Inside a grand hall, seven kings and queen convened around a formidable table, their gazes locked in tense anticipation. The air crackled with a palpable energy, a mix of urgency and skepticism.
"So, Arthur, if I understand correctly, an army of undead is marching towards your continent with the intent to annihilate it, isn't that right?" One of the kings rose from his seat, a mocking smile etched on his face. King Alfred, known for his sharp wit and cunning, relished the opportunity to provoke.
"King Alfred, I hold you in high regard, but I've already stated this multiple times in the past two hours... I don't have the fucking time to repeat myself, again and again." A man, around 58 years old, with vibrant green hair and piercing green eyes, spoke with a touch of weariness in his voice. He was none other than King Arthur, the resolute ruler of the continent that Anon called home.
"Arthur, do not show such attitude towards me. It is you who seeks assistance, not I," Alfred retorted, his face now contorted with anger.
"You're right; I should not speak to you in such a manner..." Arthur's voice trailed off as he rose slowly from his seat. He knew that diplomacy was crucial at this moment, but his patience had worn thin.
"Yes, that's the tone befitting a king who seeks aid and-"
"You foolish imbecile! If I do not act swiftly, my people will perish within the next 17 hours. Do you think I care about the way I speak to you?" Arthur shouted, his eyes fixated on all the kings and queens gathered around the table. His voice reverberated through the hall, commanding attention.
His words hung in the air, and a solemn silence fell upon the assembly. The weight of the impending disaster settled on their shoulders, eclipsing any personal disagreements.
"Today, I find myself questioning why I am even present in this assembly. I was meant to meet the heads of the seven royal families. I shall take my leave now, but before I go, I have one final thing to say to all of you." Arthur paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle in the room.
"If we fail to defend our continent, not only will the undead march upon your lands next, but they will also gain strength in numbers, for they possess the ability to transform humans into their kind with a mere bite." Arthur's voice carried an unwavering resolve as he turned to depart the hall, his steps echoing with purpose.
"Wait, Sir Arthur," a lady rose from her seat, her commanding presence halting Arthur in his tracks. Queen Derein, known for her unwavering determination and strategic acumen, stepped forward.
She appeared to be around 26 years old, tall and self-assured, draped in the royal robes of a queen, with a leering cane in her hand. Her eyes radiated determination and loyalty to her kingdom.
"Yes, Queen Derein?" Arthur pivoted, his attention now focused on her.
"We shall dispatch our entire forces to aid your frontlines, reserving only a basic defense for our own protection against any possible ambush," Derein announced, her voice steady and resolute.
"I shall remember this act of solidarity, Queen Derein," Arthur responded, acknowledging her support with a respectful nod.
"This is not merely a gesture of goodwill; it is a matter of security. I am determined to safeguard my continent and ensure the future of this kingdom. Those who endorse my decision, raise your hands," Derein declared, extending her hand in demonstration.
As she raised her hand, another gentleman followed suit. He possessed jet-black hair, black eyes, and a prominent scar that concealed his left eye. Two additional kings and queens joined in solidarity, while two remained silent, including Alfred.I think you should take a look at
"We shall commence our march as soon as we return. I have already instructed my knight captains to assemble the finest soldiers at our disposal. Let us convene on the frontlines before dusk falls," Derein proclaimed, her voice carrying an air of confidence and determination.
"But Queen Derein, there is no sun visible today. Heavy rain has enveloped the land since yesterday. How will we discern the location of the sun?" one of the kings inquired, his brow furrowed with concern.
"Prepare your soldiers. The sun will reveal itself once it descends," Derein responded confidently, her gaze unwavering.
"That's preposterous! How can the sun appear amidst such dense clouds?" Alfred interjected, skepticism lacing his voice.
"Indeed, the sun may never shine for someone like you again." Derein mocked Alfred.
"In three hours, I shall reveal the sun's location, albeit briefly. I implore all of you to observe it carefully and calculate the estimated time of its descent beyond the horizon. That shall be our appointed meeting hour," Derein explained, her words delivered with an unyielding determination that left no room for doubt.
"I acknowledge Queen Derein's decision and shall now depart to prepare my army for the impending march. Until later, everyone," the scarred-faced king declared, his voice tinged with a quiet resolve.
"Likewise, I shall take my leave to rally my soldiers."
"Well, it seems I require some time to make the necessary preparations."
The remaining supportive kings swiftly assented to Derein's decision and left to ready their armies for the impending battle. The urgency in the air intensified, a collective determination driving each ruler to act swiftly.
"Well, it appears you have garnered ample support. I shall take my leave as well, hmm...?" Alfred stood up from his chair, a mixture of frustration and reluctance evident on his face.
"Rest assured, Alfred, I will not forget this. I vow to repay you tenfold," Arthur stated resolutely, his eyes locked with Alfred's.
"Heh, first survive, then we can entertain such talk. Meh-Meh-Meh... a mere wordsmith." Alfred sneered, his retort steeped in skepticism and mockery, before turning and leaving the room.
Now, only two men remained within the hall: Arthur and an elderly gentleman in his nineties. The atmosphere grew solemn, the weight of their decisions and the impending battle palpable.
His silver beard shimmering, and his robe reminiscent of a samurai, complete with a regal cape, the old man exuded an aura of wisdom and experience. Sir Grad, the revered elder, known for his strategic brilliance and unyielding loyalty, stood silently.
"Sir Grad, may I ascertain whether you stand with me or not? For if you choose not to speak, I shall assume you have no intention of lending your aid," Arthur inquired, seeking clarification.
Grad, though his aged frame appeared frail, held an air of unwavering resolve. Without uttering a word, he stood and fixing his curved swords on his back, his eyes meeting Arthur's for a fleeting moment, before he turned and exited the hall. His silence spoke volumes, leaving Arthur to decipher his intentions.
"I believe I have my answer..." Arthur's voice trailed off, a mix of resignation and determination in his tone. Before he could complete his sentence, a peculiar sound emanated from the table situated between the chairs.
"What is th-" Arthur's hand reached out to touch the table, causing it to tremor violently, as if cleaved by an exceedingly sharp blade. The shards fell to the floor, forming a single word, 'Yes.'
"You could have simply spoken. There is no need to always showcase your skills, old man." Arthur exclaimed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, as he too departed the room.
As Arthur left the grand hall, his thoughts swirled with a mix of hope and trepidation. The path ahead was uncertain, and the looming battle would test their mettle and resilience. The fate of their continents rested on their shoulders, and the decisions made within those walls would shape the course of their shared destiny.
Each ruler, with their armies and determination, prepared to face the approaching darkness, knowing that only together could they stand a chance against the imminent threat. Their paths would converge on the frontlines, their resolve unyielding as they embraced the challenges ahead.
In the face of adversity, alliances were forged, and destiny beckoned. The battle for survival had begun, and within the hearts of these kings and queens burned the flames of valor, ready to ignite a new chapter in their history.
King Alfred returned to his room, his footsteps echoing in the silence. With a regal air, he removed his royal robe and cape, letting them fall to the ground. Yet, as he did so, an unnerving sensation crept up his spine, a feeling that he was not alone. Instinctively, his hand found the hilt of his sword, drawing it forth with a swift, practiced motion.
Turning with graceful swiftness, he pointed the blade towards the unseen presence. There, standing before him, was a figure draped in black from head to toe, their face concealed within the depths of a dark cloth.
"How dare you enter my chamber without my permission?" King Alfred's voice thundered with authority, his gaze unwavering.
The figure stood it's ground, it's voice heavy and commanding. "It is urgent, my master has sent me to inform you of a change in the plans."
"Change in the plans?" King Alfred's voice dripped with skepticism. "Listen here, you insolent fool. I have entrusted your master with the wealth and resources to forge an invincible army, one that cannot be vanquished or feared. If you dare speak of altering our agreement, I shall unleash a wrath upon you that will reduce you to mere dog food. Inform your master that if he wishes to modify the plans, he better present himself before me like a lowly cur and explain himself."
King Alfred's grip tightened around the collar of the mysterious intruder, asserting his dominance. The figure remained calm, their eyes locked on the king's unwavering gaze.
"As you wish," the figure responded, their voice low and stoic, before vanishing from the room as if they were never there.
With a satisfied nod, King Alfred released his grip on the collar and turned back to his task at hand. He resumed removing his clothes, the weight of the encounter still lingering in his mind. It was then, in the midst of his contemplation, that another presence materialized behind him.I think you should take a look at
The figure appeared to be in their thirties, with a cascade of blonde hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Dressed in a pristine white lab coat and donning a pair of glasses, the newcomer exuded an air of intelligence and authority.
"You called, Alfred?" the man's voice was calm, but there was an underlying tension in the air.
"Haha! So, you have arrived," King Alfred turned, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.
"I am here. Is there a problem? I heard you had a confrontation with my messenger," the man in the lab coat inquired, his voice tinged with curiosity.
King Alfred's expression darkened as he recounted the encounter. "Indeed, there was an issue. Your messenger dared to suggest a change in plans. I hope you understand, I am not one to be trifled with. The resources and support I have provided can just as swiftly be taken away. The clothes on your back, the sustenance within your laboratory, and the people the i supplied from my kingdom—I can strip it all away. Do you comprehend the consequences, you insolent fool? The plans will proceed as originally agreed, or you shall face the repercussions."
The tension in the room grew palpable as King Alfred's words echoed through the chamber. The man in the lab coat remained composed, his gaze meeting the king's fiery glare.
"Rest assured, Alfred, everything shall proceed according to your desires. However, I believe it is time for you to meet someone of utmost importance," the man in the lab coat spoke with an air of intrigue.
Curiosity piqued, King Alfred raised an eyebrow. "And who might this person be?"
"Come fourth," the man commanded.
Before him, emerging from the shadows, stood the figure dressed in black—the same one who had delivered the message earlier. King Alfred's eyes narrowed, suspicion etched across his features.
"I have already encountered this individual. He was the messenger you dispatched, correct?" King Alfred asked, his voice laced with a mixture of confusion and anticipation.
A smile danced upon the lips of the man in the lab coat. "Indeed, you have met them. However, I believe it is time for a proper introduction. Remove your covering," he commanded the figure in black.
The figure started undressing and what unfolded before Alfred's eyes made him surprised to his roots.
Before King Alfred could voice his objection, the figure began to unwrap the cloth, revealing a face that mirrored his own in every aspect. It was as if he was staring into a distorted mirror, his features reflected back at him.
"What sorcery is this? How can this be?" King Alfred's voice faltered, disbelief washing over him.
The man in the lab coat stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Allow me to explain, Alfred. This doppelgänger of yours is the true king of this land, operating under my command. And as for you... who are you, really?"
King Alfred's anger flared, his fists clenching at his sides. "You dare mock me? I am the rightful king, the ruler of this kingdom. This imposter is nothing but a pawn in your game. Do not compare him to me!"
A wicked smile played upon the man in the lab coat's lips. "Oh, but I no longer have trust in you, Alfred. That is why you must be eliminated, making way for this pawn of mine to take your place."
Fury coursed through King Alfred's veins, his voice laced with venom. "You ungrateful wretch! I granted you power, bestowed upon you everything, and this is how you repay me?"
"Well, I must decline your generous donations, but allowing you to take command is out of the question. Your mental instability and lack of patience make you unfit for my plans.
Your naivety is apparent, as you failed to discern friend from foe, using me as a prime example. By manipulating you with visions of an invincible and feared immortal army, I effortlessly obtained everything I desired. However, Alfred, you are now a mere stepping stone in my path toward a greater goal."
"That's why you must die," the man in the lab coat proclaimed.
"You deceitful bastard! You used me?" Alfred's face contorted with anger.
"Indeed, you could say that in a nutshell," he replied with a mocking smile.
"Heheh... Hahahhahaha..." Alfred erupted into uproarious laughter.
"Hmm? Have you finally lost your mind, my friend?" inquired the man in the lab coat.
"Hahaha, no... Hahaha, it is you who's about to lose," Alfred declared, his smile fading and a menacing expression taking its place.
Suddenly, the ceiling of the room slid open, and seven to ten assassins emerged from it, their bodies cloaked in shadows.
The man in the lab coat widened his eyes in surprise as he observed the assassins, their lethal presence undeniable.
"Do you honestly believe I would risk my life by feeding a dog that could easily bite back?" Alfred questioned with a serious demeanor.
"Hmmm... Those assassins appear to be well-trained, don't they?" the man in the lab coat mused, eyeing their poised stances.
"They are the finest assassins within the human domain. Now, you have two options: either accept this slave collar and obey my every command or die here and now. Make your choice," Alfred declared, summoning a slave collar in his left hand. Its cold, metal surface gleamed ominously.
"Ah, well, since the odds are stacked against me, a wise man shall choose wisely. However, there is one thing I must give you before becoming your slave," the man in the lab coat said, searching inside his coat pocket with deliberate movements.
A flicker of curiosity danced in Alfred's eyes as he observed the man's actions. What could he possibly have hidden within that pocket?
"Assassins, if he makes any suspicious moves or reaches for a weapon, eliminate him immediately," Alfred ordered, his voice laced with authority.
The assassins remained poised, their gazes fixed on the man in the lab coat, awaiting the signal to strike.
"Ah, there you are," the man in the lab coat announced, halting his search and producing a small, gleaming object.
Alfred's curiosity gave way to suspicion. His instincts warned him of potential danger, urging him to remain vigilant.
"Here you go, my friend. This is the gift I wanted to give you," the man said, displaying his middle finger to Alfred. A sinister smirk played upon his lips.
"You son of a bitch, haven't you learned your lesson?" Alfred's voice dripped with scorn.I think you should take a look at
"Nope, I don't learn. Teach me," the man mocked Alfred with a defiant smile.
The assassins remained still, awaiting their command.
"Assassins, kill him and this clone of mine as well," Alfred declared, pointing at both the man in the lab coat and his own clone.
Five seconds passed... Ten seconds passed... Nothing happened.
"Oi, didn't you hear me? Kill him!" Alfred exclaimed, his frustration mounting as he realized the assassins were not obeying his commands.
Realization dawned upon Alfred. The man in the lab coat held control over the assassins, rendering them immune to his orders.
Alfred decided to bide his time, keeping his intentions hidden as he reached out for his sword lying on the nearby bed. Retrieving it would be his only chance at survival.
Without delay, Alfred lunged toward the bed, his movements swift and calculated. His hand closed around the hilt of the sword, its familiar weight reassuring in his grasp.
"Eliminate him," the man in the lab coat uttered with an icy tone, his voice devoid of mercy.
As if choreographed, the assassins sprang into action. In a blur of deadly precision, their blades shimmered through the air, aimed directly at Alfred.
Zzzzz
Chk
Chk
Chk
Chk
Chk
Chk
Chk
The sound of daggers piercing flesh echoed through the room as seven blades found their mark, ending Alfred's life in an instant. The assassins moved with an astonishing swiftness, rendering him defenseless.
The man in the lab coat approached Alfred's lifeless body, a sinister grin playing upon his lips.
"Well, that was all I wanted to inform you about the change of plans. I hope you understand," the man patted Alfred's lifeless form from behind, a grotesque mockery of friendship.
"You are now Alfred. Continue the supply of humans, meals, and money as before," the man in the lab coat instructed the Alfred clone, his voice laced with authority.
"As you wish, sir. I will dutifully carry out every command you issue," the clone pledged, bending down on one knee, a subservient posture.
"Good." The man in the coat vanished, leaving behind a lingering aura of malevolence.
As the room fell into silence, the clone of Alfred, bearing his appearance but lacking his essence, rose from his subservient position. His eyes glimmered with a cold determination, a reflection of the darkness that had overtaken his soul.
Two hours until the impending zombie invasion...
Beyond the first ring, a formidable sight unfolded. Over a million soldiers stood in resolute formation, a formidable force gathered on the open field. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation, dark clouds swirling overhead, as if the very sky were preparing for the imminent storm. The air was thick with an impending sense of doom, the silence punctuated only by the distant rumble of thunder. Rain was on the cusp of releasing its fury upon the land, while intermittent flashes of lightning danced menacingly within the churning tempest.
Standing at the forefront of the amassed soldiers was Arthur, a figure of unwavering resolve. Adorned in resplendent golden armor, he exuded an aura of command and authority. A magnificent leather cape, outlined in striking red and white, flowed majestically behind him. Gleaming at his side, a colossal mithril sword awaited its destined moment to unleash havoc upon the encroaching darkness.
Arthur was not alone in his formidable presence. Standing beside him were the seven leaders of the noble houses, each a pillar of strength in their own right. Together, they formed an indomitable alliance, united in their purpose to defend the kingdom from the impending onslaught. Clad in their regal armors, these leaders radiated an air of power, their hands firmly gripping a range of formidable, magically imbued weapons.
As the appointed leader, Arthur stepped forward, his voice commanding attention and respect. His gaze swept across the vast expanse of soldiers before him, the unyielding determination in his eyes a testament to his unwavering resolve.
"My comrades, it is with great honor that I have ruled over this kingdom throughout the years, and I have sworn an oath to protect it until my dying breath," Arthur proclaimed, his voice ringing with conviction. "Today, I, Arthur James the Third of my lineage, declare that should anything befall me as we lead our forces into this perilous battlefield, one where our chances of victory and survival seem bleak, my son, Fredrick James the Fourth, shall assume the mantle of the next king."
Arthur's declaration hung heavy in the air, challenging any who dared to oppose it. With a firmness of purpose, he awaited a response from the seven leaders and the soldiers who stood steadfastly behind them.
As if moved by an unseen force, all seven leaders immediately bowed, their heads lowered in humble acceptance. In unison, they dropped to one knee, a powerful symbol of loyalty and submission. A ripple of awe and reverence surged through the ranks of the soldiers, who mirrored the actions of their esteemed leaders.
Arthur's gaze swept over the scene, his voice resonating with authority. "Very well. Today, we face a choice: to fight or to perish. Let the gods themselves bear witness to our valor and decide our fate." With these resolute words, Arthur withdrew his colossal sword, its gleaming blade catching the waning light. He drove it forcefully into the ground, a thunderous impact that reverberated through the ranks.
In that instant, a surge of otherworldly power coursed through the air. A brilliant, purple radiance pierced the sky, momentarily tearing through the suffocating shroud of clouds. An explosion of energy erupted, briefly parting the heavens to reveal the fleeting glimpse of the sun. The ephemeral illumination served as a signal, an omen of hope amidst encroaching darkness.
Unknown to Arthur and his loyal forces, the arrow responsible for this spectacle had been expertly shot by none other than Queen Derein herself. Hidden deep within the recesses of the kingdom, she wielded her power and skill to provide a beacon of light and inspiration for their collective endeavor.
In the secluded rear of the kingdom...
"My King, the sun has emerged from behind the clouds. It is time to set our plans in motion," spoke a loyal butler, his voice tinged with urgency, as he addressed the scarred-eyed monarch.
"Initiate the march," commanded the king, his scar serving as a stark reminder of battles past.
"Yes, Sir," responded the butler with unwavering devotion.I think you should take a look at
With the royal command given, the vast alliance began its deliberate advance, a synchronized movement guided by the unseen thread of unity. They heeded Queen Derein's signal, converging gradually with Arthur's amassed forces.
Inside a war tent, the atmosphere crackled with intensity as six kings and a queen convened to discuss their strategy for the forthcoming battle. The flickering light cast their faces in an ethereal glow, the gravitas of the moment etched upon their expressions.
Queen Derein, her voice laced with determination, addressed Arthur directly. "Sir Arthur, how far have the enemy advanced?"
Arthur's gaze turned toward the distant horizon, his finger extending to indicate the nightmare forest's ominous edge. "There," he declared, his voice tinged with a sense of urgency and steely resolve.
An eerie silence descended upon the room as all eyes focused on the seemingly impenetrable forest. And then, as if summoned by the dark forces that lurked within, a horde of grotesque zombies began to emerge, their twisted and decaying forms an affront to all that was natural. While their movement was sluggish, their sheer numbers posed a threat that dwarfed the might of the assembled kingdom.
Queen Derein recoiled in disgust, her voice laden with revulsion. "They are vile and repugnant creatures. Who could have conceived of such abominations?"
The scar-faced king interjected, his voice resonating with grim determination. "Whoever spawned these wretched creatures harbored no benevolence in their heart."
Arthur interjected, his tone firm and resolute. "The originator matters little to me. My sole concern lies in safeguarding my people from this vile threat. Investigations into their creator can wait for another day."
"Now, where shall each of us be on the battlefield?" the scar-faced king inquired.
"I will lead the charge from the front with my forces, and you shall follow up with the second advance," Arthur responded.
As if to emphasize the gravity of the situation, Arthur punctuated his words by resuming his meal. His actions conveyed a profound understanding that every bite could potentially be his last, a poignant reminder of the peril that lay ahead.
Grok, the scar-faced king, observed Arthur's seemingly relaxed demeanor and inquired with a hint of incredulity, "Why, in the midst of strategizing, do you partake in your meal?"
Arthur paused, his gaze steady and unwavering. "This may well be my final repast. Why not relish it before stepping into the great unknown? After all, I may not have the luxury of savoring such pleasures once we are immersed in the throes of battle."
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.