Bound To The Dead: The Deceptive Class-E Farmer

From the top of Spawnhold’s wall, The sky was beginning to clear.

Beneath the soft light, they saw it: the locusts had reached the ice dome. From above, it looked like black rain spilling through a crack.

Elder Peter narrowed his eyes.

"The bugs have entered," he said. "There’s a hole in the barrier."

Beside him, General Marvik leaned forward, eyes locked on the shattered dome in the distance. The cold wind didn’t seem to bother him, but his frown deepened.

He stayed silent for a few seconds.

Then, with a calm but clear voice, he gave the order.

"Everyone, prepare. We’re marching to the battlefield."

At once, the soldiers behind him began to move. Some checked their weapons. Others helped fasten armor. No one spoke. They could all feel the shift in the air.

—----

Inside the shattered ice shield, the real storm continued.

Lander charged forward, sword burning with fire.

Isaac moved sideways, just enough to avoid the vertical slash. The flames scraped past his side, barely missing him.

He narrowed his eyes.

Something was different.

Lander’s power wasn’t normal anymore. His strength, speed, and control, it was as if he had released everything he had left. The sword in his hands felt like it was burning with something deeper than just fire.

Isaac blocked the next strike with his sickle. Sparks flew. The clash pushed him back a step.

That was new.

Lander followed up with another attack, then another. Quick, focused strikes, aimed at Isaac’s arms, legs, throat. But Isaac read the rhythm quickly.

Each strike was followed by a moment of defense.

Hit. Guard. Step back.

Over and over.

A perfect soldier’s rhythm.

But Isaac didn’t fight like a soldier.

He didn’t follow rules.

And he didn’t give warnings.

After the next block, he let Lander swing again.

Right before the blade could land, Isaac twisted his body, not backward, but forward and ducked low, moving straight into Lander’s guard.

His sickle came up fast.

Lander barely managed to jump back, but a thin cut opened on his shoulder. The fire flickered for a second.

Isaac didn’t press. Not yet.

He stepped back and watched.

Lander’s breathing was sharp now. His grip tighter.

Isaac could see it in his eyes, Lander wasn’t fighting for Rookheim anymore.

He was fighting to survive.

The locusts hissed in the distance. Hopper growled nearby, circling.

But for now, it was just the two of them.

Fire and shadow.

Knight and reaper.

Isaac took a breath.

Lander lifted his sword again.

Isaac rushed forward.

His right hand gripped the sickle tightly. He aimed it downward, bringing it toward Lander’s shoulder with all his strength.

Lander reacted just in time. He raised his left arm and caught Isaac’s wrist mid-swing.

The ground beneath him cracked as his right knee dropped, unable to hold against the force. Dust scattered from the impact.

Even with the pressure, Lander smirked.

"Got you, farmer," he said coldly.

Then, without hesitation, he drove his flaming sword into Isaac’s stomach.

Shunk!

The blade pierced through, and steam hissed as the fire met flesh.

But Isaac didn’t scream.

He didn’t even flinch.

He looked down at the sword, then up at Lander, and smiled.

It wasn’t a smile of pain.

It was calm.

Like he had planned this all along.

Isaac let go of the sickle with his right hand.

In the same breath, he caught it with his left.

Slash!

The curved blade tore through Lander’s right arm in one clean motion.

The limb, still holding the sword buried in Isaac’s stomach.

Lander’s eyes widened.

Before he could react, Isaac spun the sickle upward.

Another cut.

Blood sprayed as Lander’s left arm, the one gripping Isaac’s wrist, was slashed deep.

The grip loosened.

Lander staggered backward.

His right arm was gone.

His left was barely hanging on.

He stared at the blood pouring from him, stunned.

And Isaac just stood there.

The sword was still inside him, burning faintly.

But he didn’t fall.

He was still smiling.

He gripped the hilt of the sword still buried in his stomach.

Another inch and he would’ve blacked out. But the voice inside him wasn’t screaming, it was laughing.

With one sharp motion, he pulled it free. Lander’s severed hand remained clenched around the handle.

He exhaled quietly.

"Swarm Heal."

At once, the locusts responded. They crawled out from under his skin and gathered at the wound, slipping inside. Their sharp legs moved fast, stitching muscle and sealing torn flesh. Isaac winced from the sensation, but he didn’t step back. The pain was real.

A few feet away, Lander collapsed into a sitting position, breathing hard. Blood poured from both shoulders, where his arms had been severed. It soaked the ground beneath him. He looked up, his vision blurry from the pain.

The ice barrier started to melt with Katros’ death. Cracks spread across its surface until it slowly faded, like frost melting under sunlight. The world beyond returned to view.

Lander tried to find hope in the distance, maybe a healer, maybe reinforcements. But instead, he saw only corpses. His soldiers were scattered across the ground. A few still moved weakly, but most were silent. Locusts swarmed across them, crawling over armor and skin without mercy.

Isaac walked toward him, slow and steady. His wound was closing as the swarm crawled across his stomach and chest, sealing every cut.

"I guess the Class-E farmer wins," Isaac said, voice calm.

Lander looked up, eyes full of pain. "Do you think the Rookheim Dominion will not stop until Spawnhold is conquered?"

Isaac paused. "I think the news of what happened to you here will be enough."

Lander shook his head. "Until our king takes Spawnhold, your threat to our kingdom won’t disappear."

Isaac paused.

Threat?

He tilted his head slightly, confused by the idea. From the small and dying kingdom of Spawnhold?

He then asked, "A threat?"

"Yes," Lander said, breathing short. "A prophecy reached the king. From a small kingdom... will come the one who brings down all kingdoms."

Isaac’s eyes narrowed.

A small kingdom?

Spawnhold was a small kingdom. But so was Bulcan.

If Rookheim truly believed in that prophecy... then their threat might not end here.

It might come for Bulcan next.