3x Cloning System: The Fleshmancer's Undead Army is full of Heroes-Chapter 39: Kicking one’s own head in the bushes

Clayton, thanks to the vast riches he had at his disposal, bought not one, but four of what could be the finest horses in the entirety of the Kingdom, if not the Empire.

A common farmer would need to work, and save up coins for a decade to buy the stunning horse that was the White Prince. They were beasts amongst their species, bred to perfection, and standing at 7.5ft/228cm tall, hoof to head, they were built to travel the wide Kingdom of Albus!

Clayton never owned a horse before. His father did, he owned a nice, black-furred steed, but that horse died off before Clayton was old enough to ride it on his own.

With that said, he was quite eager to get to the Inn, grab his friends, and get moving, just so he could test out how fast these beauties could really run!

Thomas the Merchant helped Clayton lead the horses to the Inn. He knew that these heavy-duty beauties were hard to control sometimes, especially since they were leaving the vicinity of the stables after a long time. With twelve gold coins in his front pocket, he was more than willing to help.

As they crossed through the village to get to the Inn, someone managed to catch Clayton’s attention. He didn’t think he’d prioritize his attention on anything other than the horses right now, and yet he stood corrected.

A young woman, twenty-two years at most, snuck into his ear canal. She was huffing and puffing, throwing a rusty, one-handed iron sword against her house wall. She held the sword in her left hand.

"Interesting," He raised his eyebrows.

Afterwards, he turned to the merchant, and asked, "She looks quite old to be wasting her day away practicing with her sword. Why isn’t she in the fields, helping her husband?"

The merchant was blinded by his wealth at the moment. One would think that his eyes were turning yellow to match the color of his wealth, but unlike an alcoholic, he wasn’t jaundiced.

Clayton managed to get through him, after he asked him about that young woman one more time. A woman that he couldn’t figure out at first sight alone.

"Don’t mind her, she’s insane." The merchant scoffed, "I’d buy a case of beer for the poor fool that would willingly choose to marry her. He’ll need it."

"Oh?" He pulled his head back in shock, "I have to admit that I think she’s far too old to be wasting her time with swordsmanship, as magic is almost always more important. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t have ever guessed that she was crazy."

Before the trader could’ve followed along, and shared his two coins on the matter, the same woman they were talking about, stopped what she was doing, and looked back at them. This was inevitable, as Clayton had even stopped the horses, forty feet away from her, just to watch her train.

The young lady approached them, her demeanor sharp, and her coal-black hair so wellkept that he nearly believed they were reflecting the rays of the sun!

She sheathed her sword, between the thin linen that held her black robe together.

"You think I’m wasting time, huh?" She asked, looking at Clayton.

"Yes," He doubled down, his face stern. "You can be the best Swordsman in the Empire, but it won’t do you any good against a fireball."

Clayton did not understand how she heard him from so far away, but he was not a man who quaked in his boots that easily, if ever. He didn’t budge.

"I’m a woman, for one thing, so I expect you to address me as a Swordswoman," She bit back.

"Well, I suppose it’s one of the names that may need changing?" He added.

The lady did not care to entertain him, and just as he wondered why this fine, clean woman was considered crazy, she was quick to give him a reason herself.

"Second, I practice with my swords to keep the voices away." She grinded her teeth, "I don’t need an old, bald, eyebrow-less stranger calling me crazy."

"Watch your tongue!" Thomas the Merchant exclaimed on behalf of Clayton, "You cannot afford offending men who can buy your two-coin village!"

Clayton waved his hand, gesturing the merchant to calm down, and essentially piss off. He pointed towards the Inn, and the merchant went ahead towards the Inn without saying another word. The horses followed him without much of a struggle.

Clayton then approached the tense lady, just by a few steps, and said, "I never called you crazy, please acknowledge that."

"So it was that horse humper?" She exclaimed, and drew her sword, ready to chase after him. "I’ve had enough!"

Clayton, attempting to prevent a nearly baseless murder, one that would taint his clean run through the village, stood in front of the lady in a heartbeat. Though he didn’t see her as crazy up until now, he believed why the villagers insisted otherwise.

She swung her sword at him, her pupils dilated, blood-lost overwhelming her.

[-150 Life Essence Points]

She cut Clayton’s head clean off, but his body, as always, fought to keep him alive.

Clayton grabbed the lady by the arm, and as he held on to her, a freshly new head rose out of his neck, as if he was an abomination that gave birth backwards.

Shocked, the lady’s pupils constricted. She was haunted by voices she could hardly tolerate throughout most of her life, and yet she has never seen something as bizarre as a headless man growing a new head!

"What in the holy names of the Gods are you?" She shuddered.

Clayton smiled, kicked his former head away in the bushes, and said, "Let’s just say that I’m a healer."

"Can you heal my head?" She pleaded, "I... I’m sick of hearing voices."

"I can only heal myself," He stretched an awkward smile.

Afterwards, he asked, "But can you tell me more about these voices you hear? Granted, you did just cut my head off, I still do not believe that you’re crazy."