CHAPTER 31: UNDEAD GENERAL

"The undead are being pushed back! Everyone, advance!" Reginald bellowed, his voice carrying like a warhorn across the bloodstained battlefield.

The warriors roared in unison, a guttural cry of fury and renewed strength. Their blades, dulled with ichor and grime, raised once more. They surged forward with Reginald at the helm, cleaving through the scattered undead with a vengeance born of desperation and hope. Their momentum surged. The tide was shifting.

Morale coursed through their veins like fire. The despair from earlier was gone—replaced with sharpened instincts, heightened reflexes, and eyes blazing with battle fury. Reginald led the charge like a stormbreaker, his strikes opening a path that his men followed without hesitation.

"Go, go, go!" Rein’s voice rang from the rear lines. "Unleash everything!"

The mages responded with precision. Spells burst from their hands like fireworks, raining arcs of flame, shards of ice, crackling lightning, and blasts of wind down on the enemy ranks. The battlefield was a maelstrom of swirling elements and glowing sigils, a chaotic dance of destruction that lit up the sky.

Just then, a terrifying presence surged into view.

A massive figure tore through its own forces, scattering low-ranking undead in its path like ragdolls. Its movement was unnatural—too fast for its hulking size. The way it ran, the weight of its presence—it drew every eye.

The ground trembled with its steps. They all looked at the direction of the tremors and they all were all alarmed. They were all shocked and tense with what they saw.

"The Undead General," Rolan muttered from above, his eyes narrowing. He watched him with burning eyes. He immediately bit his lips and was excited to clash with his enemy.

Without hesitation, he dove through the clouds, wings cutting the air as he streaked downward like a comet. He held his sword from his side, ready to draw it from the scabbard. But then he thought of a better option.

The monstrous general barreled forward, unaware of the intervention awaiting it. At the very last second, Rolan landed in its path—and met it head-on. His fist, wrapped in gleaming basilisk armor, collided with the creature’s jaw.

Bang!

The impact was thunderous. It flashed like a thunder clap and a lightning bolt struck him. They were all at awe when they saw it. Happened in their eyes.

The force sent the Undead General spiraling sideways, tumbling like a rag doll through dust and bone. It carved a trench in the ground before finally crashing into a heap, unmoving for a moment. The undead horde seemed to freeze as their general slowly rose, its face cracked and eyes flaring with fury.

It had been humiliated.

Its muscles rippled as it stood tall, dirt falling from its grim visage. All around it, the undead began to howl. The general’s [Rage Aura] pulsed outward, a violent crimson wave that infected its minions. Their eyes glowed brighter, their shrieks sharper, more savage.

They charged Rolan.

He stood calmly amid the chaos, his mind calculating. Undead closed in from all directions—clawing, swinging, biting. Rolan’s gaze flicked left, then right, then behind, tracking every movement like a seasoned predator.

His sword was drawn in a flash.

A blur of silver danced through the undead. He moved with grace, a deadly rhythm taught by Kuro himself. Though not yet a master, Rolan’s technique had improved exponentially. His strikes were fluid, each one finding its mark.

Heads flew.

Limbs were severed.

Undead fell by the dozens, piling up around his feet in twisted heaps. Their corpses formed a makeshift hill, one that he climbed higher with each kill. Still, they came—and still, he stood.

Then the General moved.

Twin butcher-like swords were drawn—massive, jagged weapons that dripped with malice. Rolan turned just in time to meet the first blow.

Clang!

His own blade held firm, sparks flying as demonic steel clashed against rusted iron. Rolan gritted his teeth, thankful for the strength of his blade—personally forged, straight-edged, its hilt wrapped in woven demon cloth. A one-of-a-kind weapon, born of his own craft.

The duel began.

They danced a brutal waltz—blade against blade. The Undead General was relentless, its strikes fast despite its bulk. Each swing was meant to maim, to crush. Rolan dodged and blocked, narrowly avoiding disaster time and again. He studied its form—sloppy, wide strikes, but unnaturally fast. If it weren’t for his practiced footwork, he’d already be dead.

Kuro’s teachings echoed in his mind.

A swordsman’s foundation is his footwork.

And that was Rolan’s edge.

He slipped under a wide arc and dashed to the side, circling like a predator. Then he struck—swift and low. His blade flashed as he executed a clean cut across the creature’s wrist.

A severed hand dropped to the ground.

The butcher blade tumbled with it.

For a moment, the undead general paused, staring at the bleeding stump. Then it grinned.

Its limb regenerated in seconds.

It picked the blade back up.

Rolan scowled. "Of course it has regeneration..."

He didn’t waste time. Instead, he whispered to Solomon. "Create skill—Bless + Holy Sword + Holy Aura."

[Skill Created: Holy Armament]

Power surged into his weapon. The blade glowed with divine light, wreathed in radiant flame. The Undead General hesitated.

That was the signal.

Rolan lunged, the divine blade arcing toward his foe. The enemy countered, slashing horizontally. Rolan twisted mid-air, his movement barely avoiding the strike by a hair’s breadth.

He landed a powerful strike across the general’s chest.

Sear!

Holy fire erupted from the wound.

The general howled—a guttural, warped scream that echoed like a banshee’s wail. The fire spread across its body, feeding on the corruption. Rolan pressed the advantage, slashing again and again, each cut bringing more pain and fire.

The battlefield shimmered with radiant heat as the unholy creature writhed in agony.

But even still, it stood.

Burned. Wounded. But alive.

Rolan took a step back, his chest rising with exertion. "Persistent bastard..."

He bit his lip and steadied his breathing. "Alright then," he muttered, narrowing his gaze, "let’s end this."