Chapter 113: Golden fortune City XIX
The dust hung in the air like ash from a dying star. Every player froze, instinct telling them the next wave would not be like the others.
The system text confirmed it:
[ Wave 10 – Begin ]
A low horn echoed, not from the city, but from beyond the horizon. The sound reverberated through the marrow of every player, each note hammering like a war-drum. From the void of the broken gates, they came—black-armored figures marching in lockstep, their footsteps shaking the very streets.
The Undying Legion.
Their armor was fused to bone, their shields etched with runes of despair. Chains bound their limbs, clattering in rhythm with their advance. Each faceless helm glowed faintly with pale blue fire.
"They’re not beasts..." someone whispered.
"They’re soldiers."
The first rank planted their shields, the second lowered their spears, and the third drew their swords in one perfect motion. The sound was too clean, too sharp, as though death itself had trained them.
Then their commander arrived.
He was twice their size, a towering knight in ruinous plate, crowned with horns of black iron. His greatsword was jagged obsidian veined with molten cracks, each step warping the stone beneath him. The moment he appeared, the air thickened, like the city had been dropped into the depths of the ocean.
[ Sub-Boss: Legion Commander of the Undying ]
A wave of panic rippled through the players.
"This isn’t a wave—that’s a raid boss!"
"How are we supposed to—"
The Legion moved before anyone could finish. Spears darted forward, skewering three players instantly. Their bodies crumbled into ash—yet instead of vanishing, their shadows lingered, shackled to the cobblestones. Moments later, they rose again as husk soldiers, their features blurred but their weapons intact.
The crowd broke.
"They’re turning the dead against us—!"
A Guardian tried to hold the line with [Iron Fortress], his barrier flaring, but the Commander strode forward. He swung once. The greatsword’s impact shattered both shield and man in a single blow, the fragments feeding into the chains that coiled tighter around the Legion’s arms.
Rhys stood still amid the chaos. The Ruinous Darkness Blade vibrated faintly in his grip, resonating with the oppressive aura that blanketed the city. The True Moonstone pulsed at his chest in slow, steady beats. Puddle stirred within his heartspace, its presence anchoring him.
"Not a wave anymore," Rhys muttered, eyes narrowing. "This is war."
The Legion’s chant rose, a guttural rhythm that sounded less like voices and more like the echo of coffins slamming shut. Then the Commander raised his sword, pointing it toward the plaza.
The march began.
The first clash came like thunder.
The spear-line of the Undying surged, their thrusts weaving into a single storm of steel. A dozen players were skewered before the frontline could brace, their health bars plummeting in crimson streaks. Some screamed, others went silent as their shadows were ripped from their corpses, rising as shackled husks to swell the Legion’s ranks.
"Fall back! Regroup at the fountain!" shouted a Ranger Captain, arrows already whistling into helm-slits. His shots cracked against bone and iron, staggering one soldier—only for the husk to stand back up, arrow still jutting from its skull.
A priestess raised her staff. "[Circle of Benediction]!" Holy light spilled across the plaza, driving back the pressing tide. The pale flames within the Legion’s helms guttered, dimming for the first time. Cheers broke out—
—but then the Commander moved.
He strode through the radiant circle, the holy glow bending and wilting against the molten veins in his sword. With a single downward swing, he split the spell in half, light scattering like broken glass.
"Impossible—" the priestess gasped before a husk’s blade cut her down, her shadow shackled to the ground as she vanished.
Rhys inhaled slowly, the world narrowing to the steady throb of the True Moonstone. His grip tightened on his blade. He could feel Puddle pressing forward in his spirit space, its energy whispering at the edge of release.
"Together," Rhys murmured.
Water welled around his boots, spiraling upward as light and darkness threaded through it. Puddle’s [Gleaming Halo] burst across the plaza, a radiant aura knitting wounds and purging fear. Players who had been moments from collapse stood straighter, their health bars surging green.
Then Rhys charged.
He cut through the first shield wall with [Whirlwind Slash], the currents of his blade tearing shields from skeletal arms. "[Fireball]!" he cast mid-swing, detonating a sphere of flame into the exposed ranks. The explosion scattered bone and armor across the cobblestones.
The Rune Sniper reappeared atop a rooftop, his arrowhead blazing with runes. "Pin them down!" he shouted, firing into the Commander’s shadow. Again, the obsidian knight staggered, if only for a heartbeat.
The Frost Dancer didn’t waste the moment. "[Frozen Veil]!" she screamed, her blades whirling, ice crashing into the Legion ranks to encase them in glacial tombs.
It bought them seconds—no more.
The Commander roared, the sound rattling teeth. His chains snapped outward like whips, shattering the ice, crushing the pinned. His greatsword swung in an arc that tore the ground itself, a line of black fire cleaving through plaza stone, scattering players like dolls.
"Damn it—he’s absorbing every kill to fuel himself!" someone cried.
Rhys grit his teeth. The oppressive aura pressed heavier, stronger with every player that fell. If the Commander grew unchecked, the city would drown under endless husks.
He raised his blade, light and shadow intertwining with water along the edge.
"Then we don’t give him time to grow."
Puddle surged from his heartspace, manifesting behind him as a towering silhouette of water and radiant light.
The battlefield froze—not because the Legion slowed, but because every pair of eyes was drawn to the thing that rose behind Rhys.
"What the hell is that...?" a Berserker muttered, axe dripping ichor.
"Looks like... a slime?" another player choked out, incredulous.
"No way—just a shiny one? In a raid?"
Their confusion barely had time to settle before Puddle moved.
The towering silhouette of water compressed, condensing into a radiant core that pulsed like a miniature star. Then the air trembled as Puddle unleashed [Solar Ray].
A column of blinding light cascaded from above, so pure it drowned out the pale flames of the Legion’s helms. It struck the Commander square in the chest.
The obsidian knight staggered—actually staggered—molten cracks across his armor splitting wide under the celestial force. The Legion’s chant faltered. For the first time, the faceless army hesitated.
[ Boss HP –20% ]
System text flickered across every player’s vision.
"What—no way!"
"That slime just nuked the boss’s health bar!"
"Wait, is that even a slime skill?! How is that possible?"
The Commander roared, molten fire geysering from the fissures in his chestplate. Chains writhed madly, lashing the ground and spearing through abandoned loot boxes as though trying to consume the light itself.
But the fact remained—Puddle’s attack had carved away a fifth of his lifeforce in a single strike.
Rhys tightened his grip on his sword, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Good hit."
The players around him looked between the slimy silhouette and their HUDs, disbelief mixing with desperate hope. If that thing was on their side, maybe the impossible could be done.
"Don’t just stare!" the Rune Sniper barked, loosing another arrow into the Commander’s shadow. "While it’s weakened—PRESS!"
The Frost Dancer spun back into the fray, ice petals scattering across the plaza. Guardians raised shields in unison, pushing forward with renewed courage. Even the husks hesitated under the sudden tide of aggression.
But the Commander... the Commander’s pale flames flared brighter, and with a guttural snarl he planted his sword into the cobblestones. The ground ruptured as skeletal arms clawed free, dragging half-formed husks from beneath the plaza itself.
"Phase two—already?!" someone shouted.
The Legion rose higher, thicker, the city itself coughing up its dead to join the march.
And yet, above it all, the shining silhouette of Puddle gleamed like a second moon.
The plaza shuddered under the weight of the dead. Husk soldiers clawed their way out of the cracks in the earth, their eyeless faces locked on the living. The chant returned—louder, heavier—as though the city itself had taken up the rhythm of coffins slamming shut.
The Commander’s pale flames flared to a blinding intensity, his molten sword dragging furrows through the cobblestones as he rose to full height once more. His voice boomed, a chorus of echoes layered over itself:
"ALL THAT FALL... MARCH AGAIN."
The husks surged, doubling the Legion’s ranks in seconds.
Panic rippled again through the players. "There’s too many!"
"We can’t hold this!"
"He’s turning the whole battlefield against us!"
But Rhys didn’t flinch. The glow of the True Moonstone against his chest pulsed in rhythm with Puddle’s radiance, their resonance cutting through the despair.
"Then we’ll break him before he can raise more." Rhys’ voice was calm, sharp as steel.
Puddle shimmered brighter, as though answering the vow. Its silhouette rippled, not just water anymore, but a crown of light and shadow circling its core. Then, in an almost playful motion, it lifted itself higher, projecting an aura that spread across the plaza.
[ Gleaming Halo Activated ]
[ Continuous Healing + Courage Effect Applied to All Allies ]