Chapter 81

A week had passed since the undead invasion began. All nearby villages had been evacuated, their inhabitants relocated to the cities. The enormous costs and grueling workload pushed the entire clan leadership to their limits.

Providing shelter and food for such a massive number of believers was an immense challenge. They had to negotiate the construction of housing and secure food supplies. For the farmers of Katain, the undead invasion was a stroke of luck—they struck gold with the very first supply contracts.

Leon could have moved part of the population to Katain, but doing so would mean losing his followers. They would start worshipping the old gods who ruled that territory. The old gods didn’t shy away from dirty tactics—killing priests, destroying temples—and they wouldn’t miss the chance to steal his flock. There was no room for negotiation here. This was a matter of life and death, and the old gods would stab him in the back the moment he showed weakness.

Leon didn’t take direct part in the fighting, only coordinating the unit commanders. His avatar projections defended the cities during the relocation, though the players themselves gained no experience from this kind of leveling. Small squads were simply crushed into dust by the undead forces. Leon was practically whispered in his ear: "If you want to win, use everything you have—or die." The undead could effortlessly overwhelm enemy squads, operating not as independent units but with terrifying tactical and strategic precision. They would lure players into traps and slaughter them without mercy. They were toying with Leon, demonstrating their superiority even in minor skirmishes—let alone the war as a whole.

"Leon! Leon! Snap out of it!"

The god snapped from his thoughts and looked at Merlin, who was shaking his shoulder.

"I’m telling you—it’s ready! We’ve built the first combat construct! You were right from the very beginning, back when you talked about your premonitions and leveling up the Alliance’s craftsmen."

At the first signs of trouble, Leon had ordered the clan and the entire Alliance to focus on leveling their craftsmen. The Alliance took it as a critical directive. Within two weeks, the clan storerooms were overflowing, and the crafting division underwent a massive skill surge. The culmination was the fusion of magic and craftsmanship—the creation of the first combat construct. A ten-meter colossus, controlled by several mages, crushed enemies with sheer physical force. Every strike left craters in the ground and corpses—or near-dead opponents—in its wake. Even the undead couldn’t handle this machine of death.

The problem was the cost—one such construct cost around two million gold and required countless components. Blacksmiths, metallurgists, artificers, life and spirit mages, alchemists—these were just a few of the master craftsmen involved in building a single machine. Now, the first field test was about to begin outside the fortress walls.

The construct burst through the gates at high speed and plowed into the undead army camped right outside the castle shields. For twenty minutes, it crushed everything in its path, reducing bodies to pulp with raw strength. Nothing on the battlefield could stand against it.

Then, the undead withdrew in perfect order, clearing a wide space around the construct. The mages halted it, trying to understand the enemy’s move.

From beneath the earth erupted a massive chimera worm, stitched together from the flesh of different creatures, and began advancing toward the construct. The odds were uneven—the worm’s diameter matched the construct’s height.

Undead, Minor Chimera World-Eater, Level 713. Raid Boss.

Everyone watching from the castle walls felt their hearts sink. The worm, nearly a hundred and fifty meters long, dwarfed the construct. The mages tried to pull their creation back under the castle shields—almost succeeding—but the worm tore off its leg and vanished underground with it. The construct crawled to the walls before collapsing.

"How are we supposed to fight them if monsters like that are hiding underground?" Merlin slumped into despair.

"Why the gloom? We just learned the enemy’s real strength, tested new combat units, and it’s only been a week since the invasion started."

"But only one percent of our combat division can fight the undead on equal terms—and even then, without proper leadership, they get crushed like children!" Merlin snapped, his anger fueled by the deaths of two in Rachel’s group.

"Don’t worry. This just means we’re at the start of a long road. Now we need to adjust our income model and leveling strategy. Come on, my friend—we’ve got work to do."

Every move by the undead felt like a challenge to Leon’s abilities. The cities were under siege, yet the undead never attacked directly. It was as if they were saying: "Show us everything you’ve got in this war." The same feeling arose when he commanded small groups—a delicate positional game where the enemy effortlessly dismantled his defenses and countered his attacks.

He could win—but right now, he lacked the forces to oppose the undead. He needed time to train the clan’s fighters, needed constant raids to probe the enemy’s strength and tactics. For that, the best mercenaries in the world would do—the shadows of the global arena: the Hunters.

At this moment, Leon had no idea just how powerful his enemy truly was.