Chapter 26: The Hidden Hand

Leon moved silently, his squad following close behind. The battlefield ahead was chaos, but he had no intention of getting caught up in the main fight.

The sigil was still pulling.

Not toward the walls. Not toward the horde.

But into the trees—just beyond the battlefield.

That's where the real threat was.

He signaled his men to stay low, weaving through the underbrush as they circled around the conflict. The further they moved, the colder the air became.

Then—he saw them.

Three figures stood in a small clearing, cloaked in black, their hands raised, strands of gray magic swirling around them like a storm. The ground beneath them cracked and pulsed—an eerie, rotten energy seeping into the earth.

And around them?

A ring of undead warriors.

These weren't like the Hollowborn attacking the city.

They were faster—stronger—fully armored in tattered plate, carrying weapons that still gleamed with dark enchantments.

Leon's grip on his sword tightened.

"These aren't just necromancers," Doran muttered beside him. "They're high priests of the Eclipse Covenant."

Leon narrowed his eyes. "Then we kill them first."

Doran smirked. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Leon lifted his hand. His soldiers tensed, readying their weapons.

Then, he dropped it.

"Attack."

---

The battle began.

His squad surged forward, breaking from the treeline like a pack of wolves. The enemy necromancers turned too late—their ritual interrupted as steel and magic clashed in a furious ambush.

Doran led the charge, his greatsword crashing into the first undead guard, sending it staggering backward. His men followed, clashing into the dark knights in a brutal melee. Swords rang, shields shattered, and the night filled with the screams of battle.

But Leon's eyes were locked on the real enemy—the necromancers.

Their gray magic pulsed, dark tendrils reaching toward the ground, attempting to pull forth more Hollowborn from the cursed earth.

Not this time.

Leon darted toward one of the cloaked figures, flanking with Benedict, his level 8 lieutenant.

"Distract him," Leon ordered. "I'll handle the rest."

Benedict didn't hesitate.

The sergeant lunged forward, swinging his sword in a broad arc. Sparks flew as his blade met a barrier of dark magic, the necromancer hissing in frustration.

Then—a counterattack.

The necromancer raised both hands, fingers curled like talons. Dark mist shot from his palms, warping the air as it twisted into spears of shadow.

Benedict barely dodged in time. One spear scraped his armor, corroding the metal like acid.

Leon took the opening.

He reached out—Extraction activated.

A swirl of light and shadow converged around his palm as he ripped something from the necromancer's spell. The dark mist wavered, weakened.

- Extracted Lesser Shadow Veil -

For a moment, the necromancer stumbled, his connection to the spell briefly disrupted.

Leon didn't waste time.

Whoosh—CRACK!

A silver spear flew from his grip, piercing straight through the necromancer's barrier. The man screeched as the blessed metal burned into his shoulder, smoke rising from the wound.

But he wasn't dead yet.

With a snarl, he raised his hand again, summoning a black fireball—

Benedict rushed in, slamming his shield forward.

BOOM!

The fireball exploded on impact, sending both men skidding backward.

Leon pulled another firebomb from his belt. "Let's see how you like this."

With a snap, he ignited it and hurled it forward.

FWOOSH!

Flames erupted, engulfing the necromancer in searing fire. He screamed, writhing as the silver-infused flames ate away at his robes.

Before he could recover—

Leon lunged.

His silver dagger plunged into the necromancer's throat, cutting off his screams.

One down.

---

Meanwhile, their own necromancer, Malric, faced off against another.

The enemy necromancer was more experienced, weaving spells faster than Malric could counter. Dark chains shot forward, lashing toward him like whips.

Malric ducked, rolling to the side. His own magic lashed out, summoning a skeletal knight from the nearby corpses.

But instead of sending it into the fight—

He turned it around.

The undead knight stabbed its former master in the back.

The enemy necromancer gasped, eyes wide in betrayal. A fatal mistake.

Malric didn't hesitate. A pulse of necrotic energy shot from his palm, and the enemy crumpled into dust.

Two down.

---

The remaining necromancer realized he was losing.

With a furious snarl, he threw his arms wide, sending a pulse of dark magic into the battlefield.

The undead guards went berserk.

Their movements became wild, reckless, striking down anything in their path—friend or foe.

Then—

A thick cloud of black smoke erupted, swallowing the clearing in a suffocating darkness.

Leon's squad coughed, blinded as the necromancer made his escape.

Leon thought fast.

Extraction!

His vision pierced the darkness as he pulled a small fragment of the magic into himself.

There!

A figure rushing toward the trees.

Leon didn't hesitate—he grabbed a silver spear and hurled it with all his strength.

THUNK!

A wet gasp echoed through the smoke.

The escaping necromancer staggered, blood pouring from his side—but he didn't stop.

Leon gritted his teeth. "Damn it."

The necromancer vanished into the woods.

One escaped.

But the battle was won.

The last of the berserk undead collapsed, their magic fading with their fallen masters.

As the smoke cleared, Leon took in the battlefield.

His squad stood victorious—but not unscathed.

Benedict was injured. A few soldiers lay motionless, casualties of the last berserk undead.

And the siege on the distant settlement still raged.

Leon exhaled. No time to rest.

"Move out," he ordered, voice firm. "We're not done yet."

With that, his squad turned toward the battlefield ahead.

The siege wasn't over.

And neither was the war.