Chapter 46: Thoren and the Seven Coffins.

At the center of the vast chamber stood six coffins arranged in a perfect circle.

At the very heart of that formation loomed a seventh coffin—massive, towering over the rest like a silent monarch presiding over its subjects.

Each coffin was forged from an unknown material, neither stone nor metal, its surface smooth yet unnervingly organic.

Ancient runes were engraved deeply into their surfaces, etched with such precision that they appeared almost alive.

The runes pulsed faintly, rising and falling in a slow rhythm, as though the coffins themselves were breathing.

Without warning, the chamber trembled.

A low, grinding sound echoed through the cavernous space, reverberating off the walls and sinking into Thoren’s bones.

Thoren stood frozen alongside his undead minions.

His breath hitched in his throat, his chest rising and falling unevenly as his gaze locked onto the seven coffins.

A cold chill crept up his spine, and for the first time since entering the Abyss, unease clawed at his mind.

“What is this place?” he murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible.

He had expected many things within the ancient gate.

Treasure chambers, hidden traps, perhaps even sealed beasts but this… this was something else entirely.

The grinding sound echoed again.

This time, it was heavier.

The pressure within the chamber intensified abruptly, descending like an invisible weight pressing down on his shoulders.

The air thickened, becoming dense and suffocating, making it difficult to breathe.

Thoren’s eyes sharpened.

He refused to wait for whatever was causing that sound to reveal itself.

Whoosh!

Fifty Level 9 Undead Mad Dogs burst forth from his undead space, their forms materializing in a swirl of deathly mist.

Their hollow eye sockets burned with fierce soul fire as they spread out instinctively, snarling low as they faced the coffins.

The moment the undead Mad Dogs fully formed, the ancient runes carved into the coffins flared brightly.

Creak!

The sound was sharp and jarring.

Suddenly, the lids of the six outer coffins shifted.

An opening.

Then.

From within the coffins, withered hands slowly emerged, fingers skeletal and gray, scraping against the edges as they pulled themselves upward.

Their movements were sluggish yet deliberate, each motion accompanied by a faint scraping sound that sent chills crawling across Thoren’s skin.

He watched with bated breath as six humanoid figures rose from the coffins one by one.

Compared to the lifelike stone statues he had encountered throughout the ancient city; these beings were fundamentally different.

They were not stone.

They were alive.

Their skin was pale and weathered, stretched tightly over powerful frames.

Most unsettling of all were the small, curved horns protruding from their foreheads.

[Stonewall Tribe (Noble)]

[Level 14]

Thoren’s breath faltered.

Level 14.

Not only that, but they were also nobles.

Before Thoren could issue another command, the six Stonewall Tribe nobles slowly lifted their heads.

Their gazes shifted simultaneously.

Locked onto him.

They ignored the undead Mad Dogs surrounding them entirely, as though the horde of undead beasts posed no threat worth acknowledging.

“Intruder…” one of them spoke.

Its voice was flat and emotionless, devoid of warmth or malice—only judgment.

“Kill.”

In one swift motion, all six reached back into their coffins and withdrew their weapons.

Spears.

Long, thick-shafted spears forged from dark metal, their tips gleaming with a deadly edge.

Whoosh!

They moved.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

In the blink of an eye, more than twenty Undead Mad Dogs were sent flying.

Their bodies were cleaved cleanly in half, bone and sinew scattering across the stone floor as their soul fire extinguished instantly.

The nobles did not slow.

Their spears blurred through the air, continuing their advance as they tore through the remaining Mad Dogs in their path.

Watching their terrifying killing speed, Thoren’s heart skipped a beat.

A shiver ran through him, his muscles stiffening as cold sweat formed at his temples.

These were not mindless enemies.

They were executioners.

Without hesitation, Thoren extended his will once more and called forth his undead army.

One hundred undead servants erupted from his undead space. Level 7 Cave Bear Skeletons lumbered forward with thunderous steps, Level 8 Scorpion

Undead skittered across the floor with their stingers raised, and more Undead Mad Dogs filled the chamber, snarling as they surged toward the six nobles.

Though his enemies numbered only six, the pressure they exerted was unlike anything Thoren had felt since entering the Abyss.

Even with his overwhelming numbers, he did not relax.

Instead, he acted decisively.

“To be safe…” he muttered.

The ground trembled as another presence emerged.

Howl!

The Undead Mad Dog Mini Boss materialized in a violent burst of necrotic energy.

Towering over the other undead, its massive form radiated ferocity as it threw its head back and released a deafening howl.

Its glowing eyes locked onto the Stonewall Tribe nobles.

Then it pounced.

The moment it entered the battlefield, the tide shifted.

The killing speed of the six nobles slowed, if only slightly, as the Mini Boss forced one of them onto the defensive.

The crushing pressure bearing down on Thoren’s shoulders eased, allowing him a brief moment to think.

Inside the chamber, his undead minions attacked from every direction.

Bang!

Claws raked across hardened flesh.

Bite!

Teeth tore into limbs.

The undead used everything they had, throwing themselves relentlessly at the six nobles.

Yet even surrounded, the Stonewall Tribe nobles remained terrifyingly composed. Their movements were restricted, but their spears never stopped moving.

Each precise strike brought down another undead beast.

Standing at the rear of the battlefield, Thoren’s expression remained cold and unreadable as thoughts raced through his mind.

’Before the last coffin opens, I need to deal with these six.’

His gaze flicked briefly toward the massive central coffin.

It had not moved.

Yet.

’Separate them,’ he decided.

Immediately, he issued a series of mental commands.

His undead shifted tactics, sacrificing positioning and bodies to force the nobles apart.

The chamber descended into chaos as undead swarmed strategically, pushing each noble toward a different section of the room.

Though individually weak, their sheer numbers achieved the impossible.

The six nobles were separated.

Whoosh!

Thoren did not hesitate.

He summoned his elite undead.

A Level 13 Stone Warrior emerged first, its massive frame radiating oppressive force. Beside it appeared a Level 13 Knight Skeleton wielding a massive broadsword, followed by a Level 13 Warrior Skeleton.

Then came the two Level 11 Assassin Skeletons.

Silent.

Deadly.

Each undead stood before Thoren with an imposing presence.

He was going all out.

With a single command, they moved.

The assassin skeletons melted into the shadows, vanishing into the raging battlefield. The Level 13 undead each advanced toward their assigned targets.

On Thoren’s left, one of the Stonewall Tribe nobles was cutting through undead as it pushed closer, intent on reaching him.

Then.

A massive broadsword came crashing down.

The noble reacted instantly, raising its spear to deflect the blow.

But the strikes did not stop.

Heavy.

Relentless.

Each swing carried crushing force. Whenever the noble attempted to retaliate, undead attacked from all sides, denying it any opening.

A guttural sound escaped its lips.

Claws tore through its withered flesh. It managed to send several weaker undead flying, but it was too late.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

Two blades flashed into existence.

The assassin skeletons struck.

Their blades plunged deep, cutting through hardened flesh and exposing bone where blood should have been.

The force sent the noble tumbling backward.

Before it could regain its footing.

Then it came.

Bang! Bang!

The Level 13 Knight Skeleton delivered three devastating strikes in rapid succession.

After the final blow, the noble collapsed.

Unmoving.

The undead around it froze, waiting.

Seconds passed.

Nothing happened.

Thoren exhaled slowly, tension leaving his shoulders.

“One down,” he said quietly.

His gaze shifted to the remaining enemies.

“Five to go.”

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