Unseen, unheard, and unknown by the people of Galmore, a war was being waged just outside their gates. Only a few miles away, hordes of Undead clashed, intent to tear each other apart. Horrid screams escaped the Zombies’ throats. Screams that could freeze some of the bravest hearts.

Alaster did not consider himself brave. He rarely fought battles that he was not at least fairly sure he could escape from. He might need to sacrifice his Undead army, but he could survive and rebuild.

Alaster had simply grown used to the screams after hearing them constantly for the last several hours.

He had not bothered to count the number of skirmishes that had taken place. How many thousands he had already destroyed. Even if he was the sort of person who would want to know the exact number, it would have been impossible.

The Undead Cavalry he had been slowly creating had proven their use multiple times over. While the Woven Undead took a few minutes to create each one, the Forgotten were more complicated and took several hours, but actually used very little Mana.

So in between Weaving the Forgotten, Alaster would rapidly raise a new Undead Knight, which raised its level enough to evolve into a Heavy Knight and only took a few seconds each. The Light Cavalry were actually just the Forgotten.

The first couple of skirmishes had worked wonderfully well. The Lich had divided his massive army into smaller sections of only a few hundred. Allowing them to cover more ground while not being so big of a target.

Conventionally, it would have been prudent to plant stakes in the ground in order to deter cavalry. But even experienced Commanders would not have bothered in a forest as thick as this. No horse could build up enough speed through the trunks and roots. There were, however, two issues with that when it came to Alaster’s Cavalry.

First, the mounts were dead. They had no organs or blood. The stakes would either shatter against the hardened bone, or they would pierce through, doing very little damage. Second, the mounts were dead. They had no proper muscles that were required to move a certain way or build up speed.

Alaster’s Undead Mounts, which took him almost two entire days to Weave the spell for, could move as fast as they could almost instantly, and their limbs and joints allowed them to traverse the crowded forest floor with only a little hinderance.

Had it been a rocky terrain, Alaster suspected he would have seen a larger decrease in speed. The rocks underfoot could shift and move, which was much less likely with the tree roots, as thick and tangled as they were.

With their size, speed, and weight, they barreled through the roughly packed Undead with ease. Bones and blood flying through the air as his Heavy Cavalry barely slowed, going through the smaller section of Undead and out the other side. Next came the Forgotten as Light Cavalry. Without dismounting, they used their swords to efficiently dismantle what few survivors there were from the initial charge.

It might have been taking advantage of the System, but it allowed the Forgotten to quickly gain Levels without much risk of destruction. Despite the vast amount of Undead Alaster had destroyed he had actually seen no actual progress towards his next Level, but for the Forgotten, who were all low Level to begin with, they were improving quite well.

Instead, Alaster watched his Army fight from the back, seeing no reason to tire himself before he reached the Lich. His Death Knights stayed close, content with observing. Well, most of them were content. One of the Knights was itching to fight, but Alaster ordered him to stay. He did not want to reveal one of his trump cards before the true battle even began.

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With the Shadows scouting out where the Undead groups were, the Heavy Cavalry could run from battlefield to battlefield without stopping. Neither their mounts or themselves were capable of growing tired. The Medium Cavalry followed after them, taking out any portions that remained while the Forgotten cleaned up the few survivors.

In this way, Alaster was completely destroying each group within minutes without losing any of his own Undead.

Of course, he had no doubt that the Lich would realize something was wrong and recall the other groups while resummoning more. And sure enough, after three hours of skirmishing, the last group had finally merged with the main army.

Already, he had dealt a savage blow against the Lich without any damage to himself or his own army. While the Undead Alaster had destroyed were already mostly resummoned, that had no doubt cost the Lich a large amount of Mana.

Alaster recalled his roaming cavalry and gathered his army before he directed them towards the Lich’s Army. Throughout the night, while Alaster was directing the Cavalry through the Undead groups, he had made sure to keep an eye on the Lich Army through the eyes of a Shadow.

Despite losing many of their number, the Lich had not moved the main Army at all. They still remained in a large clearing, atop a slight incline.

Alaster made no attempt to hide. By the time he came into eyesight of the Lich Army, they were already ready for him, as much as they could.

Zombies stood in front, four rows deep, all wielding large shields and spears. In front of them, sporadically placed, thick stakes were driven in the ground, angled outwards. Behind the Zombies, stood the mass of Skeletons, wielding a random assortment of weapons. Behind them were two ranks of Skeletons carrying bows. Behind the archers were the Undead Beasts. Finally, at the top of the short hill, Alaster spotted the Lich, guarded by ten more of the front-line Zombies.

The Lich was fairly accurate to the stories. A Skeleton wearing a dark robe with glowing eyes. The stories claimed that the color of the eyes determined the Lich’s level of power. The darker the eyes, the stronger, with white being the weakest, though even a White Lich was still a threat that would alarm a city.

The stories for the existence of Liches was actually quite similar to Humanity’s own rise to power. The theory was that very rarely, a Naturally occurring Undead was capable of thought and was able to grow stronger with each kill, similar to Humanity.

Eventually, if they were able to grow strong enough, they would evolve into a higher form, depending on their particular type of power. If the Skeleton trained their durability and strength, they would adapt to become a higher form of Zombie, potentially a Zombie General or Hulk.

Zombie Generals were more durable and stronger versions of Zombies that could raise more Zombies. They could not raise many, but the Zombies they commanded were elites, each one capable of fighting off half a dozen average Adepts.

Zombie Hulks could not command any Undead, though other Natural Undead typically mindlessly followed them around. Hulks grew to gargantuan proportions, easily three stories tall. Their strength would make even the average Expert wary and they could survive several full force blows from the same.

However, if they learned and trained their Magic, they would become Liches, capable of raising and commanding hordes of the dead. Potent Magic users. Cruel and cunning. While they sent hordes of their Undead to a seemingly pointless slaughter, they were capable of summoning countless more. But even they had their limits.

Even from this distance, Alaster could see the deep purple eyes burning fiercely, as if they were attempting to destroy all before them. Yet there was also a hint of curiosity as they stared back at him, hidden behind a prideful challenge.

Both were ones who commanded the dead. Both with Necrotic Mana coursing through them. Both desiring more power. But there could only be one. They stared at each other, embracing the challenge they each displayed. But there was no hate.

They did not hate each other. In some way, they respected each other. The Lich was one who had crawled through the ranks of the Undead as a lowly Skeleton, fighting for each morsal of strength. Gradually understanding the energy of Death with each kill. In that way, they understood each other. But it was that understanding that pushed them to fight.

Despite the Undead being incapable of feeling emotion, they felt the brewing battle. The fight for who would rule. They grew excited, and though they never moved, they bristled at the Necrotic Mana gradually filling the soon to be battlefield. The grass turned yellow, and insects died. Birds grew silent and Monsters fled.

Alaster could have one of the Shadow Assassins sneak through the army and simply behead the Lich. But he was not there to kill. He was there to defeat. To see who was stronger. To know who deserved the right to call themselves Lord of the Dead.