"Well now Howard. I daresay that could have gone better."

I laugh, because Edward looks more perplexed than disappointed, with his thin lips pressed into a line as he scours his brain for a delicate way to explain how I ain't up to snuff. "You tellin' me," I say with a shake of my head, still trying to catch my breath while Elodie skips to and fro hauling corpses to line them up in a row with Frowny perched atop her head. "Turns out choppin' heads is a lot harder than it looks."

"Easier to aim for soft neck," Elodie helpfully supplies, pausing her busywork to wind up and swing her billhook in a slow and controlled manner. "Also, you should swing like this, yes?" Her swing looks the same as mine, or at least that's how I feel, except Edward and Aaron both nod their heads so there must be something to it. Adorably enough, Frowny mimics her movements by swinging his nubby wing atop her head, and you can see the gears turning in his bird brain as he adjust to match Elodie's arc. She only shows it off once before going back to stacking bodies, so I swallow my pride and ask if she can show me again. "After I am done, yes?" Elodie says, dragging a zombie by the shoulders without batting an eye. "First, I must lift the shackles from the spirits of the fallen and free them so that they might continue on their journey."

Ain't ever seen her so solemn and serious, so I put my weapons away, throw on a pair of gloves, and get to help hauling and lining up bodies. Aaron does too, and while Edward is above such things like menial labour, he supervises in silence while standing in solidarity as a show of respect.

Not for the dead, but for Elodie, who declines my offer of gloves, but has the good sense to wash her hands with soap as soon as she's done hauling. Me, I hit my gloves with Prestidigitation and call it a day, then turn to head back to Chrissy et al to grab my things, but Edward gestures for me to stay in place because Elodie ain't done just yet. With her hands all cleaned and dried, she rummages through her pouches to bring out a wooden bowl and a couple dried plants to place inside. Then, with bowl in hand, she Ignites the contents and gets the whole bowl to smoking while singing in her native tongue, a song that is poetic in structure and cadence.

And possibly content too, though I've no earthly idea as to what she's saying.

Despite there only being a fistful of herbs inside of her bowl, whole pillars of smoke be coming out of it as she chants and dances before the corpses' feet, all seventeen who are laid out in a row. Her words rise and fall like a breeze blowing through the Divide, her every syllable carved from breath and pauses deliberate as can be. The gravity of it all comes crashing down in an instant, and I remove my hat and lower my head in respect. Her dance is not one of grace and beauty, but of rhythm and purpose as her precise movements form some sort of pattern, Etch, or maybe even a Structure in truth like what I see in the stars and moons overhead. There's an ineffable logic to it all, so similar to swirling colors coming together inside the grey smoke to reveal… I don' know what, but something that just makes sense as it all unfurls before my eyes.

Even Frowny gets it, as he dances along with Elodie from atop her head, lifting his legs and wings up and down while bouncing side to side. Adorable as it is, there's no smile on my face or Elodie's, as this is serious work and she's doing her best to do it right. When she reaches the end of the row, the smoking pillar emanating from her bowl detaches and drifts off, and she moves around to their heads and kneels down to dab ashes over the first corpse's eyes. Gracefully coming back to her feet, she steps to the left and kneels again to dab the next corpse's eyes, then the next, and the next, all solemn and grave as can be while chanting all the while. When she finishes with the last, she moves around to their feet once more, where she sprinkles what's left of the ashes over each and every body until she reaches the end, and her chant falls away without warning like a door slamming shut in my face.

All of us start a little to hear it, even Edward beside me who I've never seen flinch. It's just a sharp intake of air, that's all the reaction he gives, but it goes to show just how powerful a demonstration Elodie put on for us here, a Ritual quite unlike anything I've ever seen, not even the Wildshaping Ritual Carter walked me through. Her job done, Elodie rinses out her bowl with water from the swamp before wiping it down with leaves and placing it back into her pouch, and then and only then does her cheery demeanour return. "Okay Howie," she proclaims, bouncing back to her feet with a smile as she runs over to pick up her billhook where she left it stuck in the mud. "I show you again, so watch closely, yes? Like this. Understand?"

The abrupt one-eighty throws me for a loop, but even if it didn't, I doubt it'd change anything. Looks like she's just swinging her weapon same as me, and I've no idea how it's any different. Before I can ask for further clarification, Aaron steps in and says, "Much as I applaud your thirst for knowledge and improvement, might I remind you both that we've a time sensitive matter to attend to? Namely moving along from this location before the Mimic controlling these particular shamblers dispatches a horde of Aberrations down upon our position to inquire as to what happened to its dearly departed minions? Better times and better places, as it were, so come along now. Chop chop."

Aaron gestures at the corpses, meaning he wants me to collect them for later cooking. Which was the plan, only now I'm having second thoughts seeing how these were once living, breathing people. Turning to Elodie, I gesture at the corpses and ask, "You uh… wouldn't happen to have anything against me rendering them corpses down for Aberrtin, would you?"

"Non," Elodie replies, cocking her head as if she don't understand why I would ask. "Their spirits have moved on, so this is only a shell. Like a crab, yes?"

Giving Aaron a look to make sure I'm in the clear, he rolls his eyes and mutters, "Americans. Always so afraid to offend, yet so quick to do so regardless. Reverence for the dead is good and all, but waste not want not." Waving dismissively at the corpses, he adds, "If it helps at all, I doubt any of these were truly once human. Most were likely spawned, much like any other Aberration."

"Spawned?"

"Of course. The Frontier can hardly afford so many casualties, and seventeen deaths would be a grievous loss no matter the locale." Moving closer to inspect the corpses, Aaron gestures at two lying close to one another and explains, "While their features have seen better days, the underlying bone structure is a perfect match between these two. The angle of the chin, the tilt of the nose, the curve of the eye, and I daresay if you looked closer you'd find more similarities between them. No doubt there was an original at one point, a bonafide corpse from which these were modeled after, but the originals do tend to congregate in the deeper recesses of the Deadlands, closer to the Progenitors who spawned the Mimic inhabiting them. Only then can those corpses be studied and improved upon, with new, similar Zombies budding off the original in the same manner as any other Aberration."

Never really thought about the logistics behind putting together a shambling horde of undeath with only so many corpses to work with, but knowing these are just human shaped Abby makes it a whole lot easier to justify cooking them up. Also explains why they got Aberrtin and sometimes even Spell Cores, though I doubt any of these have one. They ain't all that heavy either, maybe a third of what you'd expect given their size as they mostly skin and bones. Guess they still had some growing to do, but it means that if I stack them right, I can fit most onto a single Floating Disc and only need one more for the rest. Sadly, Elodie don't know the Spell, and neither does Chrissy who has more interesting Spells to play with, so I gotta ask Astrid to help out, as Gunnar's already using his Floating Disc to carry some luggage that Harald just could not do without.

Not 225 kg worth, but I ain't about to ask him to stack a bunch of human-esque corpses next to his chest of books and alchemical doodads.

Though Astrid gets a little green around the gills every time she looks at the stack of corpses, she's game to help, so it don't take long before we're all packed up and ready to go soon enough. If only my Floating Disc Sleds weren't completely useless in the swamp, not without extensive modifications. While Floating Disc don't float over water, the waters ain't all that deep round these parts, so if the sled can survive a short swim, then you're hunky dory. My sleds most certainly can't. A little rain and bodily fluids is fine, but a full-on dunking would put them on the fritz right quick, meaning it's Rituals or bust when it comes to my options out in this miserable muck-filled shit swamp.

I know it sounds like I'm having a laugh, as the Brits would say, but I genuinely didn't expect to hate this place as much as I do. Who knew the Deadlands would be so wretched and inhospitable?

Don't no one say nothing as we move out on a northwest heading, a different direction from which we were moving before the fight. At a fair clip no less, with Edward leading the way while Aaron sticks by me for constant updates from my Detect Abby. For the first little while, I don't pick nothing up, but after thirty minutes of trotting through the mud and muck, I pick up on a veritable horde of bodies moving headlong towards our fight. At speeds greater than you'd expect from shuffling Zombies no less, which is disconcerting. I say as much, and Aaron grunts to acknowledge while Edward leads us straight west and well away from the horde.

Now, before I sensed them, I would've figured Edward for running headlong into the fight. With Aaron and Luther at his side, I figure they could clear fifty, sixty Zombies easy, and maybe twice that if they break a sweat. With a cursory sweep however, I'm reading more than two-hundred and fifty bodies less than a klick away, and they ain't all shambling. Some are, but at least a third are moving at a fair rate of knots, circling the horde and going back and forth to scout things out before checking on the shamblers again. Like a minder or shepherd steering the herd in the right direction as they tend to stray and separate without supervision.

Ghouls maybe? Living hosts who've have the misfortune to succumb to Mimic influence, though I suppose they too could be spawned if they got an original host. Coming into this, I figured the difference between a Ghoul and a Wight was the status of the host, in that Ghoul hosts are still alive, and Wights aren't. Seems that's wrong though, because I thought all Zombies were corpses too, but if Zombies can spawn new Zombies without a corpse to inhabit, then maybe Ghouls can spawn new Ghouls without requiring a new host.

And all of a sudden, the fear of the Soulless makes so much more sense. It's not just the fact that their numbers are bolstered with every kill. It's the fact that their growth rate is exponential, with every Zombie, Ghoul, and Wight having the capacity to self-procreate and split off into more versions of themselves. Those two-hundred and fifty odd bodies I'm picking up on Detect Abby? That's probably just one group made from a handful of original hosts, with who knows how many more hordes converging on where we fought them seventeen Zombies.

Course, there's also the psychological factor for anyone who knew them corpses in life. Bad enough having to kill your husband, wife, friend, or child after they've risen from the dead. Imagine having to do it time and time again, as copies appear out of the darkness over the weeks, months, or even years? That there is a literal living nightmare, one I'd like to subject my worst enemies to if I could finagle it. Is this the future Luisa had envisioned for the Frontier? Using Froggy Matías to broker a deal with the Soulless to raise an army of the dead to protect the adherents of her faith? Or worse, willingly take on a Mimic in pursuit of power at the cost of her humanity?

…Might be I should've killed that Froggie Deviant and called it a wash. Would've likely had to kill Luisa too, and plenty of her flock, as they was all big believers. Even Kevin, who didn't ever do nothing to no one as far as I know. Then again, I can't hardly condemn folks for things they have yet to do, especially when I can't even say for certain that this is their endgame. Maybe Luisa just wants to hole up somewhere with her baby froggie boy and raise a whole clutch of his tadpoles like her grandchildren. Grandchildren who would likely require human hosts to spawn off of, since Deviants are so high spec and all. Even then, if she's using folks like Ignazio Pugliano, then I don't seen no reason not to look the other way.

Hell, I got a list of people I'd happily hand over as fodder, with Mia Pugliano sitting right at the top.

Don't much care for what that says about me, but it is what it is. Putting aside my idle fancies of vengeance, I focus on keeping tabs on Abby while Edward brings us through the swampy marshland and into the swamp proper. The difference? Marshes got a lot of herbs and grasses, but a proper swamp got trees like a forest to go along with all the water and mud. Between the tall trees, persistent fog, and setting sun, it gets real dark real fast and slows our movement to a crawl, Especially when Astrid, Harald, Gunnar, and Chrissy start struggling to keep up. As for the rest of us, we move to encircle them without so much as a word, but I can tell Edward is keen on getting us to a particular destination before we break for the night.

Which turns out to be a sizable, multi-cabin treehouse that stretches between five towering hardwoods that are bare and spindly as can be, but strong enough to hold all that weight. Conjuring up a Mage Hand, Aaron directs his glowing blue appendage to press or pull something well out of reach overhead, and a rope ladder drops down to let us up. We don't all pile in together, as he gets to climbing while the rest of us wait down low. Gotta make sure there nothing dangerous lying in wait, because even though I done already scanned it with Detect Abby, Abby ain't the only danger to be found out here. Soon enough, we get the all clear, and he even lowers a platform lashed together with a bunch of rope that serves as an elevator of sorts, one we use to bring up all the corpses and Cowie too.

Who's spent all day full-sized and is none too happy about it. Trekking through the mud is hard on him, and he's so beat he takes a seat on the elevator to huff and puff away while I clean the mud from his hooves and give him all the head pats and chin scritches he could ever want.

Once up in the treetops, we hustle into a sizable cabin and shut the door behind us, encasing us in a solid pall of darkness. There's a bit more shuffling about, and just as I'm about to pull down my goggles to see what's what, Edward calls up a Dancing Light in the palm of his hand, one that casts all manner of sharp and spindly shadows on account of his taloned fingers. "I do hate to be so draconian about this," he begins, which I think might be ironic considering he's the living embodiment of a dragon knight, what with all the scales on his armoured frame, "But I'm afraid I must insist we keep all lights to a minimum while we're here. Inside this room is safe enough, so long as you stay away from the doors and curtains."

To keep Abby or other unsavoury types from spotting us in the night. "Will do," I say, glancing around at the stark interior of the spacious treehouse. It's slightly bigger than the house my daddy built in New Hope, but seems huge as it's all open concept save for the tiny bathroom in the back corner housing a toilet, sink, and shower stall. All of which is being generous with the terms, as there ain't no running water, just a hand-cranked pump that runs down to lord knows where. As for the décor, there's none to speak of, just blackout curtains over the windows and a couple columns to support the roof. The columns and walls got a bunch of wooden hooks sticking out, which I figure can be used to string up a hammock, and there's a fireplace and chimney on the inner wall, but otherwise, the room is bare and featureless save for three doors.

Which is still pretty fancy for a treehouse sitting at least six meters off the ground. Especially when you factor in how there are two other buildings connected to this one by bridges of rope and wood. The real juice ain't in the architecture though. It's in the Wards set right into the walls, floors, and roofs, ones unlike anything I've ever seen. Now to most people, a Ward ain't nothing but an Etch, some Rune, Glyph, Sigil, or otherwise occult mark that does some magic. They're not exactly wrong, but that's like saying a building is 4 walls and a roof. Technically correct, but you can go a whole lot deeper with the concept and make all sorts of different buildings for whatever you need.

Same goes for Etches, in that an Etch is a physical mark that incorporates the Etcher's Spirit to create channels which guide the Metaphysical flow of Aether in the material world. Them's the broad strokes, but you can get all different kinds of Etches which vary in form and function. For example, Etches on an Aetherarm are typically Metamagic Etches, meant to alter the flows of the Spell Structure nestled with the Core and modify the resulting Spell. In stark contrast, the Etches on my Automaton Prosthetic serve as a circuit for Aetheric Power, mostly meant for delivering energy from the dynamo to where it's needed while breaking up the dynamics so that flow don't create a physical Spell Structure that blows up in your face or worse when the stars align just right. Which don't happen often, and ain't all that easy to make happen, but it can and do happen sometimes when you got someone who don't know what they doing.

There are other sorts of Etches too. Some Etches are Load components, items added onto a circuit that makes use of that Aetheric Power in some way, shape or form. Like the pressure pads I installed into my fingertips so I could Script an Invocation to let my fingers know when to stop squeezing or squeeze harder. That's an Etch made from physical wires and Aetheric components that I got a passing idea of how they work, but still sounds like magic when I read about it. The simplest Load component I can explain would probably be a lightbulb. You pass Aetheric Energy through a thin and resistant wire, and that wire gets real hot and glowy. Add in a vacuum-sealed glass bulb filled with some sort of inert gas and it'll glow bright white for reasons beyond my ken. Physics, not Arcana, which sounds more magical than magic to me sometimes, but either way, that's how old Edison got it all working.

Which seems like a whole lot of time, effort, and expenses for a problem Sir Issac Newton had long since solved using his Light Cantrip. Granted, you can only have one Light going at a time, so you'd be hard pressed to light up your whole house, so there's still a place for mechanical lightbulbs. Like the spotlights on my wagon which glow way brighter than any Light Cantrip ever could, but mostly because they use more Aether than a Third Order Spell when you break down the math over time and compare crystal Aether to a Spellslinger's Metaphysical Aether tank.

A Ward is a different sort of Etch, completely different from what I'm used to. I'm mostly familiar with Alarm Wards, which is pretty much the physical components of a classic Abjuration Spell. You take a bit of silver wire, lay it out where you want the Ward to go, and cast the Spell however you please, whether it be with classical efforts, a Ritual, or even a prayer which is just a Ritual by another name. From that point on, you got yourself a 2-dimesional plane of Aetheric Energy that follows the length of that silver wire and will sense anything that passes over or under it within a certain range, then alert the caster to the fact that something done did pass. There's no Aetheric Dynamo powering the Ward, only the residual energy of the Spell waiting to be unleashed as soon as the conditions are right, and that energy will remain there until the energy is spent or the Spell's duration comes to an end.

And in the case of Alarm Wards, that duration starts at 8 hours and can easily be Metamagicked to 12 or 16. The silver wire can even be reused, which is pretty decent for a First Order Spell, one you can tinker with to only sound off at whatever specific entities you might be watching for so you don't get an alert every time a marty or chitterrat crosses that mark. If you want something more permanent though, then you gotta get creative, either turning the Ward into a powered circuit with load components like what they got on the walls of New Hope, or Imbuing the Ward into the material itself using Aberrtin or some other vector that doesn't just conduct Aetheric Energy, but stores it for long term use.

Like whatever they use to varnish the walls of these treehouses here, some sort of clear, matte finish that dampens the natural flows of Aether and provides a soothing, metaphysical blanket of comfort from the oppressive atmosphere of the Deadlands proper. One that ain't natural, as I'm finding out firsthand, because now that I'm inside this building and behind a Ward, I'm wondering why I been so down all day when I'd normally be over the moon after a fresh fight with Abby. There's some hinky magic afoot out there, something that brings you down and makes you dread moving forward in the muck, a damper on your spirits and repressive sensation that I didn't notice until it was gone.

Gotta be Protection from Abby that's soaked into these walls. Soulless ain't just shambling Zombies and flesh-eating Ghouls after all. Their greatest strength ain't in their Aberrations, but in all the mind mojo and body snatching them Mimics and Proggies get up to. I reckon there's some powerful and subtle magics afoot here in the Deadlands, similar to the Mindspire but on a much lower level, something to prep minds and spirits alike for takeover by Mimics. That's what makes Protection from Aberration such a great First Order Spell. It don't just dissuade Abby from coming close and hinders their movements once inside the area of effect; the Spell also guards you against mind magics like Illusions and Enchantments, Schools of Magic heavily favoured by the Soulless. That's why the Four Nations done spared no expense putting up these Warded safehouses and outposts all throughout the Deadlands, so their patrols don't ever gotta spend the night all exposed and vulnerable.

Because what better time to invade a mind than when the body is fast asleep?

The more I learn, the more I realize how woefully unprepared I am to face the hazards of the Deadlands. Thankfully, I got people looking out for me, namely Edward, Aaron, and Luther, so I count my blessings and review my notes while prepping a quick meal of canned pasta, spiced sausage, and garlic flatbread over the fireplace to provide the necessary protein and carbs we'll all need to replenish our strength after a long day's march. It's a big hit with the crowd, though once again I'm left wondering how I wound up as the de facto cook again. No matter though, as it's a small price to pay for the lessons I'm learning, to say nothing of what I'm earning. Soon as everyone's done eating, I gesture at the flames and ask, "Anyone mind if I cook up some Abby?"

Almost everyone grimace to hear it, as it do be a stinky process in a room with minimal ventilation, but don't no one stop me. On Luther's advice, I open up the storage hatch in the floor and pull out a big, heavy cauldron that's reserved for Abby and fill it with water from the pump. To spare everyone from having to watch me butcher up a bunch of humanoid Zombies, I hang a blanket up in front of the fireplace and break out my Silence Artifact to block out the sounds as I get to work chopping and sawing them bodies to fit into the pot. It's a grisly, unpleasant process, one made all the worse by the very human features on each and every Zombie, but I power through it as best I can and fill the cauldron to the brim. Still can't fit all seventeen bodies in, and having seen the size of the hordes out there, I'm left wondering how the professionals deal with it.

So being the bright and educated man I am, I get the cauldron to boiling over the fire and finish processing my catch before heading out to ask, "How do you guys handle this sort of stuff? Cooking your kills while you out here?"

"Support staff," Luther replies with a shrug. "A typical patrol is a full Lance of Knights, ten proper soldiers with a Squire and two Pages a piece. Long as we clear the way forward, the Pages are free to ferry our kills away on dedicated Floating Disc sleds to the closest waystation set up for cooking."

A forty-man squad, that's the smallest unit the Protectorate Knights operate in out here. Whereas Rangers are content with five-man strike teams, and Métis settle for ten to twenty Pathfinders. The French mirror the Brits in tactics, as they do in so many other things, meaning they likely move out in groups of 40 as well, but given the lacking manpower, that means they probably only have two or three patrols out at any given time, while the Rangers and Métis can field far more patrols with fewer people.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

No idea how Rangers handle their kills then. Caches maybe, or dedicated sleds with multiple Floating Disc Cores to carry dozens of bodies at a time, with support staff on hand at various locations to handle the cooking. I could rig a sled like that up easily enough once I look into how to waterproof it, but I didn't think I'd need to since I was counting on having the wagon with me. That big behemoth of a pressure cooker could handle way more than seventeen Zombies and render them down in less than an hour flat, allowing me to kill to my dark heart's content, but alas, it wasn't to be.

Instead, I gotta stick close to the fireplace and get a Gust going to funnel air up and out of the chimney, which keeps the room from stinking up something fierce once the pot gets to bubbling. After gauging the heat, I figure it'll take at least 4 hours to finish, so I wash my hands and say, "I'll take second watch."

"Don't be ridiculous Howard," Edward says with a scoff, waving away my concerns. "You're carrying far too much to take a turn at watch. Go wash and rest up, as we will be off and away at first light."

Which is more or less 12 hours away, as it's still mid March and the Deadlands don't get more than 12 hours of light a day. I know this because I looked it up in an almanac, and double-checked sunrise and sunset with Druidcraft. "No need to coddle me," I say with a smile, as it feels like forever since anyone has bothered. Only been a year since Marcus and Tim brung me down under dark alongside Captain Jung and Sergeant Begaye, but that feels like an eternity ago. "I'm a little out of shape to be carrying a sixty-kilo kit, but I'll be fine with a good solid eight-hours of sleep."

"Then come take first watch alongside me once everyone is settled in," Edward says, which is essentially not taking a turn, since it changes nothing for Luther and Aaron who are already bunking down in their hammocks. Knowing they've probably used more Spells than usual covering for all of us, I direct Chrissy to help them out with a Catnap, and they're both delighted to partake. Puts them out like a light the Spell does, and Edward compliments Chrissy on her development. "To think, both of you have progressed so quickly," he says, carefully taking Chrissy's hands in his own and guiding her around in a twirl. "And young Elodie here is also a remarkable specimen." Looking up from her seat on the ground where she's playing with the kiccaws, Elodie beams to hear it as Edward continues, "If only I had a son to pair you or Chrissy with. What a bloodline that would make…"

Creepy as that sounds, that's just how Edward is, as he don't mean nothing by it. Least he ain't propositioning them himself, so there's that. Chrissy shakes her head though, while Elodie declares, "Elodie's husband will be Howie."

Thankfully, she's stopped telling everyone we've already lain together as man and wife, because that's beyond embarrassing. Especially since we haven't. All we've done is share a bed, and only because I thought she was the sweetest, most adorable murder floof I done ever did see. Edward smiles to hear it though, giving me an amused look as he asks, "Oh? Is that so? Though not an Innate himself, I daresay Howard is of good breeding stock. Your father was as plebian as can be, though he rose to greatness through hard work, dedication, and the attention of the finest tutors in all the lands."

Namely Uncle Teddy, Sam Horne of the Métis, Uncle Rigsby with the Knight's Templar, and of course, Edward himself, who ain't done just yet. "From what I've heard, your mother was also a most remarkable young woman of prodigious talents, and I see much of her influence in you." Giving Chrissy a passing glance, his icy blue eyes twinkle as they alight on Astrid, who's all tuckered out and snoring softly in her hammock. Girl didn't even change her clothes, just cleaned up with Prestidigitation before wrapping herself up in her blanket and falling asleep right then and there.

"You've gathered so many lovely, young, powerful Innates around you Howard," Edward drawls, his smile so smug and stifling I don't know how to respond. "One might suspect you of putting together a coterie like the Qin of old were so very fond of."

Which is a polite way of saying harem of Innates who also serve as bodyguards and assassins. They wasn't exactly slaves, but they was conditioned to obey their master's every word and rely on him for everything, putting them maybe a half step higher than a pet. In more modern times, those groups became Aberrant Death Squads, genocidal military units who committed all sorts of atrocities during the Second World War, all because them Innates were raised to never question their orders. A disgusting practice, one I've no stomach for, so I shake my head and say, "You got it wrong. Chrissy's family, while Astrid and Elodie are just friends.

"For now," Elodie says, cuddling Frowny while giving me a sleepy, half-lidded look that is just too darling. "But one day, you will accept Elodie, and we will be husband and wife."

Which don't sound all that terrible if I'm being honest, but I don't have the heart to fall in love with anyone as I am. "You can do better, girlie," I say, instead of outright rejecting her. "You'll realize that soon enough, and then you'll forget all about old Howie like yesterday's lunch."

"We ate fish stew and potate pancakes," Elodie retorts with a sly little smile, not disagreeing with me, but showing that she still remembers yesterday's lunch and therefore won't give up on me so easily. Colours my cheeks to hear it and know how determined she is to make it happen, so much so that I gotta remind myself that it's all just a childish fascination with the first person she's really interacted with outside of her tribe. She was a little sweet on Kevin too, and he didn't do nothing besides stare at and offer candies to the naked girlie who washed up in the inlet where I dock my boat.

Still can't bring myself to shut her down though, so I usher her and Chrissy off to wash up while I clean Cowie and send them all off to bed. Soon as the girls and animals are all squared away in a hammock, I set out to walk the rounds with Edward. In complete darkness mind you, with me throwing on my Darkvision goggles while he can see perfectly fine without. Probably something to do with one of the fourteen Cores in his bloodline, though the Brits are pretty secretive about what those Cores might be. Can't be sharing the specs of their top-secret weapon now can they, which is mighty unsettling considering the close parallels between how the Qin and the Brits treat their Innates.

Like tools at best, weapons at worst, and I don't much care for either scenario.

Edward appears wholly ambivalent to his status however, likely because he thinks of himself as a noble and therefore above most people in station despite all the restrictions placed upon him. Doesn't seem all that against me having a 'coterie' either, but I ain't about to open up that can of worms. Already got greedy once with Josie and Noora, and lately I'm seeing just how doomed that was from the very start. Even if we hadn't lost Josie, I was bound to lose Noora eventually, because she never really loved me. She liked me plenty, enjoyed my company, and had great fun both in and out of the bedroom. I dare say she even tried to love me, but it's hard to love a miserable sad sack who's so twisted up inside, he disappears for weeks at a time without so much as a word.

Or a man in love with another woman and refuses to pick just one. It's one thing to have a romp in the hay with a friend and her man, and another thing altogether to have a full-on domestic life together. Noora deserves better, so I can't fault her for not settling for me.

To get my mind off my maudlin thoughts, I turn my attention to today's escapades and look to Edward for advice. "So yeah," I say, after listing out everything I done wrong, "I got a lot of room for improvement. Not just learnin' how to swing an axe, but also rememberin' stuff, like how I gotta use trip wires instead of trip holes and figuring out a better way to process my catch. You spot any glaring issues I miss out on?"

"Well one important observation, Howard," Edward begins, patting my on the shoulder and pulling me in close while we walk along the rope bridges, "Is that no one truly expected you to dispatch all seventeen shamblers by yourself. Even if they are of the weaker, slower variety, they are still Zombies after all. I've seen experienced soldiers freeze up in their first fight against the so-called living dead, so you did quite well for yourself considering this was your first foray into the Deadlands. Not as well as I had hoped, but better than expected."

Meaning he had high hopes and low expectations, which ain't exactly a glowing commendation. "…What you mean weaker? Like weaker than Ghouls and Wights?"

"Yes and no, Howard." Gesturing out at the Deadlands, Edward explains, "Not all Soulless are created equal. You cannot gauge solely by the physical. As your perceptive friend Elodie so succinctly put it, that is merely the shell, the drapings in which the Mimic wraps itself in. To be technical, Zombies are not in fact Aberrations, but merely golems or puppets piloted by the true Aberration, the Soulless Mimics. A single Mimic is less of a singular entity and more of an amalgamation of them, thousands upon thousands of spores that originate from the same source, but act independently of the original. When giving life to their puppets, the Mimic will imbue a certain concentration of spores into their host body, and the higher the concentration, the more responsive, intelligent, and powerful said puppet becomes. So too will they grow in power over time, becoming stronger, hardier, faster, and even more intelligent as those spores adapt to their host and environment."

"And those Zombies I took on today, they were what? Fresh meat? Low concentration chaff?"

"Essentially yes." Tightening his grip around my shoulder, his laid-back tone takes on a stern and gruff timbre, one that speaks volumes to what he's experienced. "Never take for granted what an Aberration can do, not here in the Deadlands. A shambling Zombie could well be host to the bulk of a Mimic whilst looking no different than the rest. You were right to use Mental Fortress before the start of the fight, because while such a Zombie could easily be stronger or faster than any other, or could well have access to powerful, mind affecting Magics that will alter the course of a fight in an instant."

He lets that hang in the air for a long minute, then goes back to his easy, breezy self. "As for improvements to be made, first and foremost would be lessons in hand-to-hand combat. I daresay Marshal Ellis has failed you in this respect, which is rather unexpected. I always thought highly of him, but if his own Disciple is so sorely lacking in certain aspects, then I fear for this newest crop of Ranger recruits."

That's how much respect folks put on the Marshal's name. Even after so many years of working together, Edward still refers to the Marshal by Rank, so I gotta speak up on his behalf. "Ain't his fault," I say with a shake of my head. "After my daddy passed and the Feds disavowed him, I had to draw a line in the sand you know? Couldn't have the Marshal mentoring a kid who was never gonna join the Rangers, so I stopped showing up for lessons for four years." Holding up my hand, which is still whole and fleshy as the Ability has yet to end, I add, "Picked them back up for a few weeks after I lost the hand last Spring, but after that Charlie Foxtrot in Rimepeak, I'm pretty sure he's done with me."

"Oh Howard…" He don't say anymore, because the tone is all it takes to break my heart. He ain't all that great at consoling folks, so he don't even try and I appreciate it, nor does he say anything about how that sort of language ain't becoming of a gentlemen. "I'll have to amend my earlier judgment then," Edward says, forcing himself to sound chipper and upbeat as he pulls me in closer while we walk side by side. "You did excellent, performing well above expectations all things considered. Four years without instruction and you've still come so far. Your father would be… well aghast at your lacking progress, but his standards were rather exacting, were they not?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure he expected me to be Ranger ready by eighteen," I say with a smile. "Captain material by twenty."

"And I daresay you could've done it with his help," Edward retorts. "Though I am sorely lacking in comparison, perhaps I can point in the right direction as it were. For starters, a review of Soulless characteristics, namely the fact that Force is the worst possible damage type to use against them."

"Ah. Right." They're not exactly Force resistant, but you need a whole lot more of it to put a Zombie down when compared to using something like a Fire Bolt. Which is also a Cantrip I can sling, alongside every other elemental flavour of Bolt out there. Can't do Radiant, Necrotic, or Mental damage with a Bolt, but no one can without fancy tech, so there's that. Still don't excuse me for slinging a Force Bolt when a Fire or Acid Bolt would've been much more effective. Might not have killed the Zombie outright, but it would've done more than put a small dent in its cranium.

Edward ain't done yet, as he was never one to mince words. "In the same general vein, your choice of Spells was… odd to say the least. Spiritual Weapon is a fine Spell, but one that requires far more practice and expertise than you've put into it. In fact, I would go so far as to say it is a Spell made more for reference than anything else, a tool to familiarize the caster with Imbuing a Conjured Weapon with agency, which at First Order, is far more effective a Spell with lower investment." Reminds me of how Sarah Jay painted a picture of Sergeant Begaye using his tomahawk to clear out an entire bunker in Pleasant Dunes and keep it from being overrun. One swing to cut through them Abby, then the weapon picked it up from there, Echoing itself to swing again and again until there were no more Orcs and Bugbears to swing at.

Edward ain't done just yet, as he touches on how I rely too much on the Living Whip Cantrip, and would be better off learning to wield the flail normally before using the Cantrip to enhance my control of it. To say nothing of learning how to enhance my weapons using a proper attack Cantrip, like how Elodie used Green-Flame Blade to deal with four Zombies at a time. Granted, the Cantrip don't do nothing to your initial strike, as the flames only jump after you've struck a target. The next step up would be Flaming Weapon or its variants to enhance your melee weapon, or even Conjuring one out of thin air with Elemental Weapon like Yihan.

Hell, if it wasn't for Mental Fortress, I could've put Hunter's Mark to use and killed them Zombies by throwing rocks. Even though the rock itself wouldn't do much damage, the Spell triggers Mental damage when you attack the target, which is pretty effective against the Soulless, or rather them Mimic spores inhabiting them.

All of which I knew, but didn't put into practice because I didn't think to. That's my problem really. I'm smart enough to know better; I just rarely think about the things that matter because I've mostly been moving on autopilot these last four years. I know what to do because I do things the way my daddy did, but throw me in a new environment and I'm like a kid who done been dropped into the deep end of the lake and forced to learn how to swim.

Which, to be fair, is exactly how I learned, and I'm a damn good swimmer now. In the same vein, I know everything I need to know to thrive even here in the Deadlands; I just don't know how to apply that knowledge in a new situation, because I ain't used to operating like that. It's like I gone from a calm lake to a surging river and done forget everything I learned about swimming. That's on me, so it's best I learn how to think on my feet before it comes back to bite me in the ass.

We spend a good few hours chatting about training and catching up, and I get the rest of my catch cooking before hitting the sack. Come morning, I got myself a whole 85 grams of Aberrtin in total, or an average yield of 5 grams per Zombie. More than the 3 grams you get from an Orc even though they're bigger and burlier, but Zombies require more investment on account of all the brain space needed to fit a shard of Mimic in there. Or something like that. I don't really know the specifics. I just know they're more lucrative to hunt assuming you can handle them and the hordes that follow. No Spell Cores as expected, but at 30 cents a gram, that's still $25.50 for a day's work. Not bad at all, and after reviewing everything I know, I'm feeling ready to give it another try. While Astrid and Harald are less than enthused, Elodie and Chrissy are plenty supportive as we hightail it through the swamp towards the closest group of Abby I can find, a batch of thirty bodies just to the northeast of our treehouse.

This time, I don't go rushing in. I take my sweet time setting up steel trip wires all about my chosen battle ground before Conjuring my Armour up again. I don't throw on Mental Fortress either, and instead ask Chrissy to put one on me before keeping her well away from the fight. Leaves me free to use my Concentration on Hunter's Mark, a Spell I rarely ever cast but almost always have Prepared because it reminds me of my daddy. I don't use the same chant as him, because truth is, he didn't know what it meant, and I need that knowledge to make my Spells work. Can't just chant gobbledegook, as the words help me fix the image of the Spell in mind. "Venator – Signum, Hostem – Meum – Detege!"

Or in plain English, Sign of the Hunter, Reveal my Foe.

The Divination portion of the Spell makes itself known as my target Zombie is marked by the Spell, one which appears in my vision as a glowing, transparent red target icon interposed over its face. Doesn't always show itself like that, but that's how I imagine it, and here and now, that imagery helps me cement the Spell's effect in place. Feeling the magics lock on around it, the target Zombie turns towards me, and its companions do the same in synch a half second later. Not just the five above water, but the other twenty-five hiding underwater too. They ain't hiding to ambush an unwary attacker though, or I should say that ain't the only reason they hiding. No, they're also gathering Aether and minerals to bulk up and eventually split off into more Zombies once enough time has passed.

Me? I figure they've propagated enough though, so now it's time for a proper culling.

There ain't no rush, because even though most them Zombies drop down into the murky waters to hide away, I know exactly where he is even without Detect Abby. That's the benefit of Hunter's Mark after all, so I wait on my chosen battleground, one I've picked and prepped well. While all the trees do be something of a hassle, I don't need a wide-open area, just one that's visible enough to let me see the Zombies slowly making their way towards me from overland. Soon as my Marked Zombie comes into range, I Intone the modified chant for Fire Bolt as the Mark makes it all but impossible for me to miss. "Canto – Ignis – Asta," I say, and sling that flaming Bolt through the trees to hammer home into the Marked Zombie's skull as it pushes itself up out of the fetid water. The Cantrip sizzles and pops as it hits the dripping wet Aberration, but it's the invisible flare of the Mark that drops it dead as the sliver of Mimic is subjected to a jolt of Mental damage that snuffs its fake, Soulless spirit right out.

Which is satisfying to watch, but even more satisfying to experience. Like cracking your back after sitting still for a long afternoon, or stretching your shoulders after you wake, only it's something in my brain. Difficult to really explain how it feels, other than to say there's a gratifying pop as the Spell takes effect and the Mark is up for grabs again. Don't take more than an errant thought to throw it onto the next closest Zombie, so easy that I almost immediately regret it as I should've gone with a different target since mine gets tripped up by one of many steel trip wires I've scattered all about the area. Left myself a free route out behind me, but otherwise, I got every avenue covered, so much so that I don't gotta move a single step as I cast Fire Bolt again, and again at my Marked target and downing it with the combination of the Cantrip and Marked damage.

The Hunter's Mark is doing double duty here. The Mental damage on attack is helpful, but the Spell also makes it easier to hit my targets in the head and give that Mind-Spirit connection a nice big jolt. Even though Hunter's Mark will activate no matter where I hit them, hitting the Zombie in the chest ain't enough to kill it in one go, as I discover first-hand when I test things out on the first shamble to make it into melee range. It's the first one that doesn't go down to the Cantrip, but a quick, one-handed thrust with the point of my axe is all it takes to finish the job.

From there, it's just a matter of testing my limits, as I use Green Flame Blade on my next Marked target just to see how it'll go. There's no Vocal component to the Cantrip, just a focused effort of will as I square up with my axe which bursts into emerald green ethereal flames. Illuminated by the spectral glow, I lash out at the Zombie the same as I did yesterday, with a big, overhead chop that is telegraphed so well even the dead got time to react to it. The blade bites deep into the shambler's raised forearm, and the Hunter's Mark takes effect, but I'm more interested in the lick of green flame that jumps from the blade of my axe and over to the Zombie's face.

Where it not only melts its features down to the bone, but activates my Hunter's Mark a second time to deliver yet another burst of Mental damage to the injured shard of Mimic and killing it outright.

"Whoo!" I whoop, at a measured volume of course. Don't want to draw down more attention onto our heads than necessary, but I can't help but celebrate how well this is going. While my Green Flame Blade only hits one target, and I ain't good enough to kill Zombies in one hit, all that means is Elodie is a lot better than I am, but I'm still good enough to make the cut.

The next shambler shuffles over before I can cast another Cantrip, but I ain't concerned as I give it a hard, double-handed jab to the throat before bringing my axe back and around for another heavy chop. Two hits is all it takes, especially combined with Hunter's Mark activating with every strike, and feeling a little adventurous, I figure it's time to test something else out. Rather than Green Flame Blade, which is flashy and cool, I focus on a different Cantrip Spell Structure and will its effect into existence. There's no green glow, or any glow at all, nothing to show that my weapon is charged with Aetheric power, but I unleash it all the same as I give my next Marked target a light, glancing blow.

On purpose mind you, because I want to test two things. One, how hard I gotta hit to activate the Mark's Mental damage, the answer to which is ain't all that hard. Good enough to cut flesh, but not so hard as to hit bone, at least not on these Zombies.

The second thing I'm testing? How much damage an Echoing Strike can do, even with a paltry initial one.

The answer turns out to be a fair bit, because even though it's called an Echo, it don't got nothing to do with how hard you hit. The way the Cantrip works is that on a successful hit, the energies Imbued into your weapon sheathe the target in a static shroud of force, one that erupts when said target moves and breaks the shroud. It's rather interesting to see in effect, because I hit the Zombie in the shoulder with a glancing blow, while the Echo erupts from all over its torso. Forearm, waist, chest, and even the back judging by the spray of fluids, but the damage from the Echo is negligible since didn't none of it hit the head. The Hunter's Mark still takes effect though, and this second burst of Mental Damage is all it takes to finish the job.

Which is real interesting for a different reason. Shelving Echoing Strike and Green Flame Blade for the moment, I close in with a pair of flanking Zombies and Mark the closer of the two before Slinging a Fire Bolt at it. The Zombie goes down hard, falling to the side and tripping up its neighbour who topples over flat. Gives me free reign to poke it in the shoulder while it's down, a light jab that's just enough to activate the Mark. Then I give it a second quick poke, one even lighter than the first, and while this does no real damage to the Zombie, it's enough to activate the Mark a second time and kill it outright.

Might seem dangerous to do this in the midst of battle, but all around me, them Zombies be stumbling over tripwires and getting back up again. Even though they seen their allies trip in that same spot, they don't got enough braincells to rub together and realize there's something there that's making them fall. Gives me free reign to engage and retreat as I please, and I clear out the left flank, then the centre, and finally the right flank until the thirtieth and final Zombie drops dead at my feet, all without so much as an assist from the rest of our group.

Course, we still gotta hightail it out of there, as I can sense the shambling hordes converging upon us from all directions. Faster than yesterday, so no time for one of Elodie's Rituals, as we barely got time enough to stack the bodies and collect my tripwires before the vanguard of the next horde shows up. The green-haired girlie is on point though, and runs in to take them Zombies out four at a time and looking solemn as she does it. Astrid lends a hand too, grinning wildly as she throws out Fire Bolts two at a time to bring down a pair of Zombie with every hit. She don't got Hunter's Mark to help her out, or any other Spell like it. Her Fire Bolts just hit harder I guess, even after splitting and reducing their damage, hard enough to pierce through their faces and explode before burn them up inside, as I seen more than one shamble take a hit and keep on going before tumbling over dead.

The real star of the show is Harald though, because he steps in when Astrid realizes there's more Zombies than she can handle alongside Elodie. One call from his dear sister is all it takes to bring his nose out of his book, and I gotta imagine it's got something to do with her almost panicked tone. Man don't even blink to see the horde before him, one numbering at least fifty total with still more shuffling in. He's game to take them on though, and he does it with a Cantrip I never would've even considered as an option.

Holding his palm out flat, he Conjures up a Flame that I mistake for a Scorching Ray right up until he flings his arm out and throws a fistful of fire that spreads out like birdseed. That there is Conjure Flame, a Cantrip that don't do nothing besides what it says on the tin. When I sling it around, I'm lucky to leave scorch marks on wood, but when Harald tosses it out, it's like he's hurling liquid fire at his foes, ones that coat multiple Zombies in a blazing fluid that spreads right quick and burns them to a crisp.

The range ain't as good as a Bolt, and the accuracy ain't nothing to write home about, but the potential for massed destruction is head and shoulders above it. Ain't many Cantrips that hit multiple targets, and of those, most got a range of a metre and a half at most, but Harald can throw his flames out maybe fifteen, twenty metres. Even lights up a few trees, but thankfully, the flames sputter out within five seconds when the Cantrip comes to an end. Long enough to render the Zombies to ash, but not long enough to set a tree on fire, so we don't gotta worry about turning the Deadlands into the Burnt Biome.

All the while, the older folk are content to watch us at work, with me and my friends kill shamblers and stack them up as high as we dare. I keep a cool head though and keep scanning for Abby, so I manage to spot the danger seconds before it arrives. "Fall back!" I call out, and Elodie and Harald do exactly that. Astrid on the other hand, does what I'd feared most and turns around to question my orders.

Got that dainty brow raised in unspoken question and pouty lips pursed in a frown, all while the Ghoul shoots out from the swampy waters behind her like sea-lion Elodie shooting up onto my boat.

We been through this before, and on paper, I know good and well the difference between a Zombie and a Ghoul. You'd never mistake a Ghoul for a Zombie though. A Zombie is all greys and whites, pallid, rotting flesh and exposed bone underneath, whereas a Ghoul is pinkish skin stretched over knotted, intact muscle. Strangely enough, even though both are human in appearance, the Ghoul looks less human than your average Zombie despite that healthy pinkish hue. Pale, rotting flesh might not make for the prettiest contestant in the beauty pageant, but at least they still got the right features. You know. Hair, eyes, nose, mouth, all looking more or less how you'd expect on a dead person who's been rotting in the swamp.

A Ghoul though? Their features might well have once been human, but have since been stretched into a caricature of the person they used to be. This one's got a wide, bulbous nose that's far too large to fit on a normal head, one that matches the oversized jaw filled with sharpened, animal-like fangs that poke out well past it's upper and lower lips. Its dark ringed eyes have sunken deep into its skull, or perhaps its brow has protruded out, and all the hair has disappeared from every inch of its very naked, very muscular body. There's nothing attractive or even disgusting about its nudity, because it's so far detached from the human condition that it's no different from seeing a hairless marty or some other shaved animal. Curious maybe, but not lewd or shameful, because my brain don't register what I'm seeing as another person.

The Ghoul is a massive, hulking figure, though I can't really give a height as it hurtles through the air. Its thick head is at least twice the size of mine, which ain't the smallest head you'll find. Its neck has thickened too, almost like a tree trunk, while its shoulders bulge with so many extra muscles it's got a distinct, hunched posture, so much so that it don't shoot out of the water like an arrow, but in more of a crouched pose. With hands and feet at the ready to claw and tear with long, curved nails that are more like talons than anything else. Though it is silent as the grave, its features are twisted in sadistic delight as it pounces upon Astrid who's looking the wrong way to see what's coming for her.

My heart seizes in my chest to see it, and my hand's already on the Shortsword, but before my gun can clear the holster, Edward appears like he's been standing there the whole time. Got his hands folded behind him, and then one moves out to snatch the Ghoul right out of mid-air. That's what it looks like at least, with it hurtling forward, then stopping in place without any recoil whatsoever to hang frozen in place, right up until Edward tosses the dead carcass off to the side and flicks his talons to clean off the blood and bodily fluids from them.

Slim, slender Edward, who don't look all that strong, but just caught a Ghoul that probably weighs more than an adult man without so much as blinking. With one frigging hand no less…

"As delightful as it's been watching the next generation stretch their wings," he begins, turning about without any concern for the horde of Zombies almost withing arms reach of him, or the three other Ghouls shooting up out of the water the instant he looked away, "I'm afraid I must insist we be on our way now." Though concerned for his safety, my warning dies on my lips as a surge of Aetheric Energy surges outwards from behind him, one that is invisible to the naked eye yet so palpable I can almost imagine it as it scythes through every Aberration within 6 metres of him. For a moment, nothing happens, then momentum carries them onwards as their severed heads are left behind, lolling off to the side and back before crashing to the swampy ground underfoot. Their bodies follow soon after, but Edward is already striding away, shooing Astrid along as she tries to process everything she just seen between the Ghoul and Zombie massacre.

Me, I'm trying to do the same, but I got enough sense to turn and walk away while I do it. Don't say squat about the rest of the bodies, because you can't spend any money if you dead, and my Detect Abby says that even with Edward Elton on our side, we can't very well slaughter every Zombie and Ghoul headed our way.

At least they don't move all that quick, or at least the Zombies don't. As for the Ghouls and other Abby who move a bit faster, they're not much of a threat on their own, so we can rest easy so long as we outpace the Zombie horde behind us and lose them before nightfall. So far though, today's going much better than yesterday, and if I keep this up, I could see myself earning a fair few dollars even without the windfall from the Serbians.

Just gotta make a few adjustments is all, and while it feels like I'm the slowest, most resource intensive combatant out of everyone here, that's only because I don't got a real solid Cantrip to fall back on. I just gotta pick one and go with it, but I'm spoilt for choice and can't decide which one I want to go with. Hell, there are still more Cantrips I have yet to even test, like Elemental Strike, or maybe I can get my hands on one of them restricted Cantrips that the Catholic Church don't share, like Sacred Flame to make a Zombie explode in Radiant damage, or Word of Radiance which is a mini, five-foot radius Radiant nova centred around the caster.

All in all? We had a rough start to the trip, but now that we're here, things are starting to look up for old Howie.

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