The army was positioned just outside the shimmering portal. The main defensive force consisted of the seasoned Warriors, hardened by two prior battles, while the Mages—fresh recruits still new to war—stood at the rear, preparing to rain magic from afar. With their temporary team composition, they leaned heavily toward offense. There was no dedicated tank yet, no shieldbearer or guardian to absorb the brunt of the assault. It was a glaring vulnerability, and everyone knew it.
Still, they had little choice. The portal had to be protected at all costs. Behind it were the innocents—the children, the mothers, the elderly—all nestled safely inside the Soul Realm. A single breach could mean disaster. The saying rang in Rolan's mind again and again: "The best defense is a good offense." It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.
Rolan stood apart from the rest, hovering several meters above the ground, scanning the horizon with a stern gaze. He was still searching for a way to temporarily close the portal from the outside, but his abilities had limits. Unfortunately, this was one of them. Thankfully, Solomon was working on a solution in the background, and until then, a layered barrier had been cast across the portal entrance as a precaution.
Below, the warriors tightened their grips on their weapons. Beads of sweat rolled down their foreheads—not from the heat, but from tension. For the Warriors, this was their third battle. For the Mages, it was their first taste of real bloodshed. They weren't used to this kind of pressure. And yet, they stood their ground, forming disciplined ranks, weapons gleaming.
The Brawlers carried their gauntlets or reinforced staffs. The Berserkers wielded clawed weapons and massive two-handed blades, brimming with bloodlust. Swordsmen stood calm and steady with steel at their hips, while Lifestealers twirled their curved daggers with deft precision. And then there were the Barbarians—hulking figures gripping axes that looked as if they could cleave trees in half. Each had a role, and each awaited the storm.
"Solomon," Rolan said sharply, eyes narrowing. "Scan the battlefield. Look for any entity with overwhelming mana."
[Affirmative.]
[Initiating scan for high-level mana signatures.]
[Threat detected.]
[A Lich Overlord—approximately two miles ahead, bearing 12 o'clock.]
[Another entity detected: An Undead Overlord—General-class.]
Rolan's eyes widened. A Lich Overlord. And not just that—a General to lead the undead army.
With swift motion, Rolan climbed higher into the air, concealing his presence. As a precaution, he cast multiple layers of barriers on his body and activated the Basilisk's Camouflage skill. His mana suppression worked, but only to a degree. He couldn't afford mistakes now.
High above, he looked down upon the advancing horde.
The Lich Overlord was enthroned on a spiked bone litter, carried by skeletal minions. Its robe shimmered darkly with red and black silks, and a crown of charred bone rested atop its head. A twisted staff pulsed with energy in one hand. The throne itself was jagged with protruding spikes, and tattered flags bearing unknown emblems fluttered eerily in the wind.
Beside it marched the Undead Overlord—a monstrous being, easily the size of two grown men stacked atop each other. Its musculature was grotesque, not fat, but overdeveloped and rigid. In each hand, it carried butcher's knives the size of broadswords. Its jaw hung loose, revealing shark-like teeth—razor-sharp and glistening.
As Rolan remained suspended in the air, he noticed a sudden shift. The Lich Overlord slowly rose from its throne. It looked left, then right, a faint flicker of awareness in its glowing eyes. Then it looked up. Right at him.
It couldn't see Rolan, not directly—but some of his mana was leaking through his suppression. The Lich seemed confused for a moment, then dismissed the thought. It raised one skeletal hand high into the air. A sickly green light gathered into an orb above its palm.
"Here it comes," Rolan muttered.
[Skill Activated: Rage of the Undead]
A wave of power rippled through the undead army. Their eyes turned crimson. They began to roar—bone-shaking howls that pierced the sky. Then they surged forward—not marching, but running. Charging.
"They must have found the portal's location," Rolan deduced grimly.
He soared back toward his forces, urgency burning in his veins. The Lich wasn't just powerful—it was smart. And the Undead Overlord was guarding him, a bulwark against any assassination attempt. There would be no room for recklessness.
Touching down near the defensive line, Rolan barked orders. "Reynald, you're the Warrior General. Rein, you're the Mage General. Maintain formation. We can't let them through."
"Yes, Lord Rolan!" they both shouted.
"I'll thin their numbers. Don't break the lines."
With that, he shot back into the sky and hovered at a high altitude. He needed to unleash devastation—and fast.
"Solomon, create slime and mimic clone variants."
[Confirmed.]
"Explosive Slime, Healing Slime, Acid Slime, Scorching Slime, and Ice Slime. For mimics: Devourer Mimic, Humanoid Mimic, Shapeshifter Mimic, Demonic Mimic, and Rabid Mimic."
[Explosive slime created]
[Healing slime created]
[Acid slime created]
[Scorching slime created]
[Ice slime created]
[Devourer mimic created]
[Humanoid mimic created]
[Shapeshifter mimic created]
[Demonic mimic created]
[Rabid mimic created]
[Slimes and Mimics successfully created.]
[Using High-Speed Regeneration and Duplication traits.]
[New skill formed: Raining Slime and Mimics.]
"Cast it."
From Rolan's outstretched hands, a torrent of monstrous slimes and grotesque mimics erupted. They rained from the sky in waves, striking the undead army with explosive impact.
The battlefield turned chaotic in an instant.
Explosive Slimes detonated on impact, blasting skeletons and zombies into scorched fragments. Acid Slimes clung to undead torsos and melted through armor and bone alike. Ice Slimes burst and froze clusters of enemies, only to be shattered moments later by fire from the Scorching Slimes.
Mimics landed with snarls and hisses. Devourer Mimics swallowed zombies whole. Shapeshifters took on human form and used martial weapons against their targets. Rabid Mimics leapt and tore with wild abandon. The battlefield became a nightmare of shifting horrors and magical destruction.
From the ground, Rolan's army looked up in awe. Never had they seen such raw, orchestrated power.
Rolan hovered high, surveying the carnage with a satisfied smirk. This was just the beginning. He had bought time—now the defense would have to hold.
And then, the enemy collided with the front lines.
The battle had begun.