It was most bizarre, soldiers and knights remained perched upon great fortifications, such ramparts had been erected precisely for a conflict unlike any other, and yet, the common folks, the fishermen could calmly walk in and out, pass through the confusing, illogical layout of the undead camps, it had been allowed for one or two knights to accompany the fishermen, just to reassure the people who were forced to get much too close too cadavers that yet moved, decay, stagnation, dust and other filth mingled in the air, making one gag even after dozens of times.

Every time, without fail, fear would grasp their heart, in their eyes, nothing was stopping the corpses from cutting them all down, outside, with never more than a single brave knight, they could be swarmed and butchered in under a minute, but of course, the vanguard was steeled with discipline, simply standing around like statues.

Still, the knights scanned their surroundings at all times, from the moment they stepped away from the ramparts, when they reached the waters, as they fished, and when they headed back, the elites of the south were not only here to calm the nerves of their fishermen, but also to try and scout out the enemy, it was the undeads’s prerogative to decide when a battle would occur, the people of Belliste would remain on the defensive, yet, it had already been a week since the leader of the vanguard had come, and apart from setting up camps, nothing had happened.

Their camps were something the knights were looking out for, they blended clearly contrasting architectures, meshed and grafted together in a way that was so off, so confusing that it had to be intentional, tents of all kinds, wooden structures, stone and iron amongst others things, the Bellistians did not know that, but these abominations were the clear mark that the architects had been given free reign when it came to the looks.

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But never did any of the livings were able of peeking at what laid within those absurd creations, the undeads never moved in or out in their presence, they didn’t even move at all actually, as such, all that the knights were capable of confirming was the presence of tools of war laying around, racks of weapons and the various sorts of undeads.

In this regard, the south was doing pretty well as they had the excuse of having to go fish in the waters, it was highly probable that the undeads knew very well what they were trying to accomplish, but they just let it happen, the other regions were less lucky, they were hidden in small committee in wide biomes, their food close at hand, they were hiding within their own territories, but they too wanted to get an idea of what they were up against.

The south had furnished their allies with the enchanted longviews they held the secret to, so that they may watch the enemy from afar, sharing intel in between them, it seemed like that even though the diversity of warriors within the ranks of the vanguard was large, that the ones that gave out orders were majorly the plain-looking black knights, garbed in a helm somewhat similar to that of Loimos, all carried a greatbow but tended to wield massively different weapons, even amongst the most numerous, which had to be the footsoldiers of Loimos, there was a remarkable palette of weapons amidst them, although their sheer number meant that many still shared the same weaponry, it was surprising.

Especially the one carrying what seemed like big hunks of woods, heavy crossbows and what seemed like cannons, some soldiers of the living were worried that these weapons would be capable of piercing right through the defences they had erected.

Alisart Cleavster went through the reports everyday, descriptions of especially fearsome undeads amidst them, corpses his people had deemed to be one of a kind, rather than part of a caste, identifying those as possible high-ranking officers of Loimos, although none were close to the walls

A slender knight equipped with a long and short sword, wearing an armour of silver, a piece of cloth tied around the chest and waist, seemingly depicting four distinctively coloured circles, that one always remained seated under a shade, only noticeable thanks to the longviews.

Amongst the undeads there were also missionaries of sort, they often showed up near the ramparts, singing praises and sermons about death, the one leading them was a priestess with nothing particular about her apart from the intensity with which that woman would recite words presumably straight out of a book she carried, although, never did that missionary require to even open it to do it with confidence.

No, what was more odd was the gaunt putrefied zombie with a beard still somehow clinging to his chin, his eyes shined a dark red and upon the head, a mitre rested, a deacon of the church of death, or so logic dictated, even with his back arched, tall he still remained, using a staff taller than himself as cane, unlike the others who were singing and dancing around like maniacs, he just stood a distance away.

One of the most striking, at least to Alisart, was the one that had been described as wearing an armour forged specifically to look like many hands embracing him, from the greaves to the helm, everything looked like exceptionally realistic hands, even the handle of his great executioner’s sword was a hand grasping his own, the only thing that made a difference was the simple, tainted white cape upon this undead’s back.

Not only did this one have a particularly striking appearance, he was rather active, always watching from a distance when a group of fishermen went out, as if just itching to grab one and squeeze the life out of them.

There were probably special individuals amongst the ranks of the undead vanguard, but they had yet to show themselves, the southern king read through everything, even if not unique, many of the castes were definitely elites in their own rights, one just needed to take one glance to know that, from the looks of things, there were even beasts and monsters amidst them.

“What about the regular soldiers? Was anyone capable of gleaning any details to their fighting style and such?” speaking to Aramap that stood just at the corner of his vision, Cleavster felt tense, not once had Loimos shown himself since that meeting.

He communicated through messenger birds with the other warlords, but neither of them had caught sight of him either, the leader was probably overseeing the progress of their miasma ring around the continent, but he could not help worry about him, perhaps because a general so confident that he would not show up to command himself was a ill omen, or perhaps because he would rather keep that monster within sight.

It was probably a mix of both.

“Sorry my lord, but the undead soldiers are not doing anything other than stand around, we can only infer what sort of formations they may assume by the weapons they most often carry around” Aramap shook his head, always throwing glances at the door, expecting a messenger to announce that the undead had decided for a battle to soon take place.

But another week went by without anything happening.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep