Seeing the attacker's face, Morvain couldn't help but grin.
An old acquaintance, huh! This was the very same Skeleton Warlord he had ambushed before, the one who had almost been killed on the spot!
Originally, this Warlord operated in a pair. In that battle, one had been eliminated, and this one had lost an arm, retreating in disgrace.
Who would have thought that three months later, he'd managed to rally forces and strike back!
Clearly, he was out for revenge!
Yet, staring at the chaotic surge of over three hundred skeletons, with the warlord swaggering at the rear, Morvain felt no fear.
In the past three months, he had witnessed far larger scenes—let alone a mere few hundred cannon fodder.
"Fire!"
At Morvain's roar, the twenty or so skeleton archers beside him released their grips simultaneously.
The black bowstrings, condensed from their energy, vibrated. Bone arrows cut through the air in arcs, plummeting into the mass of skeletons.
These fragile bone frames were hardly resistant. A normal adult could snap them with a kick; how could they withstand such precision projectiles?
Crack! Crack! Several skeletons collapsed immediately.
Although skeleton soldiers, with all their gaps and hollow frames, should normally resist arrows and sharp weapons, these were no ordinary arrows.
The archers had crafted them from their own mutated ribs. Upon hitting a target, the arrows exploded.
Each bone arrow shattered instantly, releasing black undead energy and scattering a hail of bone fragments.
The effect was like a series of miniature grenades. While the explosions themselves weren't lethal—barely any actual blast—the shards acted as deadly projectiles.
And considering how fragile the skeleton soldiers were, even a few shards striking them would either destroy limbs or kill outright.
After a volley, over thirty skeletons fell, unable to rise.
And those who had lost arms or legs yet stubbornly crawled forward? Their numbers were far from insignificant.
Watching these fragile cannon fodder crumble, Morvain shook his head repeatedly.
No wonder the books and calendars he collected from corpses labeled undead creatures as same-tier trash.
Skeletons, in particular, were pitifully weak.
Haunted locations teeming with hundreds of skeletons only to be wiped out by a militia squad from a nearby village? A completely normal occurrence.
On their own, even a single one of these bone frames was less threatening than a dog.
Yet, despite their fragility, their fearless combat style remained intimidating.
Especially now, with the enemy vastly outnumbering them.
By the time the second volley of arrows ended, the opposing skeleton horde had surged to the front.
Over two hundred skeletons charged recklessly into the Skeleton Mage's formation. Bones shattered continuously as both sides collided, the sounds of breaking frames ringing out incessantly.
In truth, the mutated skeletons weren't limited to archers. Shields, axes, swords, spears—they came in all shapes and sizes.
But most were too fragile to be of real value. Only the archers had some utility; the rest were simply lumped together as skeleton soldiers, undeserving of special training.
Morvain watched the two sides clash in a chaotic melee, expressionless.
He waved his hand, signaling the skeleton archers.
Immediately, they plucked ribs, strung them as bows, and nocked arrows.
With a hum, the bone arrows cut through the air, striking the tangled mass of skeletons with precision.
Crack! Crack! Bones shattered repeatedly as arrows exploded, fragments flying everywhere, toppling skeleton after skeleton.
Indiscriminate fire!
No wonder these skeletons were considered brainless. Even as their own troops fell behind them, they continued blindly attacking, unaware of retreat.
Or perhaps the concept of "retreat" simply didn't exist in their minds.
The chaotic battle soon ended. Of nearly 300 skeletons engaged, after three successive arrow volleys, fewer than 100 remained, scattered and mostly from the opposing side.
Seeing the remaining skeletons charge, Morvain decisively stepped back three paces, hiding behind the Skeleton Mage.
Who knew what undead talents the enemy might have awakened? If some fool had gained a projectile ability and aimed at him by chance, he'd be dead instantly.
Better safe than sorry.
As Morvain sought cover, the bulk of the skeletons slammed into the Skeleton Mage's personal guard.
The difference in strength was immediately apparent.
On one side: fragile cannon fodder, barely able to challenge ordinary humans.
On the other: second-tier Skeleton Guardians, capable of holding their own against elite human fighters for multiple exchanges, even at the low end of second-tier power.
The collision sent bones flying—some shattered on shields, others crushed by weapons.
In the blink of an eye, over twenty of the remaining near-hundred skeletons fell. At this rate, they wouldn't survive a minute.
This was the melee ace the Skeleton Mage had painstakingly trained, his true trump card.
As the Guardians clashed with the skeletons, a roar from a soul echoed.
Skeletons flew everywhere in the front lines as a towering figure, over 2.5 meters tall, wielding a massive bone axe, charged forward.
It was the skeleton warlord who had lost an arm.
Boom!
The Guardian directly in the path of his strike dropped to one knee, the bone shield fused with his arm shattered into countless pieces.
Before he could even rise, a kick struck his chest. His entire frame was sent flying, crashing into several archers behind him.
Despite the missing arm, his momentum was terrifying. His bones gleamed near-white, almost luminous, with extraordinary hardness.
The weapons swung by surrounding Guardians could wound him at most, unable to cleave or impede his movements.
After sending three Guardians flying, the skeleton warlord charged furiously toward the Skeleton Mage.
The Mage's soul flame flickered as he gripped his bone staff tightly.
As for Morvain, originally hiding behind him? Morvain had long since fled.
He wasn't about to place himself in danger, becoming fodder for a single axe swing.