The relentless horde of undead surged forward, propelled by their decaying legs, while the soldiers hurriedly completed their defensive preparations.
Closing in at an alarming pace, the horde closed the gap to a mere twenty meters in no time.
The air became thick with the putrid stench of rotting flesh, intermingled with the sickening scent of blood and other repulsive odors.
Taking to the skies, Archer positioned himself in front of the six hundred soldiers, he was going to test if he could use his mana.
So he cast bolts made from the light element. His outstretched hands became the epicenter of a dazzling swarm of radiant energy, enveloping him in a brilliant glow.
As he focused his power, a torrential rainstorm of bolts erupted from his palm, descending upon the advancing horde with ferocity.
The radiant bolts streaked through the air, trails of ethereal light as they found their targets among the undead.
