Chapter 165 Flying

Undead.

For most people, the immediate response to such a term was evil.

Darkness.

Unclean.

Michael had been no different before he became a Necromancer.

A part of him had once thought he'd be stuck with rotting, foul-smelling corpses and brittle skeletons.

Fortunately, that wasn't the case.

His undead weren't decaying husks that looked like they'd fall apart at any moment.

To be honest, all of them exuded a certain kind of strange beauty.

Like the black griffin soaring through the sky now.

Under the moonlight, it looked exceptionally picturesque.

"I must have been too close to nothing but corpses these past few days to think like this," Michael muttered.

And it wasn't like he was wrong.

If there was one thing he had been far too familiar with this past week, it was dead bodies.

Hundreds upon hundreds.

Until they reached thousands.