UNDEAD

Alex cast a quick glance at the spot where the undead once stood, now reduced to nothing but fine dust. A slow breeze carried the remnants away, scattering them like a forgotten vision.

He exhaled, flexing his fingers as the raw power of his Blood Art pulsed beneath his skin. It had acted almost on instinct

"I really overdid it

Yet A sharp scent hung in the air, the remnants of whatever necrotic energy had bound the creatures together. It smelled of dried blood and something unnatural old and rotting, yet still clinging to life.

His expression remained unreadable. He hadn't expected his Blood Art to become this overwhelming.

Then, with His Shadow Step, he carried himself forward.

From here, the church wasn't far. Just a few more steps.

Then he saw it.

A horde of exact red skeletons was clawing at the grand cathedral doors.

The Red Skeletons

 the brittle, similar undead he had just turned to dust. Their bones were tinged deep crimson, glowing faintly with veins of dark energy running through them. The air around them shimmered, thick with corrupted mana, as if the very laws of nature twisted around their existence.

Their movements were eerily precise—not the sluggish, jerking motion of standard undead. These creatures fought like trained warriors. Their skeletal hands gripped rusted yet deadly weapons—war axes, curved swords, even halberds that gleamed under the pale redlight of sky.

One of them turned its hollow gaze toward him.

A ripple of dark energy surged through its body, and in an instant—it moved.

Alex barely shifted his head as the creature lunged forward with terrifying speed. It was fast, far too fast for something that should have been dead.

But Alex was faster.

His foot shifted slightly, and in a blur of movement, he was gone.

The red skeleton's blade slashed through empty air.

Alex reappeared a few feet away, glancing at the creature without interest. The red skeleton twisted its skull toward him, hollow sockets glowing with an eerie light.

I have already figured it out at first glance, These are not normal undead—someone is controlling them 

However, I don't have time to waste here on them. 

The red skeleton let out a low, echoing chatter—a sound that sent shivers down most men's spines. But before it could move again, the grand doors of the church opened.

The bishops had arrived.

The Bishops

They weren't simple clerics. These were men and women trained for battle, their flowing white robes marked with gold insignias that radiated divine power. Unlike ordinary priests who healed the wounded and preached faith, these bishops were warriors of the holy order.

Their weapons gleamed with purified magic.

A bishop stepped forward, his silver greatsword crackling with holy lightning. With a single swing, he carved through three red skeletons at once. Golden bends coursed through their bodies before they shattered into smoldering fragments.

Another bishop wielded a spear surrounded by golden fire, each strike burning through undead flesh as if it were paper. The sacred flames coiled around her in a mesmerizing dance, searing away the corrupted mana.

One of the skeletons tried to dodge—only for a third bishop to appear behind it, driving fists of radiant energy straight through its skull.

Alex watched, his eyes narrowing.

These bishops… they were no pushovers.

They were experienced killers.

And yet, despite their strength, the red skeletons weren't falling easily. Even after being bisected, some still tried to crawl forward, their severed limbs writhing with unnatural energy. The corrupted mana within them refused to fade.

Alex tilted his head.

"They will hold them off."

He wasn't needed here.

The artifact was still in the forest. That was where the real battle would begin.

His body blurred as he vanished into the shadows, leaving them behind.

…. 

Deep beneath the city of Holit, hidden from the eyes of the unsuspecting, a ritual was underway.

A circle of white candles flickered dimly, casting wavering shadows over the intricate octagonal spell formation carved into the stone floor. The air was thick with the scent of melted wax and something more potent—an ancient, cloying energy that pulsed in rhythm with the low murmurs of the two figures seated within the circle.

Draped in heavy black robes, their faces obscured by deep hoods, the men chanted in a language lost to time. Their voices wove through the air like whispers.