River Valley

Silman Valley had already become a land of fire and ash. The night had yet to brighten, and under the moonlight, the Undead Army advanced in several groups across the rolling hills. Looking down along the riverbank, Owl Town had been reduced to scattered ruins and remnants. Countless bone frames circled around both sides of the town, while the monotonous, orderly clacking of bones echoed across the wilderness. Between the long columns, heaps of corpses rose high. Liches selected intact remains from them and then reawakened them as soldiers. The cold night wind blew from the pass, as though carrying the eerie chants of their spells, making the entire valley even more horrifying.

Blood Staff stood alone in the night wind, which continued to tug at the hem of his ghoul robe. He glanced at a mangled corpse not far away. It had probably been a human militiaman. Judging from the wounds, it had likely died at the hands of a Fear Spirit. Only half the body remained, and one hand still gripped a sharp rock embedded in the ground. He could imagine that the man must have struggled desperately to crawl forward before his death, only for the Fear Spirit to tear his body apart with its sharp claws and fangs. He raised his head again and gazed into the valley. The battle there had long since ended. As far as the eye could see, not a single living creature remained—only utter silence.

It had been a perfect victory.

It was as though it bore witness to the prophecy in the Book of the Black Prophecy: a kingdom of darkness would surely rise in the east.

"Those pathetic Eluin bastards must have no idea why they lost so miserably." Behind Blood Staff, a young man with a deathly pale