The battlefield fell silent.
The echo of Aeriswen's command still lingered in the air as the surviving elves retreated, their silhouettes fading behind the smog of ash and blood.
Only the sound of the wind remained—
and the slow clatter of armor as the undead advanced.
But even they began to halt.
A line of armored knights surrounded the Dullahan. One of them leaned close, whispering words in an ancient tongue.
The Dullahan's empty helm turned toward the north.
Its hollow eyes burned faintly with red light before its entire body began to dissolve into black dust.
Within seconds, the Fourth General and his knights vanished into the shadows.
A heavy stillness blanketed the field.
Ash drifted through the air like snow.
Bodies of elves and monsters littered the ground, their blood painting the soil crimson.
Then—
from behind a massive, shattered boulder, someone moved.
A hand—trembling but steady—pressed against the stone.
It was Haru.
He stepped out slowly, his armor scratched and his clothes burned from earlier explosions.
His eyes glowed faintly red from exhaustion and rage.
Around him, the lesser undead—ghouls, skeletal warriors, and zombie mages—still crawled, hungry for life.
There were dozens. Maybe hundreds.
He exhaled sharply.
"...Guess it's my turn."
The first ghoul lunged.
Haru's foot twisted against the ground—Flash Step.
A blur of motion.
His sword carved through its skull in one clean stroke, the creature collapsing before it could scream.
Another came from the left.
He spun his shield, the B-Rank Iron Barrier flaring faintly, and smashed the undead into the ground. Bone cracked, dust rising.
A skeletal knight swung its rusted blade.
Haru caught it mid-swing with his shield and countered, slicing upward—Crimson Blade.
Red light burst across the field, splitting three undead in one arc.
Their bodies turned to ash instantly.
But they kept coming.
Dozens now. Crawling, running, screaming.
Haru didn't stop.
He weaved between them, each movement smooth and deliberate. The rhythm of his attacks followed the beat of his breathing—
strike, pivot, guard, thrust.
Every kill was clean.
Every motion—learned through death itself.
One ghoul bit into his shoulder, but he twisted, breaking its neck with raw strength.
Another zombie mage raised its staff—
Haru hurled his shield like a blade.
Bang!
The shield slammed into its head, splitting it in half before rebounding back into his hand.
When the last undead fell, the battlefield was silent once again.
Steam rose from Haru's armor, his breath heavy, sweat dripping into the dirt.
He looked around.
Nothing moved.
Only corpses.
Then the system window flickered into view in front of him.
> [You have slain 127 Undead]
+124,500 XP
Level Up! → 64
He lowered his sword and stared at the darkening sky.
"...And that's for everyone who didn't make it."
He turned toward the direction the elves had fled.
Even if they retreated, this war wasn't over.
Not yet.
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