Dungeon? This Tree? Why Don't You Join Me for Lunch? (Dungeon Core)
Chapter 22: Boliari

Chapter 22: Chapter 22: Boliari

No one knew why the necromancers in the service of a king were called Boliari.

The necromancers in service of a lord were still called necromancers. Heck, even the temple necromancers of the God of Death were still called necromancers.

And those were supposed to be holy! They should have a fancy name, I thought to myself, as I edged towards the zombie part of the camp.

Armed with a cake.

A three-layer sponge one with cream on top. I did not have strawberries, but we were at war...

The three Boliari in service of King Solas were Nick the Shadow, a former farmer who had suppressed his mana until his family had been murdered.

Nathaniel the Eye Eater, who may or may not have been the apprentice of Karl Lambert of Duria in his youth.

And, of course, Desmond the Blood Mage.

It went without saying that they might have welcomed me if I brought them a carved human, instead of a cake. Maybe they would have even told me to stay and try to cook it for them.

But my hopes were that I could get the former farmer to talk some sense to the other two monsters.

Because someone who has grown food must know its value!

I looked at the vampire who was sitting in front of the tent of the three Lichs. I smiled, he sniffed the air, smiled back, showing me his fangs.

"I brought some cake for the Boliari!" I told him, as I showed off the cake. "May I pass?"

"They don’t eat cake," he said, standing up. "I’m hungry. Mind if I...?"

I prepared to slam the cake in his face and run for the hills when the tent flap slung open.

"I smell sugar!" The man who said that was a nightmare and a half.

Hollow eyes, skin stretching over a too thin body, curly hair which had obviously been combed while dry and now looked like a very old broom.

"Oh, you poor thing!" My every instinct screamed at me to feed this man back to health. I did not think clearly.

I gave him the cake.

"Thanks!" He said, turned around, and then left me alone with the vampire.

I looked at my empty hands.

What was I going to do without a bribe?

"I’ll be leaving now," I said, turning around. Only for my arm to be gripped in a vice-like grip.

"Look, I don’t want to creep you out, but they are making me eat pig blood with beer," the vampire said so, as if that were the vilest thing one could be forced to do. "And I have to sit here, before the tent of three Lichs, as they drain me of mana."

Realization hit me. He was dying!

The same instinct which had made me hand over the cake without asking for anything made me roll up my sleeve.

"My name is Sylvan," I said because I felt that we should have this connection. People hesitated to butcher the livestock which they had named.

I hated thinking of myself like that, but the thing was, that for the vampire, that was precisely what I was.

"Aron," he said, biting into my wrist. I felt something like a mosquito bite, then numbness.

I don’t remember how I got back to the side of the camp where the living soldiers were, or how I got in bed, but when I woke up, there was a plate with burned pancakes near my bed.

I shrugged. We were at war.

Soon, I tried to eat the first pancake.

Big mistake...

As I tried to rinse the taste of charcoal from my mouth, I tried to think of another plan to speak with the Boliari.

They liked sugar?

I can work with that!

0000

The soldiers were doing their drills, digging latrines, or just trying to keep busy and not thinking about the war.

So...

I made another cake!

A mug cake!

Because I ran out of ingredients...

I really needed to speak with Doran to get access to what the army had brought with them, but I did not know where to find him.

Besides, knowing Solas, it really could be just rotten potatoes.

When I came before the tent of the three Boliari, Aron was not there. Which was good. He needed the rest.

The one thing that was not good was that there was a zombie in front of the tent. With a chain around its neck. It had been an orc woman, once.

I did not like my chances.

"I bring sugar!" I yelled over the snarling of the zombie. "I come in peace!"

The same Boliarin from last night poked his head out.

"Sugar?" He asked, as he slapped the zombie on the head, and it fell to the ground.

"Yes, but I need to talk with you! All three of you!" It was a bold move. A move born of desperation.

But I had no choice!

"How much sugar are we talking about?" The git asked.

"Twenty mug cakes. With honey on top," but I knew the nature of the average necromancer. Always wanting more, always wanting to get everything for nothing.

"You may enter," he said, as he stepped to the side.

I expected many things. I expected the bloody remains of a corpse on a table, with a fork stuck between the ribs. Or, heck, even a platter with maggots going in and out of a set of lungs.

I did not expect to see two old men playing cards, with a third pillow next to them.

"The nymph brings sugar!" The Boliarin, who was probably the gatekeeper, said. "Twenty mug cakes!"

"What does he want?" The oldest of the three asked, but not me.

I narrowed my eyes. The nerve!

"I want you to let me absorb the mana of your undead army. Before it turns on us all!" I said, placing the box with the mug cakes on the ground.

I received three glares. The air began to smell of old socks and sulfur mines.

"Please?"

The three Boliarins began to pillage the box. Now, the waiting game began.

And may the sugar be with me...