"Is this the thing?" the lieutenant murmured.
They encircled the oak tree, shield bearers at the front, crossbow bolts aimed through gaps at the trunk. Torches were tossed beneath the tree, too far to ignite the branches, yet their light illuminated the giant tree's face—damn it, the tree had a face.
The sergeant grimaced in disgust.
It was an old man's face, withered and fused with the trunk. Not a single leaf remained on the oak; all had fallen during the assault. The bare branches formed a stark contrast to the old man's face. The eyes on the tree were tightly shut, and the branches rose and fell slowly. The sergeant noticed the rhythm resembled breathing. Though clearly a tree, this thing acted like an animal caught in a trap—truly a creature from the Abyss.
The tree opened its eyes, gazing at them wearily.
The sergeant was instantly enraged. That tree possessed an expression eerily similar to an elderly human—a gaze blending exhaustion with wisdom. This vile mimicry of humanity made his blood boil. Was it trying to elicit their sympathy? Or had it devoured enough humans to mold such a face, neither quite human nor quite not? Even if coincidental, its mimicry of the Lord of Eryan was a sickening affront. It should be chopped down and burned to kindling.
"You damned monster!" the sergeant roared. "Prepare the rockets! Burn it! Avenge our fallen!"
"Avenge..." The creature actually spoke. "Children, how much more of your comrades' blood is on your hands?"
Its voice sounded like an old man's, but the words were so absurdly twisted that the sergeant couldn't even be bothered to take offense at the insult of being called "children." A monster is a monster—how could it comprehend human solidarity, courage, and nobility? He sneered contemptuously. "Unlike beasts like you, humans never turn on their own."
The tree laughed. Its ancient voice echoed like a wind through the entire forest.
The sergeant ignored the monster's drivel, unwilling to witness any further displays of its capabilities. How many fine soldiers had this monster destroyed? The mere thought filled the sergeant with bitter rage. This was undoubtedly the heaviest bloodshed in the decade-long struggle between humans and the alien species. The flaming arrow was notched on the bowstring. The sergeant's arm was raised high. One swing of his hand, and the tree monster would become a burning hedgehog. The fleeing dwarves wouldn't escape either. They...
He couldn't bring himself to swing.
Nearly half the soldiers, including the sergeant, collapsed. They fell awkwardly to the ground, stunned by the earth's tremors. Was this another trick of that monster? The sergeant struggled to his feet, grabbed a torch with reckless abandon, and charged forward, hurling it at the tree. The dry air and foliage turned the canopy into a blazing torch within seconds. The tree demon let out a crackling, agonized scream, and the earth's tremors ceased.
But before the sergeant could celebrate victory, a soldier screamed.
They shrieked as if they'd seen a ghost. When the sergeant looked in the direction they pointed, his own shout caught in his throat. They hadn't exaggerated—the soldiers had truly seen a ghost. Standing mere meters away were living skeletons.
Not a shred of skin or decayed flesh covered their bones. The bones were stark white, fresh and vivid, standing out sharply against the night. Even more striking were the blue flames burning in their eye sockets, like lanterns lit inside jack-o'-lanterns—flames that held no warmth whatsoever. "Living" seemed an inadequate description for a skeleton, yet what else could one say about a group of agile skeleton soldiers wielding bone blades?
Someone began counting nervously: one, two, three... After reaching ten, he stopped. A large hole gaped in the ground, and new skeletons kept crawling out. The soldier screamed and turned to flee, but before taking two steps, the adjutant sliced off his head. With only one option left in the "fight or flight" dilemma, the soldiers sprang into action without needing their commander's orders.
Buzz! Bowstrings snapped as a volley of crossbow bolts flew forth, blanketing the ground where the specters stood. Few were struck. It wasn't fear that made them miss their mark. The real problem was that most arrows simply passed through the bleached skeletons, scattering behind them or at their feet. Some arrows scraped cleanly off the smooth bones, leaving not a scratch. The luckiest arrows struck bone squarely, yet even the most unfortunate skeleton suffered only a few broken ribs.
Skeletons shed no blood, uttered no cries of agony. The silence across the field was deafening. Their joints creaked faintly, like a troop of rats scurrying through ancient wooden halls.
The soldiers roared, trying to drive away the bone-chilling silence. They raised their sabers, swung their swords, seeking to cleave those seemingly brittle bones. They should have seen how deep the crossbow bolts had sunk—those bones weren't as fragile as they appeared.
The sabers plunged into the skeletons' spines, sinking halfway before jamming, leaving the soldiers' bodies exposed beneath the bone blades. The first soldier's corpse fell to the ground, followed by a second, then a third. Skeletons matching the height of ordinary soldiers possessed equal strength, while the noticeably shorter ones severed soldiers' legs. They moved slower, their actions slightly clumsy, but they knew no pain, bled no blood, and carried blades and arrows with effortless ease.
"Shieldmen, charge!" the sergeant commanded.
He was a capable leader, issuing the order almost as the first wave of brave men fell. By now, the shield bearers could no longer form a solid wall, but at least the brave still charged with sufficient speed.
"For Erian!" two shield bearers shouted in unison, their charges converging on the same target. Thud! Large shields slammed into the slender skeleton frame, left and right, as the two perfectly coordinated shield bearers drove the skeleton forcefully into the center. The tall, gaunt figure emitted a sharp crack. The white bones caved in under the dual impact, the mysterious force holding them together finally reaching its limit. With a snap, the ghostly fire within the skull scattered like fleeing fireflies, and the bone-knife-wielding assassin crumbled into a pile of dry bones.
Both shield bearers froze, stunned that they had actually killed an enemy long dead. These monsters can be killed! The soldiers cheered, their morale renewed as they began hacking at the skeleton soldiers with their blunt weapons. The two shield bearers who had accomplished this feat retreated from the skeleton soldiers' reach, raising a celebratory shout. But their chant was cut short, fading into a muffled gurgle.
Those whose throats are slit cannot scream.
Two identical daggers slit their throats simultaneously. The creature leaping from behind the skeletons clearly did not belong to these sluggish bone warriors. Her skeleton was covered in skin and flesh, and she charged into the battlefield with lightning speed. Her eye sockets held a pair of green eyes, cold and merciless like the ghostly fire of the skeletons. The girl with inhuman ears whipped her head around. Spotting the flames atop the oak tree, she let out a roar that echoed across the battlefield.
The werewolf girl charged toward the burning oak, moving in a straight line like an arrow piercing enemy ranks. What utter recklessness! Yet her sheer presence froze every soldier who met her gaze, causing them to forget even to raise their crossbows. The chaos unleashed by the monstrous tree, the skeletons, and the girl herself had been building. When the soldiers' confidence could no longer suppress their fear, the roles of hunter and prey would finally reverse.
"Crossbows ready!" the sergeant bellowed hoarsely. "Look! She's bleeding! The skeletons aren't multiplying anymore!"
Yes, yes, the soldiers managed to claw back their nearly deserting courage. The skeletons weren't multiplying; if counted, only forty-odd remained active—fewer than the pursuing army. If they could set aside their fear and fight bravely and calmly together, these mindless soldiers weren't invincible. By contrast, the agile beast girl posed a far greater threat.
"What are you afraid of? Warriors, look at her ears! She's nothing but a runaway whore!" the sergeant bellowed, his voice thick with contempt. "When we get back today, I'll rent a 'bitch' in town and show you how easy these mongrels are to handle!"
Alien species had always been regarded as the most despicable vermin, deserving extermination. Yet before their elimination, some were put to use as disposable commodities. Thus, certain mixed-blood hybrids with pleasing features circulated privately as merchandise—a perfectly normal practice. It was a tacitly permitted form of entertainment for garrisons stationed in alien-infested zones. Near Angaso, such trade thrived, frequented by many soldiers.
The werewolf girl possessed an adorable face, a decent figure, and the telltale beast ears marking her alien heritage—a combination that itself carried an erotic implication. This suddenly drained much of the fear from the blood-pumping young soldiers, convincing them they could easily overpower and harm her. They reminded themselves they were the masters, the rulers, the magnificent human warriors—a mindset that stirred their spirits. A ripple of chuckles spread through the crowd, and courage began to return to the soldiers' hearts. Ironically, what often proved effective on the battlefield was not bravery, but brutality.
The sergeant exhaled quietly, suddenly feeling cold.
He thought it was merely tension easing after overstimulation, but who gains the ability to fly when relaxing? The sergeant's eyes widened in terror as the ground receded rapidly, his body left behind. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.
"Watch your language," a cold voice murmured behind his ear. "Your mouth is too filthy."
The surrounding soldiers looked up in shock. They saw the commander's head soaring high above them, a faceless specter trailing behind it, its claws dripping with blood. The sergeant's tongue shot from his mouth, followed by the rest of his body shattering on the ground. Torn apart so swiftly, his torso exploded like a burst water bag, sending chunks of flesh and blood spraying across half the battlefield.
The archer raised his crossbow in terror. The arrow pierced the specter's body, leaving not a trace behind.
"How do you kill a ghost?" the specter asked.
"I'm coming down," it added.
Then the specter vanished into thin air.
Without their commander, the army could no longer form ranks. No soldier could maintain courage or composure. All looked behind them in panic, clutching their necks, terrified of the undead specter lurking everywhere. They collapsed into disarray, their shrieks of terror echoing in waves. From this moment, the scales of victory tipped irrevocably toward the inhuman.
——Full Moon: You can briefly gain wolf-like fangs and claws, as if transforming into a werewolf, but it lasts only three seconds and will overload your body until collapse. What else did you expect? Your contractee is merely a diluted hybrid.
Tasha's consciousness returned to the dungeon. She examined the skill gained from her pact with Marion and nodded with satisfaction.
The cost of one ghost was well worth it.