Accidental Healer-Chapter 55 - XP farm?

I step through the portal and Everything changes. Like with dungeons, I can see the evidence we’re in the same place—but it’s not the same.

The once green trees full of life are dead rotting husks. The sky is gray and suffocating.

Instead of the thick underbrush of shrubs and grass the ground is barren. One by one, our fighters step through.

I inhale. The air is thick and foul. I turn to Ellison.

“Tell me something… Are there undead factions in the multiverse?”

The last of our group floods through the portal just before it seals behind us.

Decay stretches for miles in every direction—withered trees, brittle soil, a landscape choked of life.

Ellison surveys the terrain, his brow furrows. "Yes, there are undead factions.” He sniffs the putrid air.

“And it appears we may have just walked into one."

A shiver runs up my spine. "What kind of undead are we talking about here? Walking Dead slow or World War Z fast?"

Ellison blinks, obviously missing the reference entirely. "There are many types. Most likely the ones we find in this anomaly will be simple mana spawns.”

“For a faction to form, there needs to be a source creating or raising new undead. It takes time for risen undead to develop sentience. We likely won’t see anything close to that here."

Good. Mindless zombies are manageable. Sentient undead? A different story.

"Are they contagious?" I ask. "Do we need to worry about getting bitten?"

R𝑒ad latest chapt𝒆rs at freewebnovёl.ƈom Only.

Ellison hesitates. "Not that I am aware of?" His tone isn’t reassuring. "We can discuss that later. For now, we should prepare for combat."

I still haven’t spotted a single zombie, but I trust his instincts. "Let the ranged fighters know I have a barrier that can protect against projectiles—if they stay grouped up."

Ellison shouts orders in his native tongue. The Guildians scramble into position, unpolished but improving. They aren’t a disciplined army, but that’s why we’re here—to grow, to get stronger.

I glance over our group. Eleven fighters, including Ben and his wolves. A ragtag bunch. But they’re my ragtag bunch.

"Alright, people," I call out. "We're here to kick ass and gain levels. Give it your best—Mischief and I will provide support. Don’t bite off more than you can chew. This is our world now. Let’s stake our claim in it."

Mischief snorts in my head. “Inspiring.”

"Think you could do better?" I ask.

Before he answers, I realize I forgot to tell the others. "Oh, right—Mischief can speak telepathically now. If you hear a deep voice that sounds like live-action Shere Khan, that's him. And you'd better listen."

"Mischief can talk!?" Alex blurts.

"Yes, telepathically," I repeat.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Alex’s face lights up. "That’s amazing! Mischief, I have so many questions! OH MAN, are you gonna start wearing clothes like a human?"

Mischief’s glare could curdle milk.

Alex’s smile falters. His color drains.

I frown. "What did you say to him?"

"Nothing important," Mischief replies smoothly. "Just that if he wants to talk with me, he has to earn it."

I narrow my eyes glancing at Alex’s pale face. "You sure that's all you said?"

A pause. "I might have also said that if he speaks to me again before earning it, I’ll bite off an arm."

I sigh. "You don't actually mean that, right?"

"No, but I was testing my skill. It’s… effective on lower-level minds."

I glance at Alex. He's still pale. Still sweating. “Ok well how about from now on we don’t practice your psychological warfare on our own faction members?”

"Alex, don’t take him seriously," I reassure. "He’s just messing with you."

Alex exhales shakily, then straightens. "No, he's right. By the end of this fight, I’ll earn his respect."

Dramatic, but if it motivates him, whatever.

I shift my attention to Ben. "So, you’re more of a lover than a fighter, right?"

Ben hesitates. "Well… yeah. I mean, I’m not a fighter at all."

"Good. Stick close to me. Stay out of the front. Can you relay messages to your wolves?"

I glance at them. They’ve grown. One in particular is nearly the size of Mischief—less muscle, but still massive.

Ben nods. "I can communicate with them, sure."

"Great. If they need help, they tell you, and then you tell me. And remember, Elise is our healer—use your resources."

I make eye contact with each of them, making sure the message lands.

Then—something on the horizon shifts.

At first, it looks like a storm cloud. But it’s moving too fast.

"Ellison!" I shout. "Get everyone together—NOW!"

Ellison barks orders. Fighters huddle close. I cast Dome of Protection, expanding it over the entire group.

The first impact slams into the barrier.

Then another. And another.

Hundreds of jagged rocks rain down like a meteor storm.

The dome flares bright with every hit, crackling as stones shatter, ricochet, pile up at the edges.

The mana drain is steady, but manageable. I absorb nearly as much as I lose.

Finally, the storm slows… then stops.

"Does anyone see them?" Nick calls out. I scan the ridgeline. Nothing.

"Were they throwing those rocks?" someone asks.

Mischief crouches beside me, tail flicking. "That was a lot of rocks. Plenty of kills for everyone."

I grin. "Try not to take them all for yourself."

Then—movement.

Heads pop up from behind the ridge—not one, not ten, but hundreds.

The first line steps into view. Decayed flesh, sunken eyes, bones exposed through torn skin. A football field wide.

And they’re jogging. The second wave appears.

The third.

They just keep coming. I nearly choke on my own words.

"On second thought—go crazy!"

Mischief launches forward like a bullet.

I turn to Ellison. "Get your men in formation—ranged fighters focus on stemming the tide. We’re going to be surrounded. Two deep—if any break through, hold the line."

Ellison relays orders. The Guildians scramble. Not fast enough.

I curse. We need more time. I charge straight at the horde.

My sword arcs out—Sweeping Strike. A thirty-yard radius erupts with force.

Rotten flesh splits. Heads roll. Forty zombies bisected in an instant.

Kill notifications flood my vision.

You have defeated Level 17 Newly Awakened Undead.

You have defeated Level 19 Newly Awakened Undead.

You have defeated Level 18 Newly Awakened Undead.

Immediately after my attack I relax a little. After just one sweep of my skill I killed so many. IF things went sideways I could stem the herd.

More confident now I decide to crest the hill and get a look at what we are dealing with. I don’t waste any time killing the disgusting zombies leaving the experience points for the rest of the faction.

Bodies fly by as I sprint through their ranks to the top of the hill they were flowing over. In a wide swing I level another thirty or so, and stop to take in the view.

Just over the hill set into the mountain is a massive stone quarry from the old world. Unnatural square cuts mar the mountain side hundreds of feet high.

It’s a surreal sight, the first sign of actual human engineering I’d seen since the induction.

And it’s literally swarming with dead bodies. Thousands upon thousands. They mill about waiting for their turn to climb the hill and rush our little group.

I turn back and look at my faction's small army. They are completely surrounded now. Zombie bodies surging and fighting to break into our ranks. Out of the corner of my eye I catch a blur of movement.

Mischief rips through the zombies ranks, a shadow of claws and fangs. Even with him holding back he decimates his enemies. That cat is terrifying.