Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World Chapter 702 The Legion's Power [1]

However, running also required strength, and this ti, strength was sothing they no longer had the luxury to boast about.

The mont the demonic supernaturals tried to flee, the sky darkened.

Up above, suspended like silent executioners, were ten humans.

Except they were not humans anymore.

Each one radiated the aura of a solid Rank 3, their presence weighing down the battlefield like a falling mountain. These were part of Michael's undead, his human-type undead, the ones he rarely had ti or resources to extensively focus on.

Michael could not fully invest in all of his undead. He lacked the ti, the focus, and often the materials. Even nurturing a handful already cost him an absurd amount of energy and resources.

Of course this situation was expected to change in the future, but even now that limitation applied only to Michael.

It did not apply to the undead themselves.

Just because Michael could not look after all his undead did not an they could not look after their own kind.

It also was not out of kindness, love, or kinship, since even with high intelligence to mimic things, Michael's undead were still far from being able to perfectly mimic complex emotions for sothing like a familiar bond.

However, there was sothing they could mimic perfectly to the extent that it could be said they were actually feeling it.

Spartan was the pri example.

As one of the closest undead to Michael during study sessions, Spartan had learned a lot. He even understood so things better

than Michael at tis and they traded knowledge back and forth through the mory Infusion skill he got from Jester, who got it from the evil cultivator Li Fang.

Michael did not always use mory Infusion on everyone.

But every intelligent undead had the skill.

And Spartan had been using it for personal reasons to teach and share.

Regardless of the creature race or type, even the ones that were not active, there were rarely races in the universe that did not want more strength.

Undead were a pri example of creatures that could stay perfectly still to the end of ti and also get actively involved in increasing their strength.

Spartan was part of the latter, except unlike other undead that did it bloodily, thanks to Michael's nurturing and other things related to him, Spartan as an undead had co to see knowledge as his way to greater strength.

This was not exactly wrong either, especially after ascending to Rank 3.

The feeling of wanting strength did not necessarily have anything to do with protecting Michael as a master, but with the instinctive drive of any intelligent creature to want perfection.

Since knowledge was one way Spartan sought to make himself stronger, he created a quiet, terrifying network of shared information, an internal library of magic, battle tactics, and spell harmonization between the undead he could utilize.

So now the question beca:

What happens when ten strong Rank 3 beings, each with refined coordination, shared magical knowledge, and perfect synchronization, cast a spell together?

The answer:

A disaster.

A colossal trap formation snapped into existence above the

settlent.

Magic humd through the air.

And suddenly,

BOOM.

A do sealed the entire settlent.

No one could leave. And no one could enter.

It was so strong that even the void could not be utilized.

The demonic supernaturals felt it instantly.

Their escape route vanished in an instant, like a door slamd shut

behind them.

Panic rippled through the crowd.

"What, what is this?!"

"No. The exit."

"Why can't I move past the boundary?"

It was too late.

The battlefield was now a sealed hunting ground.

A cold realization gripped every demonic supernatural present.

"If we want to live, we fight!" soone shouted hoarsely. Another snarled in agreent. "This is not the ti to hide your strength. Use everything you have or we die here."

Fear twisted into frenzy.

In the next breath, mana exploded across the ruined settlent.

Flas flared. Frost crawled. Dark curse energy thickened the air. Every demonic supernatural there unleashed their full power, no longer conserving a thing.

A large group broke away from the main cluster and shot toward the

sky.

"Hit the casters!" their leader roared. "Drop them and the do will

crumble."

It was a basic principle anyone who used large scale magic

understood.

Unless it was a pure array or a formation anchored into the terrain,

sustaining a spell of this scope usually locked the casters in place. The larger the magic, the more it pinned the user down. Even if they could still move, it would be sluggish and restricted.

The do that had sealed the settlent was huge.

The ten undead floating high above it were outside the barrier, but

every demonic supernatural knew the logic.

Kill the casters.

Break the spell.

Escape.

They hardened their resolve and shot up in a tight wedge formation,

aura blazing.

However, they never reached their target.

Sothing massive crashed into them from the side.

A blur slamd through the lead attackers like a teor, tearing their formation apart in an instant. Several figures spun away, coughing blood that turned to mist in the freezing air.

The blur slowed.

A giant wolf stood in midair, eyes burning with cold intelligence. Power radiated from its body, dense and oppressive.

"W... wolf...?" soone stamred.

Before they could rally, shapes pulled themselves out of the wolf.

They were black figures with hollow, glowing eyes. Their presence

surged, each one carrying the clear, heavy weight of Rank 3.

"What is th..."

The wolf, who was actually Prince, looked at the demonic creatures

he attacked as if they were already dead while wondering what to do

with them.

Turn them into soul puppets or use them as study materials?

Both options looked good to him.

anwhile, sowhere else in the settlent was a different

battlefield.

Michael watched Ghost and an old man standing at a far distance.

A hunched figure in tattered robes.

Long white hair drifting in the cold wind.

A gnarled staff planted casually at his side.

He did not move.

He simply stood there watching the carnage.

Yet the air around him bent.

Michael narrowed his eyes.

"Sirs." His voice was calm, almost too calm. "That old man... tell he

is Rank 3."