Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Chapter 741: Smell of Death [4]

Michael remembered a sentence his instructor once told him.

There is a price for everything.

Maybe this was his.

As the pain of losing several strong undead in an extremely short moment tormented and tore at Michael’s soul, he could not help but think that maybe, if he were just some average person somewhere, he would not be here.

He probably would not.

As Michael’s body trembled in pain, the others around him were not slow to react.

The first to attack were Michael’s undead.

Lucky, whom Michael had kept away due to his poison attribute potentially causing friendly fire, was nowhere to be seen as Michael went out. In the next instant, Lucky leapt into the air as he morphed into his true form.

A huge eight meter tall wolf with dragonlike wings longer than its body.

Lucky let out a loud roar that made every Rank Three present, aside from the two suns, shift in place.

The dragonlike figure among the two suns began paying more attention, as if something had finally caught his interest, and indeed something had.

That something was Lucky, thanks to his pure thin dragon bloodline.

It turned out the dragonlike figure was actually a drakeblood, and thanks to their dragon bloodline, absorbing things related to dragons or advancing in rank caused their thin bloodline to grow stronger.

This was why, at Rank Three, they could already morph into drakes.

It was said that at Rank Five, they resembled true dragons even more.

The draconic figure let out a low chuckle, heat rippling faintly around his massive frame.

His crimson eyes locked onto Lucky as the massive undead wolf spread its wings, poison-tinged mana rolling off its body in heavy waves.

"Leave that one to me," the drakeblood said. "I want it."

The bronze-skinned Amazari did not even glance at him.

"I am not concerned with your entertainment," he replied flatly. "Take it if you wish."

His gaze never left the battlefield below.

"Our task here was simple," he continued, his tone cold and dismissive. "Stall them. But it seems they cannot comprehend the immensity of the power standing before them."

He gestured vaguely at the army of undead, at the gathered experts, at the races staring up at them with defiance mixed with fear.

"A few deaths will be instructive," he went on calmly. "Necessary, even."

His lips curled.

"Especially that boy."

Below, Michael’s breathing was ragged.

The backlash of losing multiple Rank Three undead tore through his mind like hooks dragging across his soul. The bond had been severed violently, not gently released. Pain lanced through him in waves, sharp enough to blur his vision.

The sight of this, combined with the connection he shared with his undead, made them aware of the pain their master felt, driving them into madness.

It was instinct rather than emotion, something still foreign even to undead whose intelligence could begin mimicking such reactions.

It was like a mother throwing herself in front of a car to shield her child, or a father exchanging his life for his offspring without a second thought.

The role of an undead was to serve its master.

It was their life purpose.

The drakeblood did not wait.

The moment Lucky’s roar rolled across the battlefield, the draconic figure’s aura shifted, and the air around him grew heavy with heat. The hornlike ridges along his temples flared faintly, then his body expanded.

In the span of a breath, the sky was filled by a drake.

Fifteen meters tall, thick-necked and brutal, with wings that blotted out the light and a tail that whipped through the air like a weapon. The space around him trembled.

His crimson eyes locked onto Lucky.

"Mine," he rumbled.

Then he charged.

The drake’s wings beat once, his body turning into a descending comet, heat trailing behind him as he aimed straight for Lucky.

Lucky snarled and surged to meet him.

But before the clash could happen, something moved.

A shadow rose from the battlefield below and placed itself directly in the drake’s path.

An ant.

Eight meters tall.

Its body was pitch black, segmented like armor, with limbs thick as pillars and a head shaped like a living battering ram.

The drakeblood’s eyes widened.

"What?"

The ant did not answer.

It lowered its head.

And met him.

BOOM.

The collision sounded like a world breaking.

A shockwave burst outward, ripping through the air in a wide ring. Clouds of dust and broken stone erupted from the battlefield below as if a bomb had detonated. Several Rank Three experts were thrown off their feet. Even those who held their ground felt their bones vibrate.

The drake was forced slightly backward in midair from the recoil.

And the ant?

The ant was pushed back too.

Significantly.

Its legs dug into the air as if it were soil, joints groaning under pressure, its entire frame sliding backward several meters. The force bent its posture, strained its body, and yet it held on.

That was what stunned everyone watching.

That was what made the drakeblood’s expression twist.

"An ant?" he snarled, his voice vibrating with offended disbelief. "You dare block me with an ant?"

The black ant lifted its head slowly.

It was Ghost.

Michael’s most raw, physically powerful undead.

Though Ghost said nothing and stood relatively still, anyone familiar with energy could feel the rage radiating from afar, and it was not only Ghost.

Four figures with similar aura and appearance to Ghost emerged from the ground.

All the undead on the battlefield heard a familiar voice.

"Fight to the death. We go all out, children. For survival."

Soon, three groups formed.

One side, along with some race warriors, attacked the Rank Four drakeblood. Another side attacked the bronze-skinned Amazari. The final group protected Michael, with the elven representative taking charge as she engaged the gray-robed figure among the three attackers.

The bronze-skinned Amazari’s rage boiled over.

"You dare?!" he shouted.

The air around him warped violently as his aura surged again, far denser than before. The pressure slammed downward like a descending sky, cracking the ground beneath the charging forces. Several warriors faltered mid-step, their legs buckling, blood spilling from mouths and noses.

But they did not stop.

The silver-haired elder raised her hand, her water law igniting as it carved a path through the pressure.