Bound To The Dead: The Deceptive Class-E Farmer

It was past midnight, but no one was asleep.

The city was quiet, wrapped in a deep darkness. Only the torches along the palace walls gave off a flickering light.

The soldiers stood at the top of the wall, shoulder to shoulder. Thousands of them. Armor cold, breaths visible in the air. The gate below was sealed shut. No one was allowed in or out.

They weren’t shouting or panicking but they were nervous. You could hear it in their whispers.

"What are we doing up here on the wall? Why are almost all the soldiers here?" someone whispered.

"Are we going to fight? Why are there no soldiers outside the gate?" another asked.

"Is no one going to tell us what the plan is?"

The murmurs spread like a slow fire. There were no orders. No banners waving. No drums of war. Just confusion.

Down below, a few civilians peeked out from shuttered windows. Children clung to mothers. Old men held their breath.

Elder Simon moved through the crowd of soldiers, his expression calm but tired. He didn’t speak. He just nodded at people he passed, reassuring them with his presence. Some of the younger troops stood a little straighter when they saw him.

General Marvik stood with Denise near the center of the wall. Other commanders were scattered nearby. Their nerves showed. A few were sweating despite the cold. One officer whispered something about abandoning the post. No one replied.

Marvik didn’t bother hiding his frustration. He stepped forward when he saw Isaac, who was walking toward them without armor, without weapons.

"This better not be some kind of stunt," he said sharply. "If it is... people will die."

Isaac stopped beside her. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t raise his voice.

"It’s not a stunt," he said. "It’s a message."

Marvik’s mouth opened, then closed. He stepped back without another word.

The silence returned. Even the wind seemed to stop moving.

Behind them, above the palace gates, a small balcony overlooked the wall. King Rody sat there, wrapped in thick blankets. He looked pale. Tired. His breathing was shallow.

He didn’t speak. Just watched everything in silence.

The wind blew gently across the wall, but no one moved. No one knew what would happen next. But everyone could feel that something was coming.

Then...

A low rumble echoed through the air.

At first, it sounded like thunder. But there were no clouds. The night sky was clear. Cold stars watched from above.

The ground began to shake.

Soldiers rushed to the edge of the palace walls. Eyes widened. Mouths fell open.

On the distant horizon, dust rose into the air like smoke. Thousands of torches flickered, spreading across the land like a river of fire.

"They’re here..." someone whispered.

The enemy army had arrived.

Thirty thousand rows of heavy infantry marched in perfect lines and cavalry rode beside them. Siege engines rolled behind, massive wheels grinding into the dirt. Flags bearing the sigil of Rookheim swayed in the cold wind.

There were mages too, robed figures surrounded by glowing circles of light. And berserkers, shirtless and covered in painted scars, screaming war cries that echoed into the night.

The chanting began.

"KILL... KILL .. KILL.."

It wasn’t loud. Not yet. But it grew with every step.

Soldiers on the wall held their breath. Some trembled. Some bit their lips so hard they bled.

Denise stepped forward slowly. Her face was pale. Her voice was almost too quiet to hear.

"They’re not slowing down... They’re charging."

But then, just as the front line reached the marked point on the field, the enemy halted.

All of them.

In perfect sync, they stopped.

The chanting stopped.

The only sound was the crackling of torches and the uneasy shifting of armor. Formations tightened. Shields locked together. Mages moved into place. Archers raised their bows but didn’t fire.

They weren’t rushing in.

They were preparing.

It felt like the world was holding its breath.

Then, the palace gates creaked.

Slowly, they opened...

Every soldier turned to look.

From the shadows behind the gate, a figure emerged.

Isaac.

He wore no armor. Carried no shield. Just the same brown clothes, a worn cloak, and a heavy silence.

Each step was calm and steady, as if the army before him didn’t matter. As if he had all the time in the world.

Thousands of eyes followed him.

Spawnhold soldiers held their breath. Some lowered their weapons without realizing it. Civilians peeked through windows, holding children close.

There was no trumpet. No grand speech.

Only the sound of his cloak hitting the ground as he let it fall.

From the distant field, a large man on horseback lowered an eyeglass device. His armor was fine. Black cape. Thick beard. Probably a general.

He scoffed, then smirked.

"A lone farmer at the front gate? Class E, no less. Maybe he’s here to negotiate, or trade vegetables."

The surrounding officers laughed. One shouted back.

"Careful, your weeds might trip you before we do!"

Even enemy archers chuckled, relaxing just slightly.

Isaac remained standing still, gazing out at the thirty thousand soldiers, who stood like a sea of steel.

Then, he reached behind his back and took hold of his axe.

Hopper fluttered down and perched on his shoulder, calm and alert.

Isaac’s eyes never blinked.

System Notification flashed.

[Skill Activated: Tool Savant]

His axe transformed once again after several days of no battle. The eyes of the people of Spawnhold widened at the sight before them.

Gasps rose along the wall. The people of Spawnhold had seen many things in their lifetime.

But not this.

Then...

[Swarm Authority Activated]

The hum of locust wings began to rise, filling the air. From the skies, swarms of locusts came flying in from different directions.

Elder Simon glanced upward, though the night was still dark, the swarm was visible beneath the moon’s pale glow.

Locusts. Thousands. Then tens of thousands.

They began to gather behind him, forming like an army. A moving tide.

Denise clutched her injured ribs, wide-eyed.

"Can anyone explain what’s happening?"

No one answered.

From his balcony above, King Rody leaned forward slightly. His voice was low.

"I knew it. It’s him. The King of the abyss."

His hand trembled around his cane, both from weakness and awe.

Below, on the ground, Isaac’s gaze locked forward.

Weapon raised.

A calm breath.

Then, he smiled.

"Let them watch."

He took the first step. Then another.

And then, he ran.

"Hopper. Destroy their siege engines."

The locust leapt from his shoulder.

The swarm followed, roaring like a black tide.

They surged forward.

Into an army of thirty thousand.