"Lord Martha, my soldiers have opened the door, but the inside has already been ignited. My skeletons hesitate in front of the filthy flames; I need a bit of time to let them adapt."
The Corpse Witch hunches deeply, burying his head, green flames flickering with a sly glow in his eye sockets. Nonetheless, he places his withered arm over his chest to express absolute obedience—
Madara has a strict hierarchy that makes anyone who attempts to overstep feel fear deep within their soul, especially since the undead wizards behind the Black Magic Book are innately skilled at manipulating and toying with the pain of souls.
The Undead Wizard apprentice lightly taps his pale and slender fingers against his deep black silk robe. He stands on a hill overlooking the village below—Buqi's bell tolls long in the darkness, plunging human society into deep fear.
But this nightmare has only just begun. Not far away, the skeleton army is disappearing into the darkness in rows, and a guard team hidden in the woods on one side. He orders them to release arrows, and soon another wave will follow.
The next wave will use fire arrows.
Eerie blue flames, cold Soul Fire.
The raging fire in the darkness will cause all creatures to panic; he intends to create some chaos to activate the skeleton soldiers for an attack.
"How much time?" The future undead wizard's voice is somewhat chilling and sharp.
"This," the Corpse Witch calculates with his head down, "eight minutes, no, at most five minutes."
"I don't have that time, but I can leave a squad for you. Eleven skeleton soldiers, is that enough, Cabka?"
"Sufficient, my master."
The future undead wizard coldly smiles: "You be careful not to let the rats escape through the back door."
"Rest assured, my master, I have already arranged things at the back door as per your instructions."
"Well then, I hope to hear good news when I return victorious, Cabka," the undead wizard apprentice points forward, giving his underling a meaningful look: "Now, I shall go accept the village's submission, savoring humans enjoying eternal death in fear. But Martha, hope my decision to attack early doesn't cause trouble for Sir Instarlon—"
"As you wish, my master." The Corpse Witch bows deeply.
...
The inside is already filled with thick smoke, flames occasionally licking out from under the smoke. The rising blaze not only blocks the undead invasion but also blinds the humans.
The climbing temperature scorches their backs, the hot smoke stings their eyes shut, and the sharp pain in their throats and noses, but Sophie's heart is still ice cold.
What should he do?
"What's wrong?"
"Give me the hammer." The young man finally extends his hand backward. He listens intently; aside from the crackling flames, he vaguely hears a unique sound echoing through the mountains—bells.
Buqi's alarm bell.
Martha, hope the village guard team is smart enough, Sophie silently prays. As for the militia, he doesn't expect much, they're just a bunch of passionate young men. He only hopes they can survive the night.
These people are the seeds of Erune's future.
He immediately feels if he's thinking too far ahead, maybe he can't even pass the current trial.
"Are there enemies outside?" Miss Merchant blinks, handing over the hammer.
"Hard to say, but better safe than sorry." Sophie tries to think positively, but the better he thinks, the worse the situation becomes, forcing him to make more preparations. He is a Senior Warrior, relying not on luck but on caution.
"Brand."
"Hmm?" He stops his motion to open the door.
"You seem a bit different today."
Did she catch on?
Sophie feels a sudden tightness in his heart. But that's not right, his personality is similar to Brand's, and he inherited Brand's memories, how could she notice so quickly?
"How...?" He nervously asks.
"Well, I can't say exactly, just a feeling." The future Miss Merchant thinks for a moment, seriously answers: "You will protect me, right, Brand?"
"Is there any problem with that?"
"No, thank you."
"If you want to give me a good-person card, there's no need, Miss Roman—"
"Eh?"
Sophie smiles slightly, not responding, his tension invisibly dissipated a lot. He takes a deep breath, tensing his body, gently unlocking the latch, and then places his hand on the cold door handle.