Deus Necros

Sails unfurled, ropes creaked, and the ship began to pull away from the dock, its bow cutting through the harbor’s shallow waves. The dock shrank behind them, and the world began to quiet, replaced by the steady rhythm of the sea.

Ludwig didn’t move. He stood alone at the front, unmoving, letting the salty air wash over him like a forgotten memory. He knew they’d speak to him again. They always did.

And they did.

“You there,” called one of them, “You must be some kind of noble.”

Ludwig turned his head slightly. “Is that a problem?”

“N-no,” came the awkward response. The same man who had tried to sound stern now found himself staring into an expression that didn’t care. It wasn’t confidence. It wasn’t arrogance. It was detachment. As if Ludwig didn’t consider him worth fearing.

The unease spread like frost.

“We just want to make one thing clear,” another said, trying to regain footing. “We don’t answer to the nobility. Baron Baltimore promised us a knight captain. Instead, he sends us… you. Some entitled brat in noble cloth.”

He held up the letter with a scoff.

“Pilgrimage or not, this doesn’t mean you get to command us. You don’t follow our rules, and you’ll be lucky if the sea is the only thing that swallows you.”

Ludwig’s expression didn’t shift. He nodded once. “Sure.”

No bite. No defense. Just… acceptance.

It threw them off more than a threat would have.

Annoyed but unsure how to respond, the cloaked men clicked their tongues and descended into the ship’s lower deck. They didn’t tell Ludwig where to sleep. They didn’t even acknowledge him after that.

But that suited him just fine.

He turned back toward the sea. The waters were still now, vast and black and soundless.

And somewhere out there, in the south, the Dawn Isles waited.

The sea lulled onward in its gentle rhythm, the ship carving through still water like a phantom gliding across a blackened mirror. The distant sound of creaking wood mixed with the occasional flap of canvas as the sails strained gently in the wind. Ludwig stood at the prow, unmoving, eyes fixed on the horizon—or what little could be seen of it beneath the veil of cloud. The moon remained smothered, and starlight trickled through the dark like droplets slipping between stone cracks.

But to Ludwig, it was all plainly visible. The world was muted, yes, but not blind to him. The darkness held no secrets for eyes long unbound from mortality.

A voice stirred beside his thoughts. Familiar. Tired, as though it had only just awakened after a long stretch of silence.

“What are you thinking about?” Thomas asked, his tone subdued.

Ludwig didn’t glance his way. “This mission. It’s going to be difficult.”

There was no dramatic worry in his voice. No fear. But it wasn’t casual either. Just the simple, quiet acceptance of someone who had been through enough to understand when the stakes were high. And these stakes—this mission—they reeked of consequence.

“Why would you think that?” came the Knight King’s voice, resonant and calm. He manifested beside them in full armor, arms folded over his chest, the weight of centuries behind his eyes.

Ludwig didn’t answer right away. His gaze remained on the shifting waves.

“Because there’s too much to gain,” he said finally. “The rewards are far too good. Pages of the Codex. Spells. Power. And when that much is promised… something always comes to collect. The risk has to match the prize.”

He paused, expression unreadable.

“And I think Necros is preparing me for something I’m not ready for. I don’t think I’m strong enough to face what’s waiting for me.”

The Knight King didn’t speak for a moment. When he did, his voice was firm. Not harsh, but unyielding.

“You’re mistaken.”

Ludwig finally turned to look at him.

“You were chosen to face what’s next, not what’s final,” the spectral king said. “Necros doesn’t expect you to stand against the Usurpers—not yet. But he’s preparing you for that road. Every quest is a test, and each trial, a step closer. You survived the Moon Flayed King. That wasn’t luck.”

Ludwig furrowed his brow. “I didn’t survive. In case you missed it, it didn’t even have the chance to fight us.”

Thomas chuckled dryly from the side. “You’re alive. That’s what matters..”

Ludwig shook his head slightly.

Thomas hovered closer, voice lighter. “And you’re forgetting something. This mission isn’t about fighting. You’re here to investigate. To find the corruption. Speak to the Baron’s people and bring them home. That’s it.”

“That’s it,” Ludwig repeated, barely above a whisper.

But even as he said it, the sea disagreed.

A jolt ran through the hull.

Not a crash. Not a storm. But a sharp, unmistakable jolt.

The ship rocked once—enough to send a barrel clattering from its stack—and settled again.

Ludwig leaned over the railing, peering into the waters below.

What he saw made his lips curl.

“Son of a bitch.”

Shapes moved beneath the surface. Elongated limbs and broad, slick backs. Webbed hands and large, bulbous eyes that reflected the faint glow of the ship like glass orbs. Blue skin shimmered where the moonlight dared touch, and long spears trailed from their hands as they swam circles around the vessel.

Frog-faced creatures. No, not just creatures—humanoids. Amphibious. Intelligent. Organized.

A dozen at least.

From their motions, Ludwig could tell what they were trying to do. They weren’t just swimming. They were searching. Testing. And then the sound came—wood splintering. Spears jabbed into the lower hull. Intentional. Surgical.

They were puncturing the ship.

Thomas appeared beside him in his spiritual form, eyeing the water grimly. “Seems like this won’t be a peaceful voyage.”

Ludwig’s hand twitched.

He didn’t reach for Oathcarver. Not yet. That weapon was too big, too slow, and too powerful for this.

Instead, he flicked his wrist and summoned the familiar shimmer of Durandal’s broken shard. A short chain extended from his palm, the weight of the blade at its end humming faintly in the air. Cracked, yes, but still sharp. Still deadly. And most of all, efficient.

“Guess I’ll do some fishing,” Ludwig muttered, his voice dry.

He stepped up onto the rail, balancing with an ease born of repetition. Below him, the creatures began to converge. One rose closer than the rest, its eyes locked onto him, its maw curling into what might have been a grin—jagged teeth gleaming even in the darkness.

Ludwig waited until it broke the surface.

Then, without a word, he hurled the shard forward. The chain snapped taut, and the blade spun like a crescent of silver light, burying itself cleanly through the creature’s gaping mouth and out the back of its skull.

The body fell without a sound, the water silencing its death.

[You have slain a Blue Triton level 55]

More came.

Thomas, even in his incorporeal state, winced. “Don’t overdo it.”

Ludwig’s reply was quiet. Focused.

“I don’t intend to.”

The chain snapped again, and another fell. The water churned, now stained with threads of dark blood. The ship creaked beneath him, the crew below still unaware of what approached. No alarms. No bell.

No warning.

For ‘glorious’ Vampire Hunters, they sure were too unskilled to even notice that they were being attacked.

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