"The number of undead keeps increasing! They're densely packed, practically endless! Lord, the situation is urgent, please review imdiately and issue further instructions."
The ssage stone vibrated intensely, emitting the sharp, hurried voice of the scout.
Simultaneously, flickering lights burst from the stone's surface.
Beams of light shot out from the ssage stone, intertwining and rapidly constructing a clear, dynamic three-dinsional projection in mid-air, transmitting the scenes witnessed by distant scouts in real ti with perfect clarity.
The first thing that assaulted their vision was an ocean-like army of low-level undead.
Among them were not only warriors with unusually thick bones and movents far swifter than their kind, but also clusters of walking corpses wearing rusted, broken armor—stiff-paced yet incredibly defensive. So maintained humanoid forms, while many others were terrifying transformations from savage beasts or twisted magical creatures.
They gathered together, forming a gray-white, deathly silent, endless terrifying wave.
And among these tide-like low-level undead, nurous heart-stopping advanced undead units were interspersed.
There were bone behemoths as massive as hills, forcibly pieced together from countless skeletons of different races, each step causing the earth to tremble slightly.
There were death knights shrouded in heavy black armor, riding nightmare steeds with hooves burning with eerie blue flas, only revealing cold soul-fire eyes through their helt gaps—leaving trails of long-lasting spectral sparks wherever they trod.
There were also wailing banshees with semi-transparent bodies, elusive as light smoke, floating and sinking through the air, their twisted faces frozen with pure hatred for all living beings.
Shire observed intently for a mont, then turned to face the red iron dragon seated on the high-backed chair in black cat form.
"Sir, these low-level undead are moving with rare discipline and coordination. Clearly, an extrely powerful will is orchestrating and commanding them from behind."
"Otherwise, given the chaotic nature of low-level undead, such behavior would be impossible."
Lord Flower Shire spoke with a solemn expression, his voice grave: "This is no naturally occurring undead catastrophe, but a preditated, organized military assault."
Though it was dayti, the sky was gloomy, thick fog perated everywhere, and no direct sunlight reached the ground.
Yet even so, normal undead creatures still preferred nights rich with negative energy.
For such a large-scale, strictly disciplined undead force to appear during dayti pointed to only one conclusion: there must be a mastermind precisely controlling and driving all this.
Waaaaah—!
Just then, piercing shrieks from countless banshees echoed through the projection, sound waves solid as ripples spreading out. The light and sound projected by the ssage stone twisted and shook violently, suffering severe interference.
However, the scenes witnessed earlier were sufficient for judgnt.
Garoth's voice remained calm and steady: "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 enchantnt runes, hung his signature cross-hilted knight's sword at his waist, and turned to mobilize troops for deploynt.
"Wait."
Garoth elegantly swayed his tail, stopping him.
"Within the undead cluster, I observed no obvious command nodes. Any necromancer capable of assembling and driving such a massive undead army, or higher undead commander, would never easily expose themselves."
He spoke slowly, his cat eyes gleaming with cool analytical light.
The strength of undead creatures always relied on their endless nurical advantage, but their individual combat power was usually weak.
Commanders like high-level undead or necromancers shared similar tactical cores—mostly using hordes of low-level undead to exhaust enemies while hiding within the army formations, waiting for opportunities.
This served both to protect themselves and to better command the overall situation.
Shire paused, looking back at Garoth.
Garoth continued: "The most troubleso aspect of undead legions is their ability to continuously convert battlefield casualties into new undead, growing stronger like a snowball effect. Currently, the dragon group and main Molten Iron Legion haven't arrived at Ximu Domain yet. With only the existing defensive forces in the territory, engaging them head-on would likely just beco nourishnt for their legion, helping them develop and expand."
Iron dragon Sorog, red dragon Samantha, and other adolescent dragons were marching with the Molten Iron Legion as a precaution.
Those relatively undisciplined monster race tribes required coordination from various chieftains for large-scale movents, including the high-level follower leaders who previously attended the banquet in the convergence lands. They were currently leading massive legions trekking through the wilderness.
Due to the short ti fra, they hadn't reached Ximu Domain yet.
Shire frowned slightly, asking: "Then what do you suggest?"
Garoth smiled, his deanor composed, saying: "Simple. I'll personally take action, using my own power to pierce through this undead legion, denying them the chance to sustain and grow through battle."
It had to be admitted, this undead legion from unknown origins had chosen a very subtle timing.
But on the other hand, the Lord of Molten Iron himself was currently stationed at Ximu Domain and decided to intervene personally.
Whether this timing choice was brilliant or unfortunate, that hidden undead master would soon experience it firsthand.
"Having slept for over ten years, I truly need a proper battle to awaken the long-dormant power within this body."
Garoth's deep voice echoed through the Council Hall.
Previous sparring with followers, blood relatives, and the dragon group were ultimately just restrained skirmishes, hardly satisfying. So much so that Garoth now felt his claws itching, craving an unrestrained release.
Garoth thought silently.
So-called negative energy was a force symbolizing death and nothingness.
It sucked life, destroyed souls, extinguished light, stripped hope... almost completely opposite to all life phenona. It was a powerful energy widely existing across many dinsional worlds, even forming death realms entirely composed of negative energy in so dinsions where it was particularly concentrated.
And the Eternal Death path Garoth planned to cultivate involved many powerful skills closely related to mastering negative energy.
"Shire, your task is to patrol the battlefield edges, using your abilities to find that hidden commander."
With these words, the black cat form of Garoth began to change.
Small horns started growing on his petite head, the soft fur on his body rapidly replaced by dense, cold black scales, his size visibly expanding. The high-backed chair beneath him creaked under the strain.
Whoosh!
The gradually unfolding, true-form colossal shadow suddenly leaped, gracefully yet swiftly crossing the wide window, shooting straight into the gloomy sky shrouded in thick fog.
Below on the streets, so residents looked up in astonishnt, but only saw swirling fog and a massive shadow cutting through the sky at an incredible speed, instantly disappearing into the clouds, leaving only faint pressure and humming in the air.
"Reinforcents will arrive shortly. Everyone maintain your positions, stay calm."
Shire put away the ssage stone, stepping forward with a composed expression.
In this seemingly ordinary small step, he seed to step from one world into another. The mont his foot landed, subtle ripples like water waves appeared around him in space, and he vanished without a sound, as if never existing.
anwhile.
Eastern Ximu Domain, Third Outpost.
Thick, gray-white fog caused by sharply rising negative energy enveloped the entire world like a heavy shroud, shrouded in deathly silence and haze.
He strained to look toward the approaching undead legion direction, his expression unconsciously tightening from tension, his Adam's apple bobbing.
This place was about sixty kiloters from Ximu Domain's main city, but the gray-white undead tide was gradually overflowing hills, forests, and rivers like real ocean waves.
White bones and rotting bodies flickered in and out of view within the thick fog.
Countless sounds of bone joints grinding and dragging forward continued incessantly, like death's whispers, growing closer and closer.
Enemies too close, territory too far.
What kind of reinforcent could possibly arrive in ti under such circumstances?
Despite his doubts, the werewolf chieftain followed Lord Flower's orders, relaying the command to hold their positions.
However, with only the limited guards at Third Outpost facing that endless, all-devouring undead sea, once subrged, the outco was certain death.
The werewolf chieftain took a deep breath of the cold, damp, decaying air-filled air, struggling to make the muscles on his face appear rigid and expressionless.
Any guard showing signs of panic or desertion wouldn't need the undead to deal with them—he would personally use his claws to dig out their heart first.
The following ti, every second felt like torture on a chopping block.
Watching the death wave approach step by step, fear quietly entwined around each guard's heart like cold vines.
However, this suffocating tornt lasted less than a minute.
At this mont, even the most psychologically unstable kobold guard among them had just begun feeling uneasy, stirring slightly, far from the point of breaking down and fleeing.
Just then, a fierce gust of wind from nowhere howled and swept through, briefly dispersing the heavy fog perating between heaven and earth.
And in that instant, a massive dragon shadow like a sky-rending teor broke through the clouds at a terrifying speed several tis the speed of sound, dramatically appearing above the outpost.
"The great Redwing Lord! The Redwing Lord has descended!"
The guards were first shocked, then erupted with incomparable awe and ecstasy!
As the Molten Iron Tribe grew increasingly powerful, for most grassroots followers, while they grew up hearing the epics and prestige of the Redwing Lord, filled with infinite yearning and loyalty, only a very few fortunate ones could ever personally behold the Dragon Lord's true form.
As the Molten Iron Tribe grew increasingly powerful, for most grassroots followers, while they grew up hearing the epics and prestige of the Redwing Lord, filled with infinite yearning and loyalty, only a very few lucky ones could ever personally behold the Dragon Lord's true form.
All remaining unease and tension in the hearts of Third Outpost's guards vanished instantly, completely gone! Replaced by indescribable excitent, and the honor of witnessing the Dragon Lord's descent firsthand.
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