Global Survival: I Have Endless Skeletons-Chapter 108: The Mountain Range Ambush.

Thoren’s departure did not stir any attention.

The awakeners left behind were too injured, too exhausted, and too overwhelmed by loss to care about where anyone was going.

And that suited him just fine.

Outside the town’s gate, Thoren summoned a Level 10 Scorpion Skeleton. The massive undead creature emerged from the Undead Space with a low, rattling hiss, its bony claws digging into the ground.

Without hesitation, Thoren climbed onto its back and settled himself between the jagged ridges of its carapace.

At his mental command, the scorpion surged forward.

"I need to confirm my suspicion..." Thoren muttered, his gaze fixed on the horizon as the skeleton scorpion raced westward.

Everything about the Dark Tide reeked of conspiracy.

Using his second talent, the Soul Lantern of Eternal Crypt, he had discovered something others would never notice residual traces of dark energy left behind after the Dark Tide receded.

These traces were minuscule, faint to the point of being almost imaginary. Even he had failed to notice them immediately.

It was only after hours of relentless battle, just as he prepared to dismiss his second talent, that he caught sight of it, a flickering distortion in the darkness, dissolving even as he observed it.

Every second, the dark energy weakened.

Every second, it vanished into nothingness.

Yet there was a pattern.

Following the faint trail, Thoren realized the truth: the dark energy did not originate in the town. It flowed beyond it, stretching deeper into the abyss.

That realization alone was enough to make his blood run cold.

Without hesitation, he had left the inn, exchanged brief goodbyes with Arin, and pursued the fading traces.

There was no time to waste.

Every heartbeat mattered.

He sent a mental command to the scorpion skeleton, urging it to increase its speed.

The Level 10 undead scorpion responded instantly. Its skeletal legs moved like pistons, propelling it forward with terrifying speed.

It whistled through the air like a loosed arrow, cutting through the terrain without slowing.

"I can barely see the dark energy anymore..." Thoren murmured, his brows furrowing. "Tch. If only I had a higher-level mount."

Then, realization struck him.

The Undead Mad Dog Mistveil Mini Boss.

Without slowing down, Thoren dismissed the scorpion skeleton, pulling it back into the Undead Space.

The sudden lack of momentum forced him to steady himself. A moment later, necromantic energy surged outward.

The ground trembled.

The Undead Mad Dog Mistveil emerged, its massive form casting a long shadow across the land. Its frame was dense and powerful, its hollow eye sockets burning with eerie soul fire.

Thoren did not hesitate.

He leapt onto its back and issued a single command.

"Run."

The undead beast exploded forward.

The difference was immediate and overwhelming.

Though only a single level separated it from the scorpion skeleton, the gap between them was immeasurable.

The Mad Dog tore across the land with terrifying force, its speed nearly doubling as it crushed rocks and vegetation beneath its claws.

Thoren’s hair whipped violently against the wind as the world blurred past him.

Forests vanished behind him in seconds.

Valleys were crossed in heartbeats.

Canyons passed beneath his gaze like shallow trenches.

Throughout the journey, he encountered no humans.

No camps.

Only the distant howls of abyssal beasts and the cries of birds circling high above.

The abyss felt... quiet.

Too quiet.

Normally, such silence would have set him on edge, but Thoren refused to dwell on it. His focus remained locked on the faint, nearly invisible residue of dark energy ahead.

In the distance, jagged mountain silhouettes rose against the horizon, countless peaks of varying sizes, sharp and oppressive.

Thoren lifted his head, trying to peer beyond them, but all he saw were mountains stretching endlessly on both sides.

Between them lay a narrow path.

A passage barely wide enough for two men to walk abreast.

He urged his mount forward.

As he entered the narrow passage, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The mountains loomed overhead like colossal sentinels, their presence suffocating.

The wind howled violently through the corridor, fierce enough that any ordinary human would be torn apart within seconds.

Yet Thoren remained unmoved.

The wind posed no threat to him.

Aside from the roaring gale, there was nothing.

No beast cries.

No rustling leaves.

No movement.

Only shadows clinging to the mountainsides.

The deeper he went, the more those shadows seemed to twist and writhe, stretching unnaturally, creeping closer as though alive.

But Thoren did not falter.

He pushed his perception to its absolute limit, his mind ready to summon his undead legion at the slightest hint of danger.

The silence grew heavier with each passing second.

Suffocating.

Oppressive.

Thoughts threatened to spiral.

Muscles stiffened instinctively.

Still, Thoren did not slow down.

His mount charged forward like a broken arrow, cleaving through the raging wind without hesitation.

Suddenly...

Every hair on Thoren’s body stood on end.

His instincts screamed.

An alarm rang violently in his mind.

Whoosh!

Without hesitation, Thoren leapt from his mount’s back. His body twisted midair as he executed a flawless acrobatic flip.

Before his feet touched the ground, necromantic energy erupted outward.

The door to the Undead Space burst open.

Ten hooded figures emerged in unison.

Their forms were tall and slender, shrouded in tattered robes. Deep within their hoods, hollow eyes burned with necromantic soul fire, cold and faintly intelligent.

Bang! Bang!

The instant they appeared, a terrifying sword strike descended from the mountaintop.

"Shield!" Thoren commanded.

In perfect synchronization, the ten figures raised their shields.

The sword strike crashed into them with deafening force, sending several of the undead sliding backward as the ground cracked beneath their feet.

But the ambush did not end there.

A massive fireball followed, hurtling toward them with destructive momentum.

The hooded figures moved instantly, surrounding Thoren in a tight formation.

Boom!

Flames exploded outward.

Heatwaves slammed into the mountain walls, scorching the stone. The ground blackened, and the undead figures’ robes burned and smoldered.

Tension hung thick in the air.

Protected within the formation, Thoren’s thoughts raced.

’Who is attacking me?’

He was certain he had not been followed. No one should have known his route. He had acted purely on instinct, following nothing but the fading trail of dark energy.

And yet...

This ambush had been prepared.

"You survived that..." a sweet, almost playful voice drifted down from the mountaintop.

"I suppose his fame isn’t exaggerated," another voice followed, deep and arrogant.

Thoren raised his head calmly, his expression unreadable.

Five figures stood above him.

Four men.

One woman.

Each radiated a powerful aura, so oppressive that weaker awakeners would struggle even to breathe in their presence.

’Level sixteen... maybe seventeen,’ Thoren assessed grimly.

For the first time since leaving the town, his instincts told him something undeniable.

This was no coincidence.