"Bolton, don't you feel something strange?"
In the main hall of the castle keep, Ulriel was dining with a group of nobles and two of his personal guards. Despite the dire circumstances outside, their food was exquisite: medium-rare pan-seared venison, roasted quail with a crispy exterior and tender inside, a steaming bowl of onion soup, a fluffy queen's bread, and a glass of mead from the Mandrake vineyards. Beautiful maids were on hand to serve them at any moment.
It was as if they weren't on a migration at all, but on a holiday. Outside, bloodshed raged, yet inside the keep, there was a festive atmosphere. The Nightfall Barrier magic's effect was truly remarkable.
Still, Ulriel felt uneasy.
Without waiting for the burly, bearded man next to him to reply, he issued a command:
"Tonight, you and Leota should take more people and rotate the watch. When we passed through earlier, the nights weren't this quiet. Those damned undead and little beastmen won't stop attacking just because we've hidden inside the keep. There's something more to this."
"Lord Ulriel, isn't this a bit overcautious?"
The bearded man frowned. Indeed, he didn't want to perform such a tedious duty on such a cold night. Staying in a warm room with the beautiful maids brought by the nobles was far more appealing.
Ulriel, understanding his nature, patiently explained:
"Bolton, remember this—when you're out, it's never too cautious. This isn't Mandrake City, where countless guards ensure safety. Here, you can't imagine where an enemy's hidden arrow might come from. If you want to survive, you must exercise caution."
"I understand, Lord Ulriel."
Bolton stood, saluted Ulriel, and prepared to coordinate the night watch with his companion.
But shortly after they left, a sharp, cracking sound rang out, like a mirror shattering.
Then, a thick stench of blood arrived, accompanied by heavy footsteps—sounds no human could have made.
"Damn it, something's happened!"
Ulriel cursed, quickly drawing his staff from his spatial ring, eyes fixed on the main hall doors.
Bolton and the other burly guard immediately retreated, flanking Ulriel. The second-tier supernaturals stationed in the keep also converged on the hall.
Yet, as everyone readied themselves for the enemy's invasion, the outside fell eerily silent again.
"Viscount Snow, send your men to check the situation."
Seeing no immediate attack, Ulriel instructed the young Viscount Snow, the youngest son of the White family. The young viscount shrank in his chair, trembling, unable to move. After some time, seeing two impatient guards approaching with swords, he finally ordered:
"Baron Dogtail, hear that? Go see what's happening."
Baron Dogtail's plump face shuddered in fear, but being older and more composed than the viscount, he quickly regained his calm and ordered his two guards to investigate.
The guards dared not disobey, cautiously moving toward the door. Moments later, two screams pierced the air before silence returned.
Everyone present swallowed hard, the atmosphere growing increasingly oppressive. No one knew what had occurred outside, but the strong scent of blood left no doubt that the quiet was merely deceptive.
Finally, a noble broke under the tension. He roared:
"Bastards! What's going on? I said we shouldn't have left! Now look—our deaths are certain!"
He jumped to his feet, glaring at Ulriel.
"Speak! Do you want us to wait here and die? If I die, I'll make sure you go down with me!"
He drew his longsword and pointed it at Ulriel.
Ulriel glanced at him calmly and said with a cold tone:
"Take him out."
The burly guard next to him immediately rushed forward, restraining the noble by the neck while plunging his longsword into the man's chest.
Ulriel scanned the terrified nobles, commanding:
"Everyone, take up your weapons. Those who disobey will be treated as deserters."
"What?!"
The nobles shivered at Ulriel's decisive action, too afraid to resist him further.
Suddenly, a clattering of bones echoed. This wasn't the sound of ordinary undead; it was more like someone striking two bones together—or more accurately, a skeleton clapping its hands.
"Impressive."
The main hall doors slowly opened, and two squads of third-tier living corpses entered. Unlike ordinary, mindless undead, these displayed order and discipline, as if they were a trained army.
Once they stood in two rows in the hall, their leader finally appeared—a small skeleton less than half a meter tall, comically riding a tall skeletal warhorse.
Yet, no one present dared to underestimate it. This tiny skeleton radiated a dense, tangible aura of death and an aura of murderous intent, as if walking through mountains of corpses and rivers of blood.
"I only set up a barrier outside, but you all got restless on your own. I must say, that's surprising," it said calmly.
"A high-level intelligent skeleton… so you're the one behind the undead invasion of Mandrake," Ulriel said, narrowing his eyes while quietly gathering magical power in his wand, ready to strike a lethal blow if it approached.
The skeleton ignored him entirely, simply staring at the group and introducing itself:
"My name is Morrigan, one of the four supreme commanders under the Netherworld Witch. Today, I have come to invite you all to the Netherworld."