Chilled exorcist.

Chapter 19: "Guardian of the Graves"

For the first time in a long time, I did not dream of a wall or freezing young men, or even a Guardian. In a half-doze, completely different images and memories began to come to me. Perhaps our conversation with the headman about the undead inspired them. I remembered our campaign for the relics of the hero of antiquity. Then the Emperor himself sent his employee to personally lead the expedition. And it just so happened that I was one of them.

A lot of things went wrong that day. The boy who was looking after the horses did not catch up, and one of them managed to grab a bunch of dried grass. Distraught, the animal sped off into the forest. The second squad did not meet with us, apparently, something delayed them on the way. And we also went down to the burial ground without conducting a reconnaissance. The servant of the Imperial Chancellery ignored my valuable advice.

"And I don't want to see any green light!" He turned to me as we walked down the stairs. I nodded.

It was dripping from the ceiling, and one of the guards found himself in a century-old spider web when he turned away, and tried in vain to remove the layer stuck to his helmet. Our torches trembled, crackling with the stale air. Every now and then there were broken statues in age... however, I do not know such figures.

"Urtarnath, look," the captain of the guard who accompanied the chancellor pointed out. A huge man, covered in wards, bent down and, sniffing the floor, let out a low guttural roar.

"It's clear. No one opened this place," the druid almost growled.

"Ellentis?" the captain turned to the next participant.

The imperial attendant Hotta bent down and examined the seals in the floor.

"Closed. This place has not been opened," the priest even said a little enthusiastically.

"Hunter, what's your name? It doesn't matter. Go take a look," the captain waved his hand casually. I scattered the antimagic powder. And then I tried to check for ghosts with the help of the Zarya-2, a device of the milchemists.

"I would like to check with a crystal," I met the scribe's displeased gaze, "but there are definitely no ghosts here," I turned a little louder to everyone present.

"Excellent," the servant of the imperial chancellery entered something in his papers, "open it immediately!"

"Maybe it's not worth it?" I turned to the clerk. "It's been sealed for centuries."

The soldiers froze, not daring to continue. The clerk casually waved his hand, and then the captain barked, "Why are you frozen? I'm giving orders here! Or have you forgotten who your commander is? So ten lashes will remind everyone of this in a flash!"

The soldiers began to fuss. One of them put the researchers' mechanism on the stove and turned it. The lid of the deeper rooms went up.

"I repeat — your fears are in vain, hunter. As soon as we get a sample, we will immediately place it in a preserving solution. Latus the Dry Researcher will be pleased," the clerk rubbed his hands. Suddenly, gas burst out from under the raised cube. Several sluggish guards clutched at their throats. The priest of Hott, who was standing closest, fell, crouched and immediately turned black.

"There's gas, hurry up! The masks of a milchemist!" the captain barked, and the guards hurried to put them on. The man in the wards poured a breathless infusion into his mouth and growled, turning into a bear. In this form, he was practically invulnerable.

"The stove is closing, stop it!" the clerk of the office screamed. He was dragged back by the guards and quickly put on a mask.

I, who was watching all this, chose a place and plunged my spear into a narrow gap under the stone. My alchemist mask was already on me. I was pleased to find that the stove was stuck and stopped lowering, so I looked around.

Of the entire squad, five warriors, an official, a bear, and a captain survived. Half of them, all the other guards, like the priest of Hott, turned to dust, and only piles of earth in the shape of their bodies reminded them of them.

"Get her up," the captain ordered.

The guards reluctantly approached the stove and tipped it to the side. Underneath it was the skeleton of a warrior. He was in a strict pose on his back. The sword rested on his withered chest. Yes, two similar hands, mummified from time, lay on top of him.

"Careful, don't wake him up! Put the fire away," the imperial clerk ordered. The guards had placed torches around the perimeter, and it was only now that I noticed that there were clay urns with the bones of the dead along the walls.

"Put the ropes under him. Yeah, that's it, careful. If he wakes up, everything is gone!" the captain commanded, and then he himself came closer, preparing to take hold of one of the ropes. I held the torch higher, examining the walls. Ancient weapons hung along the walls here — metal spears that had not been touched by the rust. It seemed that he was being followed.

"Wait, don't pick him up!" I warned, but I was ignored again. Six men-at-arms pulled on ropes to slowly extract the ancient tomb guard from the grave. And at that moment, he abruptly opened his eyes.

Two swift swings, and four guards lost their heads. The captain and the other swordsman took a step back, drawing their weapons. The urns along the walls exploded, and skeletons climbed out of them. An undead hand pierced the floor right next to his feet, and he had to retreat. The clerk took a step back and ran into a spear that pierced him from behind. One of the dead crept up from behind and lunged out of the darkness.