Punk's eyes narrowed slightly.
These undead were once an army of the Kingdom of Camos.
That realization made the situation far more troublesome than a simple undead infestation.
A normal undead zone produced scattered creatures—reanimated animals, wandering corpses, perhaps a few skeletons formed from unlucky travelers. But an organized group of soldiers, still carrying standard-issue weapons and armor, suggested something else entirely.
This was not a natural formation.
Somewhere within the forest, there had to be a source—either a powerful undead creature or a necromantic core sustaining them.
The skeletal soldiers slowly turned toward the priestess as she spoke.
Dozens of hollow skulls lifted at once, as if responding to the living voice echoing through the blighted grove. Their empty sockets glimmered faintly with cold blue flames. Rusted swords scraped against battered shields as the formation shifted, stiff and unnatural.
Then they began to advance.
The sound of bones grinding against old armor echoed through the dead forest.
The priestess, however, showed no hesitation.
She stepped forward, raising the small book in her hands. The golden emblem of the rising sun on her chest glowed faintly as warm light began to gather around her body.
"Creatures born of darkness," she said calmly. "Return to your rightful rest."
A soft golden radiance spread outward from her figure.
Where the light touched the ground, the thick death energy retreated like mist before sunlight.
The first skeleton broke into a stiff run, lifting its rusted sword and slashing downward.
Before the blade could reach her, the priestess extended one hand.
"Light of Dawn."
A narrow beam of brilliant gold shot forward.
The skeleton was struck directly in the chest.
For a brief instant, the bones glowed from within. Then the entire skeleton collapsed, its frame crumbling into gray dust that scattered across the blighted soil.
But the destruction of one did not slow the others.
More skeletons surged forward.
A dozen. Then two dozen.
They moved without fear, their dead limbs obeying whatever dark force controlled them. Rusted swords rose and fell in silent coordination as the undead battalion advanced across the clearing.
From behind a twisted tree, Punk watched quietly.
His expression remained indifferent, but his mind was rapidly calculating.
So many…
This number of skeletal soldiers could not exist without a powerful necromantic source nearby.
Which meant the mission was already more dangerous than the guild's report suggested.
Still, Punk made no move to intervene.
Instead, he leaned slightly against the dead trunk, arms folded within his sleeves as he observed the priestess.
Her casting speed.
Her spell range.
Her endurance.
All of it was useful information.
Because in the world of professionals, alliances were temporary.
The priestess lifted both hands, golden light intensifying around her like the rising sun. A wave of radiant energy spread outward again, shattering several approaching skeletons in flashes of white brilliance.
Bone fragments scattered across the dark ground.
Yet the remaining undead kept advancing.
Watching the battle unfold, Punk quietly began circulating mana through the spell model in his mind.
Just in case.
After all, if the priestess failed…
He would still need to complete the mission.