Chapter 30: The 2 Class Generals
"Battle has come! Everyone, brace for impact!" Reynald’s voice thundered across the field, firm and commanding.
The moment his words echoed, the battlefield trembled under the weight of the incoming horde. A black tide of undead surged forward, their shrieks and roars distorting the air. The defending army stood their ground, their bodies tensing, teeth gritting, and hearts pounding. Even the bravest among them could not help but swallow hard at the overwhelming sight before them.
Yet amidst that storm of fear, two figures stood calm—Reynald and Rein. Generals of their respective forces, the warriors and the mages. Their eyes did not falter; they read the battlefield like a book, absorbing every movement with the poise expected of seasoned leaders.
"Mages! Now!" Rein’s voice cut through the chaos like lightning.
A surge of magic pulsed behind the frontline. The mages raised their glowing hands, and within seconds, dozens of magic missiles launched into the undead ranks. Explosions burst in dazzling lights and raw force, hurling bones and limbs into the air. Waves of undead fell, yet from the smoke emerged more—a relentless tide of scorched, broken, yet still-moving corpses.
"Warriors, now!" Reynald followed with a shout, blade raised.
With a deafening roar, the warriors charged. Steel met rotting flesh in a furious clash. Blades carved through decaying torsos, claws tore through brittle limbs, and fists shattered skulls like ceramic pots. But for every undead slain, five more pressed forward. The defenders were vastly outnumbered. The battle wasn’t just fierce—it was grueling, each warrior forced into one-against-many duels of attrition.
The undead had no stamina to lose. No fear. No pain. They just kept coming.
And yet, the living endured.
A thunderous crack echoed as Braun, the tribal master of the Brawlers, smashed his fists into an undead’s skull, sending a shockwave through the battlefield. His body spun, kicked, and collided with such force that corpses exploded on impact. His disciples followed his rhythm—shockwaves spreading like ripples in a lake as bones shattered with every strike.
On the other flank, Reynald activated his Rage skill. Blood surged in his veins, and with his greatsword in hand, he carved a path through the dead. His disciples mirrored his fury, cleaving undead in halves, stomping skulls into pulp.