Bound To The Dead: The Deceptive Class-E Farmer-Chapter 62: The Fog Walker

"Everyone, get out of the mist!" Isaac shouted at the top of his lungs.

Panic spread among the soldiers. They couldn’t see anything more than a few feet ahead. Shadows moved inside the thick fog, and every sound felt like it came from all directions.

Miss Wesson quickly tapped her scanning device. The screen flickered before switching to a different mode. "I’ll find a way out!" she said. "Everyone, stay close to me!"

The device beeped softly as she adjusted it. A glowing path appeared on the screen, showing the clearest way through the fog. Wesson took the lead and motioned to the soldiers. "Follow me! Don’t stop!"

As the group started moving, Isaac turned back.

Through the thick fog, he saw it, clear and full.

The scarecrow moved like a broken puppet. Its limbs jerked unnaturally. In the blink of an eye, it teleported a few steps forward, then vanished again. The mist wrapped around it like armor.

With a sharp screech, it threw rusted sickles toward the group. They spun fast, like saw blades.

Two archers behind Isaac didn’t see it coming.

Isaac did.

He swung his hoe fast, blocking one of the sickles just in time. The weapon sparked off the hoe’s metal head and clanged to the ground.

"Go! Straight that way!" Isaac barked, pointing to their left. "Keep running until you’re out of the mist!"

Corpuz, who had already drawn his bow, focused his aim. His arrow lit up with bright energy. He fired it toward where Isaac had pointed.

The arrow landed with a loud thunk, sticking into a large tree just outside the mist. The glow from the arrow shined bright and steady.

"There!" Corpuz shouted. "Follow the light! Move!"

The soldiers didn’t waste time. They followed Corpuz and headed toward the glowing tree.

One soldier tripped and nearly got pulled back by the scarecrow, but another helped drag him forward. He stumbled out of the mist with a torn sleeve and wide eyes.

The scarecrow didn’t chase them.

Instead, it let out a frustrated hiss.

It stayed inside the fog, watching. It couldn’t leave.

Isaac narrowed his eyes. He reached behind his back and placed the hoe in its sling.

Then he grabbed the twin sickles hanging at his side.

The moment his hands touched the handles, the sickles transformed. The weapon entered its full battle form, an automatic effect from [Tool Savant].

Isaac didn’t move.

The last soldier had made it out. Only he and the scarecrow remained inside the fog.

The scarecrow slowly turned toward him.

Its head tilted in a broken motion, then it locked eyes with Isaac.

Isaac lowered his stance and held his sickles out to the sides.

He didn’t speak.

The scarecrow lifted both arms.

Slowly. Silently.

It was like watching a puppet being pulled up by invisible strings, only this one moved with purpose.

Its mouth didn’t open, but Isaac could feel it. Faint whispers filled the area, curling around him like snakes. The ground beneath his feet started to tremble.

Isaac didn’t move.

Chunks of soil cracked. Roots split open. Fingers, gray and decayed, pushed through the dirt like worms. Bodies began to rise.

Half-rotted corpses. Some are humans. Some are not. Many had broken limbs, twisted jaws, or empty sockets. Others wore shredded armor, their weapons still clutched in stiff fingers.

Dozens of them. At least fifty.

Isaac tilted his head.

The scarecrow stood behind them, arms still raised. Waiting.

Isaac smirked.

"He thinks I can’t see through this crap fog."

He could. His eyes weren’t normal anymore, and more importantly, this fog was pure magic. But magic didn’t work the same way against him. The thick mist was just background noise to Isaac.

He slid one foot back, his grip tightening on the sickles.

The corpses groaned. Then they charged.

All fifty at once.

Isaac lunged.

He shot forward like a shadow, his body moving fast and low. The first corpse barely got its sword up before Isaac’s left sickle sliced through its neck. The blade didn’t stop, it arced and cut straight through the second one’s collarbone.

Isaac spun.

The second sickle came around like a hook, catching a third corpse in the gut. He yanked back, tearing it in half.

"Too slow."

One corpse tried to pounce from the side. Isaac ducked and rolled under it, then stabbed upward without looking. The sickle punched straight through the thing’s skull and pinned it to a tree behind him.

A monster, some kind of half-wolf, half-man, swung a club the size of Isaac’s chest.

Isaac didn’t block.

He sidestepped, grabbed the thing’s arm, and twisted. The bone snapped like dry wood. Isaac kicked it in the chest so hard it folded backward and collapsed.

The ground was slippery with mud and rot, but Isaac’s movements were clean. Sharp. Perfect.

Ten down. More came.

He moved into the next wave like a storm. His blades tore through soft flesh and cracked bones. A spear glanced off his shoulder, but he spun and crushed the attacker’s throat with a sickle handle.

They were raw. Unripe. Their bodies moved, but their instincts were slow.

Isaac moved like he was born for this.

Blood splattered across his arms. A zombie-like tried to claw him from behind.

Isaac kicked backward without turning around. The crunch was loud.

Another jumped at him, Isaac caught it mid-air and threw it into three others, then lunged forward and slashed all four of them while they were still untangling themselves.

Breathing steady. Movement clean.

Thirty down.

The last twenty charged all at once, forming a wall of claws and rotten muscle.

Isaac leapt.

Straight over them.

As he flipped in mid-air, he brought both sickles down.

The blades glowed faintly, his Tool Savant ability sharpening their edge beyond normal.

He landed in the center of the crowd. A thud shook the dirt.

Then came the storm.

A dozen slashes in seconds. Heads rolled. Limbs flew.

In less than a minute, the last corpse fell twitching at his feet.

All fifty, gone.

The scarecrow’s arms lowered slowly.

Isaac stood in the center of the ruined corpses. Breathing steady. Barely scratched.

He pointed one sickle at the scarecrow.

"You’re next."