CHAPTER 292: CHAPTER 291 - WALK OF SHAME.

The undead horde spilled into the training grounds like a tidal wave of rotted steel and bone, their hollow sockets glowing faintly in the dim light. Every clatter of their armor and every scrape of their rusted weapons turned the air heavy with dread.

Or, at least, it should have.

"Uh... hey." Alex tilted his head, pointing at one of the charging corpses. "Is it just me, or does that one run like it’s late for the bathroom?"

Everyone turned their heads mid-battle prep, wondering if something like that was actually happening.

Then, they saw it.

Sure enough, one particularly ragged undead lurched forward, knees stiff, arms swinging at its sides like broken windmills.

"Pfft—" Jessy covered her mouth, but her shoulders shook.

"Oh gods." Clara exhaled, her lips twitching. "It looks like it’s skipping."

"Skipping? That’s... hopping death, right there." Rufus muttered, his nanosuit clicking up into place as his visor lit up.

The undead stumbled harder as if embarrassed by the collective stares.

"I swear to every chicken wing I ate, did it just trip over its own leg?" Alex hollered. "Yo, Blargh, you seeing this?"

From inside his chest, the symbiote cackled. "Of course, I’m seeing it. I won’t miss something like this!"

Even Raven’s usually impassive lips tugged upward. "You’ve successfully roasted the first one, Alex. Only about... oh, around two hundred more to go."

"Two hundred?" Alex blinked, counting the flood of armored corpses charging like cavalry. "Oh. Oh no. I’m running out of material already."

"You had one joke." Jessy deadpanned, summoning jagged spears of metal from the earth. "Congratulations."

"Oh, c’mon, I—" Alex began but cut himself short when a second undead stumbled forward, armor rattling, head lolling like it was about to fall off.

Alex pointed again. "Okay, that one’s drunk. Don’t even lie. That’s the walk of shame."

Even Tinny and Binny, perched on his shoulders, squeaked in unison—tiny squirrel facepalms.

The undead, soulless though they were, almost seemed to hesitate under the relentless ridicule.

It was then that Omni’s voice buzzed lazily from Raven’s hand, smooth and cocky as ever.

"Bossman, this is fun and all, but what’s the move? We crackin’ skulls, snappin’ bones, or just roasting until they walk back to the grave themselves?"

Raven’s eyes glowed faintly violet, his tone calm but sharp. "We don’t kill them."

"What?!" Alex groaned.

Jessy stared at Alex with a flat gaze. "What are you doing ’What?!’ for? We already know why he doesn’t want us to kill them."

"Why?" Alex turned to Raven, reminding them all that although this guy sometimes acted like a sage, he was actually a dumb bastard.

"They get back up if you kill them," Raven replied dryly. "Meaning you’ll be stuck killing the same idiot with the funny walk for eternity. No thanks."

Siris twirled her daggers with gleeful malice, Cryovoid frost trailing along their edges. "So what do we do?"

"Cut off their limbs," Raven said. "Pile them up. Alex, Rufus, Jake, and Siris—you’re the collectors. Clara, Lia, and Jessy—lock them down before they regenerate. Then..." His violet eyes narrowed, a spark of dangerous calm flashing. "...I’ll finish it."

"Always so mysterious," Clara smirked softly.

But then, the ground trembled.

The vibration, however, wasn’t from the enemies, nor was it done by Clara.

BOOM!

A blur of white feathers and dark fur burst from the rear gates.

The corrupt panther bounded in, landing in a spray of dirt and stone, its massive body trembling with excitement.

On its back—Cluckles, scarf billowing like a hero’s cape.

"Cluckles arrives!" The sage-chicken declared, flapping his wings. "And the battlefield quakes beneath Cluckles’s glorious presence!"

The panther growled happily, bouncing like it was playing a game, then immediately pounced into the fray—smashing an undead flat against the wall with a sound like squelch.

The group stared.

"...Well." Rufus’s suit hummed as he flexed his gauntlets. "That’s one way to join."

As if that was the mark to begin, the fight ignited.

Siris darted into the undead ranks, strings of frost-bound daggers swirling around her like orbiting stars.

She carved off limbs with precision that would have been terrifying if not paired with her delighted giggles.

"Off with the arms, off with the legs—heehee, look how they squirm!"

"Less giggling, more piling," Raven called, deadpan.

"Yes, husband~!" She sang back, eyes glittering.

Meanwhile, Alex punched through a trio of undead, his symbiote coating his fist in molten lava.

"Blargh! Left leg, right arm, oh crap, don’t bite me!" He wrestled one to the ground, lava pouring as he screamed.

Blargh hissed in laughter.

Jake moved silently, shadows stretching like liquid silk. His scythe sliced cleanly, severing limbs without waste. He said nothing, nor did he joke—just a calm, efficient reaper among chaos.

Rufus? Rufus went full showboat. His black-red suit flared with blinding light beams, cutting through undead arms like lasers.

"Ha! Who needs brains when you’ve got precision weaponry!"

"Certainly not you," Jessy muttered, holding up a magnetic barrier as severed limbs clattered against it.

On the sidelines, Clara stood calm and collected, her voice resonating in a low hum.

Waves of sound rippled outward, forming shimmering illusions—walls of false terrain that funneled the dismembered undead toward the center.

"Keep them moving where I want them," she said, her voice serene and her eyes sharp.

Beside her, Lia summoned thorned vines from beneath the stone.

They erupted in thick coils, wrapping the writhing piles of undead limbs. She clenched her fists, tightening the hold like a mother’s unshakable grip.

"You will stay put."

Jessy yawned but didn’t falter, reinforcing the prison with bands of gleaming metal. "There. Boxed like discount leftovers."

Amid the chaos, Clara glanced at Raven, her soft smile lingering despite the battlefield.

"You always plan three steps ahead, don’t you?"

Raven smirked faintly, leaning closer so only she could hear. "Four. You don’t see the last one yet."

Her cheeks warmed, but she didn’t break focus.

Siris caught the exchange and immediately puffed her cheeks.

"Oi, Raven! You whispered sweet nothings to her—where’s mine?"

He sighed. "You’re knee-deep in corpses, Siris."

"And your point is?" She called back brightly, blood on her cheek, smiling wide.

Lia, gently weaving vines tighter, gave him a quiet look. Her eyes softened, voice low. "Just don’t overdo it. You always take the burden for everyone else."

Raven’s dry reply came smooth as always. "If I don’t, who will?"

The horde pressed harder, their numbers endless. The team, however, worked like a well-oiled machine—cutting, binding, and locking.

It felt like a tide that would never end, but still, laughter, banter, and warmth mixed with the clash of steel and frost.

Cluckles, perched high on the panther, flapped proudly.

"Cluckles declares: today, the undead shall learn humility!"

The panther chuffed, bounding happily, scattering more corpses like bowling pins.

For just a moment, even the soulless horde seemed embarrassed under the relentless assault of steel, laughter, and squirrel squeaks.

...............................

While the chaos continued below, above Cradle’s rooftop, Zephyr stood still, his violet eyes gleaming cold as they tracked Raven’s every movement.

Behind him, five Vaise siblings and a retinue of loyal followers stood in uneasy silence.

The battlefield roared beneath them—clashing steel, undead howls, and laughter echoing where there should have been screams.

One of the siblings finally broke.

"Gathering them all into one place... does he actually think he can end them like this?" His tone dripped with disdain, but his voice shook faintly.

Another sneered. "He’s naive. That sham of a father tried the same thing, didn’t he? Even he couldn’t control the tide. And yet Raven thinks he can succeed?"

A ripple of laughter moved through some of the followers—sharp, mocking, but hollow.

But Zephyr didn’t laugh. He didn’t sneer. His smile—which had been fixed on his face since last night—was absent.

Instead, his brows were drawn tight, shadows cutting deep lines into his face. His gaze never left Raven.

’Because of him,’ Zephyr thought, ’because of him, everything had fractured.’

His fingers curled against the stone balustrade until it cracked under his grip.

Then, suddenly—

"Stop."

His voice cut through the night like a blade.

The laughter and whispers died instantly. Every sibling, every follower froze, eyes snapping toward him in confusion.

"...Brother?" One finally dared, hesitating. "Stop what?"

But they didn’t need the answer. They saw it themselves.

The undead pouring from the Cradle’s wings... stopped.

One moment, the flood had been endless, and the next, silence.

Hollow eyes stared blankly from the darkened doorways, but no more came forth.

The battlefield froze in eerie suspension, Raven’s group still locked mid-battle as the horde thrashed, but the stream was cut off as if severed at the root.

Confusion stirred among Zephyr’s kin.

"Why—why would you hold them back?"

"We could bury him under sheer numbers."

"This is—"

But their words faltered. Because Zephyr was frowning, eyes narrowed, and when Zephyr frowned, nobody dared to press further.

The silence on the rooftop was heavier than the battlefield’s chaos.

Zephyr’s eyes burned faintly, cold and calculating.

’Why stop?’ They wanted to ask him. ’Why not crush him here?’

But Zephyr was already asking himself a deeper question.

’Why does he know so much about the undead?’

His chest tightened, unease seeping into the cracks of his calm.

The way Raven moved, the way he commanded his companions, the ease with which he dictated exactly how to handle the undying...

It wasn’t guesswork.

Zephyr’s violet eyes sharpened to a predator’s focus, never blinking, never wavering. Raven was no longer some brat stumbling in the dark. He was a problem.

Actually, Raven had always been a problem, but now, he was becoming a pain.

He was the type of pain that must be treated before it causes more trouble.

Zephyr’s voice slipped out, low, almost a whisper to himself, though his followers shivered at the sound. "...Just what are you planning, little brother?"

The battlefield below roared again, but above it, the rooftop remained still—frozen in the weight of Zephyr’s cold suspicion.