N-A-A Chapter 179: A Higher Type of Undead
Chapter 179: A Higher Type of Undead
The Undead’s status screen appeared in front of him now:
[Undead Knight – Rust Tier]
Former Rank: Percvale Commander
Combat Instinct: Preserved (Fragmented)
Strength: 80
Endurance: 91
Loyalty: 90
Pain Response: None
Morale: Irrelevant
Special Trait: Tireless (Does not fatigue)
Weakness: Core Destruction (Skull / Spine)
Darion stared at the stats for quite some time. He was in awe. He was genuinely shocked.
This was one of the best stat blocks he had seen in a long time. Not just good, but exceptional!
Strength 80 was higher than most of his other undead by a significant margin. Endurance 91 meant this thing could take hit after hit and keep going. And loyalty 90? That was nearly unshakable. This undead wouldn’t hesitate, wouldn’t he slow or lag during orders and wouldn’t break under pressure.
What the hell?
He had raised plenty of knights before. Rust tier, Bone tier, even a few Flesh tier when he was lucky. But none of them had stats like this. Most of his infantry undead had strength in the 30s and 40s, endurance in the 50s and 60s. Solid enough for holding a line or absorbing arrows, but nothing special. This commander was on an entirely different level.
This undead would surely be really powerful when used in battle. It wouldn’t fall easily like any random undead in his inventory. It would surely last. It would tear through enemies, shrug off blows that would shatter lesser skeletons, and keep fighting until the battle was over. Crazy, honestly.
This would become a favorite summon, like his first undead wild wolf.
Darion thought about that wolf often. The original one. The one that had saved his life many times. The one that had torn through guards and prisoners with brutal efficiency. The one he never wanted to lose.
When he summoned any other creature from his inventory, he did it expecting it to be destroyed on the battlefield. There wasn’t any real hope that he would get it back. Most of his undead knights were disposable, useful for one battle, maybe two if they were lucky, but eventually they would fall.
He raised them, he used them, they broke, and he replaced them.
But with the undead wolf, there was hope of retaining it. A big hope, even. Every time he sent the creature into battle, he always expected to get it back. It was like an unspoken rule in his head: the wolf comes home. That was why he was always careful with it, always hesitant to throw it into situations where it might not survive.
He hadn’t been able to do that with his undead knights. Not yet. Any time he sent them into the battlefield, there wasn’t a single hope that he would get many back. He expected losses. He planned for them. That was why he was always refilling his inventory, always digging up more graves, always saying "Arise" over and over until his throat went dry.
But with this undead standing in front of him, there was hope. Real hope. Fucking hope!
He could send this commander into battle and genuinely expect it to come back. He could rely on it. He could build strategies around it. He could send it against tough enemies and not spend the whole fight worrying that it would crumble after one hit.
Darion stared at the undead for quite some time. The green eyes glowed back at him, patient and waiting. The rusted armor hung on its broad frame, and even through the decay, he could see the size of the man it had once been. Broad shoulders. Thick bones. A body that had seemingly been built for war.
For some reason, he laughed. It was not a small chuckle, but a real laugh. The kind that came from deep in his chest.
"Muhahahahaha!"
It came out more villainous than he intended. He didn’t care. There was no one around to hear it except the dead, and the dead didn’t judge.
Darion thought back to the moment the commander had first risen. When the undead had come to life, He had slightly panicked. His muscles tensed. His hand hovered near his weapon. For one irrational heartbeat, he thought the undead would choke him to death or something. The thought flashed through his mind: this large, powerful corpse, this commander who had been rejected once before, waking up and deciding it didn’t want to serve?
He knew that wasn’t likely. The binding was strong. The system had never failed him before. But still, the fear had flickered through him. What if the binding failed? What if the creature turned on him? His other undead wouldn’t intervene unless commanded, and if he was already choking, already dying, he wouldn’t be able to give that command.
Stupid, he had told himself. The system had never failed him before. There was no reason to think it would start now.
And now, standing in front of him in rusted armor, was a peak undead knight. Strength 80. Endurance 91. Loyalty 90. A commander who had led men in life and would now serve him in death.
Darion smiled and reached out, placing his hand on the undead’s shoulder. The bone was cold beneath his palm, solid and unyielding.
"Welcome to the team," he said.
The undead said nothing. It just stood there, green eyes glowing, ready to serve.
Darion hadn’t said it because he expected a reply, by the way. The undeads couldn’t answer. They just stood there with their glowing eyes and their hollow silence, waiting for orders. He said it because... he didn’t know.
Darion turned and looked across the graveyard. The sun was dipping lower now, kind of painting the sky in shades of orange and red.
How long had he even spent here? He didn’t even know. There were no wristwatches in this world and no phones to check.
The sun was his only measure of time at the moment, and the sun was doing that thing where it sank faster than he expected. He had arrived when the afternoon was still young, or so he thought, and now the sky was bleeding orange and red like a bruise spreading across the horizon. Hours, maybe, he didn’t know. Or maybe just one hour that had felt like three. He couldn’t tell anymore. The digging, the sorting, the reviving, the saying "Arise" over and over, it had blurred everything together.