three servants.

A thin body wrapped in velvet robes. His face was pale, eyes sunken deep into his skull. His hands shook constantly, and his breathing came in sharp, wet gasps.

But even half-dead...

King Rody had arrived.

Everyone stood in quiet shock as the servants carefully positioned the King’s chair near the war table. The heavy atmosphere shifted, still tense, but now layered with something else. A fragile kind of respect.

The older commanders were the first to straighten up and bow their heads. The younger ones followed a beat later. Marvik gave a slow nod. Simon looked down. Even the panicked soldier beside Denise bowed.

Isaac watched in silence.

King Rody looked around, breathing slowly through parted lips. His hands gripped the sides of his chair, barely steady.

"...Thank you," he said quietly.

The voice was old. Worn. But it carried.

"I know... how hard you’ve all fought. How many nights you’ve spent just trying to keep this place standing. I see the weight on your faces."

No one spoke.

"I’m proud of you," Rody said, eyes scanning the room. "You held Spawnhold long enough for me to wake... even if just for a little while."

His gaze moved, soft and thoughtful, until it stopped on Isaac.

The King blinked, then chuckled weakly.

"If my dream was right," he said, "you’re Isaac... right?"

Isaac gave a slow, slight nod.

King Rody smiled. "You’re... not what I imagined."

His smile faded. His head tilted forward just a bit as if a sudden wave of exhaustion hit him, but he kept talking.

"I don’t know how long this strength will last. Could be an hour. Could be minutes. So I want to make a request."

He looked Isaac dead in the eye.

"Make them bleed."

The room went still.

Not a whisper. Not even a breath.

"That’s all I want," the King said. "For every friend we’ve buried. For every family dragged from their homes. For every scream in the night we couldn’t stop. Make them regret ever touching this land."

His voice cracked at the end. But he didn’t look away.

Isaac’s lips curled into a smirk. He nodded, slow and steady.

He didn’t say a word, but he understood the king perfectly.

And deep down... he liked what the king asked of him. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

Elder Simon stepped forward, his face tight with worry.

"Isaac... what’s the plan now?" he asked. "They could be here in an hour."

Isaac didn’t blink. "Gather all remaining troops on top of the palace walls. Every last one."

Simon looked confused, but nodded.

Isaac turned slightly. "And get all civilians inside. Every single door locked. No one outside the palace."

Marvik raised a brow. "You’re going to use all our troops up top? What, you want them posted as defensive archers?"

Isaac shook his head once.

"No."

One of the young commanders frowned. "Then... what are they for?"

Isaac looked back over his shoulder, the edge of his smirk returning.

"An audience."

Silence..

"For you all to see how a farmer reaps."