novelraw Chapter 21 : [Undead Legion and the Undead Elite]
Chapter 21 : [Undead Legion and the Undead Elite]
Chapter 21: [Undead Legion and the Undead Elite]
【Nether-Copper Resonator activated.】
【Strike the Nether-Copper to release a resonance signal. The signal’s propagation range correlates with its amplitude.】
Strike it?
Samael raised his sword and shield, intending to knock the hilt against the shield as he had done to intimidate the Bandit Chief Swordsman before—but after a moment’s hesitation, he lowered both.
The clanging of sword and shield would be far too loud.
They were still too close to Randall’s squad; such a sound was unsafe and could easily be heard.
Snap!
Samael lifted his gauntlet and snapped his fingers.
A faint cyan spark burst from the colliding Nether-Copper fingertips, and an invisible ripple spread outward with a crisp crack.
Within a fifty-meter radius, the earth suddenly bulged.
Something beneath was stirring, rustling through the soil with a suffocating, hollow hiss—half dying gasp, half ancient sigh.
The next second, a broken skeletal hand tore through the ground, groping at the air. Then came an arm covered in a rusted iron bracer, a shattered half of shoulder armor, a head encased in an iron helm, and a torso clad in a tattered cuirass—it struggled to its feet, stepping on decayed boots, crawling out from the loose soil of the Kanna Plains.
In its bony grip lay a corroded, half-broken sword.
Frequent duststorms on the Kanna Plains had made the soil extremely loose, composed mostly of drifting sediment. Corpses buried within, steeped in spirit energy, eventually became Undead Constructs entombed beneath the surface.
“...You’re the one controlling it?” Thaleia looked at Samael.
“I suppose... yes.” Samael muttered, stepping closer to study the skeletal soldier. “Keep watch on Randall and his men. I need to figure out how this thing works...”
Thaleia nodded, moving between Samael and the camp, her gaze fixed toward the distant tents.
The skeletal warrior stood motionless before Samael, holding its broken sword under the sunlight, silent as a statue.
【Scanner activated.】
【Spirit Energy Construct (Primary Material: Organic Matter)】
【Construct-type artificial lifeform created through biomass recycling. Retains the original biological structure; may preserve partial motion data. Cheap, easily generated in spirit energy-rich environments. Suitable for simple labor.】
【Control methods include, but are not limited to: Nether-Copper resonance signals, psionic implant modification, or Aether-type spirit signal overwriting circuits.】
【Source: Naturally generated】
【Status: Decayed】
【Structural Integrity: 41%】
【Stamina: 92%】
【Available biological posture slots: 2】
【Recorded Posture: Razor Formation (1/2, incomplete)】
【@Refresh@】
【Posture Analysis: Razor Formation】
【Military formation usable with >50 units; ineffective below 6. A cooperative wedge formation that divides and pierces enemy ranks, effective when equipped with standard swords, shields, and spears—requires at least two of each.】
【Database updated.】
【Recorded to “Artificial Biology – Biological Posture Data” Library.】
【Usable by this unit.】
Looks like this corpse was once an Imperial soldier... this combat formation was military-grade.
Useless for a lone unit.
Samael pondered.
Still, postures could be deleted or overwritten.
He pressed his gauntleted palm against the skull of the skeletal soldier.
【Target posture slots reading...】
【Posture “Razor Formation” cleared.】
【Posture “Blade-Deflection Stance” recorded.】
【Posture “Focused Step” recorded.】
【Posture slots full (2/2).】
Interesting... so he could modify and adjust undead soldiers like this.
Samael rubbed the chin of his helmet.
But did he have to rely on Nether-Copper resonance signals to command it?
And those only allowed broad movement or combat stance control—no fine manipulation. He recalled the scanner’s note:
【Control methods include, but are not limited to: Nether-Copper resonance signals, psionic implant modification, or Aether-type spirit signal overwriting circuits.】
Psionic implants... it seemed anything could be controlled with them.
He opened the UI panel and searched for “Psionic Implant.”
【Artificial Biology – Psionic Implants】
【Implanted devices used for precise control of constructs. Made from Nether-Copper. Allow high-precision remote operation across Aetheric distances.】
【Tier 0 Technology. Can be manufactured via Nether-Copper Printer.】
Samael’s eyes narrowed.
He extended his gauntlet and seized the skeleton’s head.
Molten, glowing-red Nether-Copper flowed from his palm, forging itself into a bell-shaped helm that encased the skull completely.
【Nether-Copper reserves: 40%】
【@Refresh@】
【Nether-Copper reserves: 20%】
【Psionic Implant installed.】
【High-precision remote operation enabled.】
【Posture slot capacity expanded. Current slots: 2/5】
【Stamina limit increased.】
【Structural strength enhanced.】
【Posture control refined.】
【Artificial voice module installed.】
【Nether-Copper Resonance Signal Relay installed.】
Samael flexed his fingers—the skeletal warrior in the bell helm mirrored his motion precisely.
Ah... psionic implants were for elite units, capable of fine control.
He realized at once. Makes sense—if every undead required micromanagement, one’s mind would burn out with too many under command.
There were, in truth, two ways to command undead.
The first: Nether-Copper Resonance Signals.
By striking a resonator, one could broadcast commands to masses of low-tier undead—forming entire battle formations.
Control precision was low, but range and quantity immense.
The larger the sound, the wider the range—from a snap, to a clang of sword and shield, even to forging an entire Nether-Copper war drum.
The second: Psionic Implants—Nether-Copper-based control devices allowing micromanagement of elite units.
Crafting implants consumed Nether-Copper, and the number of units controlled depended on both material resources and mental focus. However, they vastly enhanced a construct’s power, making them elite units and relay nodes for legion-wide control signals.
Wasn’t this exactly like Alexei Stukov, the Infested Commander from StarCraft II?
Swarms of expendable fodder under broad control, and powerful elites under fine command.
Returning to himself, Samael pressed a hand to the helm, melting the Nether-Copper and reabsorbing it.
His remaining supply was too limited—barely enough to craft two more implant helms besides his sword and shield.
Only two elite units at most.
He’d need to unlock the Level 1 Material Science tech node “Nether-Copper Generator” soon... though that might require venturing deep underground to search for Ruins of the Divine Era. That would have to wait.
Snap.
Cyan sparks scattered as the skeletal warrior collapsed backward, writhing briefly before half-burying itself once again beneath the drifting soil.
The Beastbone Hills of the Kanna Plains likely hid many such skeletal soldiers, buried in the dust and waiting to ambush passing travelers.
Samael’s eyes glinted with anticipation.
One resonance snap covered a fifty-meter radius—what if he struck sword to shield instead? How many undead could he awaken at once?
He paused.
Perhaps... that should wait until nightfall, during the ambush on the convoy.
Samael sheathed his sword, reforging his shield in passing to mend the dent carved into it by the Bloodsteel Sword’s impact.
“There’s a problem with the dung collectors,” Thaleia suddenly reported, still on watch.
“What happened?” Samael stepped closer.
“They’ve moved too far—outside the range of our Predatory Aura and Necromantic Halo deterrence. A corrupted creature is attacking them.” Thaleia looked skyward. “A Dragon-Gryphon.”
A massive reddish-brown gryphon circled above the camp.
Its talons and neck gleamed with blue-green scales, and a ridge of deep cyan spines lined its back.
Crocodilian fangs filled its beak in overlapping rows.
Like the flock of Demonic Ravens earlier, it had been drawn by the bandits’ corpses and their stench of blood—but it had discovered a greater prize: a group of living humans.
“This is a good chance—remember how they were wondering why we never encountered undead or corrupted beasts while traveling with them? We can use this moment to stage a little act, clear our suspicion.” Samael’s tone was calm. “You quietly take control of the Dragon-Gryphon. I’ll manipulate a corpse or two to make it look like a fight. A brief clash—then we drive them off.”
“No problem.” Thaleia’s eyes flashed with ghostly blue light as she fixed them on the creature above.
...
“Dragon-Gryphon!” Randall shouted, drawing his bow.
A specially crafted beast-slaying arrow whistled through the air toward the creature.
This is a Beast-Repelling Arrow, its arrowhead hollowed and drilled so that when it passed through the air, it emitted a sharp, whistling sound like that of a flute—used to frighten or drive away low-level monsters.
But against the Dragon-Gryphon, it was useless.
The creature flapped its massive wings, its hardened feathers swatting the arrow aside.
The severely wounded Elliot had already been moved into the Ancient Imperial Watchtower Ruins, to prevent him from being dehydrated under the sunlight. Ruby and Grad were tending to him inside the structure, while Selina and Randall stood guard outside, defending against the Dragon-Gryphon.
The Rune Stone Disc turned; the circuit of the magic array shifted and reassembled. Selina placed two Fire Beast Glands and a Flint Stone into the groove of the rune stone, then raised her staff high!
A small oil bubble appeared on the surface of the rune stone at the staff’s tip. With a sharp click from the flint, it transformed into an expanding, orange-red fireball.
Oil and fire spewed endlessly from the rune stone’s surface, the fiery sphere swelling like a balloon—from fingertip size to that of a full person—then detaching from the array, floating slowly toward the Dragon-Gryphon.
The creature shrieked sharply, dodging the massive fire-oil bubble in alarm.
Selina gasped for breath, concentrating as she raised her staff higher, tilting it slightly to guide the burning bubble in pursuit, attempting to drive the beast away.
But the bubble drifted too slowly.
The Dragon-Gryphon folded its wings, sweeping past the bubble’s flank, then suddenly opened its beak and spat out a small clump of half-digested, rotting beast bones.
The remains struck the oil bubble—instantly triggering an explosion. Orange-red fire and burning oil splattered outward, bursting in the sky like a fiery blossom.
The Dragon-Gryphon swerved clear of the blast and let out a mocking screech.
“Save your mana. Floating Fireballs are too mentally draining.” Randall glanced toward Selina, who leaned on her staff, panting.
“...Got it.” Selina pressed her aching forehead.
“Brother Randall, let us handle this.” A familiar voice called from not far away.
Randall turned—two knights were already striding toward him.
“No need, we can handle it. We just need to drive it off,” Randall explained, reaching for his Enchanted Arrows at his belt.
But the black-armored Monk Talan had already snatched up a nearby half-split log and hurled it.
A piercing cry rang out—the log struck the Dragon-Gryphon’s body. Though it caused no real harm, it seemed to have enraged the beast.
The massive reddish-brown form dove downward, its talons slashing toward Monk Talan.
Talan sneered, swinging his Hammer-Spear in a fierce upward arc. The blow struck the Dragon-Gryphon head-on, knocking it sideways. The creature skidded across the soil, dirt flying, carving a deep scar into the ground.
Whoosh! She held her heavy hammer-spear horizontally, spinning it once in the air before dragging it along the ground, step by step approaching the fallen beast.
The faint blue light beneath her demon-horned black helm dimmed—the control was released.
Freed from its master’s forced attack command, the Dragon-Gryphon screamed in terror, beating its injured wings, taking off unsteadily and fleeing into the distance.
“Ah… thank you, Monk Talan.” Randall nodded in gratitude.
“Brother Randall, you and your group go tend to Elliot. We’ll guard the perimeter.” Samael took the initiative warmly, volunteering for the task.
【Nether-Copper Resonator activated.】
Snap. Behind his back, his fingers brushed together, releasing faint blue sparks.
【Attack signal released.】
“Watch out!” Randall suddenly shouted, thrusting his sword downward!
Clang!
A sharp clash of metal rang out—a rusted, broken sword met Randall’s blade at Samael’s feet.
A skeletal warrior had reached from the dusty soil beneath Samael, swinging its sword at his leg—only to be blocked by Randall’s strike.
“...Sorry, I overreacted.” Randall exhaled, realizing that the man before him wasn’t a lightly armored comrade of rank two or three, but the heavily armored Brother Samo.
An opponent of this level couldn’t even scratch his armor.
“No, no, thank you, Brother Randall. I was distracted just now, almost missed it.” Samael thanked repeatedly, then smashed his shield down, crushing the skull, and kicked the skeletal warrior away—its cracked bones and rusted armor scattering across the ground. “Go back inside and take care of Elliot. We’ll stand guard out here.”
“Then... thank you. We’ll take turns later.” Randall nodded sincerely, before he and Selina returned to the ruins to check on Elliot’s condition.
Inside the dim, stone-walled room, scattered bedrolls and hammocks of the bandits lay strewn about, along with their cluttered gear.
Strips of dried Riftclaw Bird meat hung from the wall, and sacks of grain were piled in the corner.
Ruby sat silently in a corner, staring at the crimson Bloodsteel Greatsword, trying to concoct a targeted healing potion.
Grad had gone to fetch water from the well behind the bandit camp.
When Selina entered, she quickly jogged to Ruby’s side to discuss how best to accelerate the healing of the wound caused by the crimson blade.
“Cough... cough...” Elliot lay flat on the central bed, claw-like fingers clutching his Skull Coin, wheezing as he looked toward Randall entering the room. “There were sounds of fighting outside... what happened?”
“The usual—monsters and undead attacks,” Randall explained. “The two Monks helped drive them off. Don’t worry—”
“Wait... cough... cough—did you say those two were fighting against the monsters and undead?” Elliot struggled to sit up.
“Hey, don’t move yet, you’ll reopen your wound.” Randall hurried to help him up. “There was a Dragon-Gryphon and a skeletal warrior, but both Monks handled it. It’s fine now.”
“When they were fighting the corrupted creatures... cough... were the monsters attacking you, or them?” Elliot asked.
“Hmm... they were after us at first, but once Monk Talan appeared, they turned to attack her instead. She injured the beast, and it fled.” Randall replied.
Elliot fell silent for a long moment.
“What about the undead?” he pressed.
“It was an ambusher—it reached out from the soil with a broken sword, trying to slash Brother Samo’s leg. I blocked it—but honestly, with Samo’s armor, even if I hadn’t, it wouldn’t have done anything.”
Elliot nodded, rubbing the Skull Coin in his palm, signaling he understood.
“What’s wrong?” Randall asked.
“Nothing.” Elliot snorted. “Damn it, must’ve caught your paranoia, kid. Been hanging around you too long—I’m getting jumpy myself! Forget it.”
He slowly reclined again, lying flat as he raised the Skull Coin, gazing quietly at the ancient patterns gleaming on its surface.
“So it was just luck after all,” he muttered, staring at the skull engraving.
“Say, that big coin you always carry—your lucky charm?” Randall asked.
“Cough... why ask all of a sudden?” Elliot glanced sideways.
“Just realized—it’s been almost a year since you joined us, and we still know so little about you. We don’t even know your family name.” Randall sighed. “And stuff like... you killing all those bandits—if I’d known earlier, maybe we wouldn’t have spent so long arguing over decisions like that.”
“I’m not like you. I don’t want a surname. Just call me Elliot.” He rolled his eyes. “Tch! My lousy old man was a drunk and a gambler, drowning in debt. My cheap mother ran off and forgot to take me—though maybe she just didn’t want the baggage.”
He sighed.
“I tried to run away, too—but every time I failed, he’d beat me bloody. Crying, punching, muttering about fate and the goddess of luck, saying even his own son was turning against him.”
“My drunk father’s gambling was bad enough—but worse, his luck was terrible. Lost his money, lost his land. Then he mortgaged the house, took out a usurer’s loan.”
“When he lost that too, the debt collector came. He got drunk again, raving that he’d gamble one last time.”
“If he won, he’d keep the house. If he lost, he’d hand over his last possession—his son—as a slave.”
“I was eleven that year.”
Elliot laughed harshly, the sound tinged with madness.
“The lender was a tall, thin man dressed head to toe in black leather—a scarf over his face, a hat, a long coat. Like a shadow stretched thin by candlelight at midnight.”
“He accepted the bet. Played two rounds of cards with my father—one win, one loss. Two rounds of dice—the same. The dice rolled on the table like tiny skulls. The cards scraped like guillotine blades.”
“From morning till night they played. Finally, when darkness fell, the shadowy man looked out the window and said, ‘It’s late. Let’s not waste time. One last game—a coin toss, heads or tails. Winner takes all.’”
“So he pulled out a Skull Coin—one side a skull, the other a crown.”
“My father bet on the crown. The collector took the skull.”
“When he prepared to flip the coin, I saw his fingers twitch by his pocket—he switched it out for one with two skull sides.”
Elliot chuckled darkly.
“I didn’t speak. Just watched my father lose, watched him scream and lunge, watched the collector stab him a dozen times with a Serpentine Curved Sword, watched him thrash in his own blood.”
“The collector was an assassin. Took contracts from nobles in the Floren Capital, ran with gangs in the slums of the Edric Empire, and lived like a dog among bandits in the wastelands. When he grew tired, he wanted a quiet place where no one knew him. So he needed a house.”
“The loan shark knew him and offered a deal—kill the gambler and take his house. From the start, he wasn’t gambling—he was waiting for night to fall.”
“He didn’t sell me. Instead, he handed me the double-skull coin and said, there’s a spider that slaughters ants and lives among them, pretending to be one. He was that spider. He needed my father’s home and name to hide from his enemies.”
“So we hauled my father’s corpse onto a cart, took it far away, and disposed of it. When we returned, he moved in—became my adoptive father. He taught me how to kill, how to blend in, how to sneak into guarded places... and slowly turned me into a spider, just like him.”
Elliot sighed, raising the Skull Coin again, staring at the engraved skull.
“This isn’t a lucky coin. I don’t believe in luck. My real father did—and look how he ended up. Tch.”
“This coin doesn’t stand for luck—it stands for the future. Like my adoptive father, I don’t believe in luck. Only in what’s ahead. Maybe someday, your whole life changes overnight—and what once seemed unbearable isn’t so bad anymore.” He coughed lightly.
“I’m cheap, but tough. Even if some damned life-draining sword stabs me, I’ll live.”
“When life gets hard, I look at this coin, remember that night. I was desperate then—wanted to die—but I crawled through that nightmare and found a different life waiting.”
“Until you’ve lived it, you’ll never know what comes next.” He smiled faintly. “If I gave up halfway, wouldn’t that be a shame? The future’s got plenty of good things waiting.”
He pressed the Skull Coin to his chest.
“It will.” He whispered, gazing at the cracked white ceiling of the ancient watchtower ruins.
If his eyes had shifted just a little, he would have seen a Demonic Raven crouched in a gap at the ceiling’s corner, holding a lump of brownish-yellow mold in its beak, curiously watching the room.
But wounded and unfocused, Elliot didn’t notice. Even if he had, he’d have thought it just another harmless, idle creature.
Everyone inside was busy with their own work—only Randall paused, hearing the faint flutter of wings. He looked up toward the sound.
The gap in the ceiling corner was empty. Nothing there.
Probably just the wind, he thought.
After all, the powerful Brother Samo and Monk Talan, both as strong as Level-Seven Adventurers, were guarding outside.
This place was safe.