Except for the few evolved Skeleton Guardians painstakingly trained by the Skeleton Mage, Morvain could command the other skeleton soldiers at will.
But having command didn't mean he could truly rise above them.
The Skeleton Mage said he was the second-in-command, so he was the second-in-command. If one day the Skeleton Mage stopped recognizing his position, Morvain would likely be torn apart by these skeletons in an instant.
Faced with this pack of ungrateful, treacherous bones, Morvain had no choice. He had been following the Skeleton Mage for over two months, participating in dozens of skirmishes—big and small. Most of these were hunts for scattered, newly revived skeletons that hadn't yet formed groups.
There were also a few large-scale battles. The first was a brutal standoff against two third-tier Skeleton Warlords—to be precise, those two reckless warlords, relying on their numbers, insisted on confronting the Skeleton Mage head-on.
It was during that battle that Morvain truly shined, earning him the title of second-in-command.
Besides that, they had encountered packs of mutated second-tier skeleton dogs, seas of instinctively clustered first-tier skeletons, and so on.
Although the squad suffered heavy losses each time, their combat effectiveness remained unaffected.
After all, skeleton soldiers were expendable. A Skeleton Mage never lacked cannon fodder.
As long as his trusted subordinates—the hard-earned Skeleton Guardians and the luck-based evolved archers—survived, the Mage wouldn't bat an eye if all other skeleton soldiers perished.
In theory, a Skeleton Mage could easily summon a sea of skeletons.
Thousands upon thousands of skeletons—that was the true terror of a Skeleton Mage.
A hundred-man squad like this hardly seemed like the work of a Skeleton Mage.
The real reason was geographic. Skeleton Mages could cause small-scale undead disasters in the mortal world because they could intimidate lesser undead, especially those resurrected by themselves.
But in the Realm of the Dead, undead were everywhere. Lower-tier undead instinctively submitted to higher-tier ones.
If a Skeleton Mage mindlessly produced countless subordinates, in the next battle, if he faced an opponent slightly stronger than himself, these instinctively obedient skeletons could immediately turn against him.
A hundred skeletons was already the maximum number the Mage could precisely control, minimizing the risk of betrayal.
As for the possibility of rebellion against far stronger higher-tier undead?
If such a being actually appeared, a hundred skeletons stacked together wouldn't even be enough for it to bite down. Whether they betrayed him or not would make no difference.
After a short rest and some repair to the damaged bones, the hundred-skeleton squad set off again.
Twenty skeletons walked ahead as scouts—but relying on them to actually find the path was nonsense.
Their main purpose up front was simply to attract enemy fire, buying time for the troops behind.
The other skeletons marched close around the Skeleton Mage. In the very center were the archers and skeleton guardians—the Mage's ace units—numbering around thirty.
Morvain, walking alongside the Skeleton Mage, appeared somewhat absent-minded.
After months of realizing that he could recruit no undead based on his own strength, he had already begun planning a new strategy.
His new plan was simple. In two words: rebellion.
Kill the Skeleton Mage, devour his soul flames, and strengthen himself.
If possible, absorb his subordinates as well.
After all, Skeleton Guardians were manageable—progression was difficult, but Morvain had a system.
But mutated first-tier skeleton archers, long-range variants, were far too difficult to obtain.
Wild ones weren't nonexistent, but they rarely survived past a single day.
A lone archer was basically walking food, with poor shooting accuracy and no backup.
The Skeleton Mage had painstakingly cultivated fewer than thirty archers over a year. The difficulty of creating a mutation in such elite troops was obvious.
As for the Skeleton Guardians? Their numbers hadn't always been so few.
Through recent inquiries and eavesdropping on the partially incoherent words of some of the Guardians, Morvain learned a secret.
Once, a highly intelligent Skeleton Guardian had rebelled. It secretly evolved into a third-tier Skeleton Warlord, leading its subordinates in a nighttime raid against the Skeleton Mage.
That battle ended in mutual devastation. Though the Mage eventually quelled the rebellion, his forces suffered massive casualties.
A year ago, this hundred-man squad had been elite, composed almost entirely of Skeleton Guardians and archers. Now? It was a shadow of its former self.
Learning about this hidden event, Morvain finally understood why his treatment had been so poor.
There had been a rebellion before!
Morvain wasn't ungrateful. If the Skeleton Mage treated him slightly better, he wouldn't mind rewarding him with a higher position once he grew stronger.
Even if the Mage refused to join him later, they could part amicably.
But the problem was this fool refused to give him direct subordinates, not even the easily summoned cannon fodder.
And he refused to let Morvain absorb soul flames.
After more than two months of following him, Morvain was still a pitiful yellow skeleton, fragile enough to snap with any exertion.
Clearly, the Mage intended for him to remain a lifelong medic, giving him no chance to grow.
If it weren't for the extra energy Morvain gained from eliminating undead through the Skeleton Lord System, he wouldn't have nearly a thousand energy points by now.
He'd probably still have zero energy stored.
Since the Mage treated him like this, it was no wonder Morvain considered betraying him.
The soul flame in his chest stirred slightly.
Morvain cast a covert glance at the Skeleton Mage, watching the guy riding a skeleton horse, swaggering smugly at the back of the formation.
Morvain wished he could pull out a master archer from the rear and obliterate that fool from a thousand eight hundred meters away.
After all, everyone else was walking on two legs, while he got to ride a skeleton horse. The injustice burned inside him.
But this was nothing more than a fantasy.
In the wild, how could a long-range third-tier skeleton even exist?
Perhaps a third-tier Skeleton Warlord could suddenly crawl out of the grass—but that was about it.
As the squad moved forward, the ghost-grass ahead—thriving unnaturally in the undead realm thanks to necrotic energy—suddenly began to rustle.
The skeletons panicked. Some instinctively wanted to charge, while slightly smarter ones followed the Skeleton Mage's orders, preparing to form a defensive cluster.
Some advanced, some retreated. The entire formation fell into disarray.
Finally, the Skeleton Mage couldn't tolerate it any longer. He tapped his staff twice against the skull of the skeleton horse he rode.
Morvain quickly fell back into the formation, taking charge of arranging the ranks.
Before the squad could fully regroup, a massive wave of skeleton soldiers suddenly surged from the grass.
The sheer number was terrifying—two to three hundred at least, forming a dark, writhing mass.
Behind this mass, a Skeleton Warlord with a broken arm, wielding a massive bone axe, strode toward them.