"The number of undead is increasing! It’s swarming, endless! Lord, the situation is critical, please review imdiately and issue the next instructions."
The Communication Stone trembled violently, with the urgent, slightly sharp voice of the scout erging from within.
At the sa ti, the surface of the stone emitted flickering light.
Buzz——!
Light strands burst from the Communication Stone, intertwining and swiftly constructing a clear and dynamic three-dinsional projection mid-air, transmitting the sights witnessed by distant scouts in real-ti, every detail visible.
The first sight that assaulted the vision was an ocean-like army of low-tier undead.
This included Skeleton Warriors with unusually robust bones and agility far surpassing their peers, and groups of zombies clad in rusted armor, their steps stiff yet boasting astonishing defenses. Among them were both humanoid undead and nurous terrifying forms transford from ferocious beasts or twisted monsters.
Together they ford a terrifying wave of gray and white stillness, seemingly endless.
And amidst these tidal-like low-tier undead, many unsettling higher-tier undead units were interspersed.
There were Skeleton Giant Beasts, massive as hills, forcibly pieced together from innurable different racial bones, each step causing the ground to tremble slightly.
There were Death Knights, clad in heavy black armor, riding nightmare warhorses with hooves ablaze with ghostly blue flas, with eyes of cold soul fire peering from the slits of their helts, leaving trails of flickering eerie sparks wherever they passed.
There were also Wailing Banshees, with semi-transparent bodies, elusive as wisps of smoke, their twisted faces frozen in pure hatred toward all living beings as they floated through the air.
...
Shire concentrated on observing for a mont, then turned to face the Red Iron Dragon, presenting itself in the form of a black cat, seated in a high-backed chair.
"My Lord, the movent of these low-tier undead shows an unprecedented level of discipline and coordination, indicating a trendously powerful will orchestrating and commanding them from behind."
"Otherwise, with the chaotic nature of low-tier undead, such behavior would be impossible."
Flower Lord Shire spoke solemnly, "This is not a naturally occurring undead disaster, but a preditated and organized military assault."
Though it was daylight, the sky was overcast, shrouded in thick fog, with no sunlight reaching the ground.
Yet even so, normal undead creatures prefer the negative energy-rich night.
The appearance of such a large-scale, well-disciplined undead in the dayti only points to one conclusion: there is certainly a mastermind precisely manipulating and driving all this.
Awooooo——!
Just then, the projection emitted the sharp wails of countless banshees, with sound waves as palpable as ripples spreading out, causing the projected images and sound from the Communication Stone to distort and shake violently, severely disrupted.
However, the scenes previously seen were enough to make a judgnt.
Galos spoke with calm composure: "Prepare for battle."
Shire nodded heavily, "Understood! I will personally lead the team to intercept!"
He quickly donned a set of streamlined light armor engraved with Enchanting Runes, hanging the iconic Cross Knight Sword at his waist, and turned to muster the troops for battle.
"Wait."
Galos elegantly swayed his tail, speaking to stop him.
"Within the undead horde, I did not observe any obvious command nodes. A Necromancer or higher-ranking Undead Commander capable of assembling and driving such a vast undead army would never easily expose themselves."
He spoke slowly, his cat-like eyes gleaming with calm analytical light.
The strength of undead creatures has always relied on their endless nurical advantage, though individual combat power is usually weak.
Commanders like high-tier undead or necromancers often follow similar tactical cores—using masses of low-tier undead to exhaust enemies, while hiding within the army formation, waiting for an opportunity.
This is both to protect themselves and to better command the overall situation.
Shire paused his actions, once again looking toward Galos.
Galos continued, "The most troubleso aspect of the Undead Legion is its ability to continuously convert the dead on the battlefield into new undead, growing stronger like a snowball. Currently, the Dragon Group and the main Molten Iron Legion haven’t arrived at Ximu Territory yet, and with only the existing guard forces, directly engaging might only serve to feed and strengthen the enemy legion."
Iron Dragon Solrog, Red Dragon Samantha, and the other young dragons are marching with the Molten Iron Legion to guard against unforeseen events.
Tribes of monstrous species, typically poorly disciplined, cannot undertake large-scale actions without the coordination of various leader levels, including Advanced Servant Leaders who previously attended the Border Area banquet, and are now leading vast armies across the wilderness.
Because ti is still short, they haven’t yet reached Ximu Territory.
Shire frowned slightly, inquiring, "So what do you an?"
Galos smiled calmly, "It’s simple, I will personally take action, piercing through this undead army single-handedly, giving them no opportunity to grow stronger from battle."
Admittedly, this unknown origin Undead Legion chose a very delicate point in ti.
On one hand, Ximu Territory is vacant, with inadequate guard forces.
But on the other hand, the King of Molten Iron himself is currently stationed in Ximu Territory, deciding to step in personally.
Whether this timing is ingenious or unfortunate, the hidden Undead Master will soon experience it firsthand.
"After a slumber of over a decade, I indeed need a proper battle to awaken the long-dormant power within this body."
Galos’s deep voice echoed within the council chamber.
The earlier skirmishes among the followers, blood kin, and Dragon Group were rely playful exchanges bound by constraints of power, hard to fully satisfy. At this mont, Galos feels an itch at the tips of his claws, yearning for an unreserved release.
Hopefully, those skeletons are sturdy enough not to fall apart too quickly, so they can sowhat increase my resistance to negative energy.
Galos murmurs to himself.
The so-called negative energy symbolizes death and emptiness.
It sucks life, destroys souls, extinguishes the light, deprives hope... almost entirely contrary to all phenona of life, it is a powerful energy widely existing in many planar worlds, even forming realms composed entirely of negative energy in so planes.
Galos is prepared to concurrently cultivate the path of eternity on which many powerful skills are closely related to the manipulation of negative energy.
"Leave the front of the battlefield to ."
"Shire, your task is to roam around the edge of the battlefield and use your abilities to locate that elusive commander."
As the words fall, Galos in his black cat form begins to transform.
Formidable dragon horns start to grow on his small head, the soft fur on the body surface swiftly replaced by dense and cold black scale armor, the body size expanding at a visibly rapid rate, causing the high-backed chair beneath to emanate a groaning sound from the unbearable weight.
Whoosh!
The gradually sprawling, revealing colossal shadow leaps abruptly, gracefully yet swiftly over the wide window sill, heading straight into the gloomy firmant shrouded in thick fog.
On the streets below, so residents stare up in astonishnt, only to see the fog swirling, a gigantic shadow carving through the sky at incredible speed, instantly rging into the cloud layers, leaving behind a faint pressure and murmur in the air.
Inside the eting hall.
"Support will arrive montarily; everyone hold your positions, and do not panic."
Shire put away the Communication Stone, composedly stepping forward.
In such a seemingly ordinary small step, he seems to cross from one world into another, a subtle ripple like watery undulation appearing in the surrounding space at the mont his foot lands, his entire being quietly disappearing, seemingly never having existed.
At the sa ti.
In the east of Ximu Territory, Third Outpost.
The dense grey-white fog produced by the intense rise of negative energy, like a thick funeral shroud, envelops the entire world in dead silence and haziness.
The werewolf guard commander just put down the Communication Stone, anxiously twitching his raised ears.
He strains to look toward the approaching direction of the Undead Legion, his expression unconsciously tense from nervousness, with his Adam’s apple rolling up and down.
This place is about sixty kiloters from the main city of Ximu Territory, yet the grey-white tide of the undead approaches like real waves gradually flooding over hills, forests, and rivers.
White bones, decaying bodies faintly visible in the thick fog.
Countless sounds of joint friction and dragging forward without end, like death’s whisper getting closer.
The enemy is too close, and the territory is too far.
In this situation, what kind of support can arrive promptly?
Though filled with doubts inside, the werewolf leader still, as ordered by the Flower Lord, relays the instructions to hold positions.
Yet, relying solely on the limited guards of the Third Outpost faced with the boundless sea of undead seemingly able to engulf everything, once overwheld, the outco is destined to be certain death.
Phew—!
The werewolf leader takes a deep breath of cold, damp, decaying air, striving to make the muscles on his face seem rigid and expressionless.
He has made up his mind.
If any guard shows signs of panic or tries to flee the battlefield, he would use his claws to personally claw out their heart even before the undead touch them.
The subsequent ti feels like an agonizing cook on the chopping block with every second.
Watching the tide of death gradually drew nearer, fear quietly entwines every guard’s heart like cold vines.
However, this suffocating tornt lasts less than a minute.
Even the kobold guard with the worst psychological endurance in the team just starts to feel uneasy, slightly agitated, far from collapsing or fleeing.
At this mont, a sudden fierce gale of unknown origin sweeps past, briefly blowing away the thick fog saturating the sky and earth.
And within this instant, a gigantic dragon shadow like a teor cutting through the firmant with terrifying speed several tis the speed of sound breaches the cloud layer, appearing spectacularly above the outpost.
"Dragon...is it the Dragon Lord?!"
"The great Master of Red Wings! The Master of Red Wings has descended!"
The guards first stunned, then their eyes exploded with absolute reverence and ecstasy!
They never expected the one coming to support is actually the great Master of Red Wings himself!
With the growing strength of the Molten Iron Tribe, for the vast majority of grassroots followers, while they grew up hearing the epic and fa of the Master of Red Wings, filled with infinite longing and loyalty, only a few lucky ones can witness the Dragon Lord’s real visage firsthand.
The king descended from the sky, majestic and towering!
All remaining unease and tension within the Third Outpost guards in this instant vanish completely, gone without a trace! Replaced by indescribable excitent and the honor of witnessing the Dragon Lord’s descent firsthand.
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