As the severed head of his opponent rotated mid-air, gravity pulled it back toward the earth. The shell frowned. There was much he did not understand, but what baffled him the most was the expression on the man's face. It looked content...
Was this man happy to die? At first, he had appeared angered, but then...this. It bewildered him, and he wasn't sure what to make of it. After staring at that expression for a few long seconds, he gave up on his thoughts and turned to examine the surroundings. He was not concerned about the conflict; after all, he had heard the last survivor's cries and could feel his servants' victory through their connection.
Using the connection, he ordered his troops to inspect the camp in front of him and bring back any objects of interest. He left his orders intentionally vague, so he could be informed via their link if something unexpected occurred. Controlling his forces was simple for him and required no words. In fact, he did not even need to consciously think to command. It was difficult to describe, but it felt like having a separate mind solely for managing bonds and issuing orders. As a result, even in complex battles, he could give instructions without wasting time thinking or speaking aloud. The shell took the time it would take to thoroughly search the surroundings to review and reconsider his first conflict.
To sum it up, the battle could have gone better. The losses he suffered were primarily due to his recklessness and arrogance. He was shocked by the strength of his opponents, especially since their leader had managed to wound him. He glanced at the injury and felt nothing, no pain, no disgust at the mangled mess of his right arm. Despite the lack of pain, he had lost the ability to use the arm in any meaningful way; it seemed he had lost control of it.
This was inconvenient but not a significant issue for now. After all, he did not consider himself a true combatant, as the fight with that man clearly demonstrated. To be frank, he had no talent for combat. He could use his strength and speed to hurt people, but the nuances, flow, and art of battle eluded him.
The only reason he emerged victorious was due to his inexhaustibility and immunity to anguish. As a result, each exchange only made his adversary slower and less precise. The blow that had landed on him would have been fatal if not for the fact that he was unique.
Aside from that, his losses were higher than he would have liked. Midway through, the bandits identified a weak point and managed to slay three zombies and six skeletons. That, in itself, was acceptable, but the injuries were far more severe. More than a dozen zombies and roughly twenty skeletons were injured in some capacity.
Most of these injuries were manageable, as they did not significantly impact their daily or combat functions, but some posed a real problem. His gaze shifted to a skeleton whose legs had been smashed; it now crawled instead of walking. The shell realized he would need to find a way to repair or restore his troops, or casualties would continue to mount.
Another issue arose when he was attacked unexpectedly. While engaged, he could only pass along a general mandate to attack and kill the enemies, resulting in his troops making several unnecessary mistakes. In the future, he would need to employ better strategy and avoid unnecessary conflicts whenever possible. Though he was stronger than his troops, without his ability to analyze and assess during active combat, they would be at a disadvantage and could ultimately face defeat.
The shell felt a tug on the connection, an indicator that something required his attention. By sensing and mentally following the link, he gained a fundamental understanding of the situation. His forces had discovered a large number of people held against their will, either in cages or bound in chains. His troops now awaited further directives. The shell responded instantly, smothered screams echoing from deeper within the camp.
The shell completed his overview of the battle and returned his gaze to his fallen enemy. "To the victor go the spoils," he thought while channeling his ability toward the previous adversary. The severed head lost its skin as it reattached to the beheaded body. A new figure of similar build rose, looking at its master with respect.
The shell marveled at his new subordinate, clearly sensing its difference from the others. It was not intelligent like the purple-eyed one, but it was significantly more powerful. He classified this creature as a skeleton of a higher order, a "Tier 2 Skeleton" for simplicity.
This skeleton shared most characteristics with the previous ones but had one major distinction: all of its base attributes were significantly enhanced. In terms of combat ability, this Tier 2 Skeleton could fight on par with ten Tier 1, or regular, skeletons. Its movements were more fluid and less rigid, and its durability was increased.
With its creation, the shell felt a dramatic increase in his own power. He assumed that, if forced to battle that man again, he could achieve victory in a single move. Although, given his lack of combat experience, that feeling might have been exaggerated. Regardless, he now understood how he would grow in this world: the strength of his people was his strength, and his strength was theirs.
With this realization, he extended his power outward over the entire camp and watched with suppressed glee as his numbers and power increased. A slight smile crossed his face before it was replaced with confusion. He looked toward the wooded area and squinted.
"What are you doing?"