Grok and Queen Derein exchanged glances, their shared concern palpable. Derein voiced her apprehension, her tone tinged with caution. "Rest assured, we shall not allow you to meet your demise so easily. My forces and I will flank the enemy from these angles. Our reserves shall be spared from direct confrontation, focused instead on evacuation and the provision of the finest healing magic and potions to our wounded comrades."
Arthur acknowledged the offer with gratitude, extending his hand in a gesture of camaraderie. "Your commitment is commendable, Queen Derein. My healers and alchemists are at your disposal. Utilize their skills as you see fit."
"Wait, one thing eludes my understanding. Why do we need a second advance? Couldn't we return after decimating the first wave and prepare for a subsequent assault? Why invade amidst their ranks?" the scar-faced king questioned, his expression filled with confusion.
"A valid query, Grok. Even brainless creatures require a commander to guide them in the right direction," Arthur elucidated.
"You mean they have a commander amongst them?" Grok asked, astonishment etched on his face.
"Yes, precisely. There is an A-Rank Threat monster walking within the heart of their horde. I aim to eliminate it, thus crippling one of their legs. This will provide us with a tremendous advantage," Arthur explained.
"Yet, it also poses a grave danger to your life. Slaying an A-Rank monster is no easy feat, especially when we are ignorant of its nature. Do you truly believe you can dispatch such a creature with ease?" Grok cautioned.
"Grok speaks wisdom. You cannot recklessly charge in like a fool," Queen Derein concurred.
The conversation continued, Sir Harold, a king with ebony hair and eyes, interjecting with a proposition. "Allow me to accompany King Arthur into the fray. Together, we can ensure his survival and vanquish this unknown threat. Once this danger is eradicated, we can emerge triumphantly."
Arthur's eyes flickered with gratitude and understanding, but his resolve remained unshakable. "Your willingness to stand by my side is admirable, Sir Harold, but I cannot jeopardize the lives of others on this perilous mission. This task falls solely upon my shoulders, and I shall see it through to the end."
Before any further deliberation could unfold, a knight burst into the tent, his voice filled with urgency. "Sir, they draw near!"
The words hung in the air, a final reminder of the impending battle. The assembled leaders exchanged a knowing glance, the gravity of the situation etched upon their faces. The time for planning and strategizing had come to an end; now, they would face the horrors that awaited them on the battlefield.I think you should take a look at
Amidst the gathering darkness, the air crackled with an electric tension. Arthur, his gaze steely and determined, paused mid-bite and rose from his seat. The clatter of his sword against the table reverberated through the silence of the tent as he lifted it with a firm grip. With purposeful strides, he stepped out into the open, his eyes scanning the horizon.
Before him sprawled a relentless march of undead creatures, a legion of horror that seemed to stretch on endlessly. Grotesque abominations mingled with twisted human forms, a sickening display of decay and malice. Their unhurried advance held a macabre threat, their eyes devoid of life yet brimming with malevolence.
The time for idle talk had come to an end. It was time for action.
Arthur's voice, laden with determination, sliced through the stillness. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have spoken enough. Now is the hour to let our deeds speak for us." With those words, he grasped the hilt of his sword, whispering a silent oath to the weapon he held so dear.
He leaned close to the blade, his voice a mere murmur. "Darling, Don't break down before me, we have to show our enemies who we are." As if in response, the sword pulsed with a vibrant light, as though infused with the very essence of Arthur's unwavering resolve. For this sword, passed down through generations of his family, was no ordinary weapon—it was a symbol of honor, resilience, and the legacy of kings.
[Knight's Vow]
[The Knight's Vow, known far and wide as the Royal Sword, held a storied history within the annals of the kingdom. Wielded by the hands of courageous monarchs in countless battles, it had witnessed the fall of foes and the triumphs of noble hearts. Revered for its unmatched strength, it had become an emblem of power and authority, evoking both fear and respect among those who beheld it.
But what truly set the Knight's Vow apart was its extraordinary ability, an ability known only to a select few. When the wielder stood on the precipice of defeat, with the chill breath of mortality hanging heavy in the air, the sword unleashed an unfathomable surge of power. In those dire moments, when all seemed lost, the Knight's Vow infused its wielder with superhuman strength and endurance. It was a testament to the indomitable spirit of kings and queens, the determination to defy fate and fight against impossible odds.
With the sword's empowering energy coursing through his veins, Arthur became a force to be reckoned with, an embodiment of unparalleled skill and unwavering courage. As the echoes of battle rang out, he would strike down his enemies with resolute precision, leaving behind a trail of fallen foes in his wake. It was said that during these fleeting moments of heightened prowess, Arthur achieved feats that defied the limits of mortal ability. His strikes became swift and deadly, his defense impenetrable—a living testament to the power of the Knight's Vow and the legacy of his bloodline.
But the true purpose of this bestowed strength extended beyond mere survival. It was an invitation to embrace a glorious death, a chance to etch one's name in the annals of history. For the Knight's Vow, in its final act of loyalty, granted its wielder the opportunity to leave a lasting legacy upon the battlefield, a testament to valor and sacrifice that would resonate throughout the ages.]
As Arthur prepared to face the encroaching horde, he could feel the weight of his ancestors' valor upon his shoulders. The Knight's Vow symbolized their unwavering dedication to the protection of the realm—a reminder of the sacrifices made, the battles fought, and the honor upheld. With each step he took, Arthur carried the weight of history, fortified by the legacy of his family.
Beside him, Queen Derein, regal and resolute, donned her gloves with a steady hand. She summoned her majestic bow, a weapon bestowed upon her by her late mother during her final moments. This was no ordinary bow—it was Air Chaser, a testament to the legacy of the queens who had come before.
[Air Chaser]
[Crafted with meticulous precision, Air Chaser was renowned for its extraordinary speed and unerring accuracy. Designed for the most skilled of archers, it harnessed the wielder's mana, channeling it to create arrows that flew with unmatched velocity. With each release, the bow sent forth a torrent of projectiles, capable of raining down devastation upon the enemy at an astonishing pace.
But what truly set Air Chaser apart was its target-locking mechanism. Once a target had been selected, the bow's arrows pursued it relentlessly, refusing to be deterred. Agile and elusive adversaries would find themselves unable to evade the storm of arrows, making Air Chaser a lethal weapon of choice against the most nimble foes.
The bow, however, demanded a great price for its unrivaled speed and relentless assault. Each shot required a significant expenditure of mana, placing a heavy burden upon the wielder. Only those with formidable mana reserves or mastery of mana conservation techniques could truly unlock the bow's full potential without succumbing to exhaustion.
Yet, Air Chaser held within its grip a unique skill—Arrow Rain. When activated, this ability allowed the archer to designate an area, unleashing a deluge of enchanted arrows that fell upon the battlefield like a merciless storm. Within this tempest of death, any living creature caught in its range would meet their demise, the very air saturated with the power of the bow's wrath. It was a skill that turned Air Chaser from a weapon of precision into a force of devastation—an instrument capable of single-target elimination or crowd control, depending on the need of the moment.]
Among all the weapons on the battlefield, these two royal artifacts, the Knight's Vow and the Air Chaser, stood out with their awe-inspiring radiance.
As Arthur and Derein strode forward together, their steps synchronized, a palpable energy permeated the air. The Knight's Vow and Air Chaser, gleaming in their hands, radiated an awe-inspiring presence that commanded respect and fear.
Among all the weapons on the battlefield, these two royal artifacts, the Knight's Vow and the Air Chaser, stood out with their awe-inspiring radiance.
As Queen Derein and Arthur strode forward together, their eyes resolute, Arthur broke the silence.
"Is there anything you wish to say before the battle, Derein?" he asked, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
Derein, her gaze unwavering, responded simply, "Just don't die."
"Is that all?" Arthur inquired, curious.
"What would you have me say? 'I love you, Sir Arthur, please return to me'? " Derein retorted, a touch of humor in her voice.
"Ah, well you said it back when we fought the demons in the dark valleys of west for 1 month straight. You looked very cute back then, i have to say." Arthur spoke with a smile.
"I said that promise on my name, That i would make you my most beloved queen, dear Derein. Do you recall ?" Arthur reminded her with a romantic smile.
Derein blushed, her face turning crimson. "I remember it as if it were yesterday. Why are you saying this now ? You wish to fulfill that promise now? After all these years?"
"That is precisely what I intend. Derein, now that both our spouses are no longer with us, if we survive this war, will you marry me?" Arthur asked, his smile widening.I think you should take a look at
"W-W-Wait !!!! Really ? You are asking me this at this time ?" Deren spoke with a beet red face.
Arthur just listened to her and smiled at her.
Derein's face reddened further as she gazed at Arthur, her voice trembling. "You are teasing me, aren't you ?"
"No, not at all. Throughout the years, I have fulfilled every promise but one remains—the promise to make you my most cherished queen, dear Derein. That is why I ask you now. However, if you wish to decline—"
"I will marry you," Derein interrupted, her words resolute. "But you must survive this war. Promise me that you will return to marry me, Arthur."
Arthur clasped her hand in his, their intertwined fingers a testament to their shared resolve. "I swear upon the Knight's Vow, I shall return to you, my queen, and together, we shall forge a future worthy of our love and valor."
"Very well, then. We shall dance at your wedding. But first, we must dispatch these abominations," Grok chimed in from behind, pointing toward the approaching horde of zombies.
With their royal weapons gleaming and the promise of a future together, Arthur and Derein stood united on the front lines, ready to face the impending battle.
Soldiers, charge!" Arthur bellowed, igniting a surge of adrenaline as the melee soldiers thundered towards the horde of zombies.
Within Anon's Underground city...
No.300 hurried into Anon's room, where he was performing bench presses with his chiseled six-pack abs on full display.
"Master, I..." No.300's voice trailed off as her gaze locked onto Anon's captivating abs, her mind momentarily lost in their mesmerizing allure.
"Yes, No.300?" Anon inquired, noticing her distracted state.
No.300 remained silent, her eyes fixated on Anon's abs.
Anon waved his hand swiftly in front of her entranced eyes, snapping her back to reality. "Hello, No.300."
Startled, No.300 finally regained her composure. "Y-Yes, sir. Everything is ready as you commanded. We are prepared to depart."
Just then, Biyuk burst into the room, panting heavily from the exertion of his rapid dash. He chimed in, struggling to catch his breath. "Master, it's ready and primed for action. We can set off at your command."
"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's roll out," Anon declared with authority, his voice resonating with determination.
The battle raged on, the clash between the valiant soldiers and the relentless zombie horde intensifying with each passing moment. Arthur's commanding voice echoed through the chaos as he rallied his troops.
"Soldiers, charge!" his voice thundered across the battlefield, resolute and unwavering.
With swords firmly gripped in their hands, the warriors surged forward, a wave of determined resolve crashing upon the sea of undead before them. The mages in the rear lines unleashed their potent spells, arcane energies colliding with the relentless advance of the zombies.
Steel clashed against rotting flesh as the soldiers engaged the undead in brutal combat. But amidst the chaos, a startling realization emerged - not all zombies were created equal. Some fell with ease, their decaying bodies no match for the skill and precision of the soldiers' strikes. Yet, there were others, tougher and more resilient, their decomposed flesh resistant to the blades.
"Grok, I'm heading in. Cover me!" Arthur called out, his sword held aloft, ready to carve a path through the undead horde.
"Go on, and be careful," Grok replied, his gaze scanning the battlefield as he skillfully dispatched the zombies threatening to flank Arthur.
Arthur took a deep breath, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. He charged forward, his resolve unwavering. As he neared the heart of the zombie onslaught, a surge of determination coursed through his veins.
"I won't falter," Arthur whispered to himself, a mantra of unwavering resolve.
Then, a sudden surge of power welled within him, drawing upon the depths of his inner strength. With a focused mind and unwavering determination, he unleashed a formidable skill honed through countless battles.
"Here goes nothing! HYAAAAAAA!" Arthur bellowed, his voice resounding through the chaos.
In an instant, a radiant shield of brilliant golden light materialized around the tip of his sword. It crackled with ethereal energy, pulsating with a raw power that sent tremors through the air.
[Golden Shield]
[Gathers mana around the tip of your sword and reforms it into the shape of a shield that glows golden. Enemies touching it will be knocked back, while undead enemies will be instantly burned based on their defenses.
This skill can be used three times per day, with a limited duration.
Mana consumption for this skill is minimal, near zero.]
The shield, a testament to Arthur's indomitable will and unwavering determination, radiated a potent aura of protection. With a surge of energy, he charged headlong into the horde, the brilliant shield leading the way.
As the zombies came into contact with the shield, they met a swift and fiery demise. Flames erupted from their decaying bodies, their wails of agony filling the air. The golden shield repelled them, knocking them back with an explosive force.
Grok, ever vigilant, continued his valiant efforts on the battlefield, ensuring that no threat approached Arthur from the rear. His powerful strikes cleaved through the undead with deadly precision, each swing a testament to his unwavering resolve.I think you should take a look at
Meanwhile, Arthur pressed deeper into the heart of the horde, his golden shield a beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. Within seconds, he reached the core of the enemy's ranks, only to be greeted by a sight that sent a shiver down his spine.
At the center of the horde stood a monstrous being, unlike any he had encountered before. It possessed not just two, but four long and sinewy arms, each ending in razor-sharp claws that dripped with the blood of countless victims. Its lower body was equally grotesque, with four elongated, skeletal legs that granted it an unsettling speed and agility. It scuttled across the ground with an otherworldly grace, a nightmare given form.
The zombie Chimera's eyes burned with an intense crimson glow, radiating malevolence that pierced the very souls of those who met its gaze. It saw through the darkness with a terrifying clarity, a predator in search of its next meal.
But what truly set this abomination apart was the grotesque sight within its exposed chest cavity. There, a beating heart lay encased within a cage of cold, unyielding steel bones. It pulsed with an unholy energy, as if fueled by the suffering and despair it inflicted upon its victims.
The zombie Chimera, a wretched fusion of life and death, embodied pure horror. It was a creature born of nightmares, an embodiment of terror that served as a chilling reminder of the boundaries humanity should never dare to cross.
"Graaawwwwrrrrrr...." The zombie Chimera growled, its guttural roar reverberating through the battlefield. Everyone present felt the weight of its presence, though only the undead leader and its soldiers truly comprehended its significance.
Frank, ever observant, swiftly made his way towards Grok, urgency etched on his face.
"Sir, Grok. Chk-Chk," Frank interjected, swiftly dispatching three zombies with a single, fluid swing of his sword.
"What is it, Frank?" Grok responded, his attention momentarily diverted from the horde.
"We have to call the king back, or he will meet his demise at this rate," Frank explained, his words underscored by a sense of urgency.
Grok's eyes widened, his mind racing to comprehend the situation. "How do you know this? Explain!"
"The cry we heard, it was the 'Undead's Cry.'"
Frank took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, before delivering his explanation. "Undead's Cry is a forbidden skill, known only to the undead creatures themselves. It is a testament to their sinister connection to the realms beyond the living. When an undead creature's master assigns them a task, this skill becomes their instrument to fulfill it. However, it comes at a heavy price."
"As the skill is invoked, the user taps into the depths of hell, channeling dark powers that seep through the veil between the living and the dead. These powers infuse the undead with otherworldly strength, enabling them to perform feats beyond mortal capabilities."
Frank's voice held a tinge of caution as he continued, his words laced with both knowledge and trepidation. "During the activation of Undead's Cry, the user becomes virtually invincible for a duration of ten minutes. No conventional means can bring about their demise, not even the most potent forms of holy magic. It is as if they have become untouchable, shielded by an impenetrable darkness that repels any attempts to harm them."
"Furthermore, Undead's Cry grants the user a remarkable transformation. Their form becomes unnaturally nimble, moving with an agility and grace that defies their decaying nature. Their muscles surge with newfound strength, bestowing them with enhanced physical prowess that surpasses the limits of their mortal coil."
Frank paused, his gaze meeting Grok's, a sense of foreboding permeating the air. "However, such power comes at a great cost. As the undead creature taps into the wellspring of dark energy, their own physical body begins to deteriorate rapidly. Flesh withers, bones crack, and life essence drains away, sacrificed to sustain the intense potency of Undead's Cry. Once the skill's duration expires, the undead is left weakened, their body on the brink of collapse, as the toll for wielding this formidable ability is exacted in full."
Grok's brow furrowed, his mind absorbing the gravity of the situation. "So, it's like an overcharge, but much more potent?"
Frank nodded solemnly, his expression filled with a mixture of fear and determination. "No, Grok, it's ten times more powerful than a human's overcharge. It pushes their bodies to the limits and extracts a heavy toll."
As realization washed over Grok, his gaze sharpened, determination replacing any traces of doubt. "He was sent here to kill Arthur. This entire commander role was a trap, and we fell right into it. Damn it," Grok gritted his teeth, his grip tightening around his weapon.
The battlefield seethed with the intensity of the ongoing conflict, the clash of steel and the stench of death hanging heavy in the air. Amidst the chaos, Arthur, shielded by his golden aura, continued his valiant charge into the heart of the zombie horde. Grok and Frank stood side by side, their determination etched upon their faces, ready to face whatever horrors awaited them.
The fate of the kingdom hung in the balance, and the heroes would stop at nothing to ensure that the light prevailed over the encroaching darkness.
Amidst the chaos and carnage, a fierce determination burned within Grok's eyes. He stood tall, his muscles rippling with raw power, as he faced off against the abominable chimera. The very air crackled with tension as the two adversaries locked eyes, a battle of wills about to unfold.
"How long did you say the skill will last?" Grok's voice rumbled with a mix of anticipation and urgency.
"Ten minutes, but he won't survive the backlash. This chimera is composed of various creatures and humans, a volatile combination," Frank explained, his voice laced with caution.
"Derein, clear a path to Arthur. This was all a setup, designed to get him killed," Grok bellowed, his voice echoing with a commanding presence.
"Understood!" Derein's response resonated with determination as she positioned herself, ready to unleash her ultimate skill.
With a resounding battle cry, Derein called forth the power of the heavens. The sky crackled with energy as she unleashed a torrent of arrows, thousands of them raining down upon the horde of zombies that encroached upon them.
The arrows blazed with an ethereal glow, each finding its mark with deadly precision. The once-thriving horde was reduced to a field of lifeless corpses, their threat extinguished in an instant.
"Arthur, fall back! I'm coming for you!" Grok's voice thundered, carrying with it the weight of his unwavering resolve. But as the words left his lips, he realized there was no response from Arthur.
With a furrowed brow, Arthur stared intently at the zombie chimera, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension in his eyes. The monstrous creature, with veins pulsating and muscles bulging, underwent a rapid transformation. Its form twisted and contorted, growing more grotesque with every passing second.
"What the hell are you? Even demons look more human than you," Arthur's voice cut through the tension, his gaze locked onto the ever-changing entity before him.
The zombie chimera paused, its gaze shifting towards Arthur, its eyes filled with a malevolent intensity that chilled the air. The creature exuded an aura of impending doom, a harbinger of destruction.
Arthur tightened his grip on his sword, assuming a defensive stance. He steeled himself for the inevitable onslaught, determined to block the first attack and retaliate with unwavering resolve.
But in the blink of an eye, the chimera vanished from sight. Its movements were a blur, too swift for Arthur's eyes to follow, let alone defend against. The young warrior's eyes darted around, searching for any trace of his foe, but it seemed to have vanished into thin air.I think you should take a look at
"Arthur, above you!" Grok's voice boomed, filled with urgency. In one swift motion, he grabbed Arthur, pulling him out of harm's way just in the nick of time.
A thunderous impact shook the ground as the chimera's massive spiked feet crashed down where Arthur had stood only moments before. The sheer power and ferocity of the creature were unfathomable.
"He can change his body parts?" Grok's voice held a tinge of awe, his eyes fixated on the formidable adversary.
"Yes, he's just transformed. Earlier, he appeared as a seemingly ordinary human with four arms and four legs," Arthur explained, his voice betraying a mix of fascination and concern.
"What kind of 'ordinary' human has four arms?" Grok's incredulous question hung in the air as he continued to observe the chimera's monstrous form.
"You don't understand. He can undergo radical metamorphosis," Arthur tried to convey the complexity of the situation.
"Ah, that must be the result of his skill, Undead's Cry," Grok interjected, his tone filled with a glimmer of understanding as he scrutinized the creature, which now stood motionless.
Arthur's confusion lingered, but his focus sharpened. "Regardless of the details, his reaction time is slow. This is our chance to strike," he declared, his voice filled with unwavering determination.
With unyielding resolve, Arthur charged toward the chimera, his sword poised to strike. He leaped into the air, aiming to sever the creature's neck with a single decisive blow.
And with a mighty swing, his blade connected, slicing through flesh and bone. The chimera's head tumbled to the ground, victory seemingly within reach.
Arthur turned to Grok, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "I did it! You see, Grok, that's how—"
Before he could finish his sentence, a chilling revelation shattered the moment of triumph. In an astonishing display of regeneration, the chimera swiftly reattached its severed head in the blink of an eye.
"No, Arthur, behind you!" Grok's voice resounded with desperation, a plea to avert the impending disaster. But it was too late. A razor-sharp claw pierced through Arthur's chest, impaling him with devastating force.
Time seemed to stand still as Arthur's body hung lifelessly from the chimera's claw. Grok's heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of grief and fury surging through his veins.
"Tell Derein... I love her... my friend," Arthur's voice faltered, his words carrying a bittersweet affection as his gaze locked onto Grok, a faint smile playing upon his lips.
"Noooooo!" Grok's anguished cry pierced the air as he tapped into the depths of his power, unleashing his two ultimate skills.