Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Chapter 738: Smell of Death [1]

The three figures hovered high above the battlefield, unmoving.

The pressure two of them radiated bent the air around them, warping mana into visible ripples. Even without releasing their full aura, their presence alone forced weaker beings to struggle for breath.

The first of the two was tall and slender, his proportions refined rather than bulky, yet every inch of his body carried restrained power. His skin was a deep bronze, smooth and unmarred. His long dark hair was tied behind his back, and his brown eyes burned with a quiet, absolute certainty.

The second sun stood beside him.

Unlike the bronze-skinned man, this figure was broad-shouldered and imposing, his body built like a living fortress. Black scaled markings traced across his neck and arms, half organic and half draconic. Hornlike ridges curved backward from his temples, and faint wisps of heat distorted the air around him with every slow breath.

His eyes glowed a dull crimson.

This one did not hide his dominance.

Just standing there, he felt like a looming catastrophe waiting for permission to descend.

Then there was the third.

He hovered slightly behind the other two, his presence far less explosive.

He wore simple gray robes that fluttered gently despite the lack of wind. His face was fully visible and uncovered, plain in a way that made it difficult to remember specific features. Black hair. Dark eyes. Pale skin.

Human.

At least, he looked human.

Michael’s heart sank the moment his gaze locked onto him.

He recognized that aura.

It was the same one that had chased him earlier.

Before anyone else could speak, the silver-haired Amazari elder reacted.

Her eyes widened, fury flashing across her composed features.

"You," she shouted, her voice carrying across the battlefield. "Why are you with them?"

Her gaze burned into the bronze-skinned man.

"Of all people, you dare show yourself here?"

Murmurs erupted instantly.

Several experts stiffened, their expressions darkening as recognition spread.

Apparently, this was a former Amazari who had been exiled and branded a criminal.

The silver-haired elder’s voice shook with restrained anger.

"You were exiled," she said. "Your crimes alone warranted erasure. I am not surprised you would commit further evil, but to involve yourself in the affairs of Hell?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"To take part in this plan?"

The bronze-skinned man did not react with anger.

He smiled faintly.

"To achieve peace," he said calmly, his voice smooth and unhurried, "sacrifices are sometimes necessary."

The words landed heavily.

Several experts clenched their fists.

"Peace?" the Amazari elder snapped. "You call this peace?"

She gestured at the battlefield, at the corpses, the ruin, the scorched land.

"You call slaughter peace?"

The man’s brown eyes did not waver.

"Peace is not the absence of death," he replied.

A chill ran through the crowd.

Across the known realms, the Amazari were recognized as a matriarchal civilization, one where leadership, inheritance, and authority naturally fell to women. It was not enforced through oppression or artificial law, but through reality itself. Amazari females were, on average, stronger than their male counterparts.

In battle, in governance, and in comprehension of power, they simply excelled.

Their society was built around this truth.

Their laws were strict, refined over countless eras, and designed to prevent stagnation or tyranny. Male Amazari were not slaves, nor were they oppressed. They held positions of influence and served as commanders, scholars, and administrators. Yet the highest authority always rested with the women, because history had proven, time and time again, that they were better suited to wield it.

But even in a society built on balance and logic, resentment could still grow.

Perfection did not erase ambition.

There were always those who believed the order itself was flawed. Those who believed strength should be seized, not inherited.

The bronze-skinned man was one of them.

Long ago, he had been a prodigy among the Amazari. A Rank Four who rose faster than most, whose talent rivaled even the matriarchs of his generation.

And he hated the nature of his realm.

He believed the Amazari were shackled by tradition. That their matriarchal order was not balance, but stagnation disguised as harmony. That the males of the race were deliberately held back, their potential sacrificed to preserve a system that no longer deserved to exist.

So he gathered followers.

Ambitious Amazari men who shared his belief. Those who felt overlooked. Those who wanted to reshape their race in their own image.

At first, they called it reform.

Then necessity.

By the time the Amazari council realized what was happening, the movement had already become a threat.

He was condemned to exile.

His name was stripped from Amazari records. His existence declared a taboo.

The silver-haired elder’s voice trembled with contained fury.

"You dare speak of peace?"

The bronze-skinned man met her gaze evenly.

"I dared to dream of a future where power was not decided at birth," he said. "Where strength mattered more than tradition."

He looked down at the battlefield again.

"Change is never clean."

The silence that followed was heavy.

The second sun exhaled slowly, heat rippling outward. The draconic pressure intensified for a brief moment, enough to force even Rank Three experts to brace themselves.

Michael felt his undead tense instinctively.

Only the gray-robed man remained silent.

His gaze drifted lazily across the battlefield before settling on Michael.

Their eyes met.

Michael’s blood ran cold.

The man smiled with mockery.

The situation had changed.

Badly.

Two Suppressed Rank Four.

And the third was someone who already knew him.

Whatever was unfolding now was no longer just about a demon lord.

The bronze-skinned Amazari finally spoke again, his voice carrying effortlessly across the battlefield.

"Do not misunderstand us," he said calmly. "We did not come here to shed blood."

His gaze swept over the gathered experts, the wounded, the undead, the ruined land.

"If everyone present knows their place," he continued, "and acts with obedience, then there will be no need for further conflict. All of you will do well. You will survive. You will even benefit."

Before he could finish his next sentence, the silver-haired Amazari elder laughed.

"In your dreams," she said.