Means of Identification

The next day I made my way to the meeting point, the location Rakki resurrected me at. I guess that also makes it the location I was killed at, but I’m an optimist. Sanson and Rakki were already there. I wasn’t late, they were early. Besides, even if I was late, it was Rakki’s fault for telling me he initially resurrected me north of his cottage when it was actually to the south.

Either way, despite this ritual being for my sake, I had no part in the actual process. I already completed my contribution by gathering the necessary supplies. The body Eris and I procured was lying in the middle of some pattern drawn out with silvery liquid, while Rakki was currently in possession of my soul. After getting it back from that big cat I gave it straight to Rakki. I was tempted to hold onto it myself, but realistically I had no idea how to take care of a soul.

Even if it was mine.

Sanson and Rakki were having a casual conversation as I approached them.

“So you’re saying that you were the dragon? Haha, amazing! What an auspicious occasion.”

“Excuse me, I was a wyvern. I don’t understand why you humans always mix them up.”

“Alright, we don’t have time for whatever nonsense you two are talking about. Let’s get on with it.” Despite being the one to arrive last, I immediately started talking like I’d been the one kept waiting.

“You’re late, Rem my friend, but worry not, your sorcerer friend has been preparing the ritual.” Sanson greeted me. For anyone wondering at home, he was less than fully clothed. I can also let you know that throughout the rest of the scene he was in various states of undress, but I’ll be abstaining from those details. What he took off and when, I’ll leave that up for everyone to decide on their own.

“He’s not my friend, and more importantly, where’s Eris?”

“Eris? She’s scouting the area. The ritual would be ruined if someone stumbled upon it now.”

“Switch jobs with her.”

That wasn’t just my preferences leaking out. Sure, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to meeting Eris as a living human, but I was more so concerned with what would happen if anyone entered her scouting area.

Not that it really mattered. I can’t imagine there were any villagers stupid enough to enter the forest.

Huh? Did I just insult myself?

“Haha, you’re starting to joke, just like Eris. I’m sure we’ll continue to become even greater friends.”

“Why are you the one with a heart of gold? Trade that trait with Eris.”

“Speaking of Eris, there’s actually something I’d like to ask. That body. . .” It’s not from the village.

Sanson didn’t need to finish his sentence as he focused his attention on the body I’d brought back the night before.

It wasn’t. It wasn’t from the graveyard. It wasn’t from the village at all. Sanson spent a few hours in the village gathering information, and that was enough. More than enough.

The clothes were too nice. They weren’t overly stylish or adorned with vibrant color. They were plain and drab. Not the sort of thing anyone would find fashionable. At least that’s the impression they’d give off in their natural habitat.

But here, on the outskirts of a village so minor it doesn’t even have a name, they were beyond nice. They were impossible. The needlework, the fabric, the fit, all of it, impossible. There’s no way something as normal as this could have come from a village so far beneath normalcy.

Sanson recognized it, and apparently tried to get the story out of Eris. She unsurprisingly brushed him off.

Well let me confirm. I did kill the man in question, but it wasn’t the unjust execution that Eris had suggested. While I needed a body I wasn’t so far gone that I’d go to those lengths. I wasn’t ready to become a murderer. And even if I was ready, I didn’t want to do it.

That might seem rich coming from someone who’d already killed two people. They were different. They had impaled me with spears and slashed me with axes. I won’t try to claim self defense, it’s just the idea of a fight. Combat. No one has the right to complain about dying while trying to kill someone else. And if they do complain, it should be to themselves.

It might not be just to push my ideals on the dead, but as long as I’m the one doing the killing, it’s my privilege. It’s not an issue of right and wrong. It’s an issue of the living and the dead, with me speaking for both parties.

That night, with Eris, I worked up all the resolve I had to explain this to her just in time to find her missing. Gone. Disappeared without a word.

Seriously. I didn’t think that was something people actually did. Or could do. That failure of a ranger should just switch to a rogue already.

Hoofbeats.

I picked up on the sound a few moments after noticing Eris abandoned me. She must have heard them first.

Let me know! We could’ve hidden together. The longer I stood there the more I realized the sound was approaching me, as was the horse making it. Or perhaps it would be more appropriate for me to think of a zebra.

The gallant figure of a man on horseback was rapidly approaching me. He wasn’t coming from within the village, but rather skirting around the side of it. We locked eyes for a moment before he drew his curved sword and rode past me, taking my right arm off as he did.

As I watched my arm drop, dissolving into nothing before it hit the ground, I was impressed. The blade he chopped my arm off with was designed for just that: taking off body parts. No hacking or tearing, just a clean cut. For that, I was thankful. Despite the severity of the injury, at least to a normal person, it wasn’t overly painful. Without any excess trauma it takes the body some time to process what just happened, and by the time my brain caught up my new arm had already apparated.

The man turned his horse back around and spoke to me in a tone that fit his current position over me.

“I knew those two failures weren’t up to it. I’ll see you eliminated myself.”

“Can you people stop using assault as a means of identification?”

His horse started galloping in my direction once again. A fight? I don’t mean to brag, but I’m not the kind of person a single human should try to take down. I’d have to teach him a lesson.

I’m sure I had an incredibly smug look on my face as he lopped off my head. Then he cut through my torso, bisecting me from shoulder to belly button.

“Get off of the horse already!” How was I supposed to fight against that? The difference in combat capabilities was too great. Who could have known that adding a single horse into the mix could turn a human into such a killing machine?

He started charging at me for the fourth time. As I took a stance I apologized to the horse for what was about to happen. While I was the real victim here, the horse wasn’t exactly guilty of any real crime either. Still, I wasn’t a nice enough person to let that stop me. Once it got within range I leapt with all my strength. Not at the body, or even the rider. At the legs.

My body tangled up the horse’s legs, causing it to crash headfirst into the ground.

It was a cheap move, okay? I get it. It wasn’t something any self respecting person could do. I felt bad about it, but what other options did I have? I’d already traded my self-esteem for quips.

The rest played out as an uninterestingly reasonable scene.

My body had been bent and broken in more ways than I had time to count, but I quickly recovered. The horse. . . Did not. If anything, my tackle was far more effective than I thought it’d be. I might actually be stronger than I thought. The only responsible thing left to do was end its suffering. Still feeling guilty, I decided to put its body to good use. I made its strength into my strength.

Thanks for the meal. You won’t be forgotten.

I decided not to focus on the idea of an undead offering up a prayer to anything that was listening.

As for the rider, he died. Crushed under the weight of the horse. I won’t say it was an unfortunate way to go. That would imply that there are fortunate ways to go. There aren’t. There is no fortunate or unfortunate. It’s simply a matter of life and death, with me watching from neither side.