Graveknit stood near the entrance, unmoving, like a statue that had been waiting for their return. His hollow gaze lifted slightly as Carrion approached, taking in the army, the numbers, the state of what remained.

"You took your time," Graveknit said, his voice low and steady.

Carrion stopped a few steps away.

"The objective is complete," he replied simply.

Vermis walked in behind him, brushing a strand of hair back as if she had just come from a quiet stroll rather than a battlefield soaked in blood. Her expression carried a faint satisfaction, though her eyes still held that same restless gleam.

"It was fun," she said lightly. "They struggled more than I expected."

Graveknit’s gaze shifted past them.

Toward what the undead carried.

Bodies.

Hundreds of them.

Some dragged along the ground. Some carried over shoulders. Some held by multiple skeletons when the weight demanded it. Armor still clung to many of them, broken and stained, their faces pale and empty under the faint light of the false base.

"...Five hundred," Graveknit murmured after a moment, his voice almost thoughtful. "All normal warriors."

Carrion gave a slight nod.

"Approximately."

The number was not exact.

It did not need to be.

Graveknit’s eyes moved again, this time toward the army itself.

The gaps were there.

Clear to anyone who knew what to look for.

"...Losses?" he asked.

"Minimal," Carrion replied. "Around one hundred fifty got destroyed."

Vermis tilted her head slightly, glancing back at the remaining undead with mild interest.

"They did better than I thought," she said. "Those mercenaries especially. They know how to fight together."

Her smile returned faintly.

"But it didn’t matter."

Graveknit stepped forward slowly, stopping near one of the bodies as it was dropped onto the ground. His gaze lingered on it for a moment, then shifted across the growing pile as more and more corpses were laid down.

The sound was dull.

Thud after thud as the dead were stacked across the clearing.

"This will be enough," he said.

"We should send these corpses." she said.

Carrion gave a small nod.

"Yes," he said. "Graveknit will handle the rest here."

Graveknit did not respond, but his presence seemed to deepen slightly, as if acknowledging the task without words.

The skeletons began to move out in a separate group, carrying the bodies away from the false base, disappearing into the darkness along a different path than the one they had used to arrive.

Five hundred corpses.

Five hundred resources.

Five hundred more soldiers waiting to rise.

Vermis’s smile grew faintly.

"...Another five hundred," she murmured.

Carrion’s gaze remained forward.

"As ordered," he said. "We continue."

----

The days that followed did not bring relief.

They brought a pattern.

A cruel one.

Every other day, just as the town began to regain its breath, just as the wounded settled and the exhausted tried to sleep, the horn would sound again, low and sharp, cutting through whatever fragile calm they had managed to gather.

And this time, there was no probing.

The first of these assaults came at dusk, when the light was fading and the shadows were long enough to hide movement but not deep enough to conceal it completely. The undead did not creep forward this time. They advanced in full force, their formation tighter, their numbers noticeably thicker than before.

Voss saw it the moment they came into view.

"...They’ve grown," he said quietly.

No one argued.

The difference was there.

"Positions!" he barked immediately. "All units, full defense!"

The clash came fast.

Harder than before.

The undead did not slow.

They did not split.

They struck the town’s defenses like a solid wave, pushing into the streets with relentless pressure, forcing the humans to meet them head on again, steel against bone, blood against something that did not bleed the same way.

"Hold them!"

"Don’t give ground!"

The defenders fought harder this time, better coordinated, more aware of how to deal with the skeletons, smashing skulls, breaking spines, dismantling them piece by piece before they could continue moving.

But the problem was no longer just the skeletons.

The fight dragged.

Longer than before.

Blood soaked deeper into the ground.

More bodies fell.

And when the tide finally shifted, when the reinforcements and the defenders managed to push back, when Carrion judged that enough had been taken...

He gave the order again.

"Fall back."

But this time, the humans saw it clearly.

The undead did not leave empty-handed again.

They’re taking them again!" a soldier shouted, rushing forward, trying to grab a fallen comrade before the skeletons could reach him.

Too late.

Hands of bone pulled the body away without resistance.

Another man tried to block them, swinging wildly, breaking one skeleton apart, but two more stepped in, lifting the corpse and retreating without pause.

"Stop them!" voices cried out across the battlefield.

But the formation of the undead shifted perfectly, covering the retreat, shielding the ones carrying the bodies, ensuring that what they had claimed would not be taken back.

Voss stood there, breathing hard, watching it happen again.

Every direction he looked, bodies were being dragged away.

"Pull back!" he shouted finally. "Don’t chase them!"

The undead disappeared into the darkness once more, their numbers retreating, their silhouettes fading, but the damage they left behind was heavier than before.

That night, the town was quieter.

Not because there was peace.

But because something had settled into the hearts of the people.

A realization.

By the next assault, it became undeniable.

They came again.

Stronger.

More numerous.

The gaps that had once existed in their ranks were gone, replaced by new figures that moved just like the others, but wore the remnants of armor that had belonged to the town’s own defenders.

"...No..." one of the guards whispered, his voice breaking as he stared at one of them.

"That armor... that’s my friends armor..."

Voss’s gaze remained fixed on the enemy.

"They’re not just attacking us," he said, his voice low, steady, but heavy with certainty. "They’re building their army with us."

Silence followed.

"If we lose a hundred," he continued, "they gain a hundred."

No one spoke.

Because no one could deny it anymore.

----

The room was heavy with tension long before anyone spoke.

It was one of the largest halls left intact in the town, its stone walls cracked in places, its long table covered in maps, markers, and hastily written reports stained with dirt and dried blood. Torches burned along the sides, their light unsteady, casting shadows that moved across the faces gathered there.

These were not ordinary men.

Every person in the room led something. A mercenary band, a sect, a clan. Some wore armor, some robes, some carried weapons even inside the meeting, as if letting go of them for even a moment felt like a mistake.

And yet, despite all that, the moment Ren Kai stepped in, the room shifted.

It wasn’t loud.

No one announced it.

But it was clear.

Conversations stopped. Eyes turned. Even the ones who had been arguing moments before fell silent, their expressions tightening as they recognized the robes, the insignia, the presence.

Clear Water Sect.

Ren Kai walked in at the front, his steps steady, his expression calm. Behind him followed Cai Wen, Shen Lu, and Hao Jin, each carrying themselves with the same quiet confidence, the same sharp presence that marked them as something different from the rest.

Lian Yue was not with them.

She had been taken to rest.

Even so, her absence did not lessen the weight they brought into the room.

At the head of the table stood Voss.

He had already cleaned himself up, but not completely. There were still traces of the battlefield on him. A tear in his sleeve, dried blood along the edge of his armor, his saber resting within reach.

When Ren Kai entered, Voss straightened slightly.

Not out of fear.

Out of recognition.

Respect.

The others followed his lead almost instinctively.

Some nodded.

Some stepped aside to make space.

One of the sect leaders, an older man with a thin beard and sharp eyes, even gave a slight bow.

"Young masters," he said. "You’ve arrived."

Ren Kai returned a small nod.

"We came as soon as we could."

Voss gestured toward the table.

"Come," he said. "We were just about to go over what we know."

Ren Kai stepped forward without hesitation, the others following him, their eyes already scanning the maps, the positions, the notes marking previous attacks.

Cai Wen frowned slightly.

"These markings... you’ve been attacked more than once."

Voss let out a slow breath.

"Every other day," he said. "Sometimes sooner."

"They’re not probing anymore," one of the clan leaders muttered. "That’s full assault timing."

"They never stopped going all out," one of the mercenary leaders added, his voice rough. "From the first clash until now, they’ve been trying to break us every time."

Shen Lu leaned slightly over the table, his gaze sharp.

"And every time they retreat... they take the bodies."

Silence followed.

Heavy silence.

Because everyone in that room had seen it.

Ren Kai’s gaze lingered on the map for a moment longer, tracing the routes of attack, the positions where the heaviest losses had been marked. Then he straightened slightly, his expression turning more focused.

"Do you think..." he began, his tone steady, though there was a sharper edge beneath it now, "that our enemies are using those bodies to create the skeletons?"

The question settled into the room, not surprising anyone, but forcing it into words made it heavier.

All eyes turned to Voss.

He didn’t hesitate.

"It looks that way," he said plainly. "Every time we lose men, they come back with more. Same numbers."

He paused briefly, then added in a lower voice, "And some of them are still wearing pieces of armor from our side."