Skeleton Army

The sky had not yet turned blue. The smell of death once again cruelly overwhelmed the atmosphere.

Gusts of wind blew across the scorched battlefield. Cold. Very cold. Cold enough to chill the bones, even though the ground was still warm with the smell of burnt flesh.

The soldiers, who had just raised their heads to look at the sky, breathing a sigh of relief at being alive, suddenly stopped.

They did not know what this smell was. They only felt their guts twist, their survival reflexes screaming in their heads:

"Not good… Not good…"

And then the royal wizards were all shaken.

Magic wands glowed, mana stones changed color, and some even unconsciously took a few steps back. A female wizard screamed in panic, her voice trembling as if she had swallowed mercury.

"Death! Death rises again! It's not that dragon just now!"

"Something else… is coming!"

The chaos exploded like a virus in human blood. The crowd that had just cheered and celebrated had, in an instant, turned into a chaotic wave of flight.

Meanwhile, Flauros said nothing. He just sat quietly against the broken wall beside the devastated square.

Black blood was still flowing from the corner of his mouth, but he didn't bother to wipe it away.

The dark, blood-soaked scarf stuck to his neck, and a few scorched runes gradually disappeared, like ash falling from his shirt.

Flauros tilted his head to look at the sky. One eye still had a purple streak after using the forbidden spell. He smiled slightly. But there was something distorted in the curve of his lips.

"It seems… You really… still have humanity, Leif?"

The words came out like a sigh, but also like a scratch in his soul.

Amid the desolation, the cries still not over, Flauros just sat there. Not moving. Not stepping forward.

He waited.

Because this time…

He wasn't the first to make a move.

From the thick ink-like death aura that had just poured into the sky, a graceful figure emerged.

The first step lightly touched the ground. The wind immediately changed direction. The entire sky seemed to shiver slightly.

Silver hair shimmered under the evening light, covering half of the sharp eyes like knives. A dark black cloak, silver edges embroidered with feather patterns.

Leif.

The only person wearing a crimson badge as bright as dragon's blood, completely contrasting with the black robes with white edges around them.

And then, one by one, other figures began to appear.

From nothingness. From the cracks in the wind. From the pieces of darkness that were writhing like ink in the air.

One. Two. Three. Ten…

An entire army of Black Crows in black cloaks stepped out, without a sound. Under their feet, the grass withered. Behind them, the light went out.

Leif took a few more steps. With each step, a light magic circle swirled under his feet. Cold mana radiated like ice breaking in an ancient stream.

He raised his hand.

Not a wand. Not a scepter. But a gold coin.

A strange gold coin. Not shining. Not reflecting the sunlight. Only the surface of the coin was engraved with ancient runes, curved like cracks in a mirror.

The coin floated between Leif's fingers, spinning once. The thin metallic clang rang out clearly like a death knell.

"El destino cambia de dirección."

At that moment, the sky shuddered again. From the gold coin, a blood-red light spread like blood dripping onto the water, opening a layer of space that smelled of curses.

The royal wizard was startled.

The silence seemed to have been torn apart by the dry "keng" sound of the coin falling back into Leif's hand.

Ding…

The sound was not loud, but it echoed down to the spine.

The royal wizards stood frozen. Some paled. Some backed away in panic.

"Is it a forbidden spell? Could it be that he… is also a forbidden spell user?"

And when they saw the white raven symbol on the newcomers' robes, some almost dropped their wands.

"No… No way… He's from the Black Crows?"

As soon as the gold coin was taken, a strange sound rang out from the ground. Not as creepy as breaking bones. But as… a trumpet call.

Rumble… Rumble… Rumble…

The ground cracked.

Each crack glowed with a luminous purple-green. And then from the deep darkness at the bottom of the cracks emerged an army of skeletons. All of them, covered in a blue-purple light.

Not as pale as Siegfried's skeleton soldiers. Nor as pitch-black as the usual summoned monsters.

They were like a deathly light that was hauntingly beautiful. Like a soul wrapped in glass.

On the other side, Siegfried's army was screeching, trampling the rocks and soil, rusty weapons shaking violently, rising from the ground like giant maggots.

On this side, the skeletons of the Black Crow stood silently. Not roaring, not screaming. Just staring at their mutated brethren on the other side as if waiting for the order to slaughter.

On one side was the wild violence of forced rebirth. On the other side was the peaceful death of those who voluntarily disappeared for their ideals.

Two skeleton armies.

Each one was the same as if looking into a mirror.

Two colors glittering like illusions and nightmares. Facing each other.

Right in the middle of the battlefield, his blood had not yet cooled.

Leif was still standing there. His collar was red as blood. He held the coin in his hand, turning it slightly again.

His gaze from under his silver hair looked straight at Flauros, who was sitting in the ruins. That gaze said nothing. But Flauros understood.

Flauros just curled his lips. A sly half-smile.

'Well… you still came. Just as I thought.'

Leaning against the ruined wall, he let out a soft breath, his eyes never leaving the young man who was spinning the coin with his left hand.

Leif – The genius wizard who was now the leader of an underground organization.

The one who was once a good student of magic. The one who chose ice as his companion. The one who chose to join the liberation army to fight against the heavens, to gain justice.

Flauros remembered.

Back then, when everything was not yet tainted with blood and silver. Leif was the most beautiful ice magic user Flauros had ever seen. Not the flashy kind, but the calm, icy kind like an ice lake in late winter, seemingly quiet, but with just a crack, his soul would shatter.

Leif's ice magic once silenced the entire lecture hall.

Not because of power. But because of the absoluteness of each crystallization, each time freezing a spell in progress.

Freezing the magic of others.

Only Leif could do it. Only Leif had once made Flauros take a step back, in a "playful spell exchange" that almost turned into a bloody mess.

And now he was a forbidden magic user.

'This will be interesting…'

Flauros thought to himself, drawing a few small protective magic circles around himself like an umbrella in the impending zombie rain.

He would not do it. Not out of pity. Nor out of pride.

Flauros wanted to see how Leif would fight when facing death and bones.

He wanted to watch and analyze him, to determine whether he should kill this guy to ensure safety. Should he kill this guy even though he was not a candidate, or… should he drag the Black Crow along with him to his death?

Across the battlefield, Siegfried continued walking. Not fast. Not in a hurry. Just like a dead wind blowing across the ruins.

His long, turquoise hair swayed with each step. Like a trace of color left on a burned-out war painting. Those black eyes reflected nothing. No light. No emotion. No life.

Just a dark lake in which one could see his death.

Siegfried did not blink when he saw the skeleton army of the Black Crow. He did not feel surprised. He did not feel in danger. He did not feel anything.

Because he no longer "felt".

He just moved forward. As if everything had been written. As if the hand that was squeezing his soul from behind the darkness had not let go.

His army was the same.

Each set of broken iron armor, dripping with dried blood over the years, each step of theirs trampled on the remains of what was left after the bone dragon's rage.

Leif realized something strange about the leader, Siegfried. Flauros knew of their existence, only silently concealing the murderous intent in his eyes.

This time it was them again, again aiming to take his life.

'This time, it was a descendant of the dragon race like him? Ha, what a shameful way to humiliate...'

The castle that was once the symbol of the prosperity of the Ozone Empire was now just a pile of ashes and bones scattered in the wind.

Each towering pillar, each golden castle standing in the sky, was now just a pile of rubble and ashes. Buried under the heel of death, crushed by the repetition of destruction.

Leif raised his hand.

A movement that was not at all flashy.

Just a light wave of the sleeve of the red crow embroidered cloak. But the entire army moved immediately.

"Attack."

The command was like a slash through the silence. And the darkness began to flow.

The members of the Black Crows simultaneously drew their bows. Not ordinary wooden bows, but magical bows engraved with spells, the bowstrings were runes, and the arrows were mana crystals.

The mana users pulled mana. The manas users drew directly from the source of the soul. Pulled, compressed, then blew.

It was like breathing life into each arrow.

And so a rain of death fell. A rain of magical light, purple, blue, red, gray, all the colors of the elements, intertwined and poured down on the skeleton army.

Each arrow pierced the air, carrying the mournful screams of the soul. They tore through the wind. Tore through the bones.

The skeletons did not scream. They did not feel pain. But the gray armor shattered. The bones were exposed. And each piece of black spiritual power screamed in despair, as if twisted from the body.

In the middle, Leif still did not say another word. He just coldly raised his hand, turning the forbidden magic gold coin in his palm as if playing with death. His eyelids drooped.

But death did not come to the skeleton soldiers the way it came to ordinary people.

Arrows whistled through the wind, tearing pieces of silver-gray armor, piercing rotten joints, but they still walked.

Joints broke apart. Vertebrae burst. Some were shot in half. But then they bent down, silently picked up their bones, and put them back together with a black adhesive like diluted blood mixed with ink.

Indestructible.

No heart to stop beating.

No brain to stop thinking.

They were puppets of flesh and bone, needing no reason to live, no reason, only orders.

Leif, of course, knew. He had not been on the battlefield for a day or two. That was why Leif had given the order. A cruel order. But necessary. Incorporating both mana and manas into each arrow.

They not only destroyed the body but also severed the link between life and the puppet body.

The skeleton soldier continued to walk. But this time, it was limping. It walked with a cracking sound that no longer had joints. The bones were reattached, but were more brittle. The murderous intent was still there, but out of sync. Death was lurking in the cracks of magic.

Leif still said nothing. The coin still spun. The corners of his lips still curled. Only his gaze was slightly downcast.

Flauros leaned against the cracked wall, his eyes lazily following Leif's every move.

"If no madman interferes... then this battle will definitely be won."

It wasn't because the Black Crows had more troops. It wasn't because they had a vanguard that fought bone against bone. It was because of Leif.

That man had once been a storm that had descended upon the front lines. He was the leader of a branch that attacked the Heavenly Temple, the most famous liberation branch in the east, which had destroyed five strongholds in a week.

He had been second only to Flauros, the one who had killed the Heavenly King.

'It wasn't because he used forbidden magic.'

'It was because... even without it, Leif was still stronger than most of these royal wizards.'

And yet, the man who had stood under the thunder and laughed loudly in the middle of the battle

was wearing a black cloak, leading an army of darkness to fight for a city that was already half dead.

'Why would someone like that get involved with the Black Crow…?'

'Or maybe…'

'Because this world has long since lost its place for those who are too idealistic.'

A thought flashed through Flauros's mind, as quickly as his eyes scanned the battlefield.

That single sentence between two people who were once allies, then separated by opposing choices, then met again on the same path leading to the final decision still echoed in Flauros's mind.

"Justice? That only exists in theory."

He smiled slightly. He didn't bother to deny it, nor did he intend to agree. Flauros stood up, the wind blowing through his hair, which was already messy from dust and dried blood.

His figure blended into the darkness like a line of ink dissolving in a glass of night wine.

Layers of space closed behind his footsteps like the door of a fading dream.

He had chosen.

A simple sentence echoed in Flauros' mind as he stood still in the air, where only the wind and the blood stains on his cloak remained.

He didn't turn around. Didn't bother to send a signal or a glance.

The battlefield behind him was shaking with the sound of bones hitting armor, of arrows soaked in mana tearing through the air, but Flauros only took steps, moving further away from it.

'Leif... You want to fight, then go.'

'Death or life... that's just the end result.'

'Winning is good, losing is fine.'

What he needed was time. Time to recover. Time to calculate.

Time to prepare the real killing blow.

'A Leif life... if it can be exchanged for Siegfried's delay, it's worth it.'

Flauros didn't need to save anyone. Didn't need to pity anyone. In the end, what he really wanted... was to go home. And to go home, everyone could become a pawn.

Even Leif.

The black-gray cloak fluttered with each light step. Flauros left, quickly, neatly as if he had never been there.

Flauros stood in the middle of the floating clouds, his sleeves fluttering slightly in the thin air, his eyes vaguely looking at the distant battle.

A click of the tongue rang out, cutting through the sound of the wind.

"And yet a few days ago, you told me to come here to do some odd jobs."

His voice was full of sarcasm. Odd jobs, yet you volunteered to fight an entire army of skeleton soldiers just to protect the most important Black Crow branch in this place.

"And then conveniently fulfill the oath of a young wizard…"

"Honestly, who taught you how to live like that, Leif?"

But then, Flauros's eyes softened for a moment.

Because he knew Leif was not like him. He always had something called humanity. A bit of conscience. A bit of innocence. A bit of stubbornness that was so stupid that it was hateful and worth being hurt.

'Even though you used forbidden magic, you still chose to become a hero.'

Flauros snorted. He didn't even bother to smile. But in the depths of his eyes, there was clearly something softening.

"It's your business if you lose."

"It's my business if I can breathe."

He raised his hand, drawing a small symbol in the air. An invisible barrier was erected, three inches away from Leif.

No one saw it.

No one knew.

A barrier that automatically teleported away if he was dying.

Amid the deep blue-gray sky like a crumpled silk, Flauros floated in space, his crimson pupils glowing slantedly like unextinguished ashes. He stood there, the wind blowing through his loosely tied hair, saying nothing… only silently asking himself:

"What the hell am I doing… anyway?"

He had no obligation to help. No reason to help. And even less the right to hesitate.

He – Flauros – was the one who chose to cut the throats of all the candidates.

The one who had broken the oaths, the promises, the cheap naivete that he had believed in. The one who had stood before the mirror looked at himself, and laughed coldly, saying.

I will live, and you will die.

Then why? Why did you erect that barrier?

Flauros frowned. Frustrated. He reached out, raised his hand in front of him, his hand shaking slightly. Not because of fear. Not because of the cold. Just because he was so confused.

"Kill then, kill, save then, can I please choose just one?"

He asked himself in a contemptuous tone. His tone was like scolding the weakling he despised the most: himself.

In the distance, Leif was twirling his staff. Ice magic curled like a dragon around his black sleeve. A line of ice arrows shattered two skeleton soldiers. A dry scream echoed.

He turned away. He didn't want to look anymore. But his hand was still clenched. Still maintaining that barrier.

"How long will I be weak like this?"

"Or maybe, I was never as strong as I thought?"

A silence as thick as mist. He wondered if this was the curse of the forbidden Knowledge spell. Knowing everything, but not knowing what he really wanted. Knowing how to kill, but not being able to be decisive when it was time to turn away.

Flauros raised his head to look at the sky. At this moment, there was no thunder, no ashes. There was only a thin layer of clouds, drifting by, like a sigh of the world.

Flauros was confused and annoyed. But no matter how twisted his personality was, the old him was still Kaiden, not Flauros.

No matter how twisted this personality was, no matter how coldly Flauros laughed, no matter how he killed without blinking, no matter how blood-stained his entire body was.

But deep within the skin burned by the forbidden spell,

He was still Kaiden.

He was the child who wrote poems on the desk, the child who believed that knowledge was light, not chains. The child who promised his teacher, Sola, that.

"I will not use magic to kill people."

He also swore as a child to his first teacher that he would use magic to save others, to fight against those who used magic to harm people.

And now all the promises burned with that child's name in his memory.

Flauros raised his head, looking back at the ashes of the ruined city. He smiled. Not happily. He smiled like a man who was paradoxically strangled by his own body but still trying to breathe.

Who was Kaiden?

A cowardly ghost resides in the body of this survivor.

That was all Flauros muttered before letting go, destroying the hidden spell around Leif. Follow your reason and ignore the life and death of the people below.

The battlefield is now no different from a living hell filled with the smell of bones and dust, where the ground under your feet is no longer soil but a layer of broken bones, twisted iron armor, and fragments of undying souls.

Amidst the sound of metal colliding, the groans of undead machines being broken and then reconnecting themselves, the two skeleton armies crashed into each other like two gray waves crashing against a cliff.

They don't need rest, don't need blood, don't need fear. Their hollow eyes flashed purple-blue like demon lanterns, their rusty swords slashed at armor as hard as ancient stone.

The imperial army, although it had collapsed, still had flesh and blood. The soldiers who remained after the battle with the Bone Dragon also contributed, intervening in the battle, the wounded, the dead, blood staining their silver armor.

They fought not because they understood what was happening but because they knew that if they didn't fight, they would all be swallowed up.

From behind, Leif stood straight in a blood-red black cloak, his cold eyes covered in a thin layer of ice.

He did not directly attack because he knew that a good commander did not lie in the sword. But in the ability to make others not need to use it.

Moreover, his forbidden magic was not the type used for combat.

His lips moved slightly, giving orders to each branch to move. The spatial projection immediately appeared in the air, and his eyes scanned each position. The command was short and precise like a surgeon's scalpel:

"Team 3, retreat 20 feet to the left, lure the front row out of the main formation."

"Team 5 - shoot ice at their feet, freeze the ground in front of the front row. Do not let them move."

Consecutive tactics, ice-cold decisions, and ruthlessness down to every breath. But it was undeniable that Leif had reduced casualties to the lowest possible level.

Even so...

Death was still death.

Below his feet, the bodies of the Black Crows lay scattered, some still breathing, being dragged away in panic. Pieces of black cloaks were dyed red, eyes were wide open, and never closed.

Leif clenched his fists, and the golden coin he used to summon artifacts trembled slightly. Cold. Just like the bottom of his heart right now.

'So this is the price... for loyalty?'

He didn't know.

He only knew.

Even though he was a forbidden magician, even though his hands were stained with too much blood. He still couldn't get used to seeing his people die before his eyes.