Imperial Crown

To him, the life and death of the coalition forces was not important. There was only one goal he wanted to achieve from beginning to end - to lead the Iron Legion into Men's City.

As long as a new force like them joins, Meng'en City will be able to breathe a sigh of relief.

At the same moment, the undead priest Sacheni also noticed Minsk's intentions. He would never allow such a thing to happen before the city was broken!

The reason why human generals and nobles dress up conspicuously and put up flags behind them is to make the whole army pay attention to them. Only in this way can military orders be circulated smoothly, and only in this way can the soldiers know who they are fighting for. , obey whose orders.

But the undead don't need it, and orders don't need to be conveyed verbally, so the necromancer naturally doesn't need to highlight his existence.

So Sacheni led six necromancers and marched quietly among the army of necromancers without causing any trouble, so naturally no one would notice him.

Except Raven.

In the field of vision of the Eye of Truth, there was originally gray-white death energy everywhere, but suddenly a deep color crashed in, and the energy contained in it was much richer than Viscount John and Minsk combined!

Almost without hesitation, Raven immediately led the team to retreat.

Sacheni did not notice this detail, and even if he did, he would not care.

He walked about three hundred meters away from the front line, then stopped and led the six necromancers behind him to start singing.

As the chanting became stronger and stronger, the aura of the dead began to spread from the earth, and the surrounding undead creatures were scattered into bones, forming a magic circle under the pull of invisible forces.

The power of the undead gathered into the magic circle, and a little fuzzy mist was born in the center.

The mist accumulated and grew little by little, and when it expanded to the size of a fist, it suddenly began to grow at a geometric rate, spreading quietly and covering most of the battlefield!

Fifth-level magic, withering fog.

The gray mist didn't do much to obscure their vision, but when the coalition soldiers breathed the mist, they suddenly began to feel something was wrong.

The mist was cold and cold, with an unspeakable rotten smell, as if pork had been soaked in a basin under the sun for three days in the summer and rancid.

The coldness penetrated into the body along with the mist, making their hands and feet begin to become stiff.

In contrast, the undead creatures in the mist suddenly glowed with vitality, and the soul fire in their eyes was unprecedentedly agile. The skeleton that could have been broken apart with a hammer now took two or three extra times to break it. broken.

This is just the beginning.

As the battle line advances, it is inevitable that dead or seriously injured soldiers will remain behind the formation, but now as the fog rises, these soldiers actually stood up from the ground, waving their weapons, and looked at their former comrades!

For a while, screams came one after another.

At the forefront of the battle line, Minsk was also shrouded in fog. As a fourth-level strong man, he only felt slightly uncomfortable, but the ordinary soldiers of the Steel Legion behind him also began to be affected by the fog. Every time Someone is being transformed into the undead every moment!

The warriors of the Steel Brigade who were the vanguard were protected by fighting spirit, so the impact was not strong, but the advancement speed was also obviously slowed down.

A messenger walked through the crowd and came to Minsk: "General Minsk, Viscount Laluen, commander of the Second Army, sent a message."

Even without listening to the messenger, Minsk knew what he was going to say: "Lalune wants to retreat?"

"Yes, General!" the messenger said: "Viscount Laluen said that magic of this scope cannot last for long. Now we'd better retreat immediately and wait for the magic effect to end before attacking!"

"Then go back and tell him not to retreat!" Minsk ordered with a cold face: "At the same time, tell all the legion commanders that retreating can get out of the scope of this damn magic, and rushing forward can do the same!"

The messenger was slightly stunned, then nodded and retreated.

It’s not that Minsk doesn’t know that retreating is a wiser choice, but sometimes being wise doesn’t mean being right.

The reason why the opponent is using this large-scale magic that covers the battlefield now is because his tactical intention has threatened the Hand of Death.

In this case, it is even more important to move forward and never act according to the enemy's ideas!

However, subjective decisions cannot change objective facts. Under the shroud of fog, casualties are rapidly increasing.

Sometimes death is not so scary, and many soldiers are ready to face death.

However, when they saw their comrades who had just been fighting side by side wielding a butcher knife against them, fear inevitably began to spread.

To die at the hands of his companions and to end up like this after death is simply a completely unacceptable and horrific ending!

Especially after the bone dragon in the sky swooped down, breathing dragon breath to harvest life, he heard the screams corroded by the dragon breath, and watched the comrades who were talking to him just now become withered and peeled off, and then fell off again. As he staggered toward himself, collapse came unsurprisingly.

The entire front began to retreat and retreat, and no human power could stop it.

Raven stood behind the battlefield, listening to the screams and looking at the tragic scenes. On the one hand, he was scared and grateful, but at the same time, he felt his scalp numb.

It’s so tragic!

But facing this situation, there is nothing they can do about the thirty or so people. Although the wind wall technique may be able to blow away the fog, the scale is too big! He alone can't dispel it even if he is exhausted.

In the thick fog, the undead creatures became more active than before, their footsteps became lighter, and the casualties caused when chasing the retreating soldiers were even more terrifying.

Viscount John, who was in the middle of it, felt this more clearly. He received Minsk's message and understood why Minsk did that.

But when he saw the Third Army, which had begun to collapse next to him, he had to make a decision: "- Retreat!"

The Fourth Army, which was only initially integrated and had not undergone any coordinated training, was waiting for this sentence. When the order spread, the nobles began to flee with their own soldiers.

Judra was one of them.

When he heard the order to retreat, his face was full of reluctance, but he had to go with the flow.

Those who went against the current were either heroes or idiots, and the common point was that they were both likely to become dead.

Judra didn't want to die.

But many things would not happen if he didn't want them to. For example, now, he had just decided to retreat, and a group of bone cavalry rushed behind him. There were not many of them, only six or seven, but under the blessing of the thick fog, these bone cavalry were at least 30% stronger and faster than usual!

"Defense!"

Judela ordered loudly.

Most of his subordinates were serfs he brought with him. After several battles, they were basically able to follow orders and immediately organized a formation.

However, this was useless. The bone cavalry rushed in, and the weapons wrapped in the dead spirit's fighting spirit pierced through the leather armor on the serfs without any hindrance. In an instant, more than a dozen serfs fell to the ground.

However, the high-standing spears mostly passed through the gaps between their bones, and the occasional hits could not cause any effective damage at all.

Seeing this, Judela weighed the weight of honor and life in his heart, and quickly abandoned honor, and started to gallop wildly to the back on the warhorse under his crotch.

However, under the erosion of the fog, the warhorse under his crotch could not run fast at all. Although there was no sound of horse hooves behind him, the screams of the serfs were getting closer and closer.

There was a sound of wind behind him. Almost instinctively, Judela tilted his head slightly and dodged a bone spear. Before he could make any further moves, the warhorse under his crotch suddenly wailed and stood up, and then fell to the ground again.

Judela, who was prepared, rolled over and stood up. Looking back, he saw that his serfs had been slaughtered, and the ground was covered with blood, broken limbs, and broken blades. There were two bone knights beside him, and there were more chasing behind him!

Wielding the flame-enchanted long sword and blocking the attack, Judela released a blow of fire without hesitation, which immediately wrapped the two dead cavalrymen and knocked them off the horse.

However, at this moment, he had lost his warhorse, and there was no possibility of escaping from the pursuit of the dead cavalry!

One after another, the undead cavalrymen rushed forward. He dodged, swung his sword to block, counterattacked, and cut off the horses' hooves. He killed three more undead cavalrymen in succession, but the situation did not improve at all.

As his physical strength and fighting spirit were consumed, the erosion of the withering mist began to become more and more serious. Judela was panting, and he felt that the coldness began to radiate from his bones. His body became weaker and weaker.

The horses' hooves raised faint dust, and six undead cavalrymen rushed forward again. Judela roared, and another blow of fire swallowed the first one clean, and cold sweat flowed down. Even though the flame fighting spirit was burning, his hands were slippery and he could hardly hold the long sword steadily.

The second bone knight rushed over, Judela raised the long flame sword, pursed his lips tightly, and swung hard to meet it. The flame sword collided with the bone scimitar, and the scimitar was immediately cut in half, but the impact that followed also made Judela's arms numb.

The third Skeleton Knight rushed over, and Judela's footsteps began to become unstable. The moment the two weapons collided, his right wrist made a tooth-grinding sound and quickly swelled up. The severe pain made him grit his teeth and put the hilt of the sword to his right hand.

The fourth Skeleton Knight lifted his shoulder armor, and the fifth Skeleton Knight knocked off his helmet.

Judela breathed in the dirty mist of decay, his heart full of hatred!

He hated Minsk, who should have retreated at the beginning, but he dragged it; he hated Viscount John, who said he was honorable, but now he saw that he was in danger but didn't know to rescue him; he hated Raven, why should he fight bravely in the front, but he could watch the show leisurely in the back...

The person he hated the most was his father, Baron Angel. If he hadn't given him only two hundred serfs, how could Judela end up like this! ?

Father, why did you keep the Ironforge Legion at home? To give courage to your most precious second son! ?

There was the sound of horse hooves behind him. It should be the second round of the Skeleton Knight's charge, but Judela didn't care anymore. He stuck his sword into the ground, held the hilt with both hands and lowered his head.

He didn't become a noble when he was alive, but at least he wanted to leave some dignity when he died.

The sound of horse hooves was getting closer...

Getting closer...

Judela took a deep breath, clenched his teeth, and prepared to welcome the last moment of his life.

Click——

...