Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

“Yes, yes, you heard the name right! I’ve heard whispers that she’s the only female among all one hundred participants!”

The crowd murmured at that. Others cheered. And a small but vocal segment began chanting her name.

“That’s right! Dela Myre! An adventurer, from what I hear! And the last female standing out of all who applied!”

The commentator lowered his voice theatrically.

“Now tell me, folks—what kind of strength does it take to reach this stage, alone, when so many others fell?”

The applause rose. Some clapped in admiration. Others simply appreciated the novelty of seeing a woman up there.

“Dela! Step forward and introduce yourself!”

Dela, still calm, nodded slightly. She stepped to the front, her voice clear and measured despite the noise.

“Dela Myre. A Gold Rank Adventurer. I’m here to win.”

Simple. Direct. The crowd loved it.

As for why a woman was on a stage competing in what seemed like it was tailored for men, the crowd couldn’t care less.

“Ah! She’s got the tone of a warrior and the eyes of a hunter! Look at that calm! Beautiful, dangerous, and deadly!”

The crowd whooped and hollered.

The commentator then gestured to another member in group A.

The youth’s hair was combed back, his expression confident.

“Look at the shine on that armor! I can see my reflection from here!”

“Please introduce yourself!”

The youth stepped forward and bowed slightly.

“Lionel Hartwright. House Hartwright. I look forward to bringing honor to my house.”

“Folks! This young man is here to prove himself!”

Following him came Uzen Kerr—a stout, scarred man with a rugged beard and a heavy axe strapped to his back. No noble crest, no fancy gear. Just raw presence.

“Now this one—hoo boy! Look at him! I bet that axe has tasted blood more times than we can count!”

Uzen said nothing for a moment, then stepped forward.

“Uzen Kerr.”

He announced his name with a roar.

The crowd equally responded with a roar.

Commoners in the stands rose to cheer, fists pumping into the air.

“And finally… Sir Ma of House Corwyn!”

This one walked with deliberate grace, armor polished to a silver gleam, and a narrow sword resting elegantly at his hip. He gave a sharp, practiced bow to the crowd.

“Sir Ma, everyone! A noble knight from the Steel Kingdom—yes, the Steel Kingdom!” the commentator added, stoking the tension. “Looks like this competition is really going to live up to the hype, folks!”

The crowd didn’t know how to feel—some clapped, others booed, but all eyes stayed on the arena.

Back in the preparation rooms, participants were watching with grim focus.

Then came Group C’s turn to step into the arena.

First was Lord Fenrick Valen, tall and haughty with a long white coat that swept the ground like a robe. His weapon—a rapier with a silver-engraved guard.

“Fenrick Valen,” he said with a raised chin. “May my blade honor my house.”

The crowd gave a muted response—neither welcoming nor hostile.

“Next! Joss Tren of Eastrun!” the announcer called.

A lean figure with short-cropped hair and a curved sabre strapped across his back strode forward. His eyes scanned the crowd but offered no introduction.

“Joss is quiet, folks, but don’t mistake silence for weakness! Eastrun’s scouts have a reputation!”

Then came Sir Ner of House Relinor, whose steel-gray armor bore deep scratches across the chest. He raised his shield high, nodding once to the crowd.

Finally—

“Lige.”

There was no title, no fanfare.

A short figure stepped out. No armor. No flashy gear. Just a weathered cloak and a single curved dagger strapped to his thigh. His face was hidden beneath a hood.

“Ahhh… mysterious! I love it!” the commentator cried. “No title, no background, no introduction. Just ‘Lige.’ Can’t tell if we should be worried or excited!”

The two teams now stood across from one another on the vast arena stage.

The commentator stepped back to a raised platform just outside the shield.

“Alright, alright, settle down, people! The first team battle begins now!”

A resonant gong echoed through the coliseum.

Instantly, Dela moved. No hesitation. Her twin daggers flashed into her hands, and her body blurred into motion—a streak of leather and shadow.

The crowd erupted.

Uzen raised his axe with both hands and let out a thunderous war cry before charging forward like a battering ram. Dust flew up around his feet with every heavy step.

Lionel followed with practiced grace, sword held high and aura burning with noble intensity.

Sir Ma, cool and collected, moved like a fencer preparing for the perfect counterstrike.

On the other side, Group C was just as fast.

Fenrick raised his rapier, activating an aura technique that made the blade shimmer.

Joss flanked wide, his sabre drawn low, knees bent in a runner’s crouch.

Sir Ner stayed central, shield high, spear braced.

Lige… disappeared.

Literally.

One moment he was there, the next—gone in a shimmer of light.

“Did anyone see that?!” the commentator yelled. “He vanished! Where’d he go?!”

Back in the preparation rooms, jaws clenched.

Some participants now realized they were woefully unprepared for the level of skill they were about to face.

Even among the Earth Dragon Kingdom’s smug elite, a few now leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

Then it came. The first blow.

Not from any of the visible warriors.

But from above.

Life, in the form of a formless shimmering blade—a strike descended like judgment itself toward Dela’s head.

The crowd gasped, though most hadn’t actually seen what had happened. To them, Dela simply flinched and twisted, her body blurring sideways in a motion so fast it seemed she’d vanished for a heartbeat.

One moment she stood mid-dash, the next she rolled beneath a sweep of air, her daggers flashing up defensively.

A blade struck the ground she had been standing on.

It hissed.

The stone cracked.

The commoners in the crowd leaned forward, straining their eyes.

“What just happened?!”

“Wow!”

“Did she trip?”

“Why did the floor crack?”