None of You Are Getting Away

"C-Captain! What do we do now?" a Hobgoblin asked in a trembling voice.

Anyone would have felt fear after being surrounded by more than two hundred undead creatures.

Couldn't they see that even the Trolls, who usually had no brains and only knew how to charge in and smash things, were cautiously backing away?

As for the Half-Orcs, who had never had any connection to the word "loyalty," they had already turned several times to look at the small wooden boats overturned on the beach.

If Captain Bloodhand's reputation had not still carried some weight, they probably would have scattered and fled long ago.

That was also why the backbone of the ship had always been the Lawful Evil Hobgoblins rather than humans, Half-Orcs, or the incredibly powerful Trolls.

Only under Hobgoblin management could an entire pirate ship maintain strict discipline and formidable combat strength.

Harlett took a deep breath, abruptly drew another shortsword from his waist, pointed it at the soldier standing motionless in place, and shouted at his men, "Charge in and capture him! Only by catching this guy can we force out the necromancer hiding behind the scenes. Otherwise, even if we want to run, we won't be able to. Don't forget, the undead don't need to breathe. Once they rush aboard, overturn the ship, and drag us underwater, we'll all drown alive."

In an instant!

Every pirate's expression changed.

Even the Half-Orcs who had been planning to flee amid the chaos a moment ago abandoned that idea and assumed a desperate stance.

Because they knew their captain was right.

At the speed of their small boats, no matter how desperately they rowed, they could never shake off these undead in shallow water—creatures that feared no death and needed no air.

"You think capturing me will let you threaten my master? How naive!" the soldier sneered, standing where he was.

He showed no intention whatsoever of retreating or escaping.

Instead, he lightly sliced open the skin and blood vessels on his wrist with his shortsword, allowing blood to drip from his fingers onto the ground.

This obvious act of self-harm immediately put the pirates on guard.

But before they could figure out what he intended to do, the Zombies around them, which had originally moved sluggishly, suddenly became restless like sharks that had caught the scent of blood.

Some were even drawn by the smell of living blood into an abnormal frenzy.

"Not good! Stop that damned bastard! He's trying to kill himself!"

Harlett truly was well-traveled and experienced. He immediately recognized that the soldier was activating some terrifying undead magic ritual through sacrifice.

But unfortunately, he was still one step too late.

Just as the Trolls, Hobgoblins, and Half-Orc pirates roared and charged forward, the summoned human soldier unhesitatingly plunged his shortsword into his own heart.

To be precise, this had been Raymond's true mission for him all along.

Feeling his life force continuously drain away, the soldier used every ounce of his strength before dying to shout, "Fear my master's power! Tremble! None of you are getting away!"

The instant he breathed his last!

The sacrifice was complete!

An indescribably icy sensation blanketed the entire beach!

The bonfire that had been blazing fiercely suddenly went out without warning.

At the same time, every living pirate present shivered, feeling as though the surrounding temperature were rapidly falling.

As for the agitated Zombies, they seemed to have been injected with stimulants. Both their reactions and movement speed increased considerably.

Worse still, they reacted far more violently to the scent of the living.

In the blink of an eye, more than two hundred reanimated Zombies howled as they charged at the pirates defending the beach.

"Hold a tight formation! Prepare to meet them!"

Harlett swung his gem-studded scimitar and cleanly chopped off a human Zombie's head.

He understood that if he did not step forward to steady morale now, the undead might crush them in a single wave.

At the instant the scimitar struck its target's neck, a flash of silver electricity flickered across the blade.

There was no need to ask; this magic scimitar produced additional Lightning Bolt damage on a hit.

After all, Harlett had spent many years sailing the seas, and he had long since accumulated a substantial fortune.

Buying himself a few magic weapons and pieces of equipment was simply ordinary.

Seeing their captain fighting for his life, the other pirates had no time to think further. They quickly formed a circular defensive position and fought the Zombies surging toward them like a tide.

Because the battle was so fierce, no one noticed that the suicidal soldier's corpse had vanished without a trace at some point.

Raymond, who had remained hidden in the Forest without showing himself, wore a pair of glasses enchanted with Darkvision and farsight magic. He closely watched the brutal battle nearby before commenting expressionlessly, "No wonder he managed to make such a name for himself in the Nelanther Isles and the Sea of Swords.

He actually trained a group of low-quality pirates to fight like an army.

It seems my choice to stay hidden first was indeed the right one.

If I had confronted them head-on, my odds of winning would probably have been extremely low.

Especially Harlett. He must be carrying some fairly powerful magic items.

So there's no need to rush. I'll observe a while longer..."

The subsequent development of the situation unfolded exactly as Raymond had expected.

As the reanimated low-level undead, driven by the magic ritual, crazily battered the pirates' defensive formation—sometimes forcibly dragging Half-Orcs and Hobgoblins out from within it, pinning them to the ground, and tearing them apart alive—the pirate captain finally revealed his first trump card.

It was a silver amulet hanging around his neck.

Harlett pulled an oval medallion at the end of the necklace from beneath his clothes and muttered something under his breath. It suddenly burst forth with a blinding holy radiance.

The next second...

Every Zombie within ten meters collapsed in an instant and never rose again.

Without question, they had been purified by some Positive Energy spell stored within the amulet.

That one attack alone eliminated at least twenty undead.

But soon, more Zombies rushed forward once again.

After all, the greatest advantage of undead creatures was that they would never feel fatigue or fear.

Even when facing gods, even if every companion around them had been wiped out and they alone remained, low-level undead with little intelligence would still attack without fear.

"Captain! If you have any more tricks, use them all now! We can't hold on much longer!" a badly injured Hobgoblin panted as he warned.

Beside him, the two Trolls who formed the main fighting force were covered in wounds, with several bite marks on both their arms and thighs.

Most importantly, the relentless and intense battle had exhausted everyone's strength.

Nearly every surviving pirate had their mouth wide open, desperately trying to draw in more air, their lungs burning unbearably as though they were on fire.

"I know! Tell everyone to hold on a little longer! There aren't many of these undead left!"

Harlett shouted without looking back, then raised his left hand and activated a magic ring on his index finger shaped like a goat's horn.

In an instant!

A phantom goat's head formed entirely from magical energy appeared out of thin air and rammed forward at incredible speed.

BOOM!!!!!!!

Accompanied by a deafening explosion, every Zombie standing in the phantom goat head's path was violently hurled more than ten meters away.

That terrifying force even snapped two coconut trees as thick as an adult man's waist.