Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Chapter 753: The Situation

After killing the rank 4 drakeblood, Michael did not waste time before putting it in his damaged Coffin of the Forgotten.

Upon seeing this action, some of the other races wanted to speak out.

It couldn’t be helped as the bodies of any rank 4 creature were a treasure.

Their bodies could be used to make weapons, act as energy sources for weapons, and help in assisting the cultivation of other rank 4 and rank 3 below them significantly.

Michael taking such treasure for himself instinctively made them want to act before they recovered themselves.

Putting aside the fact that just now they had all turned to run away and only he went forward, if all of them were being honest with themselves, if not for the youth and his undead, particularly his undead, most of them would be dead without question.

To also assist in their survival, the youth had also lost a lot of his powerful undead.

How he got so many in the first place didn’t matter since as creatures who had already started to touch laws, they couldn’t be easy to get.

Losing so many of them in such a short amount of time was an immense loss.

Exchanging all this for a rank 4 supernatural corpse, well, two rank 4 supernatural corpses felt a bit okay.

The moment after Michael placed the body of the rank 4 drakeblood in the space within the damaged Coffin of the Forgotten and returning it together with his spear into his soul space, Michael’s bloodied gigantic body deflated into his normal size as he fell to his knees.

Before a lot of the other races could react, Spartan, Fade, and a few other of Michael’s undead had already appeared by his side.

Michael didn’t pay attention to any of this or rather he couldn’t pay attention because thanks to losing Beginning’s nature effect on him thanks to his law, the damage that Michael should have felt came back to him at once causing him to immediately faint.

Fortunately, thanks to Beginning’s law, the damage to his soul brought from losing many of his undead and so many in a short time had been somewhat mended and Michael was out of the dangerous phase.

But whether it was mended or not, it did not take away from the fact that since his first undead, this was the greatest loss Michael had ever encountered in his journey.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t even able to stay awake to fully process it or perhaps it was even better this way.

Seeing Michael collapse, the other races wanted to get close but the moment they showed that intention, the undead surrounding Michael got defensive.

Perhaps if it wasn’t for the intelligence they possessed allowing them to have basic reasoning, they would have attacked everyone the moment they showed the intention to get close.

Seeing the reaction of the undead, none of the races dared to move closer and just watched the situation from afar.

The leaders of the three races came together again for a discussion.

Among the three, the only person that was relatively complete was the elf. The Khar’veth leader who initially had four arms now had just one remaining.

The Virellion, the small winged humanoid race’s leader, had lost her wings. If it wasn’t that rank three didn’t need wings to fly, she wouldn’t have been even able to converse with their fellow race leaders.

The moment the leaders gathered, the contrast between them became almost absurd.

The elf stood with his usual indifferent expression, not even bothering to hide his gaze as it swept over the Khar’veth.

"You’re a mess," he said flatly.

The Khar’veth leader clicked his tongue, rolling his remaining shoulder.

The stump where his other arms should have been had already been sealed by crude emergency methods, but sealing was not healing.

Losing a limb can cripple a supernatural. Sometimes permanently.

But this was the supernatural world. As long as one was willing to pay the price, limbs could be restored and so on.

To some certain extent, if one was strong enough, dying didn’t exactly mean death so what could losing a limb be. The only problem was that the stronger you were, the harder it became.

A low-ranked warrior could regrow an arm through simple regeneration techniques or cheap healing resources. A Rank Three, especially one who had already touched laws, was different. Their bodies were no longer just flesh. They were structures shaped by authority and truth.

Restoring a limb for someone like the Khar’veth leader was not simply healing a wound.

It was reconstructing a portion of his existence.

And he was not weak by any means.

The Khar’veth leader grinned anyway, stubborn pride flickering in his eyes. "Scars are the pride of my race," he declared. "I do not mind them."

The elf looked at him.

The Virellion looked at him too.

Neither of them changed expression.

The Khar’veth leader’s grin stiffened.

Then cracked.

He coughed once, cleared his throat, and his eyes darted away.

The Khar’veth leader scratched the side of his face with his remaining hand, suddenly finding the air very interesting.

"My true plan is to return to my realm and beg my elders to take pity on a poor youth," he admitted.

"As long as I can forget my face for one year, and I owe some favors, I will be brand new."

He lifted his stump slightly, then dropped it again, grimacing.

The elf’s gaze lingered on the Khar’veth’s sealed stumps for another breath, then drifted to the Virellion.

She floated a little apart from the others. Where her wings should have been, there was only smooth, healed tissue and faint lines of torn channels, like scars carved directly into her body.

"And you."

The Virellion’s eyes did not flicker. "They will grow back," she said.

The Khar’veth leader’s remaining brow rose. "That easy?"

"In time," she replied. "If I heal naturally, ten years."

*

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