lshlar kicked the side of his skeletal horse, its bones rattling as it moved forward with unnatural grace. Behind him, a group of snarling ghouls followed, their clawed limbs twitching with bloodlust. Haben watched them with wide, excited eyes, walking a few paces behind. The sight stirred something in him—hope, maybe even ambition.
He grinned. "Do you think Vanthelis would give me a squad like that someday?"
Ishlar didn't look back. "Maybe. But remember, these things don't live for themselves. They're bound to him. If he falls, they rot."
Haben nodded thoughtfully, eyes still locked on the ghouls. "Still… that's power."
"He told me their hunger never fades. But as long as Vanthelis lives, they obey. It's not loyalty. It's control."
They emerged from the trees and saw the telltale signs of another troll camp—a scattering of crude huts and a fire pit still smoldering. Troll corpses from the earlier skirmish were left behind in broken heaps, slowly being consumed by rot and flies.
Ishlar raised a fist. The ghouls halted.
"Move fast. No survivors. If they alert others, we'll have problems."
He charged.
The skeletal warhorse burst through the brush like a storm, Ishlar drawing his sword in a flash. He rammed the blade through the chest of the nearest troll before it could scream. The others—five in total—grabbed spears and rushed at him with wild roars.
The ghouls pounced before the trolls could form a proper defense. Two ghouls leapt onto one troll, tearing at its face and throat. Another troll managed to stab one of them through the chest, and the ghoul shrieked before falling limp.
Ishlar's eyes narrowed. He spun and slashed low, hamstringing a troll before burying his sword in its neck. He didn't stop to check if it died—just moved to the next. His movements were sharp, efficient—he was still a knight, after all.
A troll twice his size bellowed and brought down a club, but Ishlar ducked and thrust upward, impaling it through the jaw. The beast gurgled before falling backward.
Another troll tried to flee. Ishlar pointed a gauntlet-clad hand.
"Death Coil."
A green-black bolt launched from his palm and struck the fleeing troll in the back. It collapsed, writhing, before going still.
Nearby, a wounded ghoul groaned. Ishlar turned the spell on it instead. The green energy surged into the creature, and it stood taller, letting out a feral growl as its wounds closed.
Suddenly—a pulse.
Far away, within the cold walls of the Necropolis, a chime rang out.
Ding!
Name: Ishlar, the Death Knight
Level: 2
Skills:
– Death Coil (Level 1)
– Unholy Aura (Level 1)
Vanthelis read the system window in silence, a small smirk curling on his lips. "He's growing... Good."
Back in the camp, the remaining trolls lay in twisted heaps. One small troll—barely a child—trembled behind a rock. Ishlar walked over quietly and ended its life with a clean stab to the heart.
As the adrenaline faded, a faint glow surrounded him. His power was growing, and with it came something new—a chilling energy that spread from his body like a silent wind. The ghouls paused, their heads turning slightly toward him, their movements becoming sharper, more precise.
Haben wiped blood from his cheek and turned to Ishlar. "Something changed."
"Unholy Aura," Ishlar said. "I don't know how I know that. It just… came to me."
"The ghouls look different. Faster."
"They feed on the aura too," Ishlar muttered. "They draw strength from it."
The surviving ghouls immediately began devouring the troll corpses. Blood sprayed and flesh tore. With every bite, their wounds closed, and their snarling intensified.
One ghoul, still limping, was given the pack—spoils collected by Haben: weapons, scraps, and bones, all thrown onto its back.
"Let's move," Ishlar said as he mounted the skeletal horse again. "Even if we left no survivors, others could be nearby. The stench of blood carries."
Haben nodded and fell in beside the ghouls. "Still. That was one hell of a fight."
Ding!
Level Up!
Ishlar – Level 3
Death Coil (Level 2)
Unholy Aura (Level 1)
The warhorse turned north, leading them deeper into the wild.
Behind them, the second troll camp was silent, painted red and green with blood.
The march of the undead continued.