The skeletal warlord's halberd swept wide.
The ground split open in its wake, stone and soil bursting apart. Disciples screamed as they were hurled through the air, weapons shattering under the strike's weight. The night rang with thunder though no clouds stirred.
Lin Tian staggered under the backlash. The act of summoning had nearly torn his veins apart, blood dripping from his mouth. But when he saw the towering figure step fully from the mausoleum, his lips curved into a thin smile.
The warlord was a mountain of bone. Fragments of rusted armor clung to its frame, cracked plates etched with runes so faded they seemed like scars. Its skull bore a jagged crown of horned bone. Each movement radiated ancient power, as though centuries of war had followed it into death.
And its hollow sockets burned faint silver—mirroring Lin Tian's own eyes.
---
The inner disciples faltered.
Yue Shan, the spear prodigy, gritted his teeth and thrust forward. His qi lit the mist in a golden line, piercing straight for the warlord's chest.
The halberd descended.
The clash rang like thunder. Yue Shan's spear snapped in two. The shockwave sent him sprawling, blood spilling from his lips. His eyes went wide, disbelief and terror battling across his face.
Fang Ruo shrieked, threads lashing out like serpents. They wrapped around the warlord's arms, chest, neck—dozens of cords pulling tight. For a heartbeat, it staggered.
Then the halberd spun, severing every thread in a single sweep. Fang Ruo's cry of pain echoed as her weapon recoiled, her hands bleeding from the backlash.
Chen Hu roared, fists blazing with qi. He leapt, his body glowing like molten stone. His punch landed square on the warlord's skull.
The impact cracked the night. Bone splintered—yet the warlord did not fall. Its halberd swung backhanded, catching Chen Hu across the chest. His body flew through the air like a broken doll, crashing into gravestones. He did not rise.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
---
Zhao Wu stood frozen.
He had mocked Lin Tian as trash. He had promised to drag him into the light. But before his eyes stood not trash, not even a boy—
—but a general of death, towering, indomitable.
Zhao Wu's blade shook in his grip. His pride screamed to charge, to strike, to prove himself above the spiritless dog. But his legs trembled, refusing to move.
Lin Tian's silver gaze found him through the mist.
"You still call me trash?" Lin Tian whispered.
Zhao Wu staggered back, bile rising in his throat. Fear nearly choked him—but rage flared just as sharp. "You… you will fall! The sect will send more! Even you cannot raise faster than we can kill!"
He turned and fled into the mist, dragging Fang Ruo and Yue Shan with him. Their retreating shouts faded into silence.
The battlefield belonged to Lin Tian.
---
Lin Tian dropped to one knee, his body trembling violently. The skeletal warlord stood motionless beside him, halberd buried in the soil, waiting.
The graves thrummed beneath him, a steady beat that filled his bones with cold strength. His army, battered but unbroken, gathered in ragged lines. Dozens of corpses bowed in silence.
His vision blurred. He had nearly died summoning the warlord. His channels screamed, his body cracked under the weight of it. But he had endured.
And more than that—he had won.
Lin Tian raised his head, silver eyes gleaming faintly. "They send strength against me… and I rise stronger still."
His laughter was ragged, broken, but filled with triumph.
"The living mocked me. The sect cast me away. But tonight—their chosen heirs fled from the graves."
He forced himself upright, gripping the warlord's halberd to steady himself. Its weight was immense, but it felt natural in his hand. The warlord bowed, as if acknowledging him.
Lin Tian whispered, "From this night… I am no longer only survivor. I am their Lord."
The corpses rattled in unison, as if swearing fealty.
---
At the sect, panic spread like plague.
The inner disciples staggered back through the gates at dawn, broken, bloodied, their faces pale. Yue Shan's arm hung useless, Fang Ruo's hands bled raw, Chen Hu was carried half-conscious. Even Zhao Wu's arrogance was cracked, his eyes wild with a fury born of humiliation.
The courtyards erupted.
"Even the inner disciples—"
"They failed!"
"What did they face? What did they see?"
No one spoke aloud the truth, but all had heard the whispers. A warlord rose from the graves. A general of death now fights for him.
The elders convened in fury.
Elder Du slammed his palm into the table hard enough to crack wood. "Shame! Disgrace! Are we a sect, or frightened dogs?!"
Elder Han's voice was low, grim. "I warned you. The graves answer him. The longer we wait, the stronger he grows. This is no child to swat aside. This is war."
"Then burn him out!" Du roared. "Summon fire talismans, collapse the grounds, tear the graves to ash if we must!"
Another elder snapped, "And what of the Inner Court? What of our rivals? Burn our own dead, destroy our history? They would call us heretics! They would strip us of our place!"
The sect master raised his hand, silencing them all.
His gaze was sharp, his tone cutting. "Then we will not burn. We will crush. Prepare the sect's full might. If the boy commands a host, we march with an army. Bonecloud Sect bows to no grave."
His words fell like a decree. The sect trembled.
---
In the burial grounds, Lin Tian meditated beneath the mausoleum's shadow. His breath was ragged, his body hollow, but the cold qi pouring into him was steady, inexhaustible.
His undead knelt in ranks. The skeletal warlord stood behind him like a sentinel, halberd glinting faintly in the moonlight.
He listened to the whispers in the mist. They were louder now—clearer. He caught fragments of words, echoes of oaths spoken centuries past. Rise… command… our Lord…
His eyes opened, silver light burning steady.
"The sect thinks this is war," he whispered. "They are right. But they forget—I fight with every grave, every corpse, every forgotten name."
He rose slowly, his body trembling but unbroken.
"And soon, they will remember. They will remember the boy they mocked… and the Lord they created."
The graves rattled, as if in thunderous applause. The mist curled higher, crowning him in shadow.
---