Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer-Chapter 33: The Baron’s Summoning

While the village recovered, Percival retrieved his scarf and waterskin from his room in the inn. When he descended the stairs, the innkeeper was clearing debris, picking up splintered furniture and shattered wood..

The old man looked up when Percival entered. "Ah," his eyes glinted with reverence. "Awakener. I must offer you my greatest thanks."

He lowered his aged head. "I owe my life and that of my daughter’s to you."

Percival stared at the bowing man, then looked away, uncomfortable with the display. "Please stand, sir," he said.

"Mhm?" The innkeeper looked up before raising his head, standing as straight as his weathered body allowed.

"How is your daughter?" Percival asked.

The innkeeper glanced at the door behind the counter. "The demon poison spread through her arm, but I applied the herb in time. It didn’t reach her vital organs. She will be fine."

He looked at Percival with wet eyes. "Thanks to you."

Percival was silent for a moment, gazing at the sad joy in the man’s face. Then he heaved a quiet sigh. "Keep my room. I will be returning later today."

"Yes. Of course."

The large hole in the wall was still there, but Percival exited through the front door, opening it gently, ready to slip away into the anonymity of the road.

Instead, he walked into a wall of steel. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

Before him were six guards, wearing the crest of Wolsend, standing in formation.

The lead guard stepped forward, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

"Percival of the Outworlds, you are being summoned by the Baron, Lord Morys of Wolsend," the guard stated.

Percival stared at him, then at the number of guards.

"And if I refuse this summoning?" he asked tonelessly.

The guard stood steadfast. "The call is non-negotiable."

Percival let out a deep, suffering sigh.

Some minutes later, he was back in the main city of Wolsend. The guards had transported him in a carriage, and now they were walking the main streets toward the Baron’s fort.

What was supposed to be an escort had somehow morphed into a parade.

News traveled faster than magic in these parts and as Percival walked down the cobblestone streets, flanked by the guards, he experienced something surprising.

Shopkeepers stepped out of their stalls. Blacksmiths put down their hammers. Children climbed onto crates to get a better look.

"That’s him!" someone yelled.

"The Spawnslayer!"

"Percival! Hero of Cuttleham!"

A woman leaned out of a second-story window and threw a flower that landed at his feet. Men raised their fists in solidarity. Some even bowed their heads as he passed.

"Spawnslayer! Hero of Cuttleham!"

More roses rained down, more heads fell as well. Percival kept his eyes forward, but his surprise was undeniable.

The people were praising him; they loved him.

It’s not like this was the first time such a thing was happening.

It was just like the last life.

He had won the hearts of the common folk and the hatred of the crown in equal measure.

This was a dangerous, familiar dance.

Although this time, there was something peculiar about their praise.

Percival couldn’t decipher what it was really, mainly because he was too busy wondering why the Baron of Wolsend had invited him.

They arrived at Ironhold Keep, the imposing stone fortress where Baron Morys ruled.

From what Percival recalled from his last life, Morys was not a typical, gluttonous noble.

He was a man of war, renowned for his battle intelligence and his shrewd use of Awakeners in tactical warfare.

Unlike most Barons, he didn’t rule Wolsend because of his bloodline; he ruled it because no one else could hold the border like he did.

The province of Northmarch was the war capital of the Human Kingdom; and Wolsend was the war capital of the province of Northmarch.

The importance of warfare knowledge and battle intelligence could not be overstated.

The doors echoed as they opened and Percival entered the throne room with the guards escorting him.

It was a customary throne room, save for the lone personalization made by Morys himself. The curtains were maps of every province and major city in the Elf and Dwarf Kingdoms.

He was a man obsessed with security.

Standing by a central table, Baron Morys turned as Percival entered, a genuine smile breaking across his gentle face.

"So this is him," Morys said, his voice booming. "The one-man army."

The head guard approached the king, bowed, and retreated to the walls of the room, alongside the other guards.

Percival gave the Baron a quick scrutiny.

He had seen him before, in his past life; Lord Morys had created the formation and tactics for many wars against Demonspawn invasions.

Morys had short brown hair, falling over his forehead like a manicured mop. His beard was equally groomed, his eyes gentle and hazel, and his hands clasped calmly in front of him in a manner that captioned his entire composed persona.

"It is an honor to meet you, dear Hero," Morys said.

Percival stayed still and silent, dispensing with the kneeling.

"Or should I say Percival, since you have sternly rejected the fated role." Morys smiled, like he was gauging Percival’s reactions.

It was not surprising. The Baron of Wolsend was a man of tactics. Probing for weakness was instinct.

"But that is all in the past," Morys waved a hand before returning them to their clasp. "You have done this region a great service."

He walked over to him. "My scouts reported a Migration in one of the villages in our outskirts. By the time I mobilized a unit, you had already cleaned house. Eleven Demonspawns. Single-handedly."

"You saved many lives."

Morys gazed at his face as though enthralled. "By the gods. How impressed I was. I still am. To kill a Demonspawn is no easy feat, but to kill eleven? As someone who awakened only two days ago, that is an insurmountable feat."

Percival still remained quiet, though he wished the baron would get to the point.

"I would like to offer my gratitude for what you did," Morys granted his wish. "But words are only words. I would also like to thank you officially."

Percival raised a brow.

Morys snapped his fingers. An attendant stepped forward with a heavy velvet pouch.

"A thousand gold," Morys said, gesturing to the item. "It is little in comparison to what you did but if there’s something else you desire, the city is willing to grant."

Percival didn’t even glance at the money. "Thank you for the gift, but I do not want it."

Morys raised a brow, a curious one as he studied Percival further.

"Very well," he said. "Perhaps my appreciation was lacking and I apologize. How about a royal Mana Coin Card?"

The attendant withdrew the glistening black and gold card.

"It holds a credit of fifty free purchases at any equipment store in Wolsend, regardless of price."

"With this, you can buy the best armor, the sharpest blade. It’s all on the house."

Percival looked at the card.

Morys hid a smile. That one had caught his interest, and it said a lot about Percival’s priorities.

All this Hero cared about was getting stronger.

Percival knew the value of that card. Fifty free purchases would get him everything he required, even the new equipment he needed.

He wouldn’t lack anything until he reached Lvl. 150.

But, accepting anything from the crown was a line he had drawn the moment he regressed.

"No," Percival said.

The room went silent.

Morys looked genuinely surprised.

"Once again, I appreciate the gesture, Lord Morys," Percival said calmly. "But I don’t save people for profit or glory. Your words of gratitude are payment enough."

Morys narrowed his eyes, studying Percival. He wasn’t offended; he was intrigued.

"You are an interesting one, Percival of the Outworlds. It’s not very often that my gestures are refused."

"You will survive," Percival deadpanned.

Morys squinted at him, then smiled.

"Now, if we are done," Percival continued, looking around the throne room. "I would like to leave. I have a long road ahead."

"Oh," Morys paused. "Where are you headed? Perhaps I can offer free transportation? A carriage? A portal scroll?"

Percival said nothing. He just stared.

"Ah," Morys chuckled, a dry sound. "Of course. You want nothing in return. Absolutely nothing."

"Correct."

"Very well," Morys nodded slowly. "You truly are a strange one, unwilling Hero. But know that you are welcome in Wolsend anytime. Consider this city a free haven for you, even if you don’t want it."

Percival moved to leave, but stopped. Morys had been respectful, so he could at least offer a bow.

He bowed—a shallow, respectful dip of the head—and turned to leave.

As the heavy oak doors closed behind him, Lord Morys turned to the Awakened advisors standing by his throne.

The Level 101 Knight and the Level 95 Mage were staring at the closed door with unmasked disbelief.

"Salvius?" Morys regarded the Knight.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Can you stop a Demon Migration on your own?"

The Knight paused, glancing at the Mage as he carefully articulated a response.

"As I was told, my lord, the highest threat was a Lvl 40 Abyssal Golem. I can hold my own against a number of them, killing plenty. But I can not say with certainty that I can stop the entire Migration on my own."

Morys did a bored hum.

"He stopped a Demon Migration on his own," he muttered. "Killing eleven Demonspawns. As a mere Level 21 Necromancer."

He gazed at the door. "When I heard the new Hero had a Mythic Talent, I never expected... this."

He headed toward his library. "I must do research on this ominous Necromancer Class."

Outside the fort, the noise was deafening.

Percival stepped out into the sunlight, and the roar was even louder. The roads were packed.

The story of his refusal in the throne room had somehow already leaked.

"He refused the King!" a merchant yelled.

"He refused the Baron’s gold!" a smith roared back.

"But he saved the people!"

The chant began low, then swelled until almost everyone was singing.

"SPAWNSLAYER! SPAW-SLAYER!"

Percival pulled his scarf up to cover his face, pushing through the adoration of the crowd. He walked alone, but the city walked with him.

"He refused the King! He refused the Baron! But he saved the people! Percival the Spawnslayer is our Hero after all!"