Bound To The Dead: The Deceptive Class-E Farmer
Chapter 89: The Dead Do Not Wait

Chapter 89: The Dead Do Not Wait

Drako’s steps were slow as he left the gates of Carreon, the creaking of his ancient armor echoing softly along the forest path. Behind him, his undead escort followed in perfect silence, not a breath between them.

He didn’t speak until the last Carreon scout was far behind.

Then, with a subtle tilt of his head, he turned slightly toward one of the figures beside him, a tall, robed corpse wearing a black iron helm that hid its face. No eyes showed, no mouth moved beneath the metal.

"The stage is set," Drako rasped. His voice was low, like dry branches grinding together. "What news from Bishopdown?"

The robed undead answered in a hiss, each word distorted like whispers leaking from a cracked tomb.

"The roots are ready. The corpses stir beneath the sacred ground."

Drako didn’t pause.

"And the harvest?"

"Tonight... they rise."

Far to the west, in a land untouched by war and yet doomed by silence, the dirt of Bishopdown began to shift. Graves, temples, and family tombs, all resting on old soil now seeded with death.

The earth breathed, and no one noticed.

Not yet.

—-----

That night, lanterns flickered gently through the palace corridors. Mikaela walked without speaking, her hands hidden beneath her sleeves, her steps quiet against the polished floors. She had avoided the council chambers. Avoided her father. She needed a place no one would follow.

The garden fountain whispered as she approached.

Elder John stood waiting beneath the silver branches. The air was still.

"I can’t do it," she said at last, not looking at him. "I won’t marry a corpse to save my kingdom."

John didn’t move, didn’t flinch. His voice was calm, as if he had expected the words.

"Then don’t do it for them. Do it to stop Azar. Ask for help, real help."

She finally looked at him, her expression guarded.

He added, "You have my support. And a few others on the high table."

Mikaela leaned forward slightly, her voice tight.

"Bulcan."

Elder John gave a slow nod.

"Queen Aiah. And her general. It’s not just Carreon that’s threatened. The dead don’t respect borders."

She exhaled, hand tightening on the railing.

"The farmer," she said, almost to herself.

John’s reply came without hesitation.

"A farmer who erased thirty thousand soldiers in one battle."

She didn’t respond. But something in her chest stirred.

Later that night, inside her chamber, she pulled a plain cloak over her shoulders. Her bags had already been packed, simple traveling gear, hidden under her bed since the day the envoy arrived. She paused at the mirror.

Her face had changed. Older. Sharper.

Behind her, Arthur waited with Sheena by the stables. They would leave before dawn.

She turned away from the mirror and walked out without a word.

The kingdom had made its move.

Now it was her turn.

—------

Back in Dudael forest...

Isaac fingers curled tighter around his weapons.

The insectoid king tilted its head, one antenna twitching.

"Show me... how the swarm obeys you."

The monsters moved.

Not all at once. Not a wild rush. But in waves, organized, measured. Like drills in a war camp. Like soldiers taking their positions on command.

[Skill Activated: Tool Savant]

Isaac didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

His heart? Steady. Cold steel in his chest.

"Swarm Authority."

The locusts rose behind him like smoke.

They rose like a wall. Thousands of them, layered in spiraling rows. Their wings buzzed in rhythm, creating a low hum that shook the grass. They didn’t charge. They spun slowly around him, a shield, a barrier, a warning.

Isaac didn’t need numbers. He had control.

Hopper rested on his shoulder, eyes glowing softly. One antenna twitched as she scanned the field.

Isaac took a slow breath.

He stepped forward.

The monsters answered.

They charged.

The first wave came without a roar. No dramatic howls. No war cries. Just the sound of claws ripping through earth and wings slicing air.

Panther-like creatures with blade-thin tails surged low, weaving between trees with terrifying speed. Above them, flying beasts spiraled downward, razor-winged, screeching things built like vultures but armored like war tools.

Isaac didn’t move from his position.

He raised a hand.

"Swarm Guard."

In an instant, the locusts thickened around him. Their wings buzzed harder, forming an almost solid shield that pulsed in sync with his breath.

The first panther hit the wall.

Its fangs snapped shut on air. The locusts scattered and reformed around it, throwing it off balance.

Another beast flew in from above.

"Swarm Bind."

From behind Isaac, a dozen locusts darted forward like needles. They pierced into the beast’s underbelly mid-air, threads of sticky silk launching out and tying it to a branch.

The razor-beast shrieked, too late.

Isaac moved.

No hesitation. No flourish.

He dashed under the trapped creature, spun once, and drove his Twin Reaper Sickles into its exposed chest. One stab. Two slices. It dropped, dead before it hit the ground.

Blood hit the leaves. The panthers hissed and regrouped.

But Isaac’s eyes weren’t on them.

They drifted upward.

Toward the insectoid creature.

The creature tilted its head. Observing. Measuring.

The next wave came.

Heavy footsteps. Cracks in the ground.

This time, they weren’t fast.

They were loud.

Lizard-like hulks lumbered forward, covered in scaled armor. Behind them, boars with molten tusks snorted steam, digging up the battlefield with sheer weight. And behind them, golems made of twisted metal and bone dragged massive limbs behind their backs.

Class-A++ monsters. Coordinated. Brute tanks.

Isaac’s swarm shimmered.

"Change the field."

"Swarm Break."

Some of the locusts vibrated sharply, then shattered into razor-like fragments. A concussive wave of chitin and pressure slammed into the front line.

One of the charging boars was hit directly. Its body tore open as the shards cut through its thick skin. Bones cracked. The creature crashed into a rock and stopped moving.

"Swarm Mound."

Beneath two golems, the dirt shifted.

The locusts tunneled under, then surged up, forming jagged spikes that launched into their legs like spears. The golems reeled, momentarily stuck.

Even in the midst of battle, Isaac couldn’t help but feel amazed deep inside at his swarm. Whatever Isaac could think of commanding, the swarm would do everything to carry it out.