Jack Williams stood amidst the canyon, his gaze lifting toward the overcast sky. Three days had passed—a journey both brief and tumultuous, filled with unexpected turns. Though neither long nor short, these days had wrought a profound transformation upon his undead legion.
At the outset, his force comprised a mere forty-five skeletal soldiers—a paltry number on the perilous fringes of the continent of Oksas. Yet, through sheer tenacity and relentless perseverance, Jack had expanded his ranks to seventy-five. The thirty newly enlisted skeletons were fierce and well-armed, their combat prowess sharpening under his command. Moreover, several of his ash-gray skeletons had successfully advanced to black skeletons—stronger, more formidable warriors whom Jack appointed as squad leaders and captains, bringing newfound structure and discipline to his army. Both in strength and numbers, his legion had grown considerably over these three days, filling him with a quiet sense of pride.
"Dragon One, Dragon Two—lead your squads into a direct confrontation. I want to see which of you truly deserves to be called elite. Give it everything you've got!" Jack's voice echoed through the canyon. At his command, the two squads sprang into action, swords gleaming with a cold light as they squared off against each other, their weapons whispering of the fierce clash to come.
"Dragon Four, Dragon Five—you need to intensify your training! Otherwise, you'll be left in the dust forever. Muster every ounce of your strength and show Dragon One, Dragon Two, and Dragon Three that you're no pushovers!" Jack's gaze swept toward the two lagging squads, his expression carrying both expectation and reprimand. Spurred by his words, Dragon Four and Dragon Five threw themselves into training with renewed fervor, their weapons slicing through the air as dust swirled in their wake.
"Dragon Three, you and your squad are to patrol the canyon every half-hour. Maintain a tight watch—report any movement immediately!" Without hesitation, Dragon Three rallied his soldiers, their synchronized footsteps fading as they ventured into the canyon's depths on their appointed rounds.
Though Jack had never experienced true military service, his brief stint in training had granted him a foundational understanding of discipline and command. Coupled with insights gleaned from military documentaries, he had devised a structured approach that earned the admiration of Bruno. The towering creature stood beside him, eyes gleaming with respect. "Master, you are indeed extraordinary. At this rate, your undead army will soon sweep across the continent of Oksas."
A faint smile tugged at Jack's lips, but he did not let himself bask in the moment. He understood all too well—his forces, while now capable of handling the Gale Wolves that once posed a threat, would not remain unchallenged forever. Were those wolves truly the extent of his enemies? A growing unease gnawed at him. From the formidable Earthquake Bear he first encountered to the ferocious Seventh-Rank Gale Wolves, his foes had only grown stronger. The question loomed: Could his skeletal army truly overcome the trials ahead?
A sinister premonition took root in his heart—an eerie sensation that unseen forces were manipulating these events. Yet, no matter how he strained his mind, the answer eluded him. The only certainty was that he needed to expand his army and elevate its combat power without pause.
But fate, it seemed, had no intention of granting him respite.
"Master, trouble! A massive horde of magical beasts is advancing toward us!" Bruno's urgent cry shattered the canyon's stillness, edged with alarm.
"Damn it! Just as I expected. What kind of beasts this time?" Jack's brows furrowed as he leaped to his feet, his eyes sharpening with vigilance.
"They're… They're Fifth-Rank magical beasts," Bruno answered gravely.
"What? Just a bunch of Fifth-Rank creatures?" Jack let out a cold chuckle. "Are they courting death? Dragon One, Dragon Two, Dragon Three, Dragon Four, Dragon Five—rally your squads! Prepare to annihilate these ignorant beasts!"
With practiced efficiency, the skeletal warriors assembled before Jack, their swords clutched in bony grips. Though devoid of flesh, their grim visages and the palpable aura of death surrounding them were enough to send shivers down the spine.
"Master… there's more," Bruno added hesitantly. "This time… they're griffins. Not only are they powerful, but they can fly."
Jack's smirk froze. "What? Flying?" He nearly staggered, realization dawning like a cold tide. His entire force was grounded—built for terrestrial combat. What aerial countermeasures did they possess? His gaze flickered to Bruno, the lone winged entity in his command. A knot of unease coiled in his chest.
In warfare, air superiority was an overwhelming advantage—speed, maneuverability, and the ability to strike from above rendered ground forces painfully vulnerable. Even the mightiest land-based army was powerless without anti-air defenses. Jack had long known this from the history of his own world, and now, on this foreign continent, he faced the same bitter truth.
"How many?" His voice was low, edged with steel.
"Fifty to sixty," Bruno replied without hesitation.
A sheen of cold sweat broke across Jack's brow. Against the Gale Wolves, he had relied on cunning tactics to launch a devastating ambush. But now? Now, he was faced with an airborne menace—a force he had no immediate counter for.
His gaze lifted toward the horizon. A dark swarm loomed in the distance, blotting out the sky. The griffins were coming.
"Master, what should we do?" Bruno's deep voice carried an unfamiliar hint of uncertainty. A creature of his power had never feared beasts such as these, but now, under Jack's command, the pressure was different. He looked to his master, awaiting orders.
Jack shut his eyes briefly, exhaling a long breath. Regret gnawed at him—if only he had trained skeletal archers earlier, this battle would be far more manageable. But remorse would not change the reality before him.
"Ground forces against aerial units—it's a battle stacked against us," he murmured, fingers tightening around his sword. "There's no easy trick to turn the tide this time."
With that, he unsheathed his weapon, resolve steeling within him.
Bruno, seeing his master's determination, straightened. If it was to be war, then war it would be.
The seventy-five skeletal warriors stood motionless, yet the air around them pulsed with an invisible intensity. Though they lacked fear, something primal stirred within them—a silent, unwavering readiness for battle.
Above them, the griffins circled, their golden eyes gleaming with hunger.
Then, with an ear-splitting screech, the first wave dove.
A fierce wind howled as talons, sharp as razors, tore through the air. Jack braced himself, his sword raised to meet the onslaught.
"Clang!"
The impact rang like a death knell. Jack's blade met the griffin's talons, but the sheer force sent him skidding back, his grip numbed by the shock.
"So damn tough," he cursed, gritting his teeth. He had underestimated their sheer brute strength.
A second strike came—this time aimed directly at his chest. Jack barely managed to evade, but not entirely.
Pain exploded through his left arm. Blood spurted forth, staining the ground crimson. He stumbled, agony searing through him.
"Master!" Bruno's roar shook the air. "You dare harm my master? Die!"
A torrent of black energy erupted from Bruno's maw, engulfing the griffin that had wounded Jack. Its once-majestic feathers withered under the corrosive force, its body convulsing in agony before crashing to the ground, twitching feebly.
Jack wasted no time. He lunged, blade gleaming like cold fire, and drove it straight through the beast's skull.
A final, anguished cry. Then silence.
Jack wiped the sweat from his brow, turning—only for his breath to catch in his throat.
His skeletal army, once a unified force, had been scattered. The griffins had shattered their formation, and several skeletons lay broken upon the earth.
The battle had only just begun, and already, the tide was turning against him.