If that were all, it might have been manageable—but the Nase soldiers seized every opportunity to voice their grievances.
What’s worse, once they started complaining, they’d go on for hours without pause, grating on everyone’s nerves.
In turn, the Nase troops despised the Rosen soldiers for their foul mouths and attitudes, seeing them as nothing but battle-crazed madmen.
This divide had split the troops along regional lines, escalating into outright hostility.
‘Pathetic cowards who don’t even know how to fight.’
‘Bloodthirsty lunatics who only understand violence.’
The tension was so thick that an open clash seemed inevitable.
Just as the knight leading the vanguard noticed the rising hostility and moved to intervene—
“Gh—Undead! Undead have appeared!”
A sentry’s panicked shout snapped their attention to the flanks.
Where moments ago there had been nothing but barren plains, skeletal warriors now emerged.
“The hell?! Where did they come from?!”
“Protect the wagons! Rally to the banner! Form up!”
“Rally!”
The soldiers who had been snarling at each other moments ago now moved as one, falling into formation beneath the banner. The caravan guards reinforced their ranks, tightening the defensive line—but fear was plain on their faces.
“Shit. We’re screwed. There’s too many of them!”
At least a hundred skeletal soldiers had completely surrounded them.
Against this horde, they numbered barely twenty—and over half of those were lightly armed caravan guards. But now wasn’t the time for divisions.
“Guh—!”
An arrow struck one of the guards, sending him crumpling to the ground. His comrades hastily dragged him back and filled the gap, but more arrows followed in relentless waves.
“Shields up!”
The soldiers raised their shields, weathering the storm of projectiles. Yet luck was against them—arrows slipped through gaps, felling another man.
After what felt like an eternity, the barrage finally ceased.
Clatter—! Clatter—!
“Here they come! Hold steady!”
Having exhausted their arrows, the skeletal warriors charged en masse.
The soldiers and guards braced behind their shields while spearmen thrust from the rear, blades cutting down any that broke through.
But their efforts yielded little.
Though the skeletons shattered easily under their blows, the damned things simply reassembled moments later, rising again to attack.
“Gods damn it, this is insane! They just keep getting back up! What the hell are we supposed to do?!”
“Shut your trap and save your breath for holding that shield!”
“You’re the one yapping! If you’ve got time to bitch, figure out how to put these bastards down for good!”
The situation was dire.
All they could do was push back the skeletons or block their strikes—nothing seemed to permanently stop them.
The only glimmer of hope was the knight’s aura blade, which at least seemed to have some effect.
But then—
“Ghk—!”
Their hope vanished faster than expected.
An arrow struck the knight mid-swing.
“Shields forward! Cover the retreat!”
A veteran barked orders, and the soldiers swiftly dragged the wounded knight to safety before the undead could finish him off.
“Are you alright, sir?”
“I’ll live.”
But he wasn’t.
‘Of all places—’
His right shoulder was hit. The worst possible spot.
He’d have to fight left-handed—and poorly at that.
Scanning the battlefield, the knight’s stomach sank.
Skeletons threw themselves recklessly at their line, swords swinging. His men were holding—for now—but exhaustion was setting in.
Meanwhile, the undead felt no fatigue. It was only a matter of time before they broke through.
‘We need to retreat. But how?’
No matter how he racked his brain, escape seemed impossible.
His men waited for orders, but when none came, realization dawned in their eyes.
No one pressed him.
Had he ever felt so powerless?
This was the end. No way out.
Just as he resolved to drag down as many as he could before death took him—
BOOM!
An explosion erupted dangerously close to their position.
The blast sent soldiers and guards alike diving for cover.
When they looked up, the undead near the blast radius had been obliterated.
“Reform the line!”
A young man’s voice rang out—
CRASH!
Two horses plowed into the skeletons’ rear flank, their riders carving through the undead ranks with ruthless efficiency.
Slash! Slash!
With every swing of his pale-blue sword, skeletal warriors collapsed in heaps.
“I-It’s Young Master Ian and the Captain!”
The knight immediately recognized Ian’s arrival, and the despair on his men’s faces vanished in an instant.
One soldier roared:
“What are you idiots standing around for?! Reform ranks! Support the Young Master!”
Morale skyrocketed at the mere sight of Ian.
“Thank you, Young Master.”
The knight bowed deeply to Ian.
Within ten minutes of Ian and Oswell joining the fray, the undead had been completely eradicated.
Ian surveyed the aftermath.
‘Fortunately, no casualties.’
The caravan guards were already bustling about, efficiently clearing the area. The battlefield looked unnaturally pristine—no bloodstains, as the skeletal warriors simply evaporated upon true death. The only signs of struggle were a few overturned wagons and wounded men receiving treatment.
Their quick formation and disciplined response had prevented any fatalities—a credit to the knight’s leadership and the soldiers’ coordination.
‘Some faces look familiar… Rosen troops, perhaps? The others must be Nase soldiers and caravan guards.’
‘Captain Colin has trained them well.’
From a distance, Ian had witnessed their resilience—no panic, no broken ranks. A far cry from their past incompetence. They’d finally become proper soldiers.
“Sera.”
“Yes, Young Master?”
She wiped her hands after helping right a fallen wagon.
“How was your first taste of undead combat?”
“Honestly? Less frightening than I imagined. I worried for nothing.”
“See?”
During their journey, Ian had warned her about the undead, and she’d been terrified. In Meta Pangaea, undead were universally feared—relentless, self-repairing horrors. Yet reality proved less daunting, and Sera’s remaining fears had evaporated.
“Don’t get overconfident. There could be stronger variants among larger hordes.”
“Understood.”
She nodded, her expression bright with newfound confidence. Fighting skeletons first had been fortunate—they were the weakest undead, easing her into the nightmare.
Thudthudthudthud—!
The thunder of approaching hoofbeats shook the ground.
“Reinforcements, finally.”
Just as Ian predicted. Fifty soldiers galloped toward them—likely alerted by scouts after spotting the undead engagement.
“Y-Young Master Ian?!”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
Though Ian answered lightly, the knight couldn’t hide his bewilderment. While notified of Ian’s arrival, he hadn’t expected him so soon—the journey from Rosen to Ansen typically took a week. Ian had made it in five days.
At that speed, he barely rested.
Pushed by urgency, Ian had driven them relentlessly. Even this pace felt delayed to him—Sera’s inexperience with horseback riding had forced frequent breaks.
‘Thank the gods for stamina potions.’
Without them, the trip would’ve taken longer, leaving Sera bedridden for days.
“But… why bring the alchemist?”
The knight understood Nea’s presence as Ian’s attendant, but Sera’s inclusion baffled him.
“You’ll see soon enough.”
“…Very well.”
The knight asked no further questions. If Ian deemed it necessary, that was enough.
***
Leaving cleanup to the soldiers, Ian followed the knight to Ansen village. After settling in briefly, he headed to the tent-filled garrison on the outskirts.
Huber and Collin, having received word of his arrival, stood ready to greet him.
“Brother, you’ve come.”
“Yeah.”
“With you here, I feel invincible.”
Hubert’s face bloomed with relief—his trust in Ian’s problem-solving absolute.
While the brothers exchanged greetings, Oswell and Collin shared only respectful nods. Not due to tension, but personality differences—and the formality their positions demanded.
Once seated, Oswell cut to the chase.
“Vice-Captain. What’s the situation?”
Collin’s expression darkened.
“Frankly? Dire. We’ve engaged small groups in skirmishes… but took casualties without eliminating a single foe.”
His report bordered on a lament.
“Magic-imbued attacks can disable them, but conventional weapons? Useless. Even shattered bones reassemble within moments.”
Morale had plummeted against this unprecedented threat.
“So only knights can defeat them?”
“Not exactly.”
“Explain.”
Oswell frowned.
“Some undead turned to ash when pushed over by regular soldiers. We’re still investigating why.”
“Meaning non-knights can kill them—we just don’t know how?”
“For now, leveraging our knights is the only reliable strategy.”
A problematic solution—knights were too few to deploy in groups.
Silent until now, Ian finally spoke.
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