Chapter 39: The Awakening of the Stonewall Tribe

Thoren raced out of the palace at his maximum speed, his boots pounding against the ancient stone as his undead minions surged around him, matching his pace without falling a step behind.

Their movements were eerily synchronized, a silent tide of death flowing at his command.

The sky that had once been bright and deceptively calm was now shrouded in an ominous gloom.

Dark clouds churned overhead, twisting unnaturally, as if responding to the horror unfolding below.

Screeeech!

From behind him, a ghostly scream tore through the air, sharp and piercing, followed by a heavy tremor that shook the ground beneath his feet.

The earth quaked violently, sending cracks spiderwebbing across the palace courtyard.

“Who the hell set up such a terrifying blood sacrifice?”

Thoren cursed, his breath coming in ragged gasps as adrenaline surged through his body.

Suddenly, he skidded to a halt.

His breath caught halfway in his chest, forcing him to pause, swallow hard, and steady himself before he could inhale again.

The scene before him made his blood run cold.

Hundreds of human stone statues stood in his path.

They were no longer frozen decorations lining the streets.

They were alive.

Their stone eyes glowed faintly with hostility, locked directly onto him.

Their weapons were drawn, raised in disciplined formation as they advanced with mechanical precision.

Despite their rigid stone bodies, they were anything but slow.

Each step they took was heavy and synchronized, the sound echoing like a marching army.

“Whatever that blood sacrifice was,” Thoren said grimly, his voice low and urgent, “it woke them all.”

His mind raced.

He had passed hundreds, no, thousands of stone statues on his way to the palace.

If all of them were awakening…

The carnage would be unimaginable.

This was no coincidence.

Everything he had seen in the city, the palace, the sacrifice, felt meticulously arranged.

A carefully curated trap.

And he had walked straight into it.

But Thoren’s eyes hardened.

He was not about to be sacrificed for whatever demented scheme was unfolding here.

“The bastard behind this…” he growled, veins bulging at his temples, pulsing in time with his rising fury.

“You just wait. I’ll get you.”

Thoren was not a forgiving man.

Anyone who dared to use him as a pawn, worse, as a blood sacrifice had already been marked as his enemy.

A life-and-death enemy.

He would not rest until they begged.

Prayed.

And wished for death.

Exhaling slowly, he forced his rage down, his expression sharpening into cold focus as he studied the enemies before him.

A panel flashed before his eyes.

[Stonewall Tribe]

[Level: 10]

“Huh?”

Thoren’s pupils contracted.

The weakest among them was Level 10.

Worse still, several signatures stood out.

Level 12.

Level 13.

Previously, he had assumed these stone statues were little more than animated relics.

He was wrong.

Very wrong.

His grip tightened around his weapon as he prepared himself for a deadly battle.

Whoosh!

With a sharp gesture, Thoren summoned one hundred Undead Mad Dog Mistveils, Level 8 and Level 9, to serve as his vanguard.

Their forms emerged from swirling fog, fangs bared, eyes blazing with soul fire.

But he wasn’t done.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

Another one hundred undead materialized behind them—Scorpion Skeletons and Cave Bear Skeletons ranging from Level 7 to Level 8.

Massive pincers clicked, claws scraped against stone, and low growls reverberated through the air.

The two sides faced each other.

Neither feared death.

Neither hesitated.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The Stonewall Tribe charged.

The clash was instantaneous and violent.

Stone weapons collided with bone and steel as the battlefield erupted into chaos.

The Stonewall warriors wielded their weapons with terrifying precision.

Their strikes were efficient, ruthless; every movement honed by countless battles fought in life.

Each swing was lethal.

An Undead Mad Dog was cleaved cleanly in half, its body splitting apart as its soul fire extinguished instantly.

Another was decapitated in a single clean arc.

One strike.

One kill.

Thoren’s jaw slackened for a split second—but he recovered just as quickly.

Even without knowing this tribe’s history, their combat prowess spoke volumes.

These were elite warriors when they were alive.

Still…

He was not intimidated.

“More,” he commanded coldly.

The number of Undead Mad Dog Mistveils surged to two hundred, flooding the battlefield with snarling death.

Before the ancient palace, a terrifying battle unfolded.

Thoren refused to grow complacent.

His vigilance remained split, half on the battlefield, half on the palace behind him.

From within the palace, ghostly screams continued to rise, growing louder and more frantic with every passing second.

Heavy, rapid footsteps echoed from inside, as though something far worse was awakening.

“I need to end this quickly,” Thoren muttered, his eyes burning with resolve.

A cold calculation passed through his mind.

“Let’s bring out the big one…”

Whoosh!

The air distorted violently as a massive form emerged.

[Undead Mad Dog (Mini Boss)]

[Level: 10]

As its presence manifested, the battlefield shifted.

Thick fog poured from its body, rolling outward like a living entity.

The mist merged seamlessly with the fog exuded by the lesser Mad Dogs, swallowing the battlefield whole.

Within moments, visibility dropped to almost nothing.

The fog had become a domain.

Whoosh!

The Level 10 Undead Mad Dog launched itself forward.

It pounced on its first target, jaws opening wide before snapping shut with bone-crushing force.

Stone or not.

Under its jagged, monstrous fangs, the stone warrior shattered like brittle clay.

Savage.

Brutal.

The Mini Boss swung its claws, sending multiple stone warriors flying through the air, their bodies exploding into fragments upon impact.

The Stonewall Tribe may have been formidable in life, but before an Undead Mad Dog Mini Boss.

They were nothing.

The fog swallowed them whole.

One by one, the stone statues fell, their numbers dwindling rapidly.

Notifications flooded Thoren’s vision.

[Experience Gained…]

[Experience Gained…]

[Experience Gained…]

Yet Thoren’s expression remained unchanged.

His gaze was locked onto the true threats; the Level 12 and Level 13 stone warriors tearing through his undead ranks with frightening speed.

“Deal with them,” he commanded.

Whoosh!

Two Level 10 Assassin Skeletons emerged, melting instantly into the fog.

Whoosh!

A Level 13 Knight Skeleton appeared, its massive blade radiating oppressive intent.

The Knight Skeleton marched directly toward a Level 13 Stonewall warrior.

Any stone warrior that crossed its path was cleaved down in a single stroke.

Its trait was fully unleashed.

[Radiant Cleave Strike.]

Stone shattered.

Bodies collapsed.

When the two Level 13 entities finally met, the air itself seemed to tremble.

Both were dead.

Both fought without restraint.

Blade clashed against stone blade, sparks erupting with every collision. The sound echoed like thunder, reverberating through the fog.

No one would believe this was a battle between undead beings.

Thoren watched solemnly.

As the stone warriors finally fell, something caught his attention.

Their stony surface faded.

Color returned.

Faintly.

They looked… human.

“What happened to them when they were alive?” Thoren murmured.

He did not dwell on it.

“Dead or not,” he muttered coldly, “let’s see if they can still be useful.”

[Undead Summoning.]

******

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