Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World - Chapter 513: Another One

Chapter 513: Another One

A few minutes passed.

Michael’s eyes tracked the faint connection he felt with his summoned soldiers—thin threads of awareness tugging at the edge of his mind. It wasn’t vision exactly, more like knowing where they were at all times.

Then one thread snapped.

Michael froze.

One of the skeletons was gone.

His grip on the spear tightened, a flicker of unease crawling through his chest.

The creatures weren’t invincible, but for one to simply wink out that quickly meant something had gotten the jump on it.

And that something might still be nearby.

He could have turned back. Losing a scout was warning enough. But Michael wasn’t here to scrape by.

He needed points—and sitting still, avoiding fights, would never get him to a hundred.

He pushed forward, following the direction where the thread had broken.

The mist thickened as he advanced, wrapping around his boots like coils of smoke. Each step was deliberate, the silence pressing hard on his ears.

Then it came.

A sharp sting along his ribs, so quick he barely caught it. Michael hissed, pivoting with his spear raised. Nothing. The mist was empty.

Another flash—this time across his back, the light graze of steel.

An ambush.

Michael ducked, whirling, his spear lashing out in a sweeping arc. For a heartbeat, the weapon cut through nothing but fog—until it clanged against steel.

The clash sent sparks through the mist, and for the first time Michael saw him.

A figure in black robes, hood drawn low, daggers flashing with the gleam of poison. His body moved like smoke, flickering through the haze, but Michael’s eyes locked on him now.

A panel flickered into existence at the edge of Michael’s vision:

[Class Identified: Assassin]

[Level: 12]

Michael’s lips pressed into a hard line.

No wonder the blows had felt like pinpricks. At that level, the man’s attacks carried almost no weight. But his speed… his speed was another matter entirely.

The assassin darted again, movements sharp and almost frantic, circling him in bursts too quick for ordinary eyes to follow.

Michael tracked him, suspicion solidifying in his mind. All in agility, huh?

And it was just as Michael suspected.

The assassin class was of the rare grade, just like necromancer and beast tamer. It even had its own unique energy. If it had been a bit more special, it would have been outside of the rare grade.

For the assassin class, outside concealment, speed was everything.

Michael shifted his stance, spear steady, eyes narrowing into the mist.

The assassin lunged again. His movements blurred—daggers flashing from the mist like fangs.

Michael’s spear swept up in a arc, deflecting the strike with a solid clang of bone against steel. He followed with a thrust, sharp and clean, but the assassin was already gone—slipping back into the fog, footsteps so light they barely stirred the grass.

A sting along Michael’s shoulder. Another across his thigh. However, none caused damage. Upon the first point of contact, Michael had already activvated iron skin.

It consumed mana and with 10% of his mana already gone from summoning two skeleton warriors, this only further reduced his “reserves.”

But it was better to be safe than not.

The assassin pressed harder, his daggers flashing in quick, shallow arcs. To him, the battlefield was perfect.

Every strike was a gamble, and he knew it. The Necromancer’s level was higher—far higher—and yet, levels meant little if one could land a single critical strike.

Constitution wouldn’t matter if the blade sank deep enough in the right spot. That was how he had killed an awakener with an original level of thirty. One blow. One weakness found in the fog.

That was why he hadn’t run yet.

His daggers whispered against the necromancer’s side again—but instead of flesh, there was only the hard grind of steel against something unyielding. Sparks spat into the mist. The assassin’s eyes narrowed.

A defence skill?

So, the necromancer had reacted quickly. That made him cautious.

He dipped back into the haze, circling wide, his body little more than a shadow blur. Each strike was sharper, faster, driven by the hope of piercing through. But none found purchase. The spear always seemed to be there, sweeping, thrusting, catching him just close enough to break his rhythm.

Worse still, every movement now carried weight. He could feel it—the necromancer had locked onto him. Not perfectly, but enough. The window was closing.

For the assassin, his instinct screamed at him to withdraw.

But by the time the thought formed, it was already too late.

Michael’s spear lashed out in a brutal cross-swipe. The assassin twisted, narrowly avoiding a killing blow, but his momentum faltered for just a fraction of a heartbeat. It was all Michael needed.

He stepped in, spearpoint driving forward with crushing precision.

The assassin’s eyes went wide as the bone-etched blade pierced his chest clean through. His daggers clattered uselessly against the shaft, strength fading.

The mist that had cloaked him so faithfully swallowed him once more—this time not in concealment, but in dissolution.

His body fractured into white motes of light, scattering like ash on the breeze.

[Points: 5]

Michael lowered his spear slowly, his brows tightening. According to the challenge rules, one kill equaled one point. By that measure, he should only be sitting at two now. But the display read five.

An increase of four.

His gaze flicked back toward the fading motes of light where the assassin had vanished. Surely it came from him. But was it three extra points added on top of the base kill, or had the assassin been carrying four in total? Or perhaps the system skimmed off a portion of whatever kills the assassin had already accumulated.

Whatever the truth, the implication was clear. The longer one survived in this trial, the faster the climb to one hundred points would become.

Michael crouched, shifting through the remains left behind. The assassin hadn’t carried much but there were potions. Two healing potions and one mana potion.

He clipped them free from the assassin’s belt. His own waist was already lined with two belts. This time, he slung the assassin’s belt over his shoulder, letting it rest diagonally across his chest, one end hanging over his shoulder and the other brushing the opposite side of his stomach.

Awkward, yes—but practical. His waist could only hold so much.

Straightening, Michael swept his eyes once more through the mist.

*****

A/N: Y’all should join the Discord group.

I’ll be commissioning artwork of Michael’s undead, and at the moment Lucky is leading in the votes. It will be exciting to finally see them brought to life in visual form.

As a personal wish, I’ll also be working on a visual representation of the novel. This might begin with a few illustrated scenes, but if it is well received, I plan to take it further into a self-made webtoon version that reflects how I envision the story.

Your feedback and participation will play a big role in shaping how far this project goes, so make sure to join in and share your thoughts.