Tonight was destined to be another sleepless night for the Ayat Empire. The once serene moonlit skies were suddenly veiled by the dark, foreboding shadows of countless flying undead, their spectral forms blotting out the moonlight entirely.
"Enemy attack! Sound the alarm, quickly!" a military officer bellowed, his voice filled with a strange mixture of urgency and exhilaration.
On the ground, soldiers scrambled to their positions. Above them, Yingzi, unyielding and merciless, bared her fangs and unleashed an ear-splitting roar. Her flying undead dove in disciplined formation, descending upon the soldiers like a tidal wave.
At that moment, a commanding officer unsheathed his sword, raising it high as he shouted, "Archers, ready your bows!" The air was soon filled with the sharp *whizz* of arrows slicing through the night.
Thousands of radiant, white arrows illuminated the skies like fleeting fireworks. Against such densely packed undead, Ayat's archers didn't need precision—simply releasing their arrows sufficed. The first wave of undead evaporated in mid-air, disintegrating alongside the sacred Light Magic arrows.
"Light Magic..." Terry El knew at once what he was facing, and his heart sank. Though he couldn't name the magic outright, the aura of divine power it exuded was unmistakable.
The sudden annihilation of nearly two thousand undead was a devastating loss. Yingzi, witnessing her forces reduced so drastically, seethed with rage. For the first time in battle, she had suffered such heavy casualties. Leaning forward, she let out another piercing cry, prompting the remaining undead to reorganize into two separate formations.
The male undead in the first formation surged toward the city, their sheer numbers—a horde of nearly twenty thousand—suffocating Ayat's soldiers. The oppressive wave of death sent chills through even the most seasoned warriors. Though armed with arrows capable of purging the undead, the soldiers couldn't quell their growing terror. The memory of recent battles lingered vividly in their minds—the sight of comrades, resurrected as mindless undead, slaughtering their own brothers-in-arms. None wished to meet a similar fate.
"Hold your ground! Aim your holy arrows at the enemy and fire!" an officer roared, desperately rallying his troops.
Ayat's archers poured everything they had into the fray, emptying their quivers of enchanted arrows. Still, the skies above continued to darken as flying undead perished by the thousands, their remains evaporating in mid-air.
Terry El stood watching, his heart bleeding with each loss. The devastation was unbearable, and he nearly issued a retreat. Yet in those fleeting moments of hesitation, the undead army suffered another staggering blow, their numbers dwindling by over ten thousand.
But the sacrifice was not in vain. The surviving undead broke through the city's defenses, spreading chaos. With no further orders from Terry El, the unleashed undead wreaked havoc indiscriminately, civilians and soldiers alike falling victim to their bloodlust.
With the city's defenses in disarray, Yingzi and her remaining forces zeroed in on Prince Siok's residence, diving toward their primary target.
Inside the prince's residence, Siok anxiously observed the unfolding chaos. The three thousand sacred Light Magic arrows, it seemed, weren't enough to destroy Terry El's undead army. And this was despite the intervention of his uncle—a bishop of the Holy Light Church—who had not only provided the arrows but also dispatched a dozen Light disciples to aid Ayat.
Though powerful, the Light disciples faced a formidable challenge. The undead were not mere mindless beasts but intelligent creatures with unparalleled agility. They easily evaded the disciples' magic, rendering the disciples' efforts far less effective than anticipated.
Moreover, while the enchanted arrows had initially wreaked havoc, they hadn't entirely neutralized the undead threat. Many arrows missed their mark, and by the time the undead breached the city, the effectiveness of the sacred arrows had waned.
On the other hand, Ayat's soldiers suffered catastrophic losses. Their numbers dwindled as fallen comrades reanimated as undead, further bolstering the enemy's ranks.
Finally, unable to remain idle, the Grand Swordsman Saar entered the battlefield. As a fifth-tier warrior, his swordsmanship proved devastating against the undead, his strikes carving swathes through the enemy. Compared to the sacred arrows, Saar was a veritable cannon, reaping the undead with brutal efficiency.
By the time Terry El and his few hundred troops reached Ayat's gates, chaos had engulfed the city. Guided by a soldier, Terry El pressed forward, intent on reaching Siok's residence.
With Gao Shun at his side providing protection, Terry El found little opportunity to fight himself, and thus, noticed nothing unusual. But Gao Shun, ever vigilant, sensed something amiss. The undead, normally bloodthirsty but restrained, were now feral. Each bite left soldiers' necks mangled, their lifeless bodies collapsing instantly.
Even Gao Shun's own blade seemed enhanced, slicing through enemy weapons with unnatural ease. Initially, he thought his weapon was simply superior, but as other soldiers exhibited similar feats of strength, the truth became clear—something extraordinary was happening.
Focusing on his mission, Terry El ignored the anomaly, while Gao Shun silently vowed to uncover the mystery later.
Meanwhile, Grand Swordsman Saar, drenched in sweat and blood, fought on. Yet, doubt crept into his mind. Could such a monstrous army truly be controlled by a mere teenager? The strategy, the precision, the cunning—it defied belief.
What unnerved Saar most was the undead's newfound tactics. No longer mindlessly attacking, they used Ayat's reanimated soldiers as shields, driving them forward like pawns. These were no ordinary undead—they were cunning, strategic, and utterly ruthless.
As Saar grappled with these unsettling thoughts, a brilliant golden light erupted across the battlefield. Every undead simultaneously radiated the glow, their tattered forms suddenly adorned in new armor. Saar's chest tightened in dread.
They had ascended.
The implications were catastrophic. With the city already on the brink, the mass ascension of thousands of undead could mean only one thing: Ayat's collapse.
Saar roared a desperate command, his voice echoing through the chaos: "All swordsmen, fall back to the palace! Protect the king!"
From atop his throne, the Ayat King, witnessing the golden glow envelop the undead ranks, closed his eyes in despair.
The Ayat Empire was doomed.