A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Once it was wrapped up and secure, he took the long sleeves and ran them around his shoulders and under his armpits, tying them off on each arm, to make a somewhat more comfortable backpack.

"That\'ll do," he decided, tighting it enough so that the stone would not bounce around too much on his back, given freedom by the flexibility of the cloth. But despite his efforts, any movement too explosive would send it bouncing anyway, making it bash uncomfortably into his back.

Then there was were the straps too – they weren\'t particularly comfortable either, so even as he ran, he was cursing himself for not having a better idea, but at the very least, it beat carrying it in his arms, and after a while he soon learned how to move so that the rock would stay steady on his back and he broke out of the treeline.

A hunter flashed him a surprised look as Beam ran past, half naked but for his shirt-backpack that he\'d made. Beam greeted the man with a nod, before rushing past him. He didn\'t know what the man thought upon seeing such a sight – but he could feel the eyes on his back as he broke away from the trees and headed west across the plains.

Sweat was already beginning to coat his forehead and his breathing came laboured from his urgency. He glanced up at the sky continually as he ran. The sun was going higher and higher, taunting him, telling him to speed up, and speed up he did, despite the discomfort.

With the rock across his back as it was, the muscles supporting the weight quickly tired, as did his legs, but it was not an unendurable tiredness. It was merely the acknowledgement of discomfort, and the body\'s insistence that he settle down to rest as soon as he was able.

After his battle with the hobgoblin, it was much easier for him to overcome the discomfort than it had been in the past – for what could compare to the gruelling pain of maximal exertion for as long as he had endured it during his fight?

And he could feel that he was faster still, even with the stone on his back. He watched as his surroundings flitted by and patches of harsh, acidic green grass were left far behind him. After a while – maybe halfway through – Beam guessed, the run almost approached being pleasant, as he tested his newfound capabilities, whilst doing his best to ignore the discomfort caused by the rock.

Remembering that he didn\'t have to run with the rock on the way back was a source of great comfort – he resolved to run even faster then, and see just how much he had improved. For now, though, he continued to tear up the ground, his feet flexing comfortably with each stride and his running coming far more naturally to him than it had in the past.

After nearly an hour of running, he saw a dark figure in the distance, standing out against a sea of green and yellow grasses. Beam ran towards it, the shape growing ever more familiar as he approached, the strawhat standing out above all.

As he neared, he could see a second figure beyond Dominus, lumbering about in a mad defiance of death, as it dragged a harsh battleaxe along the ground behind it.

"Gah, so that\'s a corpse soldier," Beam said, slowing to a halt at Dominus\' side, putting his hands to his knees as he recovered his breath. "It\'s strong," he noted, feeling its menacing aura.

"Indeed, it is," Dominus agreed. "Here\'s your sword." He handed Beam the blade that he had forgotten to bring, the same one that Greeves had given him to slay the hobgoblin.

"Thanks," Beam took it, as he freed himself from the stone on his back, allowing it to drop to the ground as he pulled his shirt back on. He carefully drew his blade from its sheath, admiring it. It had taken a fair bit of work after his battle to restore the sword to its former glory, what with the chips on the blade.

But with a file, a whetstone and a good amount of effort, it was back to its former simple but deadly glory.

He took a few more moments then, to recover his breath, continuing to watch the corpse soldier from a distance. It was a large man – or at least, once it was. Now it was a lumbering skeleton, with a blackened skull and blue fire in its eyes, its dead skin peeling from its face. Its torn fur clothes struggled to hide the rotting flesh beneath.

"A Yarmdon man," Dominus told him, as he noticed Beam\'s curious gaze. "Likely one of those who fell from the spring raiding attacks."

"Hmm… I would have thought they\'d be more of them. The spring raids are always a bloody affair, aren\'t they?" Beam said.

"Well, there likely are, since they are mindless creatures, they tend to wander a great distance, looking for warm flesh. But their senses aren\'t particularly good. As long as you stay a few hundred feet away from them, they won\'t notice you. Also, the people, knowing how corpse soldiers are birthed, are liable to go to lengths to avoid their creation.

Only those buried on unblessed ground have a chance of being afflicted with the goddess\' curse – but even then, it\'s a dice roll," Dominus said.

"Sounds troublesome," Beam mused. "If someone really strong happened to become a corpse soldier, we\'d be in trouble, wouldn\'t we?"

Dominus shook his head. "No. The curse, in its normal form, is not particularly powerful. The truly strong would be unaffected by it. Still, the fact remains, that even if the weak get reanimated, they\'re much stronger than they were in life."