Kael let out a dry laugh, the sound almost lost in the heavy wind that blew ash over the shattered wall. The air smelled of iron, magic, and burnt flesh—the classic scent of chaos.

"Yes… until it goes wrong," he replied, pulling his sword from the ground with a metallic snap. "But at least when it goes wrong, I know exactly who to blame."

"You yourself?" Ahri asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Of course." He flicked his wrist, wiping the blade with a wisp of mana, which sizzled in the air before vanishing. "Who else?"

Umbra watched him silently, her spectral form billowing like living smoke. Her eyes, two silver slits floating in the gloom, seemed to pierce him. There was something ancient there—something Kael preferred not to comprehend.

"You're really going to try, aren't you?" she said finally, almost in a whisper.

Kael took a deep breath. With each breath, he felt the thin mana of the air scratch at his lungs. "If I don't try, these things keep coming. And if they keep coming, Azalith falls. And if Azalith falls…" He closed his eyes for a second, listening to the distant echo of battles. "Then everything I've fought for until now will mean nothing."

Umbra nodded, his expression grave. "Then focus. Necromancy isn't just command—it's mastery. You will speak to that which you don't want to hear."

Kael rolled his neck, cracking his joints. "Story of my life."

Ahri landed beside him, her tails spreading like golden petals. "If you start shouting arcane phrases or bleeding from your eyes, I'll run. Just warning you."

Kael raised his hand, ignoring the taunt. His fingertips began to glow—a black light, thick, dense, almost liquid. Energy condensed around his arm, and the air seemed to flee from the space it occupied.

Umbra murmured, his voice low and ceremonial:

"Death is not an end, it is an echo. Where the will touches the void, the flesh listens."

Kael repeated the words, his voice hoarse but firm. The ground shook. Cracks opened in the dust-covered ground, revealing ancient bones—soldiers who had died in the city's previous defenses.

A chilling wind blew from the north. The purple glow of the wounded walls flickered, and for a moment, it seemed as if even the Academy's golden barrier was watching them.

Kael reached out and commanded, "Arise."

Nothing happened.

Umbra sighed. "You're asking, Kael. Don't ask. Command."

He gritted his teeth. Pain throbbed behind his eyes, as if something were tearing him apart from the inside.

"Arise." The ground exploded.

A flash of dark energy shot across the field, and three silhouettes began to emerge…

"I-it's not possible," Umbra said, watching the dead monsters emerge, but… there weren't just three…

The ground shook.

First as a whisper—small fissures snaking across the scorched earth—then as a roar that made the stones vibrate and the air constrict around them.

Umbra backed away slightly, the ethereal flames in his eyes flickering.

Ahri pricked up her ears, feeling the mana condense grotesquely, too dense, too heavy.

Kael held his arm outstretched, the shadow of his own energy creeping toward the ground, spreading like spilled ink.

The corpses that had once lain disintegrated—mutilated bodies of ogres, mana beasts, fallen soldiers—began to shudder.

At first, it was just a jerky movement, as if death itself were breathing.

Then the joints contorted, the bones creaking in unison.

The flesh began to reform, but not as before—not alive, not organic.

It was solid shadow, a mass of dark energy molding limbs, reconstructing faces, stitching monsters and men together into warlike forms, hideous and perfect.

Umbra stepped into the air, her pale face reflecting the purple glow emanating from the ground.

"Kael… that's not three. That's all."

The echo of her voice was lost in the wind, swallowed by the sound of hundreds of bodies rising.

The field before Kael transformed into a sea of shadowy figures.

Some still had remnants of armor; others were mere skeletons enveloped in flames of purple mana.

They all shared the same eyes—cold, unmoving, and lethal flames.

Ahri, her tail bristling, let out a surprised whistle.

"You summoned an army... with a poorly spoken spell."

Kael kept his gaze fixed, his breathing slow and deep.

The wind whipped ash and dust around him, whipping his torn cloak around him.

"They heard me," he murmured. "All who died here... still wanted to fight."

Umbra landed on the ground, his body wavering between light and darkness.

"You didn't control them—you claimed them."

One of the dead approached—an ancient knight, his helmet shattered, his body formed of solid smoke and glowing bones.

He bowed before Kael, kneeling.

The other creatures did the same, in a silent wave, a bow that made the air vibrate.

Kael looked at Umbra. "This... was supposed to happen?"

Umbra shook her head, still in shock.

"Not even a veteran necromancer could accomplish something like this without being consumed. But..."

She watched him carefully, the dark energy flowing from his body, and realized something.

"The Umbral has accepted you. It's not draining you. It's serving you."

Kael didn't answer. He simply raised his sword.

Immediately, the dead rose in unison—a dry, synchronized sound, like hundreds of blades being unsheathed at once.

The ground shook.

The next wave of living monsters appeared in the distance—a shapeless mass of mana beasts, regenerated ogres, and corrupted beings still crawling from the city's ruins.

They roared, drawn by the dark power.

Ahri looked to the horizon, then to Kael. "They come by the thousands."

Kael twirled the blade, purple energy dancing around the steel.

"Then it's a good time to test the command."

He took a deep breath, the air burning in his lungs.

And then, his voice echoed like thunder:

"ALL OF YOU. ADVANCE."

The dead responded without a sound.

They moved like a living tide—disciplined, without hesitation, without fear.

Rushing over the stones, over the remains of the broken walls, forming war lines.

The living monsters screamed, attacking en masse.

The impact was a thunderclap.

Shadows against flesh.

Corrupted mana against dark mana.

The field lit up with purple and gold flashes as forces clashed.

The dead fought with unearthly precision—each blow of their weapons drained energy from their enemies, each fallen monster rising seconds later, now part of the shadow army.

Kael walked among them calmly, his sword low at his side, his torn cloak flapping.

Each step he took caused the ground to light up in black patterns, as if the world itself recognized his presence.

Umbra followed at a distance, watching his dominance grow, his gaze serious.

"You're doing the impossible, Kael…"

"It's not impossible," he replied without turning his face. "They just never tried hard enough."

A triple ogre, enormous and covered in red runes, charged at him.

Kael looked up, flexing his fist.

The monster roared and struck—its fist descending like a meteor.

Kael sidestepped and, with a horizontal slash, split the creature's arm in two.

The black mana-charged blade left a trail of purple light in the air.

Before the ogre could retreat, Kael swung his sword, plunging it straight into its chest.

Mana exploded, and the creature's body collapsed, dissolving into smoke.

But before the vapor could clear, he raised his hand.

Shadows stretched from the ground, enveloping the creature's remains, and within seconds the ogre was back on its feet—this time with violet eyes and skin made of solid mist.

"Get up," Kael murmured.

The creature knelt, awaiting orders.

Ahri glared at him, her tail bristling.

"You... just turned an ogre into your soldier. That's insane."

Kael wiped the blood from his blade with a quick twist.

"Insane would be to let him fall on me."

The shadow army advanced, pushing the enemy lines further and further away.

The sounds of combat—steel tearing through flesh, the crash of spells, the roar of the dead—mingled in a brutal, perfect symphony.

Kael moved like a maestro.

Where he pointed his sword, the dead followed.

Where his shadow fell, the enemy died.

Umbra watched, fascinated and fearful.

With each passing moment, the bond between Kael and the Umbral grew stronger—she could feel the currents of mana flowing between them, impossibly balanced.

No human should be able to wield so much power without being devoured.

But Kael…

Kael was shaping him.

The sky, which had been gray before, began to darken again—not from clouds, but from the density of mana in the air.

The golden glow of the Academy's barrier reflected in the shadows of the field, giving the scene an almost divine and unholy appearance at the same time.

Ahri perched on his shoulder in her spirit form, speaking softly.

"You do realize that… you're commanding an army of undead, right?"

Kael smiled faintly, his eyes glowing purple.

"Only until the job is done."

Umbra stared at him seriously. "And after that?"

He looked back at her without hesitation.

"After that… they rest. As they should have done before." He said with a smile, then said, "But until then, they'll be excellent tools for mastering Azalith again."