Chapter - 91

After the initial influx of the Grave stalkers, the initial wave began to slow, but the density around the Temple Guards increased. The dead bodies of the Grave Stalkers were piling up around the cart, forming a ramp of rotting flesh that the fresh ones used to climb over.

By now, the low-level fodder began to pull back slightly, making way for the heavy hitters.

From the darkness, larger shapes emerged. Level 18 Grave Stalkers, encased in rusted, ancient plate armor, wielding heavy maces and jagged longswords.

Flanking them were Level 22 Grave Stalkers, massive in size with bone plating fused to their skulls, their jaws dripping with acidic saliva.

"HOLD!" The Guardian Captain screamed, his voice hoarse.

He bashed a Level 18 Grave Stalker with his shield, sending the undead stumbling back, but a Level 22 Grave Stalker lunged at the opening, clamping its jaws onto his thigh.

Metal crunched. The Captain grunted, driving his sword into the Grave Stalker's neck, but the Guardian Captain was hurt, he was limping now.

On the left flank, another Guardian faltered. A Grave Stalker swung a rusted flail. It caught the Guardian's helmet.

CLANG.

The impact ripped the visor off. The Guardian screamed as blood poured down his face, blinding him in one eye. He swung wildly, missing his target.

"Hey! You blind idiot!" Leo shouted from the cart, pointing an accusing finger, "Stop napping and start killing! Don't be useless!"

He looked at the Guardian Captain, "And you! Tighten the formation! If a single drop of zombie spit lands on my boots, I am reporting you to the High Priest for incompetence! Do your damn jobs!"

The Captain shot Leo a look of pure hatred, but he was too busy fighting for his life to respond. He shield-bashed a wolf, crushing its skull, "CLOSE RANKS! PROTECT THE USELESS CARRIER!"

The defensive ring shrank. They were being pushed back against the wheels of the cart. The smell of rotten flesh and blood was suffocating.

Leo realized his meat shields were about to fail. If they fell, he was overrun.

He tossed the broken hilt of his Iron Sword into the mud.

"Useless trash," Leo spat, "Fine. I will do it myself."

He reached into his inventory. The air shimmered.

SHING.

He drew the Frost-Edge Longsword.

The blade was a masterpiece of pale, blue-tinged steel. The moment it hit the damp forest air, the temperature around Leo dropped. Mist curled off the metal, swirling around his boots like a ghostly fog.

"Alright," Leo growled, jumping down from the cart, "Let's cool you ugly bastards down."

He hid behind the Temple Guardians. He stepped right into the gap left by the blinded soldier, shoving the man aside.

"Move over, you RoboCop," Leo sneered, "Let a professional handle this."

A group of five Stalkers and a Grave Knight hissed at him, sensing fresh meat. They lunged.

Leo swung.

It wasn't the clumsy chop of a novice. The sword was a blur of blue light.

The Frost-Edge cut through the rotting flesh like it wasn't even there.

SLASH!

He cut the first Stalker across the chest. But the wound didn't bleed. Just as the blood seeped out of the wound, it froze.

Ice crystals bloomed instantly along the cut, spreading rapidly into the creature's chest cavity. The monster's movements slowed to a crawl, its jaws locking up with frost.

[Effect Triggered: Frostbite. Enemy Agility reduced by 30%.]

"Too slow," Leo scoffed.

He spun, decapitating the frozen monster. The head hit the ground with the sound of an ice cube shattering.

And just like that, Leo danced through the undead. He wasn't a tank like the Guardians, absorbing hits with faith and steel. He didn't block. He dodged. He ducked under the long claws, he weaved between snapping jaws.

He targeted the legs. He cut through their hamstrings, watching them collapse into piles of useless limbs. He froze the joints of the low level Grave Stalkers, turning them into statues before kicking them apart.

But the higher level Grave Stalkers were tougher. When he attacked one, It raised a heavy shield, blocking Leo's frost strike. It thrust a rusted sword at Leo's gut.

Leo sidestepped, and swung his sword again, but the armour of that undead Grave Stalker was thick. He couldn't cut through the plate.

Leo needed an opening.

Or

He needed to leave this one for the Temple Dogs.

So, Leo lunged backwards, his left hand darting out like a viper at the weak level 10 Grave Stalker, trying to get past the Temple Guardians. He didn't strike the Grave Stalker. Instead, he grabbed the leather straps holding the breastplate together.

With unnatural dexterity, his fingers flicked the buckles.

CLICK! CLICK!

The straps came undone instantly.

The heavy breastplate slid loose, exposing the ribcage underneath.

The Grave Stalker looked confused by the sudden wardrobe malfunction.

"Oops," Leo mocked.

He drove the Frost-Edge straight into the exposed spine. The magic surged. The skeleton shattered into a pile of frozen bones.

[Grave Stalker Defeated. +30 EXP]

"Next!" Leo roared.

He was racking up kills. The notifications scrolled in the corner of his vision like a waterfall. But it was a slog. A grimy, sweaty, bloody endurance test.

The Guardians were fighting with desperate ferocity now, inspired, or perhaps shamed by Leo's performance. They were all like possessed maniacs, hacking and slashing, their white robes turning red and black with the blood of Grave Stalkers.

"Keep pushing!" Leo ordered them, kicking a Grave Stalker in the nose, "Clear the perimeter! If I have to kill one more mob because you missed a swing, I will fucking shove my sword through your ass."

The Captain roared in frustration, decapitating two Stalkers in a single swing just to shut Leo up.

The Guardian Captain turned his attention to the biggest threat. A nearly nine feet tall Level 26 Undead Creature, the unspoken leader of the monster pack, clad in rusted plate, towered over him, flanked by two Level 22 Grave stalkers with their jaws dripping with acidic saliva.

The level 22 Grave Stalkers struck first, a blur of fur and teeth. One locked its jaws onto the Captain's shield arm; the other tore at his thigh, metal greaves groaning under the pressure.

The Captain yelled, unaffected, "GET AWAY FROM ME FILTH!"

He slammed the edge of his tower shield down with force, catching the first Undead by the neck. Its bone shattered with a sickening crunch, severing the beast's head from its body in a spray of black blood.

Simultaneously, the level 26 Grave Stalker swung a massive, rusted two handled sword. The Captain took the hit on his shoulder, his armour dented, and his knees buckling into the mud.

He ignored the agony. He dropped his sword, grabbed the Centurion's helmet with both his gauntleted hands, and channelled every ounce of strength.

The undead warlord shrieked as its neck twisted inside the metal. With a savage twist and a wet, tearing sound, the Captain ripped the Grave Stalker's head clean off its shoulders, along with his spine.

He tossed the twitching head aside and retrieved his blade, his eyes burning with fanaticism.

"Next."

Finally, the pressure eased. The last of the wave, a massive Level 10 Grave Stalker charged at Leo aimlessly, its bone-plated head lowered like a battering ram.

Leo didn't dodge. He braced the Frost-Edge Longsword against his hip like a pike.

He lunged.

The blade pierced the creature's chest, sinking deep. The frost magic flashed blindingly white. The creature froze from the inside out. Its heart turned to ice. It died instantly, sliding off the blade with a hollow, frozen thud.

Leo pulled the sword free, flicking the gore onto the ground.

He looked around.

The forest had finally turned quiet.

The screeching had stopped. The thunder of hooves was gone. The only sound was the heavy, ragged breathing of the men and the dripping of blood.

There were bodies everywhere with piles of twitching Stalker limbs, severed heads, shattered skeletons, and mountains of black sludge. The ground was slick with it. Every single monster that had charged out of the darkness was dead.

Leo stood in the center of the carnage, his chest heaving. Steam rose from his frost blade.

He checked his log.

[Total Kills in this Wave: 84]

Eighty-four already deadGrave Stalkers again dead by his hand alone. Hundreds more lay around the perimeter, killed by the guards.

Leo looked at the Temple Guardians. They were leaning against the cart, wheezing. Their pristine white robes were shredded ribbons.

The blinded guard was sitting in the mud, trying to bandage his face. The Captain was using his sword as a crutch, staring at the pile of bodies with a thousand-yard stare.

They looked human for the first time. They looked exhausted.

Leo looked down at himself.

His beautiful Wind-Chaser Boots were caked in mud and guts. His Wyvern-Leather Armor had deep scratches across the chest. His expensive coat was stained with ichor.

"Disgusting," Leo spat, wiping a smear of black gore from his cheek. "I just bought these clothes. Do you know how hard it is to get goblin blood out of leather?"

He looked into the dark forest. The red eyes were gone. The immediate threat was neutralized. The silence of the Endless Forest returned, heavier than before.

"Is... is it over?" Grendel whispered, peeking out from the cart, his face pale as a sheet.

Leo sheathed his sword, the ice clicking against the scabbard. He looked at the mountain of corpses surrounding them.

"Round one is over," Leo said, his voice grim.

He turned to the exhausted guards, clapping his hands loudly, making them flinch.

"Well? What are you waiting for? An applause?" Leo barked, "Patch up, you useless zealots. Drink your potions. Sharpen your blades."

He looked back into the dark.

"Because I have a feeling the main course is still cooking."

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