Chapter 191: Preparing for Battle

Percival kept riding for hours. He wanted to create as much space as possible between himself and the village of Deathlehem.

However, he knew he couldn't go into a village this time or a city. Too many innocent lives had been put in jeopardy back in Crimson City, and with many people seeing him being hunted by Elven royalty, being invisible would become even more difficult.

Logically, he could find a quieter city or village and stay. But that was what Deathlehem was supposed to be, and yet they found him.

Percival knew why.

That beast Lady Eristasia was riding; a Gale-Stalker Griffin. He had seen it before in his past life. The beast was a rare creature, extremely powerful but best known for its ability to track whatever with its all-seeing eyes.

Hence why it was named a Stalker.

So as long as that beast had an image of him to see, it could scan it against the millions of faces in Evernia, until it found him wherever he was hiding.

There was no escape.

The only way Percival could stop them coming after him, was by killing it…

…and any one else who got in his way.

But Percival needed to prepare some things first. He speculated that with the Nameless Void-Ender, he could easily kill every single one of them. However, he had to be careful. With a sword that powerful, the repercussions of using it without understanding how to could be fatal.

Percival opted to keep the sword safe in the coffin for now, besides, he wouldn't want to draw attention to the fact that he had one of the seven Great Swords.

When it came to killing a Gale-Stalker Griffin, that was a complicated task, mostly because with eyes like theirs, they always saw you coming.

The Wind Guard also weren't small fries either. Most of them were some of the best Awakeners in Eldermoor, at least in the province of Arandor where they were contracted to fight under the royal family of Windwhispers.

Percival had to find a good space where he could cleanly battle all of them without being perturbed by the landscape.

He looked to his left where vegetation sprawled brilliantly, to his right was an endless mountain face. In front of him, Percival squinted his eyes at the sight of an incoming silhouette.

He slowed his Skeleton Steed as the silhouette revealed a lone traveler who froze in his tracks at the sight of Percival and his horse.

The man carried a heavy leather pack, but whatever exhaustion he felt was instantly overridden by absolute terror. He stared, wide-eyed and paralyzed, at the dark-maned man sitting atop a skeletal beast that bled blue fire.

Percival pulled back on the spectral reins, bringing Argus to a halt just a few paces from the trembling man.

"Excuse me. This road leads directly to Oldmarsh, doesn't it?" Percival asked, his cold, raspy voice cutting through the biting wind.

The traveler swallowed hard, taking a shaky step backward. "Y-yes. Yes, it does. But... you're still a very long distance from the town."

"That's fine," Percival replied, his gaze sweeping over the vegetation to the path ahead of him. "But Southmarch buries their dead Warriors here, yes?"

The man nodded hurriedly.

"Take me to where you bury the dead," Percival asked, "and I'll pay you three gold."

The traveler blinked. The absurdity of the request, coupled with the immense fortune of three gold coins, seemed to short-circuit his fear for a fraction of a second.

He looked at the empty space behind Percival, then down at the terrifying undead horse.

"Do you..." the man started, his voice cracking. "Do you have someone you wish to bury?"

Percival looked down at him from the saddle. "No. It works the other way around for me."

A chill that had nothing to do with the wind ran down the traveler's spine. He didn't ask any more questions.

He quickly pointed off the main road and began walking briskly into the rocky foothills. Percival followed, letting Argus maintain a slow, intimidating trot right behind the man.

The silence between them was suffocating. The traveler, not knowing how to handle this strange situation of guiding a terrifying Wanderer on a dead horse, tried to break the tension.

"The crags get awfully cold this time of night," the man muttered nervously, glancing over his shoulder. "And that's... that's a mighty strange beast you ride, sir. I've never seen magic like that. Are you from the City?"

Percival didn't bite. He just stared straight ahead, offering absolutely nothing but the rhythmic clatter of Argus's hooves and the crackle of Soulfire.

The traveler quickly took the hint, his jaw snapping shut, and focused entirely on the path ahead.

After a tense, silent trek, they crested a ridge. Below them lay a desolate burial ground nestled in a wide basin. Hundreds of weathered iron markers and heavy stone slabs jutted from the frostbitten earth.

The graveyard looked well kept enough to suggest that these dead Warriors were well respected. Percival reached into his pouch, withdrew three gold coins, and tossed them into the man's open palm.

The traveler didn't even bother with a farewell, he turned and practically sprinted back toward the main road.

Percival dismounted. His boots crunched against the brittle, dead soil as he walked to the center of the graves.

He opened his system interface to check how many Summon Spaces he had left.

⸢Summon Space: 29⸥

Good enough, Percival thought.

Using ⸢Grave Sense⸥, he made sure to select the graves that belonged to Warriors, not Butchers or Nurses.

When he had chosen 29 of them, he outstretched his hand, his eyes flaring with blue light.

"⸢Awake⸥."

Twenty-nine graves exploded simultaneously, sending geysers of frozen dirt and blue fire shooting into the night sky.

Figures of bone clawed their way out of the depths, shaking the soil from their forms as azure flames ignited within their hollow eye sockets.

Percival immediately noted the massive upgrade from the peasant skeletons of Withercrook.

Southmarch was renowned for its equipment, and these fallen Warriors had been buried in their steel. They wore thick, premium chainmail, sturdy iron breastplates, and heavy, spiked pauldrons.

In their skeletal grips, they held massive broadswords, halberds, and reinforced kite shields. The metal was tarnished, but it was thick and lethal.

⸢29 Skeleton Soldiers summoned⸥

⸢Skeleton Soldiers⸥

⸢Rank: B⸥

⸢Type: Skirmisher, Ranger⸥

⸢Health: 200/200⸥

⸢Note: Summon Space is full⸥

As the skeletons stood there, they slouched slightly—the mindless, empty posture of the Unawakened dead.

But then, a new notification chimed in Percival's vision.

⸢Knowledge Imprint is passively transferring all your training to your new undead summons⸥

⸢Knowledge Imprint is completed⸥.

A pulse of deep, vibrating azure light washed over the undead battalion. The battle-hardened instincts, rigorous training drills, and the muscle memory of their battles transferred into the empty vessels of his new Soldiers.

Following the notification, the twenty-nine skeletons changed their bland posture.

Just seconds ago, they had been standing mindlessly, legs bent and bodies slack.

Now, one rested its sword casually on its shoulder; another leaned against the wall with crossed legs; a third planted its sword tip in the ground, resting both hands on the pommel like a veteran sentry.

Percival was thankful that he had gotten the Knowledge Imprint Skill when he did. He couldn't imagine having to train them all over again.

Satisfied with his new army, Percival returned them into his Summon Space and left the graveyard. He climbed back onto Argus and rode back the way he came.

A few miles back, when following the traveler, Percival had spotted what he was looking for — the open field for the battle.

He dismounted Argus one last time, petted the horse before unsummoning it and heading toward the field.

The vegetation ended in a distance and continued in a much farther distance. This field looked to have been intentionally cleared for something, but that wasn't what Percival cared about.

He cared that it was a good enough place to battle.

It was a massive, flat expanse of hard-packed earth, walled in on three sides by towering, sheer rock formations. A natural arena. There was no dense canopy for the Wind Guard to use as cover, and no tall trees for the Gale-Stalker Griffin to perch on.

If they wanted him, the beast would be forced to dive into the open, and the Elves would have to fight him on flat, unforgiving ground.

In no time, the Griffin's all-seeing eyes would lock onto his location and bring Eristasia's wrath right to his doorstep.

He had to be ready.

Percival reached over his shoulder and drew Basilisk, leaving the Nameless Void-Ender secured in the coffin.

He exhaled a long, steady breath, centering his mind, and began his drills.

He started slow, his heavy boots gliding across the packed earth. He pivoted on his heel, executing a flawless horizontal parry, followed immediately by a devastating downward cleave.

As the seconds ticked by, his speed multiplied.

The blackish blade began to whistle, slicing through the freezing air with brutal efficiency. He flowed from one stance to the next, becoming a blur of absolute violence.

He struck at imaginary Elven Awakeners with flawless footwork, his body twisting violently to dodge phantom wind lances and other imaginary elemental attacks.

His dark hair whipped wildly around his face. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the freezing temperature.

Unconsciously, dense blue Soulfire began to bleed from his aura, trailing the edge of his blade like a deadly, glowing ribbon. He slashed, thrusted, and spun, pushing his physical vessel to its absolute limit, ensuring every muscle and tendon was primed for the slaughter.

With a final, explosive spinning strike that kicked up a massive cloud of dust, Percival halted.

He spun his sword for one final time and returned it into the Sword Case. He stood perfectly still, his breathing heavy but in a soft rhythm. Then, with a thought, he equipped his armor.

The Obsidian Ironwolf armor clacked dramatically as it latched on to his body while he slowly walked towards the dead center of the expanse.

Once there and once fully covered, Percival sat down on the hard earth, crossing his legs. He rested his hands loosely on his knees and closed his eyes, letting the absolute stillness of the night wash over him.

'Now I wait.'