Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Chapter 780: Monster [2]

Since he was clear-headed now, unlike his first use of his law where he had no choice but to select beginning traits for survival, Michael wanted to experiment and see the true potential of his law and its efficiency.

He chose to start with Wisdom first.

Currently, Wisdom could be fully classified as a space-type beast.

Its passive state, which Michael found particularly attractive, was the infinite energy granted by its connection to the void and the speed amplifier it possessed.

When Michael echoed Wisdom into his existence, the law would surely weaken and change slightly to match him, but the foundation would remain the same.

Michael had already been fast before all this, but he did not expect the level of speed he could achieve.

So even though Michael was in pain from ragdolling himself, his heart was still beating fast with excitement.

For a moment, the field did not breathe.

Elves who had been whispering earlier stood frozen, mouths half open, eyes widened as if their minds could not decide whether what they had seen was real. Even some of the instructors stiffened, their instincts flaring far too late.

The distance was not small.

He had vanished from the center and appeared far behind her in the time it took a thought to form.

And the speed that followed was worse.

A ripple of fear passed through the crowd before anyone could stop it.

Aeloria felt it too.

For the briefest instant, something tightened in her chest.

Then her pride crushed it.

Fear was not something a royal should entertain, especially not in front of her court, her instructors, and the Sanctuary supervisor.

Her eyes remained calm.

Her face remained composed.

Only her gaze sharpened.

She turned her head slowly, looking toward the trail of torn grass and pale soil where Michael had finally stopped.

"That movement..." someone whispered, voice strained.

"It was like—"

"Silence," an instructor hissed, but it was too late.

The shock had already settled into the field like frost.

Aeloria lifted her hand, fingers poised, and her voice cut cleanly through the stunned quiet.

"Tideveil," she said, tone flat. "Stonebound."

Both beasts responded instantly.

The mist around the Tideveil tightened, drawing inward like a breath held. The Stonebound Colossus shifted its weight, the ground compressing beneath its feet.

Aeloria’s gaze did not leave Michael.

"Go," she ordered.

The Tideveil’s fins trembled.

The Stonebound’s plates clicked faintly.

Then Spartan moved.

His voice was calm.

"Three against three," Spartan said.

The Tideveil hesitated.

So did the Stonebound.

Spartan’s head tilted slightly, and his gaze settled on Aeloria with a cold, steady certainty.

"You face our master," he continued. "One on one."

His eyes shifted briefly, acknowledging the two beasts.

"We face your summons."

They did not wait for the princess to react.

Spartan and Ghost launched forward at the same time as the Tideveil and the Stonebound Colossus surged to meet them. The four collided midair, force slamming into force, leaving the ground beneath them untouched and empty.

For an instant, the sky itself seemed split.

And Aeloria was left alone on the ground.

Her attention snapped back when a warning screamed at the back of her mind.

She moved on instinct.

Aeloria twisted sharply to the side, robes flaring as she abandoned her position without hesitation.

A heartbeat later, Michael tore through the space she had just occupied.

He came in sideways, body completely out of control, a blur of momentum and violence. The air cracked as he passed, grass exploding upward in a thin line where his shoulder skimmed the ground.

He did not touch her.

But he passed close enough that the wind of it ripped at her hair.

Michael slammed into the ground several meters beyond her, bounced once, then rolled hard, carving another rough scar into the field before skidding to a stop.

Aeloria straightened slowly, eyes narrowed now.

Her heart was beating faster than she liked.

"Dammit! I thought I got the speed right this time."

Though his tone made it clear he was complaining, Michael wore a wide smile on his face.

Aeloria barely had time to settle her footing before the warning came again.

Her pupils tightened.

She moved.

A sharp step, a half-turn, robes snapping as she slid away from the point her instincts screamed at.

A breath later, Michael flashed past her like a misplaced comet.

His body hit the ground wrong again, shoulder first, then hip, then back, tumbling so fast the grey grass blurred into streaks. The impact dug a fresh trench, and pale soil fanned outward in thin sprays.

He rolled, bounced, rolled again.

And this time, he did not stop to complain.

He twisted mid-roll, forced his hands under him, and used the momentum to throw himself upright even as his feet failed to catch properly. He staggered once, then vanished again.

The space he left behind twitched.

Aeloria’s warning flared.

She dodged.

Michael crashed through her previous position, tearing up grass and air in the same ugly line, then slammed down and skidded, his body scraping the ground like a thrown weapon.

He was up again.

Too fast.

Not clean.

Not controlled.

But relentless.

Again.

The warning.

The dodge.

The ragdoll blur ripping through where she had been.

Again.

Aeloria’s breathing stayed quiet, but her movements sharpened into pure efficiency. She stopped trying to track him with her eyes. She trusted the warning and moved on the first pulse of it, every step measured, every shift precise.

And for several seconds, it became a strange pattern that made the watching elves forget to blink.

A royal princess dodging desperately.

A human launching himself like a broken arrow.

Michael kept disappearing and reappearing, each burst ending with another violent tumble, each tumble ending with him forcing himself back into motion before his body could protest.

He hit the ground, rolled, sprang up.

Hit the ground, rolled, sprang up.

His clothes were already smeared with dirt. His palms were raw. His shoulder screamed.

And his grin only widened.

Because every time he vanished, the distance he crossed was tighter.

Every time he reappeared, the angle was closer.

Every time he ragdolled, the recovery was faster.

Aeloria felt it too.

Michael Norman was adjusting.

Michael was getting closer.