The quiet village of Eiseng was peaceful—until tonight. Surrounded by undead, it faced an assault led by the level-90 Undying King Griffin and ten thousand Skeleton Soldiers.
Griffin's goal: turn the entire Normanke Kingdom into an undead realm. He would start with this village, then a town, a city, and finally the capital.
Who could stop him? At level 90, he outclassed Normanke's strongest, the level-95 fire mage Victory—yet dark magic trumped fire unless met by holy light or infernal mana, neither found here.
With no light-mage above level 80 in the kingdom, Victory was assured. Griffin laughed: "Normanke shall be mine!"
The undead poured in; villagers fell before the blades of the skeletons.
"Damn monsters—die! Blocked? Wait, don't—aaaah!"
"We can't fight them! Every path's blocked—then I'll take some with me!"
"Don't touch my wife! Break this shovel—why are they so hard? Stay back—aaah!"
One by one, the villagers were slain, then raised as Skeleton Soldiers to join the slaughter.
"Village chief, help! I don't want to die!"
With the Village Chief here, these monsters will be wiped out in no time!
Exactly! The chief is incredibly strong—he'll smash that Skeleton Legion in just a couple of blows!
Villagers crowded into the chief's house for protection; after all, he was the strongest Professional in the village—a Pugilist who had reached level 18. Surely he could keep them safe.
Too bad the guardian they believed in had already been slain by a skeleton warrior. In death, a cloud of necrotic energy wrapped around the chief's corpse, rotting flesh from bone and raising him as a skeleton. He rose at once, joining the Skeleton Legion as a skeletal Pugilist.
When the villagers entered the chief's courtyard and stepped inside, the very man they sought for protection killed them one by one. They never realized their savior had fallen and become a skeleton—no longer a guardian, but a murderer lurking within.
Nagato's home was not spared. Fielan hid behind the door, a wooden club in hand; if any enemy entered, she would smash it down.
A Skeleton Soldier ambled up to Nagato's house. Sensing human life within, it hesitated only a moment before pushing the door open.
At the sight of the monster, Fielan shook with terror. Then she thought of her little daughter—Nagato couldn't grow up without a mother. Imagining the girl's pitiful future, Fielan found her courage, gripped the club, and swung it hard at the Skeleton Soldier's skull.
Crack! The blow landed squarely. Elated, Fielan expected the creature to drop—but instead it slowly turned its head and fixed her with burning blue eyes.
Trembling under that gaze, she raised the club for another strike. Just before it connected, the skeleton snatched the weapon from the air.
Seeing it seized, Fielan tried to wrench the club free, but the Skeleton Soldier's strength was overwhelming; the stick wouldn't budge.
With a sharp tug the skeleton yanked the club away. Furious at the blow to its head, it hurled both club and sword aside and lunged at her.
It bore Fielan to the floor and tore her clothes apart.
Naked and terrified, she screamed for it to stop. Instead the skeleton grew more excited, grasping her alluring thighs and forcing them apart.
This Skeleton Soldier was a lecher: it meant to do the unthinkable. Fielan thrashed wildly.
'Pervert! Let go or I'll kill you!' She hammered her fists against its ribs, but the bones were iron-hard; her hands reddened and throbbed without so much as chipping the skeleton.
'Heh-heh-heh…' The skeleton cackled, mocking her futile resistance. Just as it prepared to enjoy its prey, it discovered a devastating problem.
Between its legs—nothing. Whatever equipment it had possessed in life had not survived death. The realization left the skeleton frozen in dismay.
Fielan almost pitied it; being unequipped was tragic. Still, she couldn't suppress a relieved whisper: 'Hee-hee, thank goodness it's gone—otherwise I'd be finished!'
The skeleton heard every word. Enraged, it clamped bony hands around her throat. Even without the means to rape, it would make her suffer for the mockery.
'Freak! Lecher! Useless bone-bag—let me go!' Gasping, she clawed at its wrists, but the grip only tightened.
Her face paled as air fled her lungs.
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