In the wilderness, about three hundred meters away from the hills, figures swayed forward in the moonlight. Despite the distance, the mercenaries and adventurers could clearly make out their silhouettes—hundreds of them, densely packed together.
At the forefront were skeleton warriors clad in tattered leather or chain armor, wielding rusted swords. Among them were mummies in heavier gear, their weapons varied but deadly. These were undead warriors.
Further back, skeletal archers carried bone arrows and crude bows, while at the rear stood a few robed mummies clutching staffs and wearing tattered wizard hats—corpse witches.
"Damn it, corpse witches in a patrol? How is this possible?"
The appearance of the corpse witches darkened the expressions of the mercenaries, their low curses echoing the tension in the air. The adventurers on the hill also grew solemn.
