She darted toward a cluster of lumbering zombies. Activating a special technique, she channeled her qi through specific meridians, igniting her blade with radiant fire. Just then, a luminescent orb appeared from above— a will-o'-the-wisp! She struck it down, its ethereal form disintegrated by her fiery technique. Laughing, she announced her next move, "Fervent Ember Slash!"

  She felt a subtle touch on her back and immediately pivoted to deal a counter-strike. Another will-o'-the-wisp was incinerated, but then sharp sensations struck her thigh and shoulder. Realization dawned: she was encircled. An influx of these glowing orbs darted toward her, their cold touch contrasting her burning spirit.

  With a ferocious growl, she unleashed her fiery aura once more, incinerating dozens of the tiny orbs. But as her fire subsided, more advanced, their chilling touch sapping her energy. Her lunges became weaker, her inner fire dimming. She questioned, why was her heart's fire flickering away?—

  Lee, formerly known as Combat Will-o'-Wisp 258 of Division Four, gazed at the recently defeated cultivator. She was youthful and unwise. He sighed, causing his form to shimmer brightly.

  "What's the matter?" Yan questioned in disbelief.

  Lee emitted a soft, ethereal sound in response. Many undead creatures believed will-o'-wisps were just bright, silent globes of magical light, but they couldn't be more wrong. Despite their lack of physical form, will-o'-wisps retained the most awareness of their past lives among all undead. They were, after all, souls imbued with magic.

  "That's my corpse," Yan pointed out, motioning towards a small group of zombies. "The one in the lavender gown. Oh, my skin's ruined!"

  "Enough with the vanity," chided Bai, an elder will-o'-wisp. "We have instructions from higher up."

  "You mean from the Limpet," Yan retorted. "Have you seen her? She's never bothered with skincare, I can assure you."

  Lee emitted another sigh, causing him to shimmer more intensely. Since his transformation, life—or rather, unlife—had been an endless cycle of petty chatter. Although the ability to float and shimmer was novel, the ceaseless gossip among his kind wore on him.

  Gathering behind Bai, the wisps dimmed their glow and sped across the battlefield, where human and undead forces clashed. Weapons whizzed past them, harmless due to their non-physical nature.

  Below, human soldiers found that their spears were ineffective against skeletons. Screams erupted as warriors were battered by clubs of hardened bone. Lee observed spectral wraiths, formidable undead abominations, and legions of zombies joining the fray. On the human side, a cavalry unit attempted a flanking maneuver, but powerful undead creatures were already moving to intercept them.

  Bai gave the signal. "Our targets are their commanders!"

  The group of will-o'-wisps descended, twinkling in the air as they approached a group of cultivators protected by soldiers in ornate armor and flag-bearers.

  Lee targeted one of the flag-bearers, engulfing the young man's face as he made a swooping entrance. His magical essence wrapped around the soldier's head, pulling him to the ground as he flailed helplessly. Around him, his comrades were falling victim to similar attacks.

  Lee pondered the situation. The Limpet, it seemed, had a solid strategy after all.

  Breathing heavily, Luobo Tou cleaned his hands on the robe of a defeated signal bearer. The field was strewn with bodies, many lifeless and some still moaning, their skin showing signs of eerie, necrotic damage.

  A sudden assault? He surveyed the aftermath, a weight settling in his chest. Numerous non-cultivators were gone. A few outer disciples, positioned at the rear because they were less powerful, had also met their end.

  As a senior member of the Flaming Heart Sect, he'd witnessed the organization's peaks and valleys.

  Today was undeniably a low point, even if some didn’t recognize it yet.

  Straightening up, Luobo Tou felt his back crack. What a disaster this had become.

  The Flaming Heart Sect had amassed a considerable force to confront their formidable regional rival, the Ashen Heart Sect. The latter's disciples had dispersed on a quest, leaving their base vulnerable. It should have been the perfect opportunity to vanquish them.

  Additionally, the Hungering Inferno Sect had allied with them, albeit as the weakest faction in the area. United, they represented a significant threat, boasting one of the largest militias this remote province had ever seen.

  And yet, their forces were being whittled away by undead legions.

  The situation wasn't entirely bleak; their losses were countered by a much larger number of defeated undead.

  However, human fatigue was an issue, while the undead never tired.

  Moreover, a fortress of bone and tissue loomed in the distance, its contents unimaginable.

  Bringing it down would be a collective task for him and the other elders—but that was for later.

  "I will intervene," he announced, drawing curious glances from his peer elders. Generally, weaker members confronted the minions, but he saw the bigger picture: their own weaker fighters were dwindling. A little personal effort now could save numerous lives for future battles.

  War's arithmetic was different for sects, where one cultivator could equal a thousand troops.

  Luobo Tou entered the battlefield, the world's fire ascending with him.

  He charged through the center of their ranks. Some human soldiers were engulfed, but most of his power focused on incinerating the undead, turning them into ash.

  This felt good, he mused, stroking his lengthy beard. When was the last time he'd genuinely exerted himself in combat?

  Each motion incinerated dozens of undead, liberating their souls in a fiery spectacle. The earth smoldered in his wake as he continued to make his mark.

  The absence of a real challenge was becoming tedious—until he encountered one.

  A towering skeletal creature lumbered into the fray, triple his height, with dark, sinewy bones and glowing eyes.

  "Is this your champion?" he queried.

  The skeletal being unsheathed a massive, bone-spiked weapon that resembled a club more than a sword.

  "A barbarian's choice," he commented disdainfully.

  Joining his hands, he channeled his inner fire even more intensely and unleashed it, enveloping the beast.

  However, his flames also obscured the approaching swing of the creature's weapon—

  Gargantuan momentarily lifted his sword again, saluting the adversary he'd just knocked across the fighting grounds. Holding immense power also meant having an equal measure of responsibility and control. Even when facing a ruthless enemy, he knew better than to underestimate his own might.

  Amid the cacophony of clashing metal and warrior cries, Gargantuan found himself pondering the essence of life and mortality. And, more peculiarly, whether pants were a wardrobe necessity in his situation. It's not like he had anything to hide; he was a mass of muscle, bones, and sinew. Still, wasn't slaying an opponent while trouserless a tad disrespectful?

  Why was he armed with a sword but given no scabbard?

  With these thoughts, he advanced, seeking another formidable opponent for both a duel of strength and a meaningful exchange of ideas. Someone sizable enough that he could inherit their trousers upon victory.

  Across the battlefield stood such a man. Tall, with twin rods protruding from his back, labeled 'Hungering' on one and 'Inferno' on the other. The fellow was evidently a general, as signaled by his ornate armor and feathered helmet. Clearly, this man was out to defeat Gargantuan himself.

  Lifting his blade in acknowledgement, Gargantuan readied his stance. His bony feet anchored into the soil, as General Bōluó Bāo tightened his grasp on his own lengthy blade.

  "I am General Bōluó Bāo. Prepare to be vanquished, fiend," he proclaimed.

  Gargantuan inclined his head. "I am Gargantuan. I intend to wear your trousers."

  In a flash, the general vanished, yet Gargantuan was alert enough to parry the initial overhead swing—a move that could have crushed even his magical skeleton. The impact sent dust flying, scattering nearby troops of both human and skeletal variety.

  Capitalizing on the moment, Gargantuan unleashed a barrage of powerful strikes. Each aimed to bisect the general, who managed to dodge some and parry others. But Gargantuan would not tire, and eventually, the general would.

  It seemed for a moment they were evenly matched, save for the general's impending exhaustion. However, Gargantuan, seasoned by countless conflicts, seized an opportunity. As the general swung for his neck, he ducked and lunged, his blade finding a vulnerable spot between the general's armor.

  The sword met flesh, causing the general to wince and jump away, a grimace of pain revealing the toll of his new wound. Gargantuan hesitated. Honor dictated he not exploit the moment, so he offered a nod, respecting the general's skill and courage.

  But the general wasn't done. A renewed fire blazed in his eyes. With a deceptive feint that Gargantuan misinterpreted, the general slid beneath his guard. His blade sliced across Gargantuan's chest, severing ribs and muscle alike.

  "Trousers!" exclaimed Gargantuan.

  In his dying moments, the general executed a graceful slice, swiftly cutting his opponent's neck.

  Boluo Bao inhaled deeply and exhaled. His inner craving roared and churned, yearning for more, but this particular battle was concluded. The one who had slain an elder of the Flaming Heart Sect had fallen to his blade, a warrior of the Hungering Inferno. It was a gratification of vengeance, made sweeter by the knowledge that it would be an indigestible truth for the Flaming Heart.

  He polished his blade with a piece of cloth before surveying the battlefield. His troops were flagging; they lacked the stamina for prolonged combat. Gaps were beginning to form in the defensive line, indicating a potential breakdown in morale. A tactical withdrawal seemed necessary; they would regroup and press forward anew. Though they had inflicted severe damage on the undead forces, victory remained elusive.

  Left unchecked, necromancers could reverse their losses and his achievements. This had to stop, and there was a straightforward way to do it. Now that the gargantuan skeletal creature was permanently down, a clear path to the massive undead fortress was revealed.

  The general inspected his injury; it was bleeding, but he would survive. The discomfort was a hindrance but not debilitating. With the gravity of his responsibilities and past actions burdening him, General Boluo Bao advanced toward the fortress, unopposed by the undead.

  Upon reaching the walls, he bellowed, "I am General Boluo Bao. Bring forth your leader!" When diplomatic niceties failed, subterfuge was the next best option.

  Above him, a young woman with glasses emerged, confused. "Excuse me?" she asked.

  "I demand an audience with your leader," he reiterated, increasingly irate with her unresponsive demeanor.

  "And why would that be?" she inquired.

  "Because I am General Boluo Bao," he declared.

  "Alright, what's your point?" she responded, nonplussed.

  Frustrated, the general unleashed his inner fire and vaulted into the air, landing atop the wall, even as the young girl recoiled. She was not alone; beside her were various beings, including mantis-like demi-gods and peculiarly dressed skeletons. "You have ignited both my hunger and my fury. Get ready to meet your end," he asserted, lunging at her.

  Suddenly, a skeletal grip froze him in his tracks, seizing his neck. One of the dismissed skeletons had intervened.

  "So you're feeling peckish?" said the skeleton. "Why not take on an opponent more your size?"

  Then, uttering the phrase "Hunger of the Dreamer," the skeleton sent Boluo Bao tumbling into a chasm filled with otherworldly tentacles and an insatiable hunger far exceeding his own.

  "He lacked decorum," commented the Limpet.

  I shrugged it off. "Desperation often erodes one's manners."

  Chapter 28: Triumph and Tactics

  My skull-shaped face broke into a grin as the final surviving warrior on the battlefield relinquished his spear, a visible loathing etched on his countenance. Undoubtedly, he had made the correct decision; he was encircled by my army of the undead.

  The Limpet surveyed the war zone before perusing the data reports piled on her desk, diligently prepared by Seventeen and a few of his skeleton logistics minions. These succinct updates had kept her well-informed on various matters—ranging from the remaining ammunition for the trebuchets and the archers to the tally of undead soldiers that were damaged but salvageable during the forward march.

  Ah, the puns! Bone-dry humor indeed!

  In a similar scenario, my army of administrators would typically consist of zombies and mummies. Zombies excel at breaking down complex issues, and mummies are so engrossed in their tasks that they become entirely consumed by them.

  The Limpet looked up and caught my eye. "What's the reason for your laughter, Master?" she queried.

  "Simply the joy of triumph," I replied. She wasn't prepared for that level of linguistic finesse. "What's our next course of action?"

  She scanned the still-smoldering battleground. Evidently, the sects we'd engaged with favored pyrotechnics. Regrettably, I had long realized that while fire may intimidate the living, it was a poor choice of weaponry—slow, painful, and often ineffective. The undead were impervious to such attacks.

  "The logical next step would be to descend and formally accept their surrender," I suggested.

  Rem, our mantis attired like a butler but far from one, made a gesture with her scythe-like arms that I'd come to recognize as skepticism.

  "You disagree?" I probed.

  "Clearly," she retorted. "We won, we feast. It's that simple."

  "We're not consuming the captives," The Limpet interjected.

  Rem huffed in annoyance. "Alright. But they're the freshest since they're the least deceased. You can feast on the fully dead ones."

  "No, we're definitely not doing that either," said The Limpet.

  Rem looked puzzled, but then something clicked in her mind. "Oh, I get it. Limpet, you misunderstood. You thought I meant the truly deceased ones." She pointed at Seventeen and me. "That's silly. I meant the freshly killed human ones."

  Exasperated, The Limpet adjusted her glasses. "Let's identify the new leaders among them and decide our next move. If you're hungry, Rem, request a meal from Alex."

  "Perhaps I will," Rem murmured as she walked off.

  The Limpet started to move, pulling the rest of us in her gravitational pull—Seventeen, Rem, Alex, Mem, and even her petite canine companion seemed to follow her lead. It was becoming increasingly evident that The Limpet was growing into a figure of influence.

  I had spent considerable time researching the phenomenon of charisma and the magnetic pull some people had over others. It seemed that, while bardic talents could cultivate attention, charisma itself wasn't a guaranteed force of influence. It dawned on me that a blend of attributes and circumstances created the true leaders who could rouse entire nations and perform the miraculous through sheer willpower alone.

  The Limpet wasn't at that point yet, but there was potential. Having delved into the subject and refined my magical techniques, I'd found a way to devastate armies merely by appearing on the battlefield.

  Engrossed in her reports, The Limpet walked with a slight stoop. Seventeen guided her from one step behind, staying within her line of vision. Her apathetic stride surprisingly exuded authority.

  "We should reorganize the skeleton forces. And distribute the cultivators amongst them—perhaps in separate groups? We lack sufficient forces for individual deployments, but diversifying the groups may sow discord among them," she planned.

  "Our cultivator capture rate is low," Seventeen added.

  "Is it?"

  "Many flee upon injury or fight until their last breath," Seventeen clarified, pointing to a specific report.

  "Ah, I see," she acknowledged, flipping through the papers. "Tell the zombies to scavenge for salvageable bodies. Keep them out of the prisoners' sight. As for remains and fractured skeletons, make them visible."

  "Got it," Seventeen confirmed. "Should we hunker down for now?"

  "Only for a short while, until dawn perhaps," she mulled, eyeing the distant city of Yu Xiang, stronghold of the Hungering Inferno sect.

  "Do you have plans for a siege?" I inquired.

  She negated. "Not particularly, but their army has been demolished. Might they surrender?"

  "Either they'll capitulate or go down fighting," I advised. "Scenarios like these seldom offer a third option."

  The Limpet regarded me through her large lenses. "Master, what sets them apart?" she inquired.

 

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