The Aleta Canyon stretched from north to south, resembling an enormous gourd. The northern end was narrow, while the southern section was significantly wider. The Bloodfang Basilisks were now surging in from the north, heading straight for Jack Williams and his forces. To reach him, they first had to traverse a narrow passageway.
This bottleneck spanned barely a hundred meters. Under normal circumstances, it would be nothing more than a minor inconvenience to the Bloodfang Basilisks—forty seconds at most, and they would charge through unimpeded. But today, they were about to face an unprecedented crisis.
From the cliffs flanking the passage, dozens of skeletal soldiers, led by Jack, suddenly sprang into action. Each one hoisted a boulder weighing over twenty pounds and hurled it down with ruthless precision.
The sight of more than twenty skeletons launching a simultaneous assault was nothing short of cataclysmic. And then there was Bruno, his massive frame standing like an unyielding fortress. With a mere flick of his tail, seven or eight boulders tumbled down in rapid succession.
The canyon instantly erupted into chaos.
The Bloodfang Basilisks recoiled, their eyes widening in alarm as the rocks rained upon them. Their bodies, nigh-impenetrable in defense, could withstand blades and spells alike—but even they could not remain unscathed under an unrelenting downpour of stone.
Perched atop the cliff, Jack observed the havoc with an unreadable expression. The corners of his lips curved faintly as he murmured to himself, "Why should we engage in direct combat? Utilizing the terrain—now that is the key to victory. I should have thought of this sooner."
Nearby, Toby gnawed on a skewer of some unidentified beast's roasted flesh, clicking his tongue in admiration. "Boss, you're brilliant! Using the canyon like this… Aleta might not have much else, but there's no shortage of rocks. Let's smash these scaly bastards to death! Haha! I don't care how tough their hides are—enough of these will knock them senseless."
Jack, however, remained somber as he watched the panicked Bloodfang Basilisks below. There was no sense of triumph in his heart—only deepening concern. Could these stones truly wound them? These were eighth-tier magical beasts, after all. Their natural defenses were beyond what ordinary rocks could hope to pierce.
And indeed, though struck repeatedly, the Bloodfang Basilisks bore no visible injuries. At most, their advance had been slightly impeded. Enraged, they bared their fangs and let out deafening roars, then began advancing toward the cliffs with menacing intent.
The canyon walls were perilously steep, nearly a seventy-degree incline. Earlier, Jack and his troops had relied on Bruno to fly them up. Now, witnessing the Bloodfang Basilisks climbing with steady, unrelenting movements, the sight sent a chill through the watching soldiers. The creatures weren't fast, but each step was firm and unwavering. Within moments, they were a mere twenty meters away.
Jack's gaze sharpened. He drew his single-handed sword in one fluid motion and shouted, "Squad One, keep hurling the stones! Squad Two, follow me—cut them down!" Without hesitation, he lunged forward, leading the charge. A swift, decisive kick sent a Bloodfang Basilisk hurtling backward.
Though each basilisk weighed over two hundred pounds, Jack's strength had grown considerably over the past days of relentless combat. With the added advantage of higher ground, his kick required little effort to send the creature tumbling down.
The basilisk crashed down like a massive boulder, rolling uncontrollably. It collided with four or five others below, sending them sprawling.
From such a great height, even with their formidable durability, the impact was excruciating. The air filled with agonized howls.
Squad One wasted no time. The skeletal soldiers, undeterred and relentless, continued hurling stones. Though they lacked the power to kill outright, the relentless barrage inflicted enough pain to send several more Bloodfang Basilisks plummeting to the canyon floor.
Ben led Squad Two into the fray, leveraging their advantageous position to engage the creatures in close combat. Though incapable of outright victory, they succeeded in forcing a deadlock.
Jack swiftly issued his next commands. "Dave! Lead your squad and attack the basilisks on the left cliffside. Eric! Take your troops and strike those on the right. Carl! Your squad is responsible for finishing off any that fall into the canyon—leave none alive!"
Without hesitation, Carl, Dave, and Eric sprang into action.
Dave's archers—forty skeletal marksmen—nocked their arrows and loosed a volley upon the climbing basilisks. Meanwhile, Eric's unit rained down javelins, forcing the creatures to divide their attention.
Already grappling with Jack's frontal assault, the basilisks now found themselves besieged from all sides. Arrows and javelins disrupted their focus, creating openings their foes wasted no time exploiting. Several Bloodfang Basilisks, caught off guard while evading projectiles, were unceremoniously shoved off the cliffs by skeletal warriors.
Jack, Alex, Ben, Dave, and Eric knew their strikes dealt minimal damage—but they weren't meant to. The true decisive force was Carl's squad.
Several basilisks, thrown from the cliffs, landed on their backs, their vulnerable underbellies exposed. As they struggled to right themselves, Carl's troops descended upon them, hacking and slashing with ruthless efficiency.
A Bloodfang Basilisk's back was an impregnable fortress, but its belly? Soft, unprotected flesh—no different from an ordinary beast. Under normal circumstances, flipping them over would be nearly impossible. But now, thanks to Jack's meticulous strategy, it had become a reality.
The battle raged on for two grueling hours. By the end, the canyon floor was littered with the mangled corpses of over twenty Bloodfang Basilisks, their bellies slashed into unrecognizable carnage.
Among them, the skeletal soldiers of Squads One and Two bore the brunt of the assault. Some had even flung themselves upon the basilisks, dragging them down into the abyss together. Though their bones shattered upon impact, they did not relent. Even in their broken states, they clung to the basilisks, exposing their weaknesses for their comrades to exploit.
Jack watched his skeletal warriors with quiet admiration.
Were they truly emotionless puppets? Was their loyalty mere instinct?
He shook his head, a rare warmth flickering in his eyes. No. They understood sacrifice. They fought with unwavering resolve.
He would not let their devotion go unrecognized.
Jack Williams slumped onto a boulder, lifting his gaze toward the darkening sky. He exhaled softly, his thoughts adrift in the shifting twilight.
For over twenty days, he had held this canyon, repelling wave after wave of monstrous assaults. His skeletal legion, once a meager force of forty-five, had now swelled to a thousand strong, organized into ten distinct squads.
Henry's Eighth Squad and Isaac's Ninth had evolved into elite archer and javelin units, their effectiveness soaring. Meanwhile, James' Tenth Squad, though only fifty-six strong, consisted entirely of skeletal mages—a force to be reckoned with.
The army's overall strength had grown exponentially. Ten squad captains had reached the rank of Silver Skeleton Warriors. Three hundred more had ascended to Bronze Skeleton Warriors, while the remainder stood at the Black Skeleton Soldier level.
Had the fallen beasts possessed sturdier remains, he would have long since established a cavalry division. If he could field skeletal riders, future battles would be far easier.
Jack exhaled again, shaking his head.
For now, such ambitions would have to wait.