While Lilith and the unknown man were struggling at the front lines, the rear of the formation wasn't too well off either. It was a small oversight, but the impact it had on the flow of battle was immense. Nobody had truly given it much thought and considered it as a strange riddle, a meaningless flavor text, rather than the important warning that it was.

"The dead shall rise once more"

It was so stupidly obvious, but it was far too great for regrets now. The group had been pushed into the middle with the courtyard now, and in front of them a seemingly endless swarm of zombies with more spawning every second. Their formation had focused on defending the front that the rear was almost entirely unguarded, they were ill-prepared for the sudden shock of being attacked.

It was the corpses of the other Summoned left behind by the one who brought them to this hellhole. The sounds of their movement had been masked by the chaos of the situation, and by the time we had realized we had been locked into place. The undead horde was an ever-growing threat, and unlike us, their energy seemed endless. Nothing but death itself seemed to impede them.

An amputated arm? A minor issue, it still had another one. A pierced liver? Just a flesh wound. Sometimes, even a broken neck wouldn't do more than slow them down, their body moving under the power of magic and unholy anger rather than any system of nerves.

Although they had few casualties, every single one not only served to join the bolster ranks of the enemy but critically damage their morale and seed chaos within the formation.

----------------------------------------

His arm was shaking. He could barely keep his grip on his shield as he held back the zombie in front of him. It had only been half an hour, but to him, it might as well have been days with how tired he felt. His vision briefly turned red as blood dripped down his brows, his blond hair dyed a dirty rust-brown. He briefly gave a glance at his surroundings. There were probably around 50 of them when they started, but now the other shield-bearers of the vanguard only amounted to 40.

Statistically they only lost 20% of their troops, but in reality, it proved to be more around 50%. The people were tired, the small wounds the undead inflicted slowly built up, and as the battle line shrunk the others had to further tax themselves to make up for the difference.

He wasn't pretty sure this was going to be where he died.

Still, his body never stopped moving. Swing, duck, swipe, shield bash. Frankly, there was so many monsters here that he had his hand full just trying to stay alive, to say the least of thinking about the situation. He carefully adjusted his grip on his sword, the handle now slick with blood. He didn't know if it was his or the walking dead, but he had grown numb to the sensation by now along with the smell of iron in the air.

"Everybody, listen up! We're cutting our way out of here. Vanguard shifts to the right and covers our flank, we're going to make a stand at the western wall, long spearmen provide them support, everybody else prepares to charge. We only need to last for a bit more before we complete the Objective, one last push! Cut down anything that moves!"

That voice was vaguely familiar. Leo thought it was from that woman who was part of the army or something that helped them set up their formation. He wasn't sure, but she sounded like she had a plan so he might as well go along with it.

Anything was better than sitting here and waiting to get surrounded.

Leo didn't realize that the brilliant plan he was betting his life on basically summarized into "back against the wall and hold out until we kill enough zombies or die" Still it was amazing what inner strength a person could dig into when desperation mingled with a hint of hope. His ragged breath slowly calmed, his arm stabilized, and a glint of determination returned into Leo's eyes along with the other Summoned.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

----------------------------------------

A spear was more than just a pointy stick used to stab someone. It was an ancient weapon that persisted throughout time and culture, historically proven as a weapon of choice of many warriors. Yes, for an adept a spear was even far superior to a sword. The range it granted was an immeasurably difficult wall for most swordsmen to surpass. It was also far easier for even a novice to learn to use to great effects.

All of which meant jack shit in the current situation to James White at the moment. All he knew was that because he just had to be a dumbass and try to rescue the cute girl. He was always a sucker for beautiful women so this blue doe-eyed girl with raven locks was about to become zombie food, his body reacted.

It was too late for regrets now so he could only keep pushing forward.

However as the undead rapidly started to fill up the courtyard, his spear's great reach had become something of a liability. He simply didn't have enough room to maneuver. Taking a page out of the possibily psychotic damsel he had rescued, because who else would have a shit-eating grin while killing zombies, James started swinging the spear as if it was a pole.

Using the butt end to jab, the shaft to push, and the head to slice. He honestly didn't know what he was doing, mostly mimicking stuff from some Chinese Kung Fu movies he had seen, but it worked well enough apparently. At least they weren't dead yet.

Just as some mild optimism started filling his head, his spearhead had gotten stuck in a particularly obese zombie's gut. The thick layers of fat prevented his swing from exiting the abdomen of the creature, and its sheer heft ensured it didn't get pushed back from the blow like the others. Large meaty hands with sausages for fingers reached for him. He almost froze at the sight. 

Thankfully he recovered his wits just in time to let go of the weapon and duck aside from the hands. He twirled behind the fat fuck and kicked it right behind the knees, falling the mighty behemoth, but couldn't retrieve his lost spear before the other zombies started closing in.

Amateur boxing in his free time did not prepare him to fight with the undead, unfortunately enough.

He only managed to move a couple of feet forward when the lack of range made itself obvious. He had to make sure they couldn't surround him, grab him, or bite him. Which was really hard considering he had to fight them face to face now.

Boxing generally had you strike the chin in order to shake the brain and cause a knockout. Ducking and weaving, a bit of bobbing and footwork, but nothing that allowed you to break skulls or move when facing multiple opponents. His trained reflex and mentality actually served to work against him as he tended to focus on the one in front of him, not used to having to keep an eye out for others to interfere.

As always, it bit him in the ass when he stepped back to dodge a claw swipe, only to stumble to another walking corpse. The creature managed to grab onto his shirt, while another with broken legs clung to his pants leg. A curse escapes his lips.

"Just go on without me! You're almost there, just keep heading straight and don't look back!"

Well, this suck. This sucked really really bad. All that time spent studying for college and proving people wrong about his people, about him, all for nothing. Guess he couldn't manage to be the first to graduate from a university after all, huh Ma? Sorry, your son couldn't make it, but at least he didn't die like a coward.

Yes, James White died for a good cause. He could settle for that.

Yet just as he was making peace with his death, he was interrupted from saying his prayers by 110 pounds girl rocketing into him, knocking them both over and snatching him out of death's grip.

"I'm calling it even, now get your ass up and let's go!"

She oh so eloquently stated, as if she didn't just tackle him. He didn't argue, only pausing for a moment to pick up a sword he found on the ground. Its owner was either dead or gone. The pair stuck closer together this time, making sure to cover for each other. He had sprained his ankle from her impromptu rescue earlier, while she was completely winded from the intense battle.

They silently fell into a routine where he would hold the attention of the monster and she would find a chance to knock it down. Apparently tripping and falling straight on your head was enough to crack your head, who knew? The bodies also worked wonders to impede the movement of the zombies chasing them, some even get trampled to death by their brethren.

The webbings between his fingers had split from the repeated abuse he put it through, but he couldn't stop. They were so close now to the vanguard that he could make out the white of their eyes.

They looked battered and beaten, but still full of vigor. It won't be long now until this hell is over, they just needed to hold on a bit more...