Chapter 150 – Stage of the False Heroes
The forest bordering the western valley was silent, though traces of battle still marred the earth. Broken branches, lingering scorch marks from magic blasts, and scattered zombie corpses filled the air with the pungent stench of burnt flesh and rot.
Four figures stood at its center, panting but smiling with satisfaction.
"Weak," muttered the leader a short-haired man with a greatsword strapped to his back. Chest puffed, eyes narrowed at the remnants of the enemy. "If this is what they call a threat, then this world has spent far too long fearing shadows."
"Agreed!" one of the three women exclaimed, wearing a crimson robe adorned with a split sun emblem. "I didn’t even need to use a tier-three spell. They just charged straight at us no tactics at all."
"It felt more like pest control than a real fight," said another woman lazily, her silver hair gleaming as she leaned on a long spear.
The last of the group let out a quiet chuckle. Her eyes shimmered blue as she scanned the battlefield casually, dressed in light combat gear with twin enchanted daggers at her sides.
"If these zombies were the ’scouts of the Demon Queen,’ then that queen must be an overhyped myth."
They were "heroes" a title bestowed by the gods, their faces plastered in temples, their names whispered in prayer. But behind the image, they were mere pawns. Not true saviors, but just another failed iteration in the gods’ grand design. Young people with inflated egos, promised glory as champions never realizing they were the latest in a long line of disposable tools.
"No sign of that ’Zombie Queen,’ huh?" asked the leader, Arven, wiping rotten blood from his blade.
"None," the crimson-robed mage replied. "If she even exists, she’s a coward sending common undead to face us? Pathetic."
But before they could make their way back east, the ground trembled.