Finally, Charles landed on the edge of the island, watching the distant skeletons shuffling his way. He stood waiting, purifying them one by one as they reached him. This method was, of course, much less efficient, but right now, time was the one thing he had plenty of.
He spent about two more hours like this, and by the time the sun was at its zenith, the skeletal horde on this half of the island had been completely wiped out.
His point balance had climbed to 25,000. Even after leveling up, he'd have a surplus—plenty to use for any emergencies.
With that, Charles finally let out a long breath, heading back to the ship for a well-earned rest.
Hattie brought him some chilled water, Nymeria fished out her snacks, and the battle nuns circled around him while Charles laid out their next battle plan: "Our first target is the Death Knight I mentioned before."
"When it's awakened, it'll summon a hundred and fifty undead to fight at once, including four dark champions leading the way. Not really that tough—you can think of them as lower-ranked Death Knights…"
After his intro, he continued mapping out the operation, "We'll meet them right at the shore. If the undead try wading in, they'll be slowed by the water—this will let us avoid getting flanked…"
All this was basically game-guide knowledge, but real life was a different beast—he had to translate a lot of gaming terms into language his nuns could grasp.
He explained for nearly half an hour, talking himself hoarse. Only after making sure everyone really understood the plan did he let them go prep on their own. He wasn't planning to wake the dead just yet; the midday heat was brutal. The undead probably wouldn't care, but there was no reason for the girls to suffer for nothing.
He'd wait until afternoon, after the temperature dropped a bit, before launching the assault.
The nuns all headed for their quarters. Charles returned to his own room, pulled up the system, and stared at the glimmering number—thirty thousand. He tapped it lightly.
Buzz—
Warm white light washed over him, strengthening his spellcasting abilities even further. His spell slots went up to eighty-three, and the connection to his Pact Weapon—courtesy of the Pact of the Blade—grew even stronger.
At that same moment, a new insight flooded his mind: a spell slot, and a new spell.
7th-level spell, Plane Shift.
Feeling that chunk of knowledge bloom in his mind, Charles scratched his head.
What was this? Why hadn't he gotten anything at Level 6, but at Level 7, he suddenly received a spell?
Wait, could it be because I keep using that pocket world?
He turned, glancing at the mini-beholder perched on his shoulder. "Xanathar, can you Plane Shift?"
The little beholder bobbed up and down, giggling proudly, delighted to be of use.
Charles smiled and patted his head. "Perfect. Thanks, buddy."
He stood, picked up his weapon, and headed outside. "Okay, let's go finish off that Death Knight!"
"If all goes well… I might even snag another level up after the fight!"
...
In what seemed like no time, the sun shifted west and the afternoon sea breeze swept away the island's midday heat. The battle nuns assembled: chainmail donned, tower shields and maces in hand, lining up on the islet with the sea to their backs.
Anno was in full plate armor, Nymeria readied her greatsword, Hattie and Theresa prepared their spellcasting. All were ready for the undead to break loose so they could meet them head-on.
Charles himself walked out alone, crossing the desolate, bone-strewn ground to the heart of the islet. He counted four caverns from east to west, then tallied the trees above the easternmost cave. Finally, he stopped at a tree about as thick as his thigh, summoned his twin-bladed polearm, and hacked it straight through the middle—
Shkk—
With an artifact's edge, even steel would have yielded. The tree toppled easily under his blade, split clean in half, and crashed to the ground with a heavy thud.
And the instant it fell, the entire earth began to tremble!
"They're coming!"
Charles perked up and quickly retreated, breaking into a run. This tree was the trigger for the guardian's seal—the very same numbers-beast Death Knight as in the stories. Chop it down, and the knight would be summoned.
In the game, players had to follow a whole series of steps, find the prince's people, unlock the treasure, solve a bunch of puzzles before learning this secret, and awaken each miniboss separately.
But here? He just needed a swing, and everything would get rolling!
The trembling underfoot continued as he sprinted all the way back to join the nuns. "Form up!" he called out, catching his breath. "Don't panic, steady now. This fight won't be too tough. Let's aim for zero casualties!"
The storm nuns this time weren't wielding Ion Beam Emitters, but instead large shields, raising them defensively with tense faces. Since this was meant to be a training exercise, Charles didn't want to just nuke everything with overwhelming firepower—he wanted them to break these undead with their own weapons!
The rumbling faded. Now, shambling over the ridge, the first wave of undead emerged.
Ghouls—crawling on all fours, jaws agape—charged ahead of the pack. Their claws and fangs dripped with venom, the air thick with the stench of rot.
These were powerful creatures, the Lich's own creation. Corpses that had not yet become undead soldiers were fed to these things—a most efficient use.
Close behind was a mob of skeletons clad in ruined armor, some hauling rusted swords, others toting longbows. Once, they'd been elite soldiers from the prince's lost kingdom, still wielding old battle tactics lost to lesser skeletons transformed from scavenged corpses.
Ethereal singing drifted in from afar—a few floating banshees wailed out from the crypts, chanting ancient, haunting elegies. Once the palace musicians of that doomed nation, they perished when their home fell. When the Death Knight gave them magic, their voice became their weapon.
Though the banshees trailed in the rear, their attack landed first. That sorrowful sound wormed into the battle nuns' minds, magic gnawing at their sanity and leaving tears streaming down their faces.
But then, Anno's aura of protection began to gleam—a golden light shielding everyone from the banshees' influence. Striding the lines, Anno helped each girl recover her mental defenses, letting them all ready for the enemy.
Not long after, the first of the ghouls collided with the front line, claws raking at the nuns' great shields—
Skreee—
Nails scraped metal with a cringe-inducing screech. The force of the assault pushed the nuns back half a step, but their formations held firm—no breakdowns, no gaps.
At the same time, the storm's blessing took effect, electrical arcs rebounding off their shields, zapping the ghouls until the smell of burning flesh filled the clearing.
Charles let out a breath of relief.
Good—these things were actually easier than in the game.
Back in the game, the undead had tactics: the Death Knight (even while dead) retained some battle instincts, so sword-and-shield skeletons led from the front, archers supported from the rear, and ghouls used speed to flank and strike at the backline. Pure agony for the players.
But that was just to crank up game difficulty. In reality, the Death Knight had completely gone mad, incapable of any tactics. Whatever troops he commanded, they'd just charge blindly.
Which, honestly, was good news. Charles couldn't micromanage tactics in real life anyway. With no tactical chess game, his side was much safer.
With that in mind, he cast a quick string of fifth-level protection spells on himself, then stepped up. Silently murmuring "purified," he swung his twin-bladed polearm, tearing through ghouls front and center.
A perfect warm-up—the ghouls were worth high purification points, and taking them out with his blade felt smooth as butter.
Following up, the elite soldier skeletons pressed forward, attacking with rusty blades. Faint family crests still adorned their shields—a fading echo of the glory of their ancestors, all lost now with their kingdom.
The storm nuns swung their maces in response, but these skeletons retained enough battle smarts to block with their shields. Blows traded back and forth, neither side able to overwhelm the other instantly.
Charles meandered calmly behind his lines, dropping "purification" with a wave and finishing off the tougher skeletons gratefully—the stronger the foe, the more points he got, sometimes over a hundred at a time.
Buzz—
Heavy footsteps echoed. In the distance, four nearly two-meter-tall, black-armored knights strode forward, gripping huge cleavers.
These were the Death Knight's four most elite dark champions—massive numbers monsters, high attack, high defense, and surprisingly quick.
The nuns could have incinerated them with a barrage of Lightning Bolts, but Charles had no intention of wasting resources on simple muscle.
Besides, he had his own heavy hitters!
"Hattie, Anno, Nymeria, you're with me!"
With that, Charles rushed forward, spinning his twin-bladed polearm straight for the nearest black knight.
"Roar—"
The dark champion countercharged, mouth stretched wide in a bestial, raspy scream. Its vocal cords were dried out long ago, its hands twisted and gnarled—truly nightmarish.
But, honestly, that only scared the villagers—Charles was far beyond such tricks.
His polearm blazed with fire, red arcs slicing through the air. The dark knight swung its cleaver down first, thanks to the longer handle: "Blinding Smite!"
Even with that ragged voice, it still managed to spit out a spell incantation. Charles quickly cast Shield, blocking the blow, but the cleaver flared with dazzling light, aiming to blind him!
Blinding Smite.
Charles squinted as tears welled up—but then a soft, golden aura settled over his eyes, shielding him from harm.
He didn't need to ask—Anno's aura of protection was covering him. With a paladin on the field, crowd control was nothing to worry about!
Perfect, right on script.
Tank the hit, then close the distance—now his polearm landed square on the dark knight's shoulder. At the moment of impact, magic power exploded from the blade!
Eldritch Smite!
All that grinding to unlock Eldritch Invocations—this was the payoff!
Boom!
A violent blast of force sent the knight flying backward, armor and all, legs kicking in the air.
That thick plate and oversized cleaver—normally he could push and pull the battle at will. But now on his back, his whole body exposed—a perfect target!
Yeah, this was actually easier than expected.
Polearm spinning, Charles landed strike after strike as the knight tried to scramble upright. Another Eldritch Smite hammered down, sending him crashing again as armor buckled and bones shattered—a couple more hits, a whispered "purified," and the knight was gone in a blaze of flames, reduced to ash.
Checking his system, Charles saw a boost—2100 purification points at once. He smiled in satisfaction. This used to be a team fight, dancing on eggshells with the nuns. Now, he could solo it without a scratch.
He put his pride in check, then turned to the others. They'd all found their opponents and were battling one-on-one.
Anno, always steady, wielded her Flametongue longsword, her fighting style pure defense: shield raised to block every cleaver strike, taking zero unnecessary risks.
Her forte was defense—her magic plate armor and shield absorbed immense punishment, along with her magic cloak and protective rings. She still wore the Ring of Spell Storing he'd given her, ready to pop a Shield at a moment's notice.
A veritable fortress, she let the dark knight wear itself out while every swing from her flaming sword left deep scars. It was a numbers game—two beefy stat monsters. Once they clashed, it was already decided; Anno would win, just a matter of time.
She wasn't even burning Spell Slots on Divine Smite—defeating the dark champion was simply inevitable.
Charles glanced away, eyes falling on Nymeria's duel. She was having a tougher time—with only a breastplate (a gift from the Underdark), she couldn't afford a single blow from that massive cleaver. She had to duck and weave, striking only when she found an opening.
Luckily, her weapon was powerful—better even than Anno's Flametongue. Add in her own training as an Eldritch Knight and War Pastor mix, plus deadly good technique: every strike she landed was a serious one.
So long as nothing went wrong, she'd likely finish her opponent even quicker than Anno.
Charles nodded, then finally checked on Hattie. She too was locked in battle with a dark champion, but having a harder go of it.
In the Underdark, her powers had grown massively—she could summon gigantic tentacles to cover the whole field. Against crowds of weaker enemies, these could change the game in seconds.
But for single enemies as tough as these, tentacles were less effective. The dark champions' huge cleavers cut right through, and as undead, they weren't fazed by the tentacles draining vitality—plate armor and undead resilience blunted the tactic's usual edge.
~~~
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